#her very own memory foam bed

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

[re-lmayer]

i've found myself in a bad situation. the tl;dr is i have to move, but i can't afford to. i'm a disabled student and just do not have the funds required to rent a truck, hire movers, and cover deposits. so, i'm offering various services on my kofi, but if you don't need those you can also donate there or via paypal. my cashapp and venmo are both erinshelley91 if you'd like to donate on those platforms (i couldn't figure out how to link to those)

if you can't afford to commission me or to donate, reblogging this post and sharing my twitter thread is a free way to help me out and is so appreciated!

more context and stuff under the cut, i just don't want to make a long post on ppl's dashboards

my landlord has been cheating on his husband, and their relationship is rocky. he also has a massive spending addiction according to his husband. his spending addiction is making him not want to perform the actual duties of a landlord, because investment costs are cutting into his shopping spree funds

ex, he is illegally not fixing a leak in the shower of the upstairs tenants, and claims the costs are more than their rent. he told them to "figure it out, or get the fuck out." (verbatim.) he also told me it would be cheaper for him to not have tenants at all bc his utility bills would be smaller. he then left it to ME to inform another tenant to leave (then gaslit me and denied it in front of his husband when his husband questioned it)

in his words, we have 90 days to leave. i am disabled and a full time student and have been living on my fafsa returns, and the last job i had made one of my disabilities worse to the point i've had intensive physical therapy (several hours several times a week) and am likely going to have to undergo surgery

i'm also mi/nd, so even on a good day i'm not very well equipped to handle things, and the recent stress has also caused my therapist to see me several times a week in lieu of institutionalization

all that said, i'm not in a good spot physically or mentally, hence the best i can do right now is offer some of my skills on kofi

i'm currently working with my state's vocational rehab to try and find a suitable job until i can get my degree, but even then i simply would not be able to afford the costs of a sudden move in the timeframe i've got to work with

UPDATE MARCH 25, 2024: i want to invest in a scooter to do gig work like doordash. this will let me work at my own pace, and earn towards the move myself, then i'll have some more independence to continue doing that after as well

they require 50cc or under, which means i could get a scooter for under $1,000. i'd also need to cover fees to renew my license (i let it lapse since i haven't had a vehicle), get a helmet, and get insurance (roughly $100 annually)

i also made some amazon wishlists for folks who would like to help but prefer to know exactly where their money's going. i have one for housewarming stuff here, and one for necessities here

update as of april 5: my cat peed on my bed, and since it's a memory foam mattress it soaked all the way through and ruined it

update as of april 7: she did it again. this time there's blood in it

update as of april 14: i still haven't been able to take her to the vet, but i've been trying to do at home remedies

[hyperfixationstati0n]

Peace

An: I’m a tiny bit feral right now so this is very lovey dovey fluff. I hope you enjoy because i loved writing it

Pairing: Spencer x gn!reader

Content warning: Honestly none. Prob the fluffiest thing I’ve written.

Word count: 804

Summary: Spencer comes home from a long case and is very clingy. 

This case made for the new record of how long you and Spencer had been away from each other since you got together- exactly 17 days, 6 hours, 15 minutes, and 4 seconds. Not that he was counting. (He was)

As he leaned back on the plush seats of the jet, he couldn’t even focus his brilliant mind long enough to read a book. He had his head leaning on one of his hands, staring out the window, and subconsciously counting down the seconds until you were in his arms again. Most everyone else on the team was either asleep or too preoccupied with their own things to notice the giddy grin on his face or the vague blush across his cheeks. All but JJ. It didn’t take a profiler to see the heart eyes he had just thinking about you. But as much as she wanted to say something, she just couldn’t bring herself to disturb the peaceful state he seemed to be in. After such a long and harrowing case, she was just glad to see that her friend had found some sort of peace-you. 

By the time he does show up at your shared apartment, it was long past the time you would have usually gone to sleep. So, he very slowly unlocks the door and steps in, trying to be as quiet as possible, until he hears motion from the direction of the bedroom. You were already in pajamas and had been sitting up in bed waiting for him, not being able to sleep from the sheer excitement of seeing him again. You rush over to his larger frame and gently cup his face in your hands, almost inspecting him to check for damage. You knew that his soul was weighing heavy, but he wasn’t going to open up about it now. Secretly, he was a very quiet man. It was the same every time he got home. He went from the young genius, who could ramble on for hours and hours if you let him, to your very quiet and soft-spoken partner. He just needed you, in any and every way someone could need another person. He had yearned for the softness of you, the way your lips gently brushed against his as you held his face. The way your fingers brushed through his long hair, raking it from his hairline to the back of his head. The way your arms enveloped him in the warmth and comfort he hadn’t received in weeks.

Slowly, you start leading him back to your bedroom. He was so clearly exhausted, physically and mentally. It was silent between the two of you, but it was comforting. You both had this unspoken language between you, you knew exactly what he needed. You help him take off his tie, unbuttoning his work shirt. Once it was off and neatly put aside, you slid your hands over the smooth skin of his shoulders, down to his chest. It was a chaste act, like you want to commit him to memory after he had been away for much, much longer than you’d like. He sighed, seemingly letting out a breath he had been holding in for lord knows how long. His head dips, his soft pink lips falling to the top of your head. The room was dark, only the small lamp by your bedside lit. It illuminated you both as you ran your fingers along his face, down to his collarbone. 

By the time you get him down to his boxers, he’s basically half asleep in your arms. You both silently decide that was good enough as you guide him to your bed. As he lays down, he immediately settles into the soft foam and pillows. It was much more comfortable than the tiny motel bed he had been sleeping in for almost 18 days. You pull the covers over you both, and he seems to immediately cuddle up to your side, his face nuzzled deeply into your neck. His warm breath fanned over your skin, which was weirdly comforting. You turn your head to press a final kiss to the forehead of your already drifting-off boyfriend, in the now completely pitch black of your room.

“Love you.” You mumble into his skin, relishing in the feeling of his arms around you as your own eyes closed.

“Love you…” He hums, feeling one hundred percent peace.

He would finally get the night of sleep he needed, where he didn’t have to worry about being woken up at any hour because another body was found. (Well, one could hope at least.) And you would finally get the night of sleep you needed, where your hearts seemed to beat in sync and you finally didn’t have to worry about his safety-because he was right there in your arms.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff

[writingmochi]

cast: trainee!niki ✗ seatmate!fem.reader (ft. &team's taki (takayama riki), p1harmony's soul (haku shota), niziu's nina (makino nina), and xg's cocona (akiyama kokona))

synopsis: graduation is such a melancholic concept, happy to finally be able to escape school, but sad that people will separate to their own road. it is no different for riki. on his graduation day, he spends one last day with his seatmate of three years before he pursues his career across the sea

genre: melancholia, hurt/comfort, coming of age, slice of life, trainee au, high school au, fluff, angst

based on: music hindia's "besok mungkin kita sampai" (2019) (genre: indie pop)

word count: 13011 (13k)

warning(s): blood, some curse words, mention of bruises, pretty heavy life stuff even for a high school age

message to the moon: remember that this story is fiction and do be careful and read the warnings at the top. all the idols mentioned here are not what they are in real life. (y/f/n) = your full name!

i had to open up my japan 2020 trip memories to remember the whole atmosphere + adding a bit of my knowledge and experiences too. i have to post this in april since it is the right momentum for it and riki’s graduating class is THIS YEAR! i wanna thank @oiwxa for her insight into a japanese high school graduation and its rituals (especially since you rb the og riki as a regular hs student hc like that is very useful) and my friends who indulge in japanese culture for helping with additional insights :D this is also part of my milestone now closed collab "discover: 200" which you can check out! hope you enjoy!

masterlist

what does one think about when they hear the word “foam”?

a child will imagine a white porcelain bathtub, the one they are sitting in with most of their seated body underneath the water that fills from the bottom of the tub. bubbles made from the mix of the running water and the poured liquid soap to create a magical concoction of science. more and more fill the tub until it overflows and splashes outside, landing on the tiled floor. one can pick up childish giggles as the bubbles caress the skin before it pops, creating a ring of soap on the skin nearest to it. one could imagine their parent beside them following their giggles, helping wash them up after playing in a grassy park and falling on the dirt patch chasing a squirrel. but the child was having too much fun trying to make their hair stand up from their scalp to care about the suds that clean away the dust and soil.

a person who visits a beach will be reminded of the white foam that flows to the coast, pushed by the tides to escape the blue waters. froths created from the combination of nature’s rhythm on the breaking of seawater and dissolving salt or tiny planktons. one can walk to the edge where the land meets the sea and meet the foams by themselves, letting their leg submerged into the wet sand before the incoming wave tries to push you away with its natural force. the water tickles above the ankle as foam created from the physics of it before receding into the ocean along with more grains of sand. the image of it pairs with the familiar crunchy sound of the waves that instantly show up in the head and from the popping of the tiny bubbles.

for riki, it was both of them and one more.

his hand is full of white fluffy foam. the boy's eyes stare at it before turning to the mirror in front of him. he sees the visual of a makeshift white full beard made from the tiny bubbles on the surface of his skin, all of them spread out to the jaw, cheeks, and even around the top of his neck, making him look like a younger version of father christmas if he ever goes to meet the children in spring—a season too late for the tradition and years too old for him as he knew about the truth of his parents being the “mythical man” that gave him gifts by the bed. the boy opens the tap.

the water runs down and cleans his hands, letting the residue drain down the hole before he picks up the item that he’s been learning and still is learning to adapt to at his age. the shaving razor he had that is in the same color as his toothbrush.

the razor glints under the lights beside the mirror. his hand grips its handle, following the steps his father had taught him. the older man told his child that facial hair grows in different ways depending on where they’re located, and how he has to shave it the other way for the most efficient result.

“if it’s on the cheek, then you have to shave it diagonally downwards to the corner of the lips. if it’s above the upper lip, then you have to shave it outwards from beneath both nostrils.”

riki recollects the words accurately as he imagines the visual vividly. how he can see himself in the mirror as his father when the boy remembers he stood beside him, a razor in his own hands as he teaches his son how to shave the facial hair he might not want to own—right in front of the same mirror he stood across now.

shaving your own facial hair seems to be a rite of passage for a boy who is nearing the end of his puberty days. their growing plates are still growing as riki still remembers how he was slightly shorter than his father when he was taught his first lesson in shaving facial hair. now he is taller than his father, either from how many times he has to jump along with the moves of a choreography or run along with a rolling ball on a grassy field.

riki can definitely feel and see the difference. his lanky body now shows more prominent muscles from the physical activities he does, notably his bigger calves from moving on his feet so much. the baby fat on his face has burned enough that his bone structure sticks out as he notices the apples of his cheekbone protruding on his facial features. his voice also deepens as he can still remember how itchy it is, dropping step by step until he can perceive the vibration of his neck’s skin from the moving larynx; a voice that screams baritone or bass, even reaching vocal fry level if he wants to learn the technique.

all of that happens in the three years of high school. if middle school him could witness him now, he wouldn’t believe that that is what he’s going to look like. so many things happened in the past three years that month by month—even day by day—he can feel himself changing physically and mentally.

and today, his three-year journey in high school ends. his graduation day from being a high school student. also, his last day home before pursuing his dream in seoul, south korea.

riki has always been an active kid, but there are two constants throughout his activities in his 18 years on earth: soccer and dancing. one may look at both of them differently, but he has always found a resemblance between the two. the agility of dancing helps control the ball if it’s in his possession. the stamina training he had done to run from one side of the field to another helped him practice longer, thus making him learn the choreographies faster than the other kids.

his hopes and dreams are tied between the two of them. he even wants to continue it to his adult. many of the kids were always asked “what you’ll be when you grow up?” and their answers will be different years later. yet, riki’s stayed the same. always between the two of them.

but he has to choose one to pursue even further, to focus on even in the hardest times he might get in his life.

after seeing korean idols on stage performing in front of thousands of people, he chose to dance. he wants to be like them one day.

yet, that doesn’t mean he’ll let go of soccer that easily.

soccer is still there for riki as a hobby. but he decides to push his dream of being a soccer player behind to train more for his dancing: learning between the street dances and contemporary ones he is still lacking in, yet determined to improve on. it sacrificed him hours of rest time to nail each of the basics in each study, peaking his figure to one of an all-rounder dancer who learned multiple branches of the certain performing arts.

his fruit of labor comes at the right time and moment when he joins an open audition for a big label in south korea that is hosted near here. riki rubs his hand on his pants as he sees a tv playing in the waiting room of a live performance he watched with his own eyes. his figure between all the visible moving lightsticks that decorated the arena, resembling a starry night. they all gave their best to show their craft on stage where people had encouraged them so much to achieve their dreams until that level. it tugs little riki so hard on his heartstrings that he can’t think of his other activities that can bring him the same sense of joy and pride at the same time. soccer seems to be the nearest one but what if he falls out of love and wants to retire early? being a performer means he could also explore other avenues of performing arts if he wants to experiment. though there is a school for it, art is the outlet for human creativity. and each person has their own way of interpreting what they want.

the audition process was nerve-wracking for him; fear flew and crowded the room as riki saw the people he had to compete with. getting tunnel vision from his anxious self, all he could think about when seeing them was how better they were compared to himself. even the lone camera on a tripod makes him nervous as he knows the implications of the recordings being sent to the highest of the higher-ups who have the choice to make his life change forever. as the person before him steps aside, he takes their place and introduces himself like what he practiced. the words flowing out of his mouth smoothly before he let his mind back to when he was alone in the dance studio he called his second home: his actual home is the first and the school’s soccer field is his third.

the fluidity of his body lets him perform the routine he practiced countless times, a routine he trained with his dancing coach that highlights his greatest strengths in performing arts. riki feels how his eyes droop down, letting his movements and muscle memories do the work for him, something he allows as he has been practicing with the lights out.

“when you lose one of your senses, another sense grows to complement it,” his coach reminded him.

riki didn’t even break a sweat when he listened to the unfamiliar song. he just freestyle danced to the rhythm as best as he could to the song he used as a lesson. one has a faster bpm than the other, so he has to adapt with how many milliseconds he has to let his arm stay in the air. in his consciousness, he is confused as to why none of the judges stopped him like the other contestants. many of them were better but stopped earlier that they didn’t even reach the end of the choruses for songs, making his eyes tremble more behind his eyelids. yet, he continued until something stopped him. well, the music does as it fades away.

the process was rigorous when he had to sing and do body shots in another room—alone from the other contestants with people he assumes are higher in the recruitment process. when the papers of the contracts were placed in front of riki, he was halfway through his high school career. a contract to be a trainee in south korea, the place where the performers he saw reside. the headquarters of the leading asian pop culture in the world. riki has to be there to feel it himself.

he had his mom beside him as she read through the contract, a small smile on her face as she tried to understand the best of the contract with the formal and legal lingo that is used alongside the translator they hire for this and her family member who is a lawyer. he had already met up with the trainers before—the judges he auditioned to and more through video calls—and they agreed that riki has the potential to be something more.

he signed the paper that seals the next chapter of his life, agreeing to move to korea when high school ends.

riki returns to the mirror when his hand is unconsciously shaving the foamy area; following a set routine of the parts he has to shave and what section is next. that’s when he sees the thin foam turn pink. eyebrows raised, the sting comes too late as the soapy substance meets his open wound. he instantly flipped the tap open and cupped the water in his palms, brushing the soap substance away as fast as he could, gritting his teeth when he felt the cold liquid caressing his skin. blood flows along with the water as he smoothes the skin down, not recognizing any more slippery base substance when he gently dries his wet area. turning his face, he sees the long thin slit on his clean cheek, right under his cheekbone and going horizontal above the jawline, almost like a secondary of it. the razor he holds is placed under the running water when he sees the translucent crimson color flow down the drain hole.

placing the razor away, he opens the cabinet door for the first aid kit he had always picked up. being such an active kid doesn’t mean that he is immune to injuries. open or close wounded, he has scars of his injuries all around his body. the nasty scar on his right kneecap from when he tripped on himself while playing soccer on an asphalt road, bruises on his forearm from when he slammed himself too hard on the dance studio’s floor, and many more. he once feared that red color flowing on his skin layer, but seeing it so much and its purple-ish-blue companion, he throws that fear away and lets it sink into the ocean that is just a walking distance from his abode.

the first aid kit is filled with the most essential items riki uses to heal himself. his mom always told him to treat his injuries as soon as possible so no nasty virus or bacteria could infiltrate the atoms that encompass his functioning body and destroy it from the inside. and make him worse instead. he always thought the scars he got litter on his skin would disappear one day. time goes on as it denies his assumption. he learned this from biology class where the teacher mentions that the cell tissues of skin cannot get rid of scars because the injuries are being repaired by the same cells that create a scar. the cells in those areas are ever-healing; never going to stop healing because it has been injured before.

another scar to tell, i guess. he sighs as he dabs the wound with the red-brownish antiseptic on cotton all along the opening before he grabs the bandage and sticks it on the wound. pressing it down gently, the bandage nearly blends in with his skin color as it creates an abnormal diagonal patch on his somewhat clean yet acne-scar-filled skin. a minor bump rising because of the white pad on the sticky side. brushing his black hair away from its place that fallen on his forehead, he closes the distinct naruto-themed bag of his first aid kit and brings it to his room.

the navy graphic t-shirt he wore has droplets from the water but not of the blood from the small rectangle mirror sticking on his wall. on his bed lays the final piece of his gakuran as he picks up the suit jacket. riki pushes the golden buttons through the holes in an order, leaving the last button open right at the top so that he looks cooler—and so that he doesn’t get easily choked. his eyes scan his nearly clean room where items are still cluttered here and there. that is until he sees the large suitcase at the leg part of his bed. all the clothes and essentials he has packed to be used in korea are already in there. his flight is tomorrow morning; flying from haneda airport. the open duffel bag of his is still on his bed as he puts the naruto-themed first aid kit inside.

“riki!”

“yes?” his hand on his chest from the surprise calling of his name passing by the barrier of the wall.

“we have to go. we don’t want to be late.” his mom’s voice calls from outside the room. the boy lets the bag rest on the mattress before he picks up his trusty backpack and saunters to the door of his room and opens it, seeing his mom cleaning the dishes and dad slurping on a cup of ramen on the small dining table after leaning almost half of his body. both of them are in an outfit he isn’t used to seeing. only in times of graduations, weddings, or funerals.

“i made one for you.” riki followed his mom’s eyesight to the steaming cup of ramen across from his dad. “your sister has left for school earlier, but you don’t want to be late for your assembly.”

the boy’s long legs reach the seat where the cup of ramen is. its familiar smell enters riki’s senses as he picks up the folding plastic fork and scrumptiously enjoys the hot noodles. he felt the tangled noodle warming up his esophagus while his dad was pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. as riki looked at his dad, he could see himself in him. his dad’s feline-like eyes—combined with his mom’s—make riki’s signature aggressive-looking eyes, like a leopard ready to pounce on its prey. his sisters are also like him but softer as how biology designs feminine features. but, all of them didn’t expect riki’s growth to spurt as he entered high school. he definitely thanked his genetics but also the nutritious homemade food mom made for him full of the omega-3 of fish and the glutinous yet small grains of cooked white rice.

the sunlight enters through the window of the dining and kitchen area where he sees a small garden that is full of little plants and flowers. the beam highlights the light brown of the wood from the last time his family renovated the house fully. small, quaint, yet architecturally smart; with hidden compartments for storage and changing furniture. he can describe his newly renovated home as one of the best things japanese architecture offers. his father learns so much about architectural innovation from watching renovation shows while his mom has the say in interior designing—picking the type of wood to use, placement of the furniture, and others. his new room became his favorite place in the world, with the floor-to-ceiling cabinet and wardrobe combo to put his childhood things he couldn’t bear to let go. though small, he’ll miss his room and the window that overlooks the small one-lane road filled with houses of neighbors he knows.

his nimble fingers expertly pick up the narutomaki along with the noodles from his seafood cup noodles with his chopsticks. the orange-reddish broth colors the inside of the cup as he stares at his phone, scrolling down the news of his favorite player transferring teams—a player exchange that costs millions of US dollars, a japanese player. the player was pretty new for his time, but riki can relate to him so much as the player enters such a big league at such a young age. in a way, riki lives his soccer player dreams vicariously through him. now, as he sees the familiar name transferring from playing in the Premier League to La Liga, his lips pursed as he can imagine the player playing in matches with the likes of many of the skilled players he idolizes in his life.

cupping the cup, he drinks the remaining broth as it warms his stomach, accidentally burping as his dad lets out a giggle in front of him. both of them wait for mom as she finishes up and walks to the shoe cabinet. riki picks up his beaten shoes—his favorite shoes since he bought them in his first year of high school. he remembers how his father agreed to pay him for the pair of shoes before realizing that it’s too big for his feet. yet now, his feet are grown to match their sizes, making them fit him perfectly. he uses those shoes all the time, especially for dancing and soccer. he wore the exact same pair of shoes when he auditioned. but now, he looked at its battered shape with seams ripping from the sole. nevertheless, he wore it to celebrate his and his shoes’ journey every day from when he went to school and the dance studio. riki rather see these shoes break because of his activities than never use them all because of their fragile state.

something he also has to let go like the life he has here to continue to live.

-

climbing up the last stair to the train platform, riki could see the coastline of the beach that is a five-minute walk from where he is. there’s a chugging sound of the moving train from the rails behind him going in the opposite direction of where he will go. behind the curtains of the three and more story high-rises, he can see the light yellow patch of the beach before gliding his eyes to a long grey platform of the small harbour. even with the distance, he can hear the sound of the crashing wave meeting the land. his eyes slowly relax as he stares at the neighborhood and city he calls home and the ocean in its background. the ultramarine spectrum healing his vision along with the lightly cloudy sky as specks of black dots are far at the edge of the horizon. the fishermen fishing for the catches to then be served in the most fresh condition possible in a large franchise sushi restaurant of a small mom-and-pop sashimi booth. the small taste of saltiness in the air because of how close he is to the source.

even with the small islands in his view, he still couldn’t believe that the body of water he was seeing was leading to the largest ocean on this blue rock. how the nearest landmass from japan is the united states with hawaii placed near the middle of the pacific. it always blew his mind whenever he realized how big the world is when he always saw the scaled-down version of it in a map app. he didn’t realize how big japan is when he realize that sapporo is near russia and the western and southern parts of okinawa is nearing taiwan or the phillipines. maybe, the vastness of the unknown world beside his city, the cities he visited, and the little buildings where people he knows do their activities is the one making him rub his palm on his pants so much.

the walk to the train station was short as he viewed people living their lives behind his parents’ footsteps on the clean sidewalk. entrances to office buildings opening one by one, the large signages of buildings that house pachinko machines stay idle as the mini convenience store below it shuts much of its fluorescent light after leaving it on for the night, and sparse numbers of motor vehicles running down the two-lane streets as bicycles are being dominated by workers. riki also found kids his age roaming the sidewalk to their nearest school. some of them wearing their uniforms just fine, while others were still shivering from the leftover winter wind—wearing puffy jackets to conceal them. he could recognize students from the neighboring schools just from the uniforms they were, some wore gakurans but others also used a more modern prep school uniform he has seen looking like the korean ones he found on the internet.

the sound of the distinct train station melody flies through the air as he watches the chugging commuter train on its way to the platform. his head stands out of the crowd as his height helps with easier detection when he identifies the small sliver of color that corresponds with the train line it is. from the outside, he catches a faded reflection of himself with a few people inside; people wearing masks to cover themselves from the flu because of pollen and the cold while others let their faces open as they can smell and inhale the clean spring air. the white LED lights illuminate the train car as he steps in—ducking his head cause he feels like he could slam into something hanging on the ceiling anytime. he turns to stare at himself from the glass’ reflection, how the corner of his mouth turn a bit downwards, which created a slightly intimidating frown. riki knows about what his friends call his resting bitch face, so he mostly gives a small thin smile after wetting his lips, which he did when he notices it on the reflection. his fingertips rubbing against each other to warm himself up before touching the backpack that is hanging by the straps to keep it safe in his arms.

the train is chugging down on the rail as the view outside moves with relativity. riki sees the familiar passing billboards he has seen time to time, changing its every advertisement from new ramen flavors to new animation movies to new j-pop album releases. yet the distinct enormous billboard hangs near a pedestrian crossing of a larger station that he always goes by. people walking about to their destination as the melody sounds every time the train stops at the station, spoken in both english and his native japanese. riki’s being is alert as the sound calls the name of the station near his school, eyes looking at the screen on top of the door as the train stops at another elevated station. the boy could sense how the train wobbled beneath him as he and the others stepped out of the cart. tapping his card at the gate, riki strides along the familiar pavements towards school.

approaching the building complex that has housed him for three years, riki sees the recognizable sailor uniform the girls wears—the same uniform hung outside of his room for his little sister to bring into her room—as he steps forward with every step. calls of names are spoken between one another as he walks closer, some are calling his name which he gives different greetings while others are gathered with each of their friends. in a cautious state of mind, his eyes scoured around to see the groups of parents crowding around their children; some stood up like skyscrapers compared to them. he sensed the bandage on his skin a bit heavier than before when he turned to face his dad, who was staring at him. mom is out of his sight as he watches his father’s hand caressing his injured cheek.

“from shaving…” riki replies after letting out a light hiss, widening his eyes so he wouldn’t turn away. his dad lets out a small giggle as he pats his cheek, making riki actually retreat and copying him with his own giggles. the smell of the distinct flowers and leaves crowds around him as the sakura petals fall down on the paved road of the school that is surrounded by cherry blossom trees. but different flower species are also showing up in the number of bouquets the graduating class has on their hands. the sakura pinks being the background contrast with the whites and yellows in the bouquets. that is when he found a single person who has purple flowers in their bouquet. lifting his head to see the owner’s, the corners of his lips rise just from identifying the familiar face.

you are clutching the ends of the bouquet your parents have surprised you with. your own backpack hangs on your shoulders as you hug your father, seeing a little red panda wearing a graduation cap on the top as your mother asks one of the parents to help capture the picture. posing in between your parents, you let out a wide smile as you hear the familiar clicking sound a few times before you drop from your tippy toes—something you always unconsciously do when taking a picture. you admire the way the white and purple flowers makes the bouquet looks grand yet still screams you—purple has always been and will be your primary color.

seeing the bouquet and the many students makes you wonder if your friends are here or not. you raise your head and chin up, curiously looking at the stream of students and parents gathering at the front of the gate and school buildings before the graduation ceremony begins. that’s when you see the familiar tall boy who was always sleeping on the table beside yours whenever both of you were in class.

“riki-chan.”

he can follow your mouth’s movement, grinning when he picks up even a small sample of your voice on the other side of where he is. your voice calls to him like a siren as he takes one step forward. that is when he felt a hand slapping his back as riki could already guess who it might be.

“shota! i almost choke.”

riki hears shota’s infamous giggle as he turns around, finding him with his eye smile as he wraps his arm behind the boy’s back, “come on, niki. don’t be so serious. we’re graduating today.”

“i know,” he replied. he wanted to return to your presence once again when he let his eyes squint and something flinch to grow on his lips. riki watches his father approaching him with his mother as he takes a peek at the yellow-flower-full bouquet she is holding, knowing that it will be for him as he sees his parents trying to conceal it—even though they failed by how flustered they are to see their son already has his eyes on them.

“ta-da!” his parents proclaimed as he saw the bouquet in close detail, seeing a few white petals scattering the bouquet as the yellow slowly became softer in his eyes. creating a more pastel yellow than the ones that shock his eyes with how bright the yellow is.

“thank you, mom and dad,” he replies as he carefully picks up the bouquet and cradles it in his arms. his father greets shota as he asks the boy questions on where his parents are while his mother finally notices the bandage on his cheek, hearing her clicking her tongue as she tries not to laugh at how clumsy her son was.

shota helped in taking photos for the family, even though his sister is there but it was so hard to reach her when she was already with her friends. he glances at the clock on top of his screen after seeing his chat with his younger sister when he realizes it’s almost time for the graduation ceremony. riki reminds his parents of where the parents will gather as he slowly places the bouquet under the care of his mother. waving and saying a “see you later”, he and shota go to the crowd where the graduating students are—dividing into each class crowd as he is letting the memories of the graduation ceremony replay in his mind from the rehearsals..

shota greeted most of the class students as riki stayed behind, letting the guy feel the fame once more as he couldn’t help but grin at seeing another boy in their usual circle of six—walking towards them with his own grin on his face.

“taki-chan.” riki calls for taki as he did their bro hug. his hand playfully ruffled his dyed locks as he commented, “you’ve already bleached your hair?”

“yes, let’s just say that it’s my graduation gift from my parents. i have to look stylish when i moved to germany for university. how about you, niki? why do you even have a bandage on your face?” taki playfully poked riki’s face as he turned his head, wanting to bite the finger like it was a clawing game for making him sense the reminder of the pain of the cut skin.

his circle of six has two rikis in them. so, to differentiate them, they use their first syllable from the last name as their new nickname during their high school: creating the unstoppable taki-niki duo. taki is also part of riki’s dance studio, but he’s doing it more as a hobby than a career like what riki is doing. shota, on the other hand, frequents the arcade during their high school times. in the nearest arcade from school, he has a high score in playing the arcade’s taiko no tatsujin; even having a pair of specialty gloves he said could help with the grip of the drumsticks. his love for rhythm gaming also shows in school when shota showed riki his device when he plays osu!—the game that successfully gets taki actually after he is numb to it by dancing to hip-hop and b-boying.

“there you guys are!”

the three boys all glanced to the side to find the three girls had completed their circle of six. kokona stands in the middle as he catches her pouting face with her hands on her waist; one part of her hair is already highlighted and even riki can notice she is wearing a slight faint of eyeliner on her eyes. beside her, he sees you with your wide eyes-small smile combo, and nina who is playing something on her phone.

kokona is the musician of the group—"a born-to-be musician" as she likes to call it—as riki has always found her making lyrics upon lyrics, from the most poem-like to outward disses as he knows she can beat him in a rap battle if he wants to. nina is the brains of the group. having mixed parents like shota makes her able to speak in four different languages, but she is also academically smart as she is always representing the school for a social science olympiad and she spearheaded the economics club in school. and, you. you are the artist of the group. every time riki meets you in class, you always have a manga on one side and your sketchbook on the other as you try to read and draw at the same time, making the characters in the manga you are reading on the sketchbook in your own art style.

riki is lucky to have his circle to be as creatively well-versed and supporting each other’s endeavors. they were the first ones to know that riki is now a trainee for a label in south korea. and they couldn’t have been more proud as shota even gifted him his old korean language 101 books for him to start his language learning early; even adding a few korean terms the boy learned from his mother as riki tried to familiarize himself with them.

his homeroom teacher, mister terada, reminds them to stand in line according to their last names instead of seatmates, making all six of you scattered as riki stands with a boy in front of him and a girl behind him. he could hear the coordinator’s voice slowly letting the classes in one by one into the hall where he has seen his parents are in—seating at the bleachers at the top that are lining around the open middle area. riki could sense his legs being numbed as he didn’t know how long he had to stand up when he felt your touch on his wrist as your line was beside his, holding him up as you let out a pout. when it’s his time to enter the hall, he basks in the large space to see the parents sitting in the bleachers surrounding the students. said students all sit at their assigned seats from the rehearsals as riki recalls his path when he'll be walking to the stage to get his diploma.

the assembly finally started and both the boy and girl beside him started to chuckle when he had to cover his mouth to let out a huge yawn. the tiredness of packing his stuff for his later flight last night got into him as he just wanted to be his class’ turn so he could get his diploma and maybe take a few minutes of a power nap. he could hear nina asking for him a few seats away, watching her discreetly pushing her hand out. he reached his own as he felt something on his curled palm. opening it up, he found a small wrapped mint candy that he recognized as a staple of nina's as their “awake pill”. the spicy mint taste makes his nerves alive and aware as he sees the first few classes already getting their diplomas. he had to remind himself of all the rehearsals he had done after the exam for the past two weeks—the correct place to stand while waiting in the line, the etiquette and who to shake hands with, and where you pose for your graduation photo.

riki graciously stands up and stretches his tired body from sitting too long as he walks to the path he had track with his eyes and is currently in the line awaiting his turn. he spots kokona already sitting down with her diploma and also shota who is walking to sit down on his seat. step by step as more and more names are being called, he is now one step away from the short flight of stairs to getting his diploma.

“nishimura riki.”

his name is called as he puts out a smile he has been learning while walking across the stage, bowing deep and shaking the hand of the principal before meeting mister terada who he gives another bow to before he receives the diploma with both of his hands. he turns towards the end of the stage and poses for the camera at the end before sitting down, looking up at the bleachers as he can catch his parents’ voices, cheering for him.

yet, for him. finally, it was time to get a nap as he awaited the last homeroom of his high school career.

-

thud.

thud.

thud.

that’s what riki picked up before he leaned down to grab his usual drink from the vending machine’s slot at the bottom. his backpack has been placed once again on his back after he met up with his parents when the assembly was done. he really had a pretty good nap before the boy beside him shook him to wake up when the ceremony comes to an end with the last hurrah from his juniors—seeing his younger sister too as riki chuckles when they both catch each other’s eyes. too many people were crowding the floor when the mc said it was over over, but he knew he will reunite with his friends once again after fulfilling the parchedness of his esophagus.

straightening his back, he felt the weight of the bouquet fall down and rested on the bottom of his bag alongside his diploma as he awaited for the final things to do here: cleaning up his shoe locker and one last meeting with the homeroom teacher about his career sheet. his parents had long gone home and he had already done the nearly complete family photo with his younger sister. riki glanced at the view behind him as he saw a few kids playing soccer in their 30-minute recess time—he could see himself in them as he either helped in attacking towards the goal or defending it against his friends. 30 minutes that seemed like a lifetime when he was there to feel it himself now appears so short as he sees it from an outsider’s perspective.

“boo!”

riki turns around in a whiplash, almost spilling his drink from the bottle before he pauses and calms himself to stare at you. your purple backpack sways alongside your own movement as you laughed—even making you nearly folded yourself to get a grip on your knees because he was too funny. your laughter dies down as flip your backpack around to put your diploma inside the main pocket.

“thought you’d be here,” you mumbled, pulling out your wallet from the bag as you approached the vending machine. the backpack hangs only on one shoulder as you plunge the coins in and press the button of the drink you want.

“you always get a drink when you’re sleepy.” you then added, making riki chuckle.

it’s a habit of his he had always overlooked but, somehow, you remember. once in class, he had been taking a huge nap during japanese history class as he let the thick textbook cover him. he had a very late practice session for a choreography because he hadn’t nailed each move—maybe because it was near the exam time or whatnot. yet, no one seems to wake him until the end of the period. lifting his head up groggily, he looks at his classmates who are eating or talking with each other. that shock coming from him made the thick book fall as he heard a snicker coming from one of the crowd. riki sheepishly smiled as he wanted to crouch down to grab the book when he finally noticed the light-colored soda on the edge between his and your desk. the brand is his favorite, yet he thought it might be yours. but with the way the bottle sits behind the line between yours and his desk, he knew that it must be for him as he unconsciously swallowed his saliva; picking up and cracking the bottle lid open as he sipped the soda before going to his usual hangout place with the rest of the six.

he picks up the familiar set of thuds as you lean down and grab your purchase—the same brand yet different flavors. he watches you as you playfully shake the bottle, seeing the foam forming from the chemical reaction as he remembers what you say: “i like the soda fizzy.” but it is also like you that you are not careful when you open the bottle, seeing the pastel-colored foam flowing out of the cracks and landed on the pavement before you instantly gulp nearly a third of the bottle.

you let out a huge aahhhhh as you felt the coldness of the soda trailing down into your stomach, looking behind the color-glazed bottle to catch riki with a small smile on his face, but no movement in his eyes, gazing at you—making blood flow towards your cheek.

“hello? riki-chan?” you waved your sticky soda-stained hands in front of riki’s face before he seemed to snap out of it. that’s when you finally notice the little bandage on his cheek, spread wide right underneath his eye and cheekbone.

“what happened?” you softly poke your finger against the bandage, making riki back off as he looks away, eyes moving so rapidly before he lets out a small smirk.

“pressed my shaving razor too hard. it bleeds, so… yeah. gotta have to be reminded of that whenever i see my graduation picture now,” he told you in such a nonchalant manner, making you let out your own chuckle.

“you look like those bad boys i’ve seen on high school animations… you just need your lollipop and done!” you tuck the closed soda bottle beneath your armpit right after you say that.

“aren’t i a bad boy, though?” he raised his eyebrows, mimicking those bad boys you described by poking the tip of his tongue towards the inside wall of his cheek—as if there is a lollipop there.

you scoffed, “you? nishimura riki? a bad boy? bah…”

laughter falls out of you because you can’t seem to see him in the bad boy role. sure, he being a former soccer player and a dancer makes him popular with other people. you remembered near valentine’s day this year that many girls—including your juniors—asked you about his favorite candy or chocolate brand and flavors so that they could give that to him. some even leave gifts to you so you can give them to them and you are obliged to give them because you don’t want to experience the wrath of a teenage girl; you know that feeling too much yourself. yet, riki seemed to be more nonchalant about that, dividing the chocolates into the rest of his circle and not really giving anything back on white day—except for giving you, nina, and koko-chan different popin’ cookin’ sets you recognize costs money.

maybe he is a bad boy after all because of that. but, to you, that is his charm. riki doesn’t seem to be someone who is trying to please what society asks of him. he should’ve felt proud to get so many gifts for valentine’s day, but he doesn’t, and he is not afraid to show it. he has this sense of agency in him to know of what he is seeking even at such a young age, and to him, it is dancing.

“we don’t want to be late.” you get a last glance at him when he nods his head, brushing his bangs away from his forehead as he leads the way toward the locker area.

riki views some students replacing their outside shoes with their indoor slippers as he had done the same, tucking in his battered-up shoes inside his locker as he had to remind himself to bring the slippers home instead of putting them in the locker. or maybe it can be a gift for the first-year junior who is going to be assigned his previous locker for their shoes. that’s for him to think more about because he still sense he has time to think about it—the day felt both fast and slow at the same time.

the hallways are as clean as ever as he and you climb up the flights of stairs toward your homeroom class. his eyes gaze at the ever-changing properties hanging on the wall, yet he can definitely remember what it looked like when he was first here.

the newly painted wall now has chips of paint fallen off to show the dried concrete. the bulletin board where each club is advertising their project changes with every new administration. some plants he had first seen as sprouts now grow into a beautiful shrub. with a few of the existing shrubs died because of various reasons. yet, the look of the hallway still is the same as he could pinpoint places he had touched before: he had leaned his body against those set of windows, he had taken a peek inside one of the classrooms as he awaited taki to come out of the class, and he had also sat down on the floor there with his circle to their bento boxes because their usual hangout place is being renovated.

riki reached the handle and slides the classroom door as he is greeted by some students already sitting there, hearing the same roar as you step inside behind him. his eyes landed on the seats where you and he had sat for the past year, empty and inviting to both of you as you gazed at your classmates with their own bouquets (if they have one) and definitely their own diplomas as you watched them still admiring it. your eyes gazed to see the rest of your circle already in the classroom as you placed your backpack to hang on the seat and immediately walks towards nina, asking if she has any wet tissue.

“what took you so long?” riki heard shota’s scolding from the seat in front of him as he placed his own backpack beside his desk.

“didn’t expect for all of you to be here already. so (y/n) and i took our time,” he answered so honestly, hearing taki’s snicker beside shota as he was eating a snack. riki sits on his chair as his hand reaches for the cupboard underneath the desk in front of him, tapping his palm against the surface to recognize if he has any leftover items he hasn’t brought home. that’s when he felt sheets of paper that were united by a paper clip. he pulled it out, seeing the dusty paper of what looked to be a musical notary for his music class exam.

he remembered it was a final group project for the music class, and he had to do it with all six of the circle. riki remembered all the music lessons he had learned from his brief training with the trainers as he helped the group create their own song. shota in the drums, taki on the bass, nina on the guitar, and you on the piano whilst kokona and riki sing along with koko who uses her lyricist prowess to make a song that is seemingly about friendship and farewells. if riki hasn’t been accepted by his south korea agency, he would definitely pitch the idea to all of you to create a band. maybe all of you can be the latest sensation japan will meet on those shibuya crossing’s digital billboards.

yet fate says otherwise.

riki’s nose itches as he dusted the paper as the specks of dust floated towards the ground, looking at the clear version of the notation and even his own scribbles as he remembered how kokona berated him for not being able to match her melody—"i’m a dancer, koko-chan. not a singer." “but you’re an idol trainee. surely, you can sing.”—before carefully tucking it into his bag as he pulled the bouquet out of the bottom and let the bag open because he just knew that his whole backpack would smell like it if he kept it close.

looking towards the surface of the desk, riki sees a shadow standing menacingly in front of his desk. the shadow slides the glico’s pocky box in his vision. his head shifts upwards as he sees nina holding two more boxes of different flavors, making him look to his side to detect both you and kokona already having your own pocky with your own differing flavors.

“my gift to you all because i know i won’t be able to see you much in america.” nina says after putting the rest of the boxes in front of taki and shota. he could hear the two boys coo and send her gratitude before grabbing the boxes and opening them to ravage them for themselves. riki finally took a closer glimpse of yours as he finally noticed how both of your boxes are green-colored.

“did she give us the same flavor?” he mumbled to himself, yet he mumbled outwardly, making you shift your head and face him.

“i think our flavors are similar, let me see.”

you gently grip the wrist he is holding the box with and bring it beside yours. riki examines how his box has a dark chocolate gradient on it while yours is fully green, trailing his eyes down to read the flavor name on the front of the box.

“see, yours says green tea while mine is rich matcha.” you say what you observed as he can’t help holding back a giggle as you seem to unconsciously play around with your lip after you say the word “matcha.”

though purple is your favorite color—matcha is your favorite flavor. you have always been seen with matcha-flavored everything if you are given a chance. matcha lattes whenever all six of you visit a cafe, matcha mochi whenever you buy mochis, or matcha roll cakes when the gang is trying to buy something inside family mart. it’s no surprise nina gives you that, but why did she give him a similar, lighter version of it?

whatever, let’s just eat-

the sliding door opens and behind it, the figure of the class’ homeroom teacher appears. everyone, including riki, is applauding him—slightly drops the box on the table as he didn’t get to rip it properly. mister terada slowly steps inside, a surprised face on his face as he slowly walks to stand by the table in the middle of the class. he is carrying a large box with both of his hands as the holler continues, which is followed by whistles before he places it down on the table. mister terada raises his hands and slowly pushes it down as the volume follows.

“settle down kids. this is our last homeroom meeting.” mister terada says as riki gazes at the open box, knowing that it’s probably the yearbook that he had shot the photos for in january. he remembered that day cause it was still cold as heck. many of his classmates brought their own properties for the shoot, yet riki only wears his gakuran with a loose button and his trusty shoes—the black and white soccer ball is being lent by the committee because he has and wants to represent soccer on some sort so that he won’t forget.

“today, i’ll be giving you your yearbooks and also recapitulate your career sheet to see how each has progressed. i’m sure by now you have picked to focus on one of the three choices you made from those you picked in your first year to pursue.” mister terada stated as he started to call each name in the student's list, starting with the class president.

the giving off of the yearbook is also followed with a mini consultation of each student's progress. yes, right in front of the class, which can lead to embarrassment if they can’t keep up. but so far, everything still goes according to their plan, some even find themselves straying from their primary focus to explore something new or getting caught in something that becomes their infatuation.

most of his friends that have come forward and got their yearbooks have spoken about the same thing that they have spoken about just between the six of you: kokona is going to music school, nina is going to america and studying macroeconomics, and shota is pursuing game development. then, it was time for his turn as he heard the calling of a certain nishimura riki.

“that’s our idol!” he picked up taki's shouted words as the rest of the class laughed. everyone knows just how much riki likes to dance. he had shown his skills numerous times in the school’s talent shows either alone or with taki as the riki duo that they are. so it isn’t also a surprise for his classmates to find out he had been accepted into a label in south korea that has been throughout his school—courtesy of taki, as he is the one that always spills it.

it even created a whole discussion on why riki picked a korean label instead of japanese one, but one thing is prevalent in the discussion: the korean idol industry will see his dancing skills as more valuable than in the japanese idol industry. it’s just the way those industries goes honestly. but riki also wants to appreciate the korean idols that inspired him to be who he is right now; especially with the existence of japanese people in the korean idol industry and how the numbers are still going up.

the class seems to unanimously sing yoasobi’s idol as riki playfully does the gesture in the viral dance challenge as he now stands in front of mister terada. bowing down to greet him, he picks up the yearbook with two hands as the teacher asks, “how is it with your idol training?”

“it’s going good. i’m actually already planning to move to seoul after graduation so i can train better and have a higher chance of debuting.” yet, riki didn’t mention he will actually move tonight.

“well, we can’t wait to see you on the world stage, riki-kun. i love how consistent you are with it and i sure hope that your consistency could also inspire the juniors to follow their dreams.”

“thank you, mister terada.” he bowed his head once again before returning to his desk as mister terada called for the name after his. he playfully opened the yearbook and skimmed it before landing on his class. his fingers flip the paper to finally open to the page where all six of his friends are—because they shoot their pictures together. riki’s photo is the one where he had all the gakuran buttons off from their respective slots and he is holding the soccer ball against his hips.

“look at that, a very bad boy of a manga.” he could hear his thoughts speaking to him in your voice as he wished you acknowledged that. he also moved to the superlative pages as he could remember his same-year peers and juniors him in the running. he didn’t expect to win most changed by his peers. maybe it is because he has his growth spurt as he could tell that he might even grow 10 centimeters whilst in high school. but also with how his voice changes because of puberty and how his style changes to accommodate his interests, including more exposed yet baggy clothing and the clip-on earrings he likes to wear.

“(l/n)(y/n).”

riki heard the scrapping from the chair beside him as he watched you standing up and walking towards the front of the class. though you haven’t fully spoken about what you wrote on your career sheet, being a mangaka is what everyone knows that you wanted to be. your illustrating prowess has always been shown in the festivals the school made yearly, whether it is when you helped with the class’ food market by creating brochures and banners or when you even opened an illustration service where you drew students and teachers alike for them to have. it seems that you’ve got your life in line alongside him. and that’s why it shocked him to listen to what you’ve answered to mister terada’s question.

“yes, my progression with my university application is great. i’ve been accepted as a student in the international relations major in kyoto.”

riki’s eyes enlarged because he can’t believe what he is hearing. he turns his head towards his friends who are also looking at each other in quick succession, all of them having confusion on their faces before returning to you who is smiling like you didn’t even feel the quake that shook your friends’ beliefs about you. as you walked to your chair and look around at each of your friend’s face, you give them a tight-lip smile. yet, all of them hesitate to ask you why you choose international relations instead of design or art school. they have to respect your choice just like any of their classmate's changes.

the revelation shocked riki the most as he thought that you had trusted him enough to tell him everything. he has been your seatmate for three freaking years and you have grown up together since the first year. he had always seen you drawing in sketchbooks you bring in class, even ignoring some lectures so you can focus on drawing and reading manga. sure, he can see you must picked studying social science for a reason but he thought that—maybe just like he is as you both are creatives—you just don’t want to do math and natural science like he is.

the number of students without the yearbook dwindles as every desk has one on top of it. mister terada stares at the group he can call his kids while mumbling, “i’m so proud of all of you. hopefully you can continue to grow and be impactful towards society-“

“wait, mister terada!” the class president shouts as she scrambles to get something underneath her desk to then watch her pick up a new bouquet. “this is our gift to you so you also have your own bouquet alongside us.”

riki remembered when the class treasurer suddenly asked him if he wanted to contribute to gifting a bouquet to mister terada during the class’ yearbook photoshoot. he gladly accepts it as mister terada is the nicest homeroom teacher he had throughout high school. some of his other homeroom teachers are unnecessarily harsh towards the students and even shamed for not following through with their career sheets—knowing that teenagers also can get stressed too in doing so. mister terada is the only teacher riki can comfortably consult about his choice of being an idol. at that time, he was contemplating if he should audition for one or just focus on becoming a professional dancer. yet, mister terada’s push also helps contribute to him filling in the audition form.

mister terada received the bouquet from the class president as he stared at it, his eyes glimmering before saying, “thank you so much. could we get a class photo with all of us?”

the students are standing up as they try to set their places. one of the student’s parents, who is watching the class outside from the hallway window, steps in to take the picture. riki stands beside you, taking a peek to see you already in your pose as he can’t help but put his hand on your shoulder. what’s wrong with friends of the opposite sex being touchy with each other anyway when he had seen all the different hugs and leaning against shoulders between the six of you?

as the click of the phone camera taking the picture rings and dissipates, it’s followed by a chorus of thank yous being thrown around as some students hug each other. he is busy too, as some of his classmates are trying to take a few last selfies with riki before he becomes famous—making the rest of the gang just snicker from the side.

“i’m going to miss you guys,” shota spoke as all six of you were huddled in the group hug. one last warm hug before all of you are going to your separate ways. riki also should go back home to rest up as he will go to haneda airport later but when the hug separates and all of you six are promising to catch up and communicate in your line group chat, he is trying to keep up pace with you who is tidying up your purple backpack.

“(y/n)-chan.”

“yeah?” you looked up from the backpack after zipping it up, wanting to grab your drink and the pocky that you know you’ll be eating on your way home. yet, with the way riki is looking at you; you know he is trying to let something out.

“do you wanna hang out on the rooftop? for old time's sake, as it is our last chance.”

you held down your smile, knowing that you also didn’t want today to end so early.

“yes. let me text the others in the group-“

“just,” his voice cuts yours, “just the two of us.”

you watched as his glittering eyes told you something, telling you to follow him as you could definitely feel that something was hanging that you had to speak about. and you knew it was about the changes in your plan for the future, especially as you confide with riki so much of your dream in creating your own manga series.

putting the straps on your shoulders, you point your chin towards the door and say, “ok.”

-

the breeze comes rushing in even if you stand behind riki’s figure, blowing your hair as his figure turns into a silhouette when meeting the afternoon sun. you step out onto the concrete ground as you glance at the half wall circling around the perimeter, seeing a few chipped-out paint coming off from said walls before you turn around to be greeted with the rooftop garden. the rooftop that you and your friends have always been on since your first year.

the rooftop is a somewhat famous destination per se, but only the people who are brave enough to trudge against the ever-changing weather could remain here even within the three terms. so that’s why only a handful of people can call this rooftop their hangout place—other than the back of the school or the cafeteria. you glance at the shorter half wall near the garden, the place you and the rest of the six usually hung out at; ate lunch at, doing homework at, and spending your free time at. you can even remember when you initiated the circle’s “logo” as you write your name in an arch, making the others write their own to create a full circle following the curve.

you’re going to miss this place when you’re in kyoto. you’re going to miss the friends that you meet here.

stepping in front of you as you follow, riki approaches the short half wall that is also acting as a multi-use bench, eyes taking a glimpse at the garden’s chlorophyll coming back after winter has frozen them up. insects that seemed to be brave enough to fly this high are visiting here, carrying the pollen for the plants to grow faster. you follow his movement as you sit beside him, gazing at the beautiful view behind the half wall of the sky as the sun is on the way to setting on the west horizon.

riki reaches for his pocky as the sound of the box ripping is heard beside you, making you take your own opened one as you finally rip the plastic packaging open that separates you from the delicious cream on a biscuit stick. yours were more green than riki’s—hence the “rich matcha” flavor nina gave you. silently, you both take a bite of the stick that you pull out. your taste buds are overwhelmed by the combination of the matcha-flavored cream with the matcha-flavored biscuit stick. you look between the front of where you’re sitting to peeking from the corner of your eyes as you see riki doing the same, making you hold back the chuckle before awkwardness comes to remind you quick, making you finish your whole biscuit as your hand reaches inside the aluminum bag for another one.

“you said you want to be a mangaka?”

the breath that you are holding is slowly dripping out, knowing that your intuition is right as to why he brought you here.

“i thought we were gonna fulfill our dreams together…” riki’s voice seemed so cold—even colder than the leftover winter wind in spring.

your facial muscles twitch, maybe it’s because of the sudden sensitivity your face felt the breeze or is the answer that you don’t wanna think about suddenly popping into your mind. yet, when you turn your head—forcing yourself to be brave—you find riki already staring at you. his piercing eyes making goosebumps rising on your skin as, even through his eyes, you can read what he is telling you. you’ve drawn and seen characters in those eyes, but feeling it in real life feels different. much more hurting. much more loathing.

you try to think of the words that you remember you discussed with your parents as you talk about the future, as they’ve reminded you of how dangerous that industry could be—"many animators are crunching their hours. we don’t want to see you like that."—and the fact that they knew, they knew you couldn’t be creative under pressure makes you rethink it. and here you are, trying to explain that to your number 1 supporter, just as you are to him in his dancer-now-future-idol career.

“i, i don’t know if it’s viable for me…” you started, glancing between the pocky box you’re holding and him as you let out a sigh.

“then choose something else other than an illustration, like, i don’t know, painting? graphic design? you like those, right?” you can hear the way riki’s throat is getting hoarse as he speaks, how he is gritting his teeth when saying those words before he takes another stick from his pocky box and takes a bite. the muffled crushing of the biscuit is much louder than when you both are eating it.

“i have to think about my future, riki. you do know i like history and geography and international relation calls to me the same time as a career as a mangaka.” you said in nearly the same tone, not wanting to hold back as you can’t believe just how one-sided he seemed to think of you. that you’re not more than just an art kid in his eyes. “just like how you pick between being a dancer and a soccer player.” you said the last sentence, voice getting lower until the sentence ends near mumbling. but you know riki’s listening.

this is now the correct time for you to pour why you hid your choice from him.

“don’t you know just how dangerous the animation scene in japan is? people are overworked to churn out season upon season nearly every year. being an independent mangaka is also hard when you have to fight against the big guns in the industry. though i’m good at drawing, i don’t know about my writing skills-“

“you’re writing skill is perfectly fine.” he cuts your tangent, pivoting his head back towards you, still not stopping you from continuing.

“okay, but people are suffering there and if i join that system, i know i’ll be suffering too.” you rub the bridge of your nose near the corners of both of your eyes, pressing down on it as you don’t want a single tear out. not right now when you are trying to defend your choice. you’re willing to let out different words just to try to make him understand.

“and if i’m going to school in international relations, that doesn’t mean that i’ll be giving up on drawing. maybe i could join an organization or event there that needs someone to illustrate stuff. maybe i could try doing freelance whilst also working part-time in some convenience stores near tourist spots in kyoto. that doesn’t mean i’m going to easily give up on that dream, it’s just i’m taking the longer way.”

riki held his breath as he heard your reasoning, the way the look of your eyes seemed to dwindle but also increased in sparkles as he couldn’t figure out what feelings you were trying to say. anger? sadness? satisfy?

but when he felt your hand reach to hold his, he knew that you now want him to, at least, believe in you.

“you don’t know just how frustratingly messed up my thoughts are when you said you are accepted to a korean label and to fulfill your dream as a k-pop star.” your thumb caressed his pinky finger, “because i know that it’s going to be hard for me or for anyone in our circle to reach your level of success this young and to talk to you in general because you’re either going to be in korea all the time or you’re going to be layers behind bodyguards when you’re not there.”

you gulp down your saliva, “i’m glad one of us is going to fulfill our dreams faster.”

the last sentence hits riki so much that he has his life’s perspective turn in some random of degrees. he had heard of his parents talking about his older sister who is now in university, about just how different her childhood dream is compared to what she pursued whilst growing up. the same goes for riki, who wanted to be a soccer player before becoming a professional dancer and now being an idol. you must be facing the same thing. he recall how you mentioned you wanted to be a chef during your childhood, how it changed to your love for drawing, before seeing yourself as a diplomat, yet that could definitely change given you have four years of university.

life is definitely much more mysterious than what riki has been accepting. people’s wants and needs change given the situation, from the farthest to the nearest. dedicated people are there but the environment and instinct seem to tell them to change paths. he definitely realizes more that one person doesn’t have a definite answer to what is their purpose in life. is it like him to perform on stage? is it like what he thought you’d do in making a best-selling manga? all of that is a possibility, but that is not definite.

now he knows that the purpose of life is to live. every change of heart is there for a reason that is at the same level as every dedication. that, in life, anyone can define themselves as plural, like his mother who is also a businesswoman, and his father who is also an engineer. like you, who may become a diplomat and an artist. or even maybe him, who can be an idol but likes to play soccer. he had felt that he was erasing one dream for the next. but actually, he is just changing priorities to the one he is focusing on. that is his idol career for him and the international relations major to you—because that dream is still there, now lying dormant.

“you can fulfill your mangaka dream too, (y/n).” your ears perked up at what he was saying. your hand rests and is idle on top of his as you can feel his hand underneath yours flipping unto the other side. “what you said is true. that you can still have drawing as a hobby to help relieve you from school stress, that you can make pocket money out of it. that the place is still there for you even if you change your destination to try something else. and i’m sorry for not realizing that.”

his fingers move to be in between yours before curling in, making you look down at them before at his face, “i don’t know when we will arrive at the place that we want to go. maybe never. maybe someday. maybe even tomorrow.”

riki let out a tremendous sigh.

“but i believe that you can still get there. i believe that you, me, and our friends will eventually reach there,” he spoke his mind, making him turn away his head because of how his hand is randomly holding onto yours.

before he turns his back, he felt your fingers also curling to meet his hand, locking both of your hands as the sky is turning from a blue to an orange, letting you know just how much time you have with him as he had told you, and only you, that he’ll be leaving tonight.

“thank you.” your sentence of appreciation is enough to lift a smile on his face as it reflects on yours.

the scribble on the half wall remains there as you hoped some school officials wash it or paint it some months after today. the sunbeams shining through the window to the hallway where students are finishing cleaning up their class so they can return home. the green grass on the field creating short shadows beneath them as the sun starts to sink. your hand remains in riki’s as you both step out from the school gate for the last time—seeing your juniors, giving you a sad look to see you for the last time, but also a cheeky look after finding your connected hands.

you and him stood in front of the gate as you faced each other. both of your houses are on separate ways as you slowly let go of his hand, letting out a shrug whilst also having a small pout on your face.

“so, this is a goodbye, then? i can’t even contact you anymore because you’re going to be busy,” you spoke out the truth—knowing that k-pop trainees aren’t also allowed to have their phones most of the time.

“more of like a see you later because i know that i’ll be giving you and the rest of us six tickets if i someday hold a concert here,” he replied, holding onto the strap of his backpack as you find his pocky box peeking out from when the water bottle is supposed to be placed—mirroring your own self.

riki’s eyes seemed to glimmer with something as he reached to the buttons of his gakuran, tracing his fingers on the thick gold button as he reached the second from the top, easily popping it off as he pushed it towards you. you looked down and up at his face, not wanting to show the shock on your face as you reached for the button, pinching it between your fingers before you placed it on your palm and instantly curled it up to keep it safe.

his body got knocked back as he felt the arms wrapping around him. his arms are in a pause before he naturally lets go, raising his hands to rest on your back as he tugs you in closer. his mouth beside your ear.

“promise me you’ll remember me,” he whispered, sending chills running down your spine.

“i promise and i hope you do the same,” you replied, sensing a single tear falling out of your eyes as you wiped it away with his uniform.

“of course, i do,” he spoke back. his body seemingly not wanting to let go of you as you pull yourself back, feeling him holding onto your upper arms as you let out a tight-lip smile.

“go on. you have a flight to catch,” you smirked and took a few steps back when you sensed his grip loosen. your curled hand with the button in the grip is resting by your heart while you see riki’s wide smile as he steps backward opposite to where you are going. flailing his arms as a wave of goodbye as you just want him to go back fast so you can finally shed the tears that are wetting your eyes.

you raise your own hand as you wave a goodbye when riki looks at your figure getting smaller and smaller with every step he takes backwards, wanting to run back to you to give you one last hug because he knows he’ll be missing you so much. he hopes that you’ll arrive at your dream tomorrow, but he will always give a word of encouragement to you in his mind even if he is training in the dance studio in seoul starting tomorrow.

he hopes you keep and take care of his second button, just like how you have supported and encouraged him to pursue his dream. and he is now more determined than ever to make you and everyone who knows him deep down proud as he closes this chapter of his life and opens up the next.

taglist: @raeyunshm @leilasmom @evidive @boba-beom @kwiwin @heesw1fe @aloverga @endzii23 @fluffyywoo @camipendragon @hiqhkey @wccycc @cha0thicpisces @y4wnjunz @yeehawnana @beansworldsstuff @kimipxl @blurryriki @amazzwon @reallysmolrenjun @stealanity @deobitifull @gandaengene @beomgyumineiro

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#k-labels #enhypen imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfiction #niki x reader #rsc: dws #cr: niki #cs: enhypen #sc: regina

[reidslovely]

When My Time Comes

Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of:gun violence, murder, blood, throwing up, and panic attacks. Suicidal ideation, and a few swear words. Reader goes by the name 'Angel' throughout the story. Slightly supernatural/horror I'm not sure how to take it. Very different than anything I've written before please just hang in there lol. It's also unedited because I wrote it in a one day and wanted to get it out as fast as possible before the inspiration left me.

Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader/OC

Word Count: 5k

Genre: Angst with happy ending

I told y'all Mob!Peter was making a comeback..this is his rebirth. Thanks to Hozier's Work Song.

Please reblog and/or leave a comment instead of liking or hearting this post! Thank you.

There’s an uncomfortable frigid feeling in the room. It’s like that moment when giving a class presentation and everyone is looking dead at the person. Waiting for them to drop because they can tell the speaker doesn’t want to be here, and that they’re waiting for the worst to happen and the other shoe to drop. 

“Angel-” 

Felicia’s voice carried throughout the room. The legs she stood on grew wobbly, her vision narrowing. A mix of bitter bile and anger grew in her throat as she shot the platinum haired girl a heated look. 

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me-” She shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. “This is your fault!”

 It wasn’t. But it was easier to blame her, the person delivering the blow than it is to blame others. 

Harry’s hands grabbed the distraught girl from under her armpits, to keep her from falling and approaching Felicia any closer than she already was. Harry tucked her into his arm, hand flattening out against her back, trying to soothe the heart he knew was breaking. The smell of the iron on his shirt flooded her nostrils, and only provoked more tears. She fought against Harry, who only held tighter. 

“I wanna see him. Let me see him. I-”

“Angel, that’s not a good i-”

“Let her, Harry. Let her.” Felicia’s words were soft yet firm. Her lip was tucked in between her teeth as she wiped at her face. Harry looked between the two women, and at Miles who was standing in front of the door. He was fighting his own losing battle, and denying her would put him in his own grave. Once he released the girl, she ran as fast as she could and wobbled up the stairs to the bedroom all the way at the end of the hall. Vision so blurry from anxiety, and tears that she couldn’t even make out May, who'd just left the room shutting the door behind her. 

“Angel, you can’t go in there. You shouldn’t. Pete, he wouldn’t want you to see him like this. Just stay out here for a li-”

Usually she’d respect May’s wishes, and listen to her wise words. Angel knew deep in her heart of hearts that she was right. That this was an event that would stick with her for life and couldn’t be treated so loosely. But, her husband, Peter, was sitting on the other side of that door and you needed to see him. 

Pushing May aside, nothing, absolutely nothing, could prepare her for what laid on the other side of that door. 

“Pete.” Her words faltered seeing his entire torso bandaged, a deep red of blood already seeping through the clean white color of the bandages. Angel carried herself as far as she could before dropping to her knees, crawling across the floor to the bed. 

“A..Angel.” 

Peter’s eyes wouldn’t open, but his voice was somewhat there. Tired and strained, her hands grasped his, as she bowed her head against the memory foam of the death bed. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. 

“Shhh, I’m right here.” There was a sense of dread crawling into the bed with him. It’s the same bed they’d shared for years, but it’s different now as he lays dying. Out of pure reflex her hand reaches out, resting on his torso. He’s too weak to even flinch, her hand soaking with his blood. They’d been trying for hours to stop the damage the attack did to his insides.

“It happened all too fast and there were..too many. His body isn’t healing as fast as it usually does.” Felicia’s explanation came back to her. So much for being superhuman. Angel’s head pressed against his temple, as tears trickled down her cheeks hitting his bare collarbone. 

“Oh Angel..” Peter whispered, pressing his head back against hers. “Don’t cry over me.” 

She shook her head. “‘M not crying Pete, cause you’ll be fine. May gave you more of your blood, and your body is gonna speed up its process. And..and you’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m dying, Angel.” 

‘Shut up.” 

“No listen okay.” He used what strength he had to open his eyes, looking at her through half lidded eyes. “I am going to die. I know it and you..” 

He coughed, blood splattering out of his mouth. “You kn-kno-know it.” She wiped the blood off his mouth letting tears fall. 

“I love you…so much. You have been..the best part of my life.” She opened her mouth to respond. He closed his eyes again. Bringing his hand to hold her side close to him. “Just..just lay here with me okay?” 

His chest rattled with a shaky breath, she hiccuped choking on her sobs. Laying her head against his cold one. She'd always pictured dying in this bed with him. But she thought she’d be older, thought she’d at least have had some kids- some grandkids. Thought it would be both of them on a quiet, average night. One where she’d go to sleep and just never wake up. 

Never did she think Peter would be lying here dying at only 31 one years old. Angel knew what Peter did for work was dangerous, deadly even. It killed her father, it killed his uncle. Both knew these actions had consequences.  Yet, Peter wasn’t human like everyone else. He had altered DNA from being studied as a kid, from being bit by a spider at seventeen that gave him powers that he used to climb his way up the ladder of organized crime. Yet, those same powers and abilities were what had him lying here fighting to keep going. 

“Peter..” She whispered against his cold skin. “Peter.” Nothing. She put her hand over his heart and felt nothing. No warmth, no movement, nothing. Her hands shook, looking around in panic for anything..anyone. 

“Peter!” 

The yell was louder this time. One that burns the lungs. She shakes him, and shakes him trying to get him back. Starting to attempt her own CPR screaming for him to come back, to not leave like this. Being so engrossed with her own grief and anger, she doesn't even process everyone rushing in. Harry and Felicia pull her off of him kicking and screaming, as May calmly pulls the sheet over his head, before kissing his forehead. 

Angel hated her. She raised him and she’s not even fighting for his life right now. 

Not her, not Harry, not Felicia. None of them. 

“He’s gone.” Harry spoke sitting on the floor with her, holding her as she screamed through the sobs. His legs pinned hers down rocking up back and forth. The smell of the iron from the blood on Harry’s shirt and her body wafted through her nostrils. Between the smell of her dead husband's blood and the pure panic seeping through the body she couldn’t hold back any longer. Angel’s body hunched forward on reflex as vomit spewed out of her mouth and onto Harry and the floor. 

The blonde man didn’t even flinch, rubbing her back as you slumped forward and cried. A part of her laid dead on that bed with her husband's cold body. 

-

The days lingered, in a still limbo. None of it felt in order. Felicia fed her some cocktails of sedatives, to keep her sane as they both helped May plan the funeral. “He didn’t want a shiva.” Angel spoke from the couch, biting down around the cuticle of her nail. 

“I know we aren’t giving him one, just a wake and funeral and a remembrance party.” Felicia spoke, her hand reaching out to hold the woman's leg. Her free hand pulled her fingers out of her mouth. 

“A fucking party?” She spat. “Is that what his death means to you? Some fucking excuse to get shit faced, so you can live with yourself for walking him into that fucking warehouse.” 

Felicia bit down on her cheek, and took a deep breath. She could almost feel Peter’s hand on her shoulder and his stern yet soft demand for an apology to Felicia. 

“I’m sorry. I should-”

“It's fine.” Felicia says, pulling the widow into a hug, letting her head rest on her shoulder. Angel thanked Felicia for her patience, because at this point she had none left. May’s shaky hand covered her own mouth holding back a sob, Angel pulling her into the hug, the three of them taking a moment to cry. 

-

Harry and Miles had dealt with the dirty part. Harry had come home with a bag of medical supplies the night Peter died. He and May injected him with more of his blood that Harry had altered at Oscorp, both hoping for some last resort. Angel sat on the chair in the corner watching them. She had volunteered to wash and dress him before the coroner took him away. The man, Mr. Weekes had dealt in Peter’s dealing before, and he was listed specifically as who Peter wanted to treat him post mortem. 

“Your death wishes list in your will is super morbid.”

 She spoke in a low monotone voice, washing the blood off his arms. It was weird to see him like this: cold and still. Not bantering back and forth with her. “I appreciate it though, I just wish you’d told me about all this sooner. You’re demanding even in death.”

She washed his face next, and stitched up some of the wounds on his chest before dressing him in some of his more comfortable casual clothes. 

“If only you’d tell me what suit you wanted to be fucking burried in. Planned everything else out..” 

Shuffling through his suits, she started fighting back the tears as she came across his wedding suit. Again, feeling his hand on her back, trying to talk her through it. He always knew this was happening before she did. Angel pressed the palm of her hands into her eyes as she started to cry. Heartbeat racing, it felt like it was crawling up her throat and getting stuck. It felt like choking on nothing, causing her to gasp for breath. She dropped herself down into the soft green chair in the back of the closet, crying and gasping for air as she progressed. She started walking herself through it the best one could. Putting a hand on her chest following the breathing techniques, she tried to alter her breathing as much as she could. Once she started coming down, her vision settled back into normal. She looked up at the racks of clothing and let out a shaky, yet normally paced breath. She had settled on the grayish green suit he’d worn only a couple days before. Slamming the closet door to the closet behind her, she shoved the suit into the bag wanting to be done with it all.

“I shouldn’t hate you..” She started, sitting on the bed with him. Putting his watch on him and staring at him. “And I don’t..I don’t think I do. I’m just so..fucking angry. At everyone, at myself, at you. I shouldn’t have let you go, I should have gone with you.” 

Angel laid next to him, his body cold and their sheets still slightly stained in blood. Maybe it was gross and fucked up. However, next to him, was the only place she felt peace. There was a brief staring contest with the syringe filled with some  liquid that laid on a night stand. One stab to the heart would make everything go away, she could be with him again. Maybe the cocktail of sedatives everyone kept feeding her would do it for her at some point. 

“Mrs. Parker.” Mr. Weekes says walking in, rolling the gurney in with him. Harry and Miles in tow behind him. “I have to take him now. Is that okay?” 

“Angel..” Harry’s voice sounded pitiful, she felt her heart squeeze as she sat up.

“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, scurrying out of the bed. Flattening out her clothes, watching Harry help Mr. Weekes transfer Peter to the gurney. Miles comforted her, his arms wrapping around her rubbing her back. Harry nodded his head towards the door, telling him to walk Angel out of the room. He followed directions sitting her in Peter’s office downstairs, both sat in their grief. 

“Why does everyone call you Angel?” Miles asks, wanting to take her mind off Peter. Funny enough, Peter was the reason why she even had the nickname. 

“When Peter and I started dating he brought me home and everyone was there with him at the time. They were ready to meet me if they didn’t know me already. Him, May, Gwen, Felicia, pretty much all of us…he walks me in and he goes "everyone this is Angel, Angel this is everyone.” 

Shr laughs, and Miles smiles. “Everyone just kept calling me Angel till he realized about 30 minutes later that he’s called me Angel instead of my real name. So it was just a pet name that became a nickname. So everyone, including my own mother, calls me it now.” She watched Miles walk around Peter’s office taking in every piece of him. 

“I’m really gonna miss him. He taught me so much, he helped me and my mom. I just..he was like a brother to me.”

“He thought a lot of you too. He cried on your 21st birthday, talking about how much you grew up and how proud he was of you.” She looked at Peter’s will open on the table, her and Harry had gone over it earlier. “You should head home Miles.”

“Are you gonna be okay? I can stay here.”

“Yeah, I have Felicia and May..and Harry.”

Miles nods, engulfing her in a hug. Angel smiled sadly, hugging him back, sliding an envelope from Peter’s desk into his pocket. “No questions. It’s what Pete wanted you to have. There's a note in there you should read it.” 

Miles nodded and patted his pocket, taking the keys off the desk and headed out the office doors. 

-

Grief was a funny thing, it’s a terrible gutting feeling one minute that had her laying in the bloodied bedsheets with your dead husband one minute, and sitting in the bathroom with her high school best friend laughing at memories another. Gwen had flown in from London the moment she heard, she helped get Angel out of bed and bathe her for Peter’s funeral seeing as she could barely bring herself out of the guest room.

 “He really loved you.” Angel whispered, her head resting on her knees as Gwen sat by the tub with her. Gwen tilted her head to the side laughing, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder. 

“He loved you more.” Gwen says. “I remember when we broke up and I told him if he didn’t ask you out I was going to do it for him. And I think that terrified him more.” They both laughed. “I knew he was going to marry you before he knew, before you knew even” 

“Yeah?” Angel asked, smiling at her, tears rolling from her eyes. 

“You two were made for each other. And I was lucky enough to love both of you.” Gwen whispered, taking her hand. “Let’s wash your hair, yeah?” 

“Okay.” Angel nodded leaning back in the tub.

-

Standing by his coffin was awkward; she felt like a little girl at her daddy’s funeral again. Not knowing how to stand next to the body, not liking the way the pity filled stares felt, so she focused on his body. There was a rosy tint to Pete’s cheeks, and he almost looked alive. She rubbed his cheek looking at the gifts lining his coffin, stuff people wanted to lay to rest with him. “It’s only been five days, and I’m losing my mind.” Her voice whispered to him, her hand holding his.

 “I don't know if I can do this without you.” She flattened out the white shirt under his tux and took a deep breath. 

“Let's sit dear.”

 May sniffles, holding her side reassuringly. Angel nodded, wrapping an arm around May, rubbing her shoulder. No one knew her pain like May Parker. She’d become her rock in the haze of grief. She had lost her husband and her nephew who was more her son than anything. She’d been staying at the house with Angel and everyone, she’d even climbed into bed with her most nights like a child seeking comfort from her mother. She was thankful for her and thankful Peter had brought May to her. They were the two most important women in his life and bonded like no other. 

-

“Peter Benjamin Parker was the love of my life, and he was an amazing man.” Angel spoke into the mic standing before friends, family, and acquaintances. She looked down at him in the coffin, and smiled at him, already wiping away tears. 

 “I know to many of you he was frightening, and strong. He seemed unforgiving, cold, and inhumane on occasion but he was my best friend, and my soulmate. He was a complex human and that…is what brought his life to such a short stop. I’m no good at public speaking. I'm sorry, this was always his thing. He was so charming and knew how to talk to you all, and I stood behind him every step of the way. But in the last few days, I discovered he was actually the one standing behind me every step we took together, and he also stood behind many of you and helped you all in numerous ways. I think he left a part of him in all of us, and I hope we can all be half the person he was one day..I- I’m sorry. Harry..Har-.” 

“I got you go, go.” Harry ushered Angel off the podium covering her crying frame from onlookers. She sniffled, wiping her eyes stepping off the podium into Gwen’s arms sitting back down between her and May. May kissed her head, assuring  that it was all going to be okay. Her hands comforting and cradling her face as Angel tried to quietly bawl her eyes out. She stared at the casket in front of her during Harry’s speech, slowly turning everything around her out. 

-

“Angel.” Eddie Brock smiled as she stood outside watching Peter be lowered into the ground. She smiled at him in return, letting him engulf her in a hug.

 “Oh I’m so sorry, Peter was such a good guy. Kind of scary..but..good.”

Angel laughed sadly, squeezing his shoulders. “I know he meant a lot to you Ed.” 

“He did, he really saved my ass more than once. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.” 

She tilted her head, and tried her best to smile at him. “Hopefully stay out of trouble.”

Eddie shook his head back and forth, giving a smirk that said ‘We’ll see.’

They exchanged sad goodbyes and she watched him leave heading towards his car. She was thankful that Peter’s death was kept out of the headlines, it took some begging and bribing Betty Brant but it was worth it for such an intimate and private time. 

She watched the grave diggers starting to fill in the dirt, and she contemplated staying the night on the bench. But May came, wrapping her arms around Angel, a jacket you immediately identified as Peter’s from smell alone. 

“Why don’t you come home with me tonight?” May offered, pushing hair from the girls face. 

“That’d be nice, yeah.”  Angel whispered. “How have you not lost it yet? All I want to do is crawl in that hole with him.”

“I know you do. I was there once, it’s a terribly awful feeling Angel, I know.” May frowned, holding her arm with hers as they walked together to the car. “Peter, bless him. I love him, he was my son no matter what anyone said he was my boy. But because of that I saw every side of him and Peter had been ready to go since Ben died. And I find peace in thinking that they are together again, and that he is safe and protected..and- I’m sorry” May’s voice broke and she fanned her face. “And they are here in any way we want them to be.”

There was quiet for a moment before Angel let out a soft, yet grief riddled laugh.

“I need what you have.” You laughed sadly, both of you crying now. 

May let a teary laugh burst from her chest. “We’ll go make some tea and talk about it.”

That's what they did. The two had a girls night with Gwen and spent it remembering Peter in their own way. About twenty minutes in She had wandered off into Peter’s old bedroom. Smiling as she stood in the doorway, and she knew grief was a funny thing because she could see the two of them about fifteen years younger dancing in his bedroom practicing for prom. 

“Ouch that was my foot!” She yelled out. Peter dropped to his knees dramatically, grabbing her leg inspecting her foot playfully. 

“Not broken.” He placed a kiss on the top of her foot before jumping to his feet. Watching her smile and scrunch her nose.

“I didn’t say it was.” 

‘Well I had to make sure I didn’t hurt my girl.” 

She shook her head in response, rolling her eyes. Hands rubbing his shoulders, placing his glasses on the top of his head. “Are you gonna do that at our wedding too?” She teased. 

Peter pulled a face laughing, racking his head back and forth thinking. “Maybe! But since when are we getting married? What have you and Gwendy been planning, mhm?”

Angel looked over at his desk where she’d found her engagement ring tucked away only a couple years later. 

“I couldn’t find the blue quilt but I found the gray one and everything is set up and ready when..”

They both froze looking at the green velvet box in her, now shaky, hand. 

“Shit I knew I should’ve put it in the safe. My girlfriend is so nosey.” He laughed it off taking the green box from her hand. “You just couldn’t wait a couple weeks till your birthday mhm?” He laughs, kissing on her face. Angel could feel warmth wash over her face and body, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“I was just looking for those pictures from our trip upstate you had processed.” 

Peter smiled tugging up his gray sweatpants, dropping onto one knee. 

“Angel, my sweet girl. I have loved you for years, for far longer than I remember. Ever since we were in middle school, and I got lucky enough several years ago to have you want me. Maybe we are a little young to get engaged, but I know I want to be with you forever. I’m not asking for a wedding anytime soon, I just want to know that eventually in-”

“Yes.” You cut him off excitedly, hands cupping over your mouth. “Sorry, sorry.”

Peter scrunched his nose, standing up as he slid the ring on your finger twirling you around. 

“She said yes!” Peter yells throughout the house, the announcement bouncing off the walls and making a home in its fixtures. 

May’s excited cheer could be heard all the way up the steps. You laughed, wrapping your arms around him as he spun you. 

Walking towards the perfectly made bed, she mentally thanked May for never changing it. For keeping it the same all these years later. She took her shoes off, crawling into the bed closing her eyes waiting for sleep to wash over like a wave. For just a second she swore the other side of the bed dipped down, and in instinct made room for his tired frame to crash beside her. 

-

“A distraught man was seen walking up around the streets of Harlem this morning, the man was described as looking dirty. Wearing a green suit, and was seemingly distraught and confused, mumbling to himself.” The anchorwoman spoke, reading off her cue cards shocked by the news herself. Angel scrolled on her phone wrapped in one of May’s quilts as she made breakfast.

 “Witnesses say the man seemed distraught, and in a rush. Looking like he had climbed out of a hole, his suit askew and ran past anyone who offered help. Seemingly not wanting to be seen.” 

She switched the channel before she cared to hear the other stories, not thinking she could handle the grief of another depressing story right now. Angel wrapped the blanket around herself, walking to the kitchen to talk to May. Her phone pinging, the front camera at the house notifying her that motion had been detected. 

“I’ve gotta get to the hospital after I eat, are you gonna be okay getting home? I know it’s not that far of a wal- everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I actually should get a cap and head that way. I just got a weird notification I need to check out.”

“Okay yeah. Do you need me to go with you?” May asked.

“No, no. I, I don’t know what it is. Could be nothing or an error on my end.” Angel says, pulling herself out of the chair rushing towards the door. Quickly calling a cab she climbed into the back refreshing the ring app trying to get it to load. The dark screen freaking her out. She had called Harry, bouncing her leg in the back of the cab watching the houses fly by. 

“I was just about to call you.” Harry’s panic was evident from his voice. “Someone dug up Peter’s grave. Kicked the headstone over and everything.”

“You don’t think it was Fisk’s guys do you?”

“Could be..could be anybody. I love Pete but he had a lot of enemies.”

“I got a notification that there's motion at the front door, but it’s not loading now. It's a network error.” She spoke as the cab pulled into the neighborhood, already unbuckling her seatbelt waiting for the sudden stop. 

“Okay listen to me.” Harry says starting the car. “I’m thirty minutes away, there’s a gun hidden in a fake drawer in the table by your door. It’s loaded, and I know you know how to use it. Let’s just be prepared for the worst.”

“Yeah..” Angel nodded, rubbing her forehead wishing Peter was there to talk her through this. “Okay I’m heading in. I’ll let you know.” 

Angel handed the driver a hundred that she had on her and hung up the phone, tucking it into the pocket of the pajama pants she’d been wearing at May’s. The front door was left ajar and slightly off its hinges. She looked down seeing a track of dirt leading from the front walk away all the way into the house. 

Quietly she found the gun Harry was talking about, leaving the safety on till otherwise needed and slowly following the muddy footprints. The fridge was left ajar, food and drinks sitting on the counter. Whoever broke in was pretty hungry, having pulled out the pastrami and other gatherings for a sandwich. A soda poured into a glass and half gone. She checked Peter’s office, his file cabinets open and a couple files pulled out. As she went to open the files to see who it was research on, she heard the water upstairs turn on. Slowly and as quiet as possible she snuck up the steps, and through her bedroom. Her jewelry box was left open but nothing was taken out, everything in the closet was practically untouched except for a couple of Peter’s items thrown onto the floor. Taking a deep breath she pushed the door to the bathroom open, and nothing could prepare her for what stood on the other side of the door. 

“Angel..”

The voice nearly caused her to drop to her knees. She knew grief was a funny thing, because Peter Parker was standing before. Dirty and clearly sore, his voice strained from not using it for a couple days. Her knees fell out from under her, Peter using his reflexes to catch the gun and her all in one go. Smearing mud and blood lightly on her as he caught her. He placed the gun on the counter away from them as he slid down onto the floor with her. 

“Shh, shh I know. I know. It’s scary. It’s okay, Angel. Breathe okay. In and out.” 

She couldn’t even find her voice to scream, she reached out hitting him trying to get him away from her. A ghost from her nightmare.  The harder she hit though, the faster she realized he was real..this was all real. 

“You’re dead.” 

“I was..technically. Kind of yeah.” 

“Not technically, legally.”

Peter laughed shakily holding her, tears starting to pour out of his own eyes. His lips pressed against her forehead letting out a gasp of air. 

“Spiders..play dead when they sense danger. Meaning their bodies shut down completely out of their control, as a way to replenish and prepare to attack and prevent further damage.” She watched intently as he explained his mad man ramblings. 

“I guess when I got bit that’s something my nervous system developed the ability to do. I read about it all those years ago after I got bit. It just never happened until I took so much damage. So, yes. I was..I did die. However, the amount of my own blood that Harry and May pumped into me. Helped me heal in that shut down state.” Peter laughs hearing himself. He sounded fucking crazy. Angel reached her hand out cradling his face, gasping at his warmth. His heat radiating off his body again. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she lunged forward holding him in a hug sobbing happily. 

Harry’s feet pounded against the hardwood floor as he yelled for her. 

“Oh fuck.”

“Hey Harry.” Peter laughed awkwardly. “Long story.” 

Harry, in shock, stumbled out of the room immediately making phone calls. Letting out a scream of shock and awe.

“Angel..” Peter whispered. “I need to shower okay. You can stay with me though if you want.”

So she did, she washed his hair and body. Rubbing her fingers over the held wounds that once littered his chest now just scars in their place. So much for being superhuman.

“We’re never gonna have a normal life are we?”

Peter shook his head, kissing her head. 

“No, no we won’t. But we’ll have each other, and no matter what happens. No grave will hold me down.” He laughs holding them together, making her look up at him. “I’m coming back here, back to you everytime.”

 She shook her  head holding him close listening to the beat of his heart, finally feeling that piece she lost crawl back home into her chest.

I know that was different...I hope you guys liked it. I really wanted to bring Mob!Peter back but I'm nothing if not dramatic..so :)

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya @sincericida @a-lumos-in-the-nox @moonyslove78 @messymissy @adhdhufflepuff @toomanyfictionalboyfriends @ateliefloresdaprimavera @eevylynn

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[0oolookitsme]

Glowing

Type- Blurb!

Verse- Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count- 611

Warnings- Indirect info that they've had sex before this scene, that's all :)

A/N- Hope you like this small one <3

Letting out a light groan as she rides down from her high, she lets her body lose and falls to her side- the sheets fluffing up around her body before sticking to her sweaty skin.

Tiredly, she looks up at him, giving him a narrow-eyed glance before a similar grin. "It was fun- very fun actually. But I'm so tired now," she laughed lightly, turning on her side to tangle her limbs with his.

Harry, too, snakes his arm around her waist to keep her closer even while overheating and kisses her temple before turning on his side to face her. Again, a grin broke out on his face- it was hard not to smile every time he looked at her.

"Hi," he mumbled to fill the silence and ended up turning a shade of deep pink when she scrunched up her nose and laughed at him. "What?" He whined, mimicking her from when she did the same as he had smiled up at her from between her legs once she'd let out his name.

She smacked his shoulder pretty hard before shifting her weight on her back and sighing loudly, looking up at the ceiling. "I would've loved to stay right here but I need to pee and clean up. And, you better change the sheets and shower because you're starting to stink," she laughed, shrieking when he pulled her tightly to his chest.

Catching their breaths, both of them got out of bed together. He faked walking toward the wardrobe to make her think that he was going to change the sheets but just as she turned to open the bathroom door, he lunged at her from behind.

Grabbing ahold of her waist, he let out a wild laugh at her scream before dragging her under the shower. She fought against his tight grip, pretending she didn't want to shower with him- but her expression only deceived her.

Under the cold shower water, she grazed her teeth on his ear, acting like she was biting it as Harry scrunched his nose, not able to stretch his smile any wider. He covered his teeth with his lips, still smiling when she softly kissed the corner of his mouth.

Turning around, he pecked her lips a few times before reaching for the body wash placed on the shelf, pouring it out on a pink loofah before wetting it to have it gush out bubbles. He placed just a tad bit of foam on the tip of her nose, laughing when she made a cross-eyed face.

"Oh you little grinch," Y/n gritted out when he put that foam all over her face, reaching to attack him with the soap when he laughed at the thrill of it all. She rubbed her hands all over his face, looking out for his hair- knowing that that would be going too far.

Lost in their own bubble, they blew out bubbles in each other's direction and popped some on each other's faces.

After a shower full of grazing teeth and small bites, stolen kisses and small licks- they finally dried their bodies with their towels, rubbing their hair for each other and rubbing face cream on their faces.

Still in their robes, they sat on the floor of the kitchen, eating some Indian takeout and sharing more of their secrets and memories- laughing and listening like there was no tomorrow.

"I love you," she said softly while drying the dishes he passed her after washing the sud off of them.

"I love you more," he replied, kissing her cupid's bow and accidentally splashing the both of them with a spoon right under the tap water.

Tagging: @reveriehs <3 MASTERLIST :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x ceo!y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #dom!harry #harry styles fic rec #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine

[another-corpo-rat]

Hello… do you have any head canons for Hansen to share? I was disappointed to only have one conversation with him, and you seem like a good person to ask. >:3

Me? Having ideas about the warlord? Nooo never-

Anyways here’s a list of Thoughts that I hope are vaguely coherent, though warning: they’re a tad all over the place

He was raised by his granny on his father’s side. She was actually from Serbia, and had met his grandfather when he spent some time there then moved back to America with him. His grandfather was dead before he was born, and his mother’s parents weren’t present in his life. Grandma Hansen practically raised little Kurt, his parents were career-oriented – his father a colonel and his mother held some minor political role – so their time for him was limited.

She fostered his love for her home country as she shared stories of her own childhood while tucking him in to bed, or when he was still small enough to sit on her knee. One evening she told him a story of the bauk, and boy did that plant a mild fear of the dark him. He had to sleep with a nightlight for a few weeks after.  

His granny owned a dog when he was growing up, dear ol’ Bowie. She was a big loveable mutt who was already quite old when Kurt was born. She’d sleep under his crib when he was a baby, and would walk shakily alongside him as he was taking his first steps. Almost every photo of baby Kurt has Bowie in it, up until he was four years old and she passed.

He got to choose their next pet dog when he was eight, it was a mean looking bastard he named Titan. The Barghest symbol is based on him.

His gran died just before he got promoted to colonel. It broke his heart that she didn’t get to see it, because she was so excited to see him get the recognition he deserved. He took her ashes back to Serbia, promised that he’d visit when he could. He hasn’t been able to visit for a while.

His dad’s dead by the time Barghest is finding its feet, his mother gets removed from her position while Myers is simultaneously airing her very public condemning of her son’s actions. Nothing’s heard from her since. She’s probably dead too tbh.

Kurt’s lactose intolerant. He had to learn to like his coffee black, the cramps just weren’t worth it. (weakling)

Damn though can this man handle his drink. He can hold eye contact and not make a face as he downs vodka straight from the bottle. His men get a good laugh when he blames them and their shit for it. Tbh he’s only partially joking

Kurt when he hears the bullshit Yuri tries to pull:

His right arm is a recent cybernetic only gotten in the past year or two, meanwhile his left was standard militech-issued at the time he was serving. He suffered a relatively minor injury during training and took the opportunity to get an upgrade.

He’s rather wary of netrunners, esp more combat oriented ones. While he appreciates their effectiveness and utility, he always has an edge of caution around them and takes particular care to keep them either charmed or afraid, whatever keeps them from potentially acting against him.

During Operation: Midnight Storm, there was always this quiet wariness to Hansen and his men when an Arasaka AV would fly close to their position. Each time they waited in absolute silence, dreading to hear ‘Code: A.S’ over the comms Some of the younger, braver, stupid men were biting at the bit for it, Hansen wasn’t keen to be added to Arasaka’s graveyard by Smasher.

He’s a light sleeper. He doesn’t particularly struggle in getting to sleep, it’s just that a pin dropping can wake him

He’s quite Spartan in regards to his personal possessions – his room lacks a lot of personal touch, there’s really nothing that signifies it as Kurt’s beyond the small collection of knives and guns on display. If anything it could be mistaken as another storage room. Even the bed, while fucking massive, isn’t comfortable beyond measure, the mattress is stiff and the pillows memory foam.

He listens to the same music on repeat and has done for the past few years. I’m inflicting my personal tastes on him and saying his favs includes Biffy Clyro (x), Iron Maiden (x), and Black Sabbath (x)

Even though he could get actual real meat he still prefers the taste of synth-beef, it’s what he grew up knowing. Probably eats more pot noodles than he should, but he’s a busy man and they’re quick and filling

Because I think it’s funny and would rile Johnny up something fierce: Kurt…appreciates Silverhand’s actions back in ’23. He’s well aware Silverhand got the nuke from Militech and is a massive fucking hypocrite but hey, isn’t everyone? He wouldn’t be where he is now if Johnny didn’t get that ball a-rolling.

Barghest does have a militant structure, a very clear hierarchy of who’s in charge of who, but it’s a lot more casual? In how they speak with each other. Even with Kurt. He makes them see him as a person and not this mighty figurehead. He jokes around with recruits, might ruffle one’s hair in passing after knocking the shit outta them and giving them pointers on their footing. It’s partially real affection for the people under his command, and another part is simple manipulation – he wants to give them something real to tether their loyalty to, wants them to see him as a man, a terrifying, brutal bastard at times but nonetheless a man, and not the untouchable better-than-you titan the higher-ups at the NUSA always painted themselves as.

Speaking of brutality – it’s something I feel like the game didn’t really show of his. Even V seems quite flippant towards his threat of sending them back in body bags – Hansen’s hands were tied that particular night as he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of his guests. Bad for PR and all that. But the worst of his punishments make the corps look tame. He doesn’t immediately execute; he tortures until there’s nothing left of the person from fingernails to spirit. And then their bodies are just tossed in the disposal units. Though, public executions on his order aren’t all that uncommon either.

Not so much a headcanon as a thought: I genuinely don’t know what would have happened to Songbird had Kurt’s plans gone perfect. Maybe he might’ve let her fly away, let the little bird go on to the stars, keep his word and all that. But it’d be just as easy to make her disappear; she’s dangerous, a living weapon that’s he’s already got his use out of. A loose end who knows too much. I wouldn’t be surprised if the freedom he’d have given her was a bullet to the brain.

Knife play! Blood kink! Choking kink!! He also likes pulling hair a lot

He gets put on the back foot quite quickly if his partner takes charge, he’s used to being expected to take on that role, but he recovers and indulges quick enough

He runs hot, just an absolute radiator of a man who’d probably be great to cuddle with if NC wasn’t in a fucking desert.

He’s distressingly touch-starved and would probably sink into a proper hug like a warm bath.

While he is very much alive and well in Victoria’s canon, I do like to think that following his death certain information was transferred to NetWatch pertaining to Songbird and what Myers had her do beyond the Blackwall. Fucking her over even when he’s gone, a last little fuck you as he still somehow manages to get the last laugh.

#cyberpunk 2077 #phantom liberty #Kurt Hansen #why Felix its almost like you know bald war criminals are my bread and butter- #but yea I do have some headcanons for the man #just a fewwwww #the biggest difficulty i had was deciding what iron maiden song to link to

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 8: Sober

Cas arrives back on Earth with very little fanfare, waking up on a park bench in Tucson, Arizona at 12:00 pm, October 14, 2022.

The sun bakes down from the clear skies overhead, and Cas actually has to squint to get his bearings. He gives his wings an experimental stretch, and they feel whole and strong, if a little stiff from disuse.

With a single thought, he flies to the Bunker. He’s going home after one year, eleven months, and nine days.

The Bunker door opens for him with a wince-inducing screech, and Cas crosses the threshold.

The air smells stale; no souls glimmer from within the Bunker fortifications. 

It’s been abandoned. 

Left behind.

Cas descends the stairs to the war room, his insides fluttering with a strange sense of anticipation cut short.

Whatever happened to cause the Winchesters to leave, it wasn’t abrupt. 

The entire war table is clear – no papers lay strewn about or stray research notes are crumpled in piles.

In the main library beyond, a few books are stacked nearly on the table, and the bookshelves sit neat and orderly,

The kitchen has been left in similar good order. A fine layer of dust covers Dean’s favorite cast iron frying pan, and the pantry and refrigerator are empty.

Led by an invisible force he can’t label again, Cas pauses outside Dean’s door. 

He inhales a breath he doesn’t need.

Inside, blank walls stare back at him. A stripped bed, the memory foam mattress bare to the world, occupies the place of honor in the middle of the room.

Cas runs his hand along the surface of Dean’s nightstand, gritty with neglect. His fingers linger where Mary’s photo rested for years. Turning, he takes a seat. The bed compresses a full inch and a half, and, even after all this time, Cas doesn’t understand Dean’s love for this sleeping surface. 

Impossibly, this empty room, above all others, feels quieter than the rest of the Bunker, silent as a tomb. A neatly ransacked mausoleum to what was. Bare of everything that made it special, left with only the bones it started with.

Good bones, of course – but just bones. Bereft of any substance, any soul that made this subterranean, sunlight-deprived Bunker a home.

Eventually, Cas can’t take it any longer, surrounded by the ghost of Dean’s things.

He leaves.

Outside the Bunker, he sees the biggest sign he missed in his initial eagerness to return: the Impala is offensively conspicuous in her absence.

In an almost human folly, he had expected everything to be as he left it. He has returned to the Winchesters after long absences before – more than a few times due to his own demise – and he’s always found them more or less the same.

But something happened differently this time.

Cas pulls out his phone and turns it on. He’s learned his lesson about arriving without prior notice. His finger hovers over Dean’s name before he deliberately presses “call”.

It rings, and Cas clutches the phone tight to his ear, his heart in his throat.

“The number you have dialed is not in service –”

Cas listens, baffled, to the rest of the automatic message. What happened to Dean’s phone?

He tries Dean’s other cell phone.

“The number you have dialed is not service at this time –”

The phone cracks.

Cas pulls it away from his ear, lips pursing at the broken screen. Damn. The glass surface still responds to his touch, so he scrolls down his contact list.

The phone rings once, and Cas half expects another robotic voice, but –

“Cas?” Sam demands.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, man!” Sam says, delighted. “Gotta say, when I picked up I thought someone somehow got ahold of one of your old phones, but it’s really you, isn’t it?”

“I’m at the Bunker –”

“Oh, shit,” Sam cuts him off. “Yeah, we moved out a year ago. Not far, though, just outside Topeka –”

Cas takes off without another thought. 

Sam is still speaking as Cas lands outside Topeka’s City Hall, “ – after everything went down with Chuck, we thought it was time for a change. For once –”

Cas unfolds his grace, searching the city limits for Sam’s familiar signature, and flies to a two-story house surrounded by an overgrown yard.

“ – the world wasn’t ending,” Sam continues, “or about to end.”

Cas reaches out to touch Sam’s mailbox at the end of his driveway, charmingly shaped like a miniature version of his house. “I’m glad.”

“About time, right?” Sam scoffs. “Anyway – hey, are you outside, dude?”

The curtains twitch, and Sam’s face appears in the window, his mouth hanging open. He disappears,and the front door gets yanked open. “Cas!” he calls, smiling broadly.

As Cas approaches, Sam wraps him in a tight hug. “It’s good to see you. My god, how’re you here?”

“I flew.”

Sam’s grin widens. “I meant on Earth.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “I’m not sure,” he admits.

Sam ushers him inside, saying, “I’m sure it was Jack. I mean, he did it last time, right?” Cas nods, unable to get a word in, as Sam chatters on, “We haven’t seen him in nearly as long as you, but maybe one of these days I can find a summoning spell that’ll actually work on him.”

Cas stares around Sam’s house. It’s as cluttered and messy as the abandoned Bunker wasn’t. Books and papers lay scattered on almost every available surface, and Cas counts three half-empty mugs.

“Sorry, you didn’t give me much time to clean up,” Sam says cheerfully as he shuts open laptop resting on the coffee table. 

“My apologies.”

“Forget it, we don’t stand on ceremony here,” Sam says, his tone warm, as he takes a seat on the navy couch underneath the front window.

Cas wanders around the room, perusing the extensive bookshelves lining the whole back wall. He recognizes more than half of them from the many hours he spent researching in the Bunker.

Photos hang on the opposite wall, mostly of Sam and Eileen. Cas hungrily searches every one for Dean’s face. He finds a few, but none taken in the two years since Cas last walked the Earth.

“ – Nowadays, most of the trouble comes from ghosts or vamps, not demigods –”

Oh, Sam has been talking this whole time. Cas turns from the photos to give Sam his full attention.

“ – Which we can totally handle from here. Sitting on the supernatural motherload was great when we were bouncing from apocalypse to apocalypse, but seemed a bit overboard when everything calmed down.”

Cas waits, but Sam’s evidently done catching him up on what he missed while in the Empty. Never mind that he overlooked the most important update. So Cas has to ask, “Does Dean live here too?”

Sam’s enthusiasm dampens a fraction. “No,” he says. “Dean took… everything, you especially, pretty hard.” His brow furrows.

You, especially.

What does that mean? 

But the question feels too dangerous, too big, to ask Sam, so Cas asks instead, “Is he still in Kansas?”

Sam shakes his head. “He moved to North Dakota, near Bobby’s place outside Sioux Falls.” He sighs. “It got… bad, Cas,” Sam says in a low voice. “He was spiraling out, drinking like crazy, taking stupid risks on hunts.”

Cas walks on shaky legs to the couch and sinks down.

Sam continues, “I was really worried, so I started calling around, and Jody came though. She said she could use some drama after Claire and Kaia moved into their own place.” He smiles. “She got him to walk the straight and narrow, drove him to his first AA meeting and everything.” He swallows. “He’s fallen off the wagon a few times, but never as bad as those first six months.”

Cas lets the story wash over him, absorbing the details like a sponge.

“He calls every few months to say he’s not dead,” Sam says wryly. “He quit hunting ’cause the triggers were too much for him,” he says to Cas’s surprise. “He’s doing good, though. Despite everything.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Sam laughs. “He’s gonna be pissed you saw me first.”

Cas frowns, his mouth pursing. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

Sam throws him a bemused look. “Shouldn’t what?”

“See him.”

Sam narrows his eyes. “Why the hell not?”

Cas can’t meet his gaze. “He’s doing well staying away from the supernatural. What am I but another ‘trigger’?”

“Dude, you’re so much more than that,” Sam says, shaking his head. “You need to see him.”

“But he’s been making so much progress,” Cas argues. “Despite his lapses, he’s still trying.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “But, Cas, you might be what actually gets it to stick.”

That makes no sense.

“Dean,” Sam starts, at Cas’s look of complete confusion, “is doing this all for you – in your memory, to live up to your last words.”

“But he already has,” Cas says faintly.

“I know that, and you know that,” Sam says with a snort, “but Dean’s pretty dumb when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

Cas stands. “I have to see him.” 

“Tell him I say ‘hi’,” Sam says as he gets up too, reaching out to grasp Cas’s upper arm. “Hey, before you fly off, there’s a standing Sunday dinner invitation with your name on it.”

Touched, Cas envelops Sam in another hug. 

Sam claps him on the back. “Don’t be a stranger, OK?” 

With one final nod, Cas flies to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He touches back to Earth outside a small one-bedroom house with a freshly weeded garden in the back and a one-year-old separate garage for the Impala. From inside, Dean’s soul burns as brightly as ever, puttering around the kitchen.

Cas steps up to the front door and raises a shaking hand to ring the doorbell.

An impossibly long 147 seconds later, the door flies open.

“Hello, Dean.”

#suptober22 #finale fix it #canon divergence #reunion #destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #sam & cas friendship #s15e18 fix it #rae writes fic

[babblydrabbly]

Day 06 | Nadja x Reader x Lazslo Cravensworth 

a/n - @flufftober. Maybe ooc on account of the fluff. But this month is all about the lovey dovey ♡ and I love when Nadja and lazslo are corny anyway

prompt - candles/lanterns/fairylights

fluff - 650 words - warnings: f!reader. established relationship (polyam). implied spice.

You arch a brow as the camera crew squeezes into the kitchen first. It’s a tight fit with most of the clutter and the table between all of you, but you try your best to ignore them in favor of Lazslo filing in last. His singing could be heard from all the way upstairs. You wonder idly what’s put the vampire in such a good mood.

“My little darling. My pet!” He calls in his timbre. “Your presence is required in the boudoir.”

“Oh?” You narrow your eyes at the lack of a reason. “Is this a surprise?”

“Indeed it is, now come.” You snort as he takes your hand assertively. You abandon your bowl of cereal and let him lead you out of the room with his typical flair, shooing the other humans away. They follow anyway— you suspect they already know what’s going on. 

Nadja and Lazslo’s room hasn’t changed much since you began frequenting the vampires’ residence. With the exception of some of your clothes (usually flung somewhere, forgotten), it was still very much their room. When you wanted a place to lie down, you typically went to the lounge, or posted up beside Guillermo when he was home. Needless to say- they were both very creative when it came to sharing you without a bed. But tonight, you’re floored when Lazslo pushes the door open. 

It’s hard to miss: Both their chairs have been pushed to the side in their own nook now, in favor of a large queen bed in the center of the room. It’s dressed in beddings to match their gothic tastes, save for a gaudy heart-shaped pillow set atop all the others.

But what’s more is the rest of the room’s decorations— dozens of sets of fairy lights in a cool, twinkling silver are strung throughout the room. You lean down to inspect one of the many LED lanterns, too, watching the fake flame inside flicker. 

“Ta-daaah~” Nadja sweeps her arms out from the other side of the bed with a large grin. “You should see your face! Lazslo, do you see her awe?”

“Yes my love, I’d say it was well worth our expedition to Bed, Bath, and the Beyond.”

You blink, still a little speechless as you step into the room further. “What’s all this for?”

“It is our anniversary, you silly little pumpkin.” Nadja tuts. She rounds the bed and embraces you firmly, almost lifting you off the ground. “It has been one year since Lazslo and I both lured you with our thrall to have as an evening snack. And here you are, still scrumptious. Uneaten, of course.”

You try to remember if tonight is actually the anniversary of that day, but you honestly didn’t think Lazslo and Nadja would care about that sort of thing.

In fact, you’re a little moved by the gesture. It was true enough that last October, they had tried hunting you down as you jogged Bloomingdale Park. But you could argue you’ve been devoured in many other ways since then. A flush creeps up your neck at the thought- that and at the display before you. 

The two of them stand there and wait for your reaction as the realization sets in— you really are dating the married vampire couple. It fills you up with joy— and gets your heart fluttering in a way you knew they both can sense, even from a few feet away.

“Out.” You suddenly say. You turn toward the camera and begin ushering the crew out of the room. “Out.”

Laszlo shoots you a sharp grin. “Time to break her in, my dears.” He hollers, jumping onto the mattress. Nadja claps as you finally shut the door and turn back to her. 

“That is what I am talking about, baby girl!” Nadja shrieks. Her elated glint shifts, eying you hungrily. “The memory foam will never forget this night.”

#flufftober2022 #day 6 #wwdits #lazslo cravensworth x reader #Nadja x reader #lazslo x reader x nadja #lazslo cravensworth x you #nadja of antipaxos #Nadja x you #what we do in the shadows #mywords*

[specialbrewbutterbeer]

RECALL | Pt.3 (Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw X Reader)

Word Count: 6166

TW: Alcohol consumption, very slightly suggestive content near the end

A/N: I hope you enjoy the third part! I have at least two more parts in progress which should round it out nicely and I'm excited to post! (Also this is a repost cos I forgot to add tags earlier, oops)

Feedback is always a needed and welcome thing!

REQUESTS

MASTERLIST (PART ONE) (PART TWO)

Sugar awoke to that familiar early morning sound of jets taking off outside and low sun coming through the slats of her blinds.

She groaned, breathed in deeply and stretched out her back as she sat up. She heard it crack and click, symptoms of sleeping at a cheap plyboard desk instead of on the comfy, if over priced, memory foam mattress that she'd let a salesman in the 'Mattress King Emporium' convince her to buy about six months back.

So far it hadn't been worth the money- she'd not slept on it all that much.

She was a workaholic- like most people on the base were really.

Last night she'd not meant to have fallen asleep in her office- she'd planned to go home and sit in front of her TV and drink a couple beers, watching reruns of NCIS, before heading to her nice, soft, warm and definitely cost more than it should have, bed.

She stood and grabbed her car keys, locking her office door behind her. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to massage the stiffness out of it and walked along the corridors; lacking the usual authoritative stride. She was accompanied by the distinct sound of her keys jangling as they hung from her fingers which knotted around the keychains.

It'd been a few days since the whole fight between Bradshaw and Seresin, and she'd been run off of her feet with work.

She'd been writing reports and going over old ones, data sheets and mission documents. She'd been writing emails back and forth to the Admiral, who seemed to never sleep and replied to them with remarkable speed. She just worked and didn't bother to look at the clock.

It was still early, she had clothes in her trunk, she could still salvage the day without going home to shower and change.

She came through a heavy fire door at the bottom of a stairwell that took her straight out and into the fairly bare parking lot.

As she pulled her hand from the bar of the door and let it shut with some force behind her, Bradley looked up as he heard the thud.

He was stood with the drivers door of his old Bronco on the further side from her. The driverside door was open as he rooted around his bag looking for something, so he could spot the door (Y/n) had emerged from through the windows of his vehicle.

He didn't mean to watch as she walked across to her own car, but she seemed so different compared to what she usually put across. She leant on the side of her car, rubbed her temples and frowned as she sorted through her keys in her hand until she reached the right one, and twisted it in the lock on her trunk.

She grabbed a duffle bag and slung it over her shoulder, sighed, holding the trunklid open with one arm, before shutting it, locking it and turning tail.

He didn't think much of it, and yet couldn't wrench his eyes off of the woman for more than a few moments before they drifted back to her as she walked. He felt his gaze was somewhat pervase, so shook his head as she neared the front door and zipped up his own bag, having not found what he wanted. He moved on to searching through the glove box instead.

(Y/n) headed to the locker room. She didn't usually do this, but today she needed to.

She undressed, leaving her clothes on the bench, and stepped into a shower cubicle.

She was pretty confident no one would catch her- it was early enough that the pilots would almost certainly not be here for a little while. Long enough to shower. She hadn't seen any of them in the parking lot either- though it wasn't like she wasn't like she was looking. Her head had been swimming with work related things and ached from having slept on a pillow of paperwork.

The warm water was welcome as it dripped down her nose and fingers and down her legs. It soothed all her aches and she felt, for a second, that she could breathe.

She didn't let on very often how properly stressful it was to do her job. There was a tremendous sense of responsibility, and she was glad she could count on one hand the amount of times she'd had to lock her office door, close the blinds and sob as she filled in end of service and notice of death paperwork for someone much younger than herself- but there was always that looming threat that it was going to happen again- under her watch.

Over the years she'd come to know everything about this programme, the jets, the people. She was a pin to a gear in this machine, and a vital one. She was in charge of so much, and this whole RECALL thing had flipped what she usually delt with on it's head. Where she usually could predict, she was blind- what she knew had changed quicker than anyone could adapt.

The report templates she filed and time frame was foreign to her and to compound the stress, changes that usually she'd be able to work through, and be supported through by Admiral Kazansky were a hundred times harder now that he was ill- there was only so much he could do and (Y/n) was inheriting lots of the workload.

She was good- Simpson was good- but there were things that Kazansky did that were the extra mile, more personal and in-depth with the program that she helped to conduct in tandem with the legendary Iceman- in line with his own workaholic tendencies and the fact that TOP GUN was like his baby, he devoted himself to the details and extras that meant he knew everything and he could constantly improve TOP GUN- that was what she was suddenly doing on her own.

She loved her job- she really did. But sometimes she almost wished she had a husband, a couple kids, a stupid great lollopy mutt of a dog to greet her at the garden gate. Something to tie her down- cos right now she was full of tension and stress and anxiety. Plenty of things she didn't like to show outwardly. Things she was hired to help alleviate in everyone else around her.

She massaged shampoo into her hair and let the suds run down her.

She'd now officially not been home for over 24hrs, which didn't seem so long- but she only lived a 20 minute ride away.

Soon though she was done, and had to wrench herself away from the soothing running water, stepped into the cool and steamed up air of the rest of the locker room and wrapped herself in a towel.

She sat on the bench, towelling her hair so it wasn't so dripping wet, and then moved on to attempting to fix her face.

She held up her blush compact, which had a mirror in the lid, and began to put on some minimal makeup- a little eyeliner, and mascara, concealer, bronzer and blush, blend with her fingers and try and feel put together was the plan.

As she did, she heard the latch of the door. She turned her head to see Lieutenant Bradshaw.

(Y/n) smiled a polite smile, which was returned, before she returned to the task at hand- with a quite 'good morning Rooster' as she did.

"Mornin'" He replied, his smile fading inexplicably slower than hers- though she couldn't see it. She'd never called him that before- not just in passing. Once or twice in reference to him, or in a more professional capacity- but not just because she could. Usually it was 'Lieutenant', 'Bradshaw', and the last time they'd really spoken he'd nearly fallen over when she'd actually spoken his name- one that very few people were left to call him by.

He got called Rooster everyday, but not by her. And maybe just because he'd never heard it from her, it was now special.

He went to his locker, just a few feet from her, as she faced away from the door, and him.

Slowly he sorted through his things, he was here earlier than the others- truthfully- because he couldn't sleep. He'd got enough sleep, but not as much as he'd have liked and when he woke up early this morning he'd decided just to go in to work and get a head start. He planned to look over some notes, study the territory again.

He hadn't expected to find (Y/n) here.

Well, maybe in the building- but not here.

He shoved his bag in his locker and stood there, leafing through his notebook and sorting out some loose pages.

There was something quite domestic about it as they coexisted in the same space alone. For the both of them it was as close as they were going to get to domestic bliss any time soon.

It was a little odd, but slightly comforting- certainly not awkward.

As Rooster took out a last couple of things, before presumably heading to leave, (Y/n) was sure she saw, from the corner of her eye, as he turned to her- and paused as if he was going to say something.

He didn't, he just turned and left.

The day wasn't going to get anymore normal.

(Y/n) returned to her office, feeling a little more of herself, fresh and as ready for the day as she could be.

She sat, wading through paperwork for a couple of hours, often distracted for a few seconds, but no more than that, by the jets as they took off and landed. She did note, from the sound as she worked, that none of them were the F-18's that the RECALL team were using.

She was going to investigate it, but she had so many reports to write up- she'd decided not to.

A knock on the door disturbed her.

"Come in." She spoke, not realising she was half mumbling as she did- focused on making sure she was copying data points correctly.

She didn't look up until the person was stood in the centre of the room, she just quickly scribbled down the last few numbers first.

She was surprised to see it was Capitain Mitchell stood neatly in front of her, hands behind his back.

She didn't know where everyone had recently got the idea to be quite so formal at all times with her, she was certainly respected, but not usually treated with this level of firm seriousness. Maybe it was that all of this team were older than the usual TOP GUN students or the workload, but usually she did manage to engrain herself better than this.

"Captain?" She asked, putting her pen down and standing.

"Sugar-" He seemed to hesitate as he spoke her callsign.

She laughed.

"I know, it's a weird one to get used to. I'll answer to just about anything- like an old dog." She smiled, breathing out, though still tense.

"Right-" Maverick nodded, a smile tipping at his mouth.

"How can I help you?" (Y/n) asked.

"Well- you deal with all our HR? Don't you?" He asked.

"I am your HR department on legs." She chuckled and nodded.

"Right- then team bonding is kinda your thing?" He asked, relaxing a little.

"Oh- I'm all over it." She grinned, then paused a moment. "Don't tell me- you're cooking something up?" She tilted her head.

"Yeah, something like that. Dogfight football, on the beach." Maverick nodded. "And we were hoping you'd join us?" He smiled.

"We?" (Y/n) scrunched her nose a little and cocked an eyebrow. Mav turned and opened the door, then looked to the young woman.

"Do you mind?" He asked, now with a grin, motioning to the door.

She nodded, with her own smile and rolling her eyes- but moving outside of the office anyway.

Mav followed and lead her to the window at the end of corridor.

He opened the latch and slid it open, looking out to the parking lot.

He leant out, and gave a thumbs up- with a tremendous grin on his face.

This was greeted with a cheer.

He stepped back and (Y/n) just looked at him. He nodded his head to the window, so she looked out; to see the entire team stood in the parking lot.

When they saw her, a series of whistles, whoops, shouts and applause- which she returned with a wave and a laugh.

She scanned the group- it was Hangman, Coyote and Payback who lead the whistles, Bob waved back and smiled, Pheonix whistled and shouted the loudest of anyone, Fanboy pumped his fist in the air like he was in some kind of victory dance, and Rooster, he applauded and cheered- but for some reason her eye was drawn to him for just a second. Just a moment, and he seemed to stop.

(Y/n) shook her head with a laugh and looked back to Maverick- who shrugged.

"They're pretty keen on you." He told her.

"I was told you'd be trouble-" (Y/n) couldn't help but laugh. "So- the beach?"

Within five minutes she'd abandoned her paperwork to supervise the exercise- and had her gym stuff out of her trunk.

On the beach, she had changed into something more appropriate for the situation, and tied her hair completely out of her face.

She stood there, her sunglasses on her face, along with a smile. It wasn't wasted time being here- the more she knew about the team the better. Or that's how she was justifying it anyway.

She watched on the sand, quite enjoying looking at something that wasn't a piece of paper covered in words and numbers.

She cheered on the teams, and was happy to remain doing just that, wiggling her fingers into the warm sand and soaking up the sun- the fresh smell of the sea filling her nose.

Or she was until Hangman walked up to her, in a short break between games.

She squinted up at him as he stopped in front of her, a sly smirk on his face, he paused, then moved so that his shadow shaded her face and she could see properly.

"Hey Sugar-" He smiled, hands on his hips. "You gonna play the game?"

"I'm not nearly as fit as all you- I think I'm better suited to spectating, or I'll be trampled." She laughed as she moved her sunglassed to sit on her head.

"Aww- come on now; what if we went easy on you Sugar?" He cocked an eyebrow and held out a hand.

"I'd love to say yes- but-" She smiled but shook her head.

"Hey, you're our HR department, aren't you? You and the Captain want us to bond? Fine, but we all gotta bond, and you're part of the team." He spoke, with utter confidence. She just shot him a look of 'yeah- sure.' "What if I said it would affect my mental health, to see you, sat here, not joinin' us? As HR, you wouldn't like that, would ya?" He smirked. (Y/n) had found, despite his sarcasm and comments, he was the playful one of the group- just not in the traditional sense. He was competitive, reckless, bold and could make anything a game. Reminded her of someone else with a similar reputation.

"Well then I suppose I couldn't say no, could I? Just one game." (Y/n) laughed, and took his hand.

"Alright." He nodded, and pulled her to her feet, but didn't let go of her hand. "You do think you're part of the team, don't ya?"

"If it all goes wrong, then it'd be my fault- so yeah I'd like to think so." She smiled, a little confused.

In a split second, Seresin pulled the young woman in and into a firemans lift, with a good laugh on his lips.

(Y/n) let out a quick squeak but couldn't help but laugh- not having expected it.

"Good think nothing will go wrong." Seresin nodded and turned, walking back to the group with, effectively, one of their bosses slung over his shoulder like it was nothing.

"Is this how you treat all women, Hangman?" She laughed, giving in to it.

"No- of course not." He laughed, like it was obvious. "Just the ones on the team who try and get out of playin'."

"Bagman! Put the woman down!" Phonix called out. "Are you insane!?"

(Y/n) could only laugh.

Jake planted her down in the sand, and the moment she was out of Hangman's hands- Phoenix punched him (not very hard) in the arm.

Quite quickly (y/n) realised she'd ended up put down directly in front of Bradshaw.

She turned and found that they were just inches from eachother.

She managed to fumble an awkward hello, before Hangman called her and she turned on her heels, catching the ball that he'd thrown to her.

It really wasn't long before she was in the competitive spirit, and even Maverick had joined in. She wasn't a tall person, so most of these guys, who were considerably taller than her even when she had heels on, towered over her.

Even so, she was quite sprightly; despite this competitive disadvantage and never really ever having been much of a sportswoman.

She enjoyed herself, had a smile plastered over her face the entire time and one game turned very quickly into many more than that.

It was nice, seeing the team get along, work together- it was like overnight they'd become her absolute dream.

She looked over at Maverick, and wondered how she could have doubted him. Well- she'd not really, but she had been worried- and those are two different things. She knew he could do it- she trusted her boss, Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky had never, in her experience, been wrong; about anything. And he hadn't been about this. It was just- the ease at which it could be done that she had worried about, what the consequences might be.

But whatever Maverick had done, or said, it'd worked, and she suddenly had much more faith in how the whole thing might run smooth. Or smooth enough.

She stepped off of the pitch for a moment to catch her breath, and just watched, pulling her hair back from her face again.

She couldn't help but be particularly pleased in how her pet project seemed to actually be becoming human. It was something she was thinking as he walked over to her- how he seemed a great guy. How his smile was great, and how attractive he was when he wasn't so miserable and formal. God, that felt so unprofessional to admit to herself, but she was only human.

She was so lost in that thought that she didn't process that he had his eyes fixed on her, and was actually coming toward her.

"Hey-" He spoke, a small smile on his lips.

"Rooster." She nodded a greeting, a matching smile on hers. "Are you gonna be shirtless everytime we talk? Is that a thing now?" She teased and he laughed. "This is what you're actually like then?" She smiled as he stood beside her. This was her chance, to actually just talk to him for a second- not lecture him, not be so professional and formal and disciplinary. She'd be lying if she said she'd not been looking for the chance.

"What? This?" He laughed. "Nothing like me at all." He spoke sarcastically, an eager twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"You think?" She looked up at him, sweat on his brow, low sunlight hitting him perfectly. He was a picture. "Well..." She spoke as she stepped forward and back into the game, turning and walking backward away from him. "Feel free to show me more, Rooster." She grinned, even convinced herself to manage a sly and slightly over cocky wink, before turning and getting stuck right back in.

In that moment, he really didn't know if she meant that- or if it was just another way to make him open up; in other words, was it said because she could or because it was her job? He didn't know if it mattered. Undeniably now, the fuzz in his stomach entirely stemmed from the words she said and how well she said them.

For a moment, it seemed they were both eachother's challenge.

When she spotted Simpson talking to the Captain a while later, she jogged over, the smile on her face she couldn't wipe off.

"Sir-" she tried to retain some kind of professionalism in the eyes of her boss.

"Miss (L/n)" Simpson nodded, a slightly stern scowl on his face. "This is going well, then?" He spoke, unsure of what he was looking at.

"Yeah, you could say that." She nodded, watching the game rage on ahead.

"Is, this- going to help with our mission? Sugar?" He asked, he tensed his jaw with hands on hips. It was clear he wasn't convinced by these methods.

"I think so, Sir." (Y/n) nodded, very confident. "I think we might just about be finding our feet here." She had her doubts, and fears, she was certainly keen to have it all over with- but she had more belief in these men and women every time she spoke to them, sat in on their breifings and listened to them. "I think RECALL might actually work, Sir."

"I trust your judgement, Sugar." Simpson turned to her.

"Thank you, Sir." She smiled and gave a nod as he departed.

As she stood in the sand, glistening with sweat, as everyone else was, she had a thought. Heatstroke was never going to do anyone any good. Thankfully, she had a solution in mind.

She turned and headed up the deck of the bar, a sweet smile on her face and greeted Penny. She'd met her many times before, frequenting the Hard Deck on many occasions before and after the elder woman had purchased it.

Her absence wasn't noted until she walked back up the beach, balanced elegantly on her hand, a drinks tray, filled with ice cold bottles of beer.

Even then, a sharp whistle was required to draw attention, as she watched as the team finished rallying around Bob, who had presumably just scored. Rooster slapped him heartily on the back and he put him down off of his shoulders, as did the others.

"Refreshments folks?" She grinned as their heads turned.

"I didn't think HR would condone drinking on the job?" Coyote raised an eyebrow.

"Well- if one of you would like to tell me the time?" (Y/n) asked with a tilt of her head.

It was Fanboy who took up her request, looking at his watch.

"18.01?" He spoke.

"Exactly, so technically the working day has ended, and I have no moral or professional dilemma in this round being on me." She grinned and nodded.

Happily they all took a bottle, thanked her and were glad to have something cold to drink in the evening heat.

She hugged the tray to her chest, a satisfied smile on her face as she watched the group gather in chatter.

"You know, I don't think it's very fair..." (Y/n) heard and startled, turning quickly to the source.

"Rooster!" She laughed and shook her head, looking up at him. "What is?" She questioned, looking him over.

She was almost blushing as she stood there, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, his classic aviators perched on his nose, though they'd slipped down enough that he could see over them.

He was unforgivingly good looking and now (Y/n) could really take it in.

"That you know every intimate detail about me and my life- and I don't know barely anything about you?" He spoke, calmly, and (Y/n) suddenly felt the dynamic shift into something more equal.

He glanced up to the bar, where the rest of the team were heading inside.

"Come in? I'll get you a drink?" He spoke, not moving his eyes back to her- fearing she'd simply say no, and hoping that, in that eventuality, averting his gaze would preserve some of his dignity and not pull threads in his self esteem.

"Alright." She smiled and in a snap Bradley couldn't help but look at her. He was almost suprised at the answer.

So they walked into the Hard Deck, Bradley slipping a t-shirt over his head and pulling it down over him, as some of the others had also done. The team were spread around the room, a few at the pool table, Maverick keeping a parental eye on them all, scanning the place from behind the bar, where he was helping Penny.

The pair sat at the bar, nearer one end, far enough away from the others that it was quiet enough for a conversation.

"I really don't know everything-" (Y/n) shook her head as she sat beside the pilot.

"Well I only know what I can- assume." Bradshaw said slowly but quite purposefully.

"And- what can you assume?" (Y/n)'s interest was piqued.

"Well... You've gotta be pretty smart-" He began.

"Thank you-" She muffled a small chuckle and nodded.

"And you know how to talk to people, you, uh, certainly told me-" Bradley nodded, raising his eyebrows and leaning back on his bar stool. "I think you probably said all the right things."

"That's my job- saying the right things." (Y/n) softened, her smile twitching a little. "Go on, what else?"

"Yeah, well- You're not married, or engaged? No rings." His eyes drifted to her hand, where indeed there was nothing aside from a plain and practical watch.

"Nope. Who's got the time these days?" She nodded and confirmed his suspicions and hopes.

"The only other thing I know for sure then-" Bradley paused for a second and leant in, whispering as he spoke next. "is what shade of lipstick you wear." He pulled back and laughed a little, and (Y/n) grinned, giving a confused look. "I noticed it this morning. Growing up with just my Mom I spent lots of time in drugstores waiting for her to pick out mascara and nail polish." He smiled.

"Some would call that a pretty intimate detail." (Y/n) almost teased.

"I think it's pretty inconsequential." He shrugged, his own smile on his lips, looking down at his drink.

"What do you wanna know then?" She asked, leaning an elbow on the bar and her head in her hand.

"Hmm... I'll start with: What you want to drink?" He looked up at her and grinned.

"Just another beer is fine." (Y/n) nodded.

"Alright, a beer it is." He nodded and got Penny's attention. She swiftly delivered another drink to the pair. As she returned to Maverick at the other end of the bar, who had just noticed the pair in isolation, they shared a subtle knowing look. "Now, Sugar-" He turned to her as he pushed her drink to her across the bar.

"Yes, Rooster." She nodded.

"How'd you end up here? Managing Top Gun?" He asked, quite genuinely.

"Well," She paused for a moment to collect the story. "I had a job just out of highschool, that was in a dentist's office- I was a secretary, one day in walks some great big military type, begs me to find an emergency appointment for his kid, I get him a slot for within the hour. He gives me his email and tells me he owes me a favour and to contact me if I ever need anything. A couple years later I find myself without a job and I'm running out of options, about to be thrown out of my apartment, loads of debt, and I get in touch-" She explained herself.

"And he helps you out?" Bradley nodded.

"Yeah- Pretty much." She laughed.

"Who was it? Not Admiral Kazansky?" He asked.

"No, but you're close- Ron Kerner?" She spoke the name, quite sure he'd know it.

"Slider? His wingman?" Bradley was as pleased as anyone would have been the coincidence that had brought her here.

"The very same." (Y/n) grinned. "He said the best he could do for me was a job out in California, an old buddy of his was running a flight school, was needing some administration staff and he could put me in touch with him." She took a sip of her drink. "I didn't know any better, had no other options, and of course it turned out to be Kazansky and Top Gun. Slider had put in a good word for me and I got the job, moved out here and worked my way up. That was... Nearly seven years ago?" (Y/n) sighed and realised how much time she'd spent in California.

"Wow, it's- that's- Do you still keep in contact with Kerner at all or?" Bradley asked.

"Yeah- sure I do! I'm god-mother to his youngest kid, they have me over every thanksgiving, since I'm usually too busy to get home." She grinned, reflecting on the whole thing. She hadn't seen the Kerners for a while, swamped with work, but made a mental note to send a message and ask after her god-child.

"That's neat- A good story too." Bradley nodded.

"Yeah..." She paused and looked to him. "I guess you got into the job cos' of your Dad?"

"Uh- yeah, mainly." Bradley nodded and then did a double take. "Wait- seven years?"

"Yeah 2012 I started as an administrative assistant. 24 and still fresh faced- no idea what I was doing." (Y/n) nodded.

"You were here as I was going through Top Gun." He stated, suddenly his mind swirling with his previous stint at Top Gun, trying to mind a snapshot within a memory that might contain her.

"Uh- Yeah I must have been." She thought on it and nodded. "I'm not surprised we didn't cross paths, I was hidden away in a corner of the office doing paperwork till- well must have been not long after you graduated." She turned the bottle about in her hands, from label to branding to 'don't drink if pregnant, don't drive after consumption' warnings.

"Then this drink is overdue." She looked up at him with a small smile, almost shy and more mellow than her usual fire spitting sarcastic persona. "If I'd have met you back then I certainly would have bought you a drink." He nodded and peeled his eyes from and out into the room to give a faux sense of nonchalance.

"I appreciate it." She spoke with a nod.

(Y/n) let her eyes drift silkily down his profile. The droplets of water and sweat still on his skin and dewily in his eyelashes. The slight coarseness of his skin, the tones of it. The muscles that pulled his lips into the slightest nuance of a romantic smile. Any loose strands of damp hair which pressed to his forehead.

But she thought he was pretty sweet, and if he'd done what Jake had earlier in the day, she would have melted like butter for him.

She almost hated the atmosphere between them, building up into what it was. It was unprofessional, and she knew full well she shouldn't feel the way she did, and yet it wasn't so easy to deny.

"Do you think I should go back to being your boss now? Or stick around for a game of pool?" Bradley looked to the woman. "Cos I reckon I could win back the cost of my round." She smiled a mischievous smirk.

Rooster just gave a smile and shrug. He wanted to tell her he liked it when she wasn't his boss. He'd especially be lying if he didn't like the idea of what he could do if they were both people with less professional integrity.

Her smile grew and she held in place for a second, before she jumped off of her barstool and put her hand on his arm, or went to. Actually she held his wrist and he allowed himself to be lead to the pool table, acutely aware of the placement of her hand and savoured it before she let go and before anyone else seemed to notice their closeness for that one second.

By the end of the night (Y/n) had won fifty dollars total and had finally felt like she'd made some sort of ground in actually getting to know her team.

And for once she enjoyed herself.

And at the end of the night, when they all had to admit they'd drunk just enough to let their inhibitions go and enough to head home...

Standing in the parking lot of the Hard Deck, the sun hadn't fully set. There was a sweet honey glow in the sky.

She stood waiting for her cab, leaning on the wall by the door, a little tipsy smile on her face.

She thought she was alone, Penny and Mav weren't in sight but couldn't have been far away. She was sure she'd seen everyone make their own ways home, and she just closed her eyes and felt the buzz of the alcohol and the slightest tingle on her lips as she chewed them.

For a second she thought she was dreaming as she heard the twinkle of a piano.

It took her a good few seconds to realise that it was coming from inside, shifting between tunes she recognised, from Auld Lang Syne, to Paul Simon, Bad Moon Rising and Queen and then finally it settled into something.

She stepped into the doorway and observed quietly, but with a flutter in her chest and a heat in her cheeks. He had no idea she was there.

"Sugar-" She heard in a familiar, mumbled, singing voice. "Ah- Honey, honey-" She could hear the smile on Bradley's face though she couldn't see it from the angle she was at. "You are my candy girl, and you got me wanting you."

She stepped in, knowing the drink meant she wasn't thinking about her job and what she should or shouldn't do.

The creak of the floor boards as she did make him glance up for just a moment.

"Honey, Ah-sugar, sugar." He continued on, as she got closer and eventually came to stand by him, leaning on the piano with a shine in her eye.

His voice drifted off as his eyes drifted to her and his fingers were slowly distracted from playing.

He pulled them away from the keys as they were wordlessly magnetised to eachother, he reached out and placed his hand ever so gently on her waist, and she just stepped into the touch.

He had turned on the paino stool, now perpendicular to the keyboard and looking up at her.

His large hands, warm but worked and not soft, guided her hips forward, into him.

Soon she had straddled him, and they were entangled in a hot and sweet affair.

He tasted sweet, sweeter than she could have dreamed. Maybe that was just the element of risk and inherent risque nature of their actions as she pressed her fingertips into his jaw, and felt his on her waist, hips and over her own hands as he held them in place.

Rooster could have been manipulated like clay by her. Enough drink was in the two of them that it wasn't shameful, and the fuzz and electricity in their stomachs and throats and fingertips was amplified by a hundred.

That was until (Y/n) felt a lump rise in her throat, she felt her heart beat just that bit harder in her chest, and she just wanted it to be harder to breathe and harder to tear herself away and she wanted everything a young woman might want.

She felt a pang of momentary sobriety which brought all the morals and rules and fears flooding back into her mind.

Then she paused, her hands cupping his cheeks, and just pulled away.

She breathed, and looked the young pilot in the eye.

"I think-" She whispered as he looked up at her with sparkling puppydog eyes, desperate, hungry and achingly, deeply wanting. "Bradley- I think- I'd better go back to being-" She tried to speak the words though they felt quite torturous.

"My superior?" He finished for her.

She nodded.

"Yes." She half whispered, part breathed and nearly simply mouthed.

She let him move to softly place his hands over hers, pull them from his cheeks with a sigh.

He looked down as he held her hands.

He turned them slowly and nodded.

"Right." He turned a slight smile up to her.

She backed off, and headed to the door with a sweet smile shared between them.

"(Y/n)?" Rooster called out.

"Mhm?" She glanced back at him, trying not to let on how she wished she could turn that part of herself off that made her stop and go back to him.

"Sorry." He spoke, not having moved a muscle. She shook her head and mouthed a 'don't be' to him as she did. "No- I know I should have thought about it first, but I don't want this to- to affect anything. Not the mission, or anything else." He was incredibly genuine. "I'm sorry."

TAGLIST ----------------

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#pete maverick mitchell #top gun #top gun maverick #fic #pete mitchell #topgun #maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster #topgun 1986 #bob floyd #bob #robert bob floyd #natasha pheonix trace #phoenix #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun fic #nick goose bradshaw #goose #nick bradshaw #natasha trace #robert floyd

[blueraineshadows]

Heart Breakers 💚💔❤️

Sebastian Sallow x Leina (MC) x Garreth Weasley

Chapter One

Notes: A request from @simpy-slytherin about a painful love triangle, the F!MC will take the name Leina, in honour of her MC. This is angst, fluff, and there is spice coming, of course! 🌶 💚 Slytherin Vs Gryffindor ❤️ Let's go!!

Leina was late for class and nothing was going her way this morning, her hair had a mind of its own and she couldn't stop yawning. Perhaps a late night adventure to a goblin mine with Sebastian hadn't been the best idea, but since when had she ever been able to say no to that boy? Since 5th year, day one. She smiled. She pressed fingers to her lips, the memory of the soft kiss he had placed there when he had said goodnight sending a little tingle through her. Did he truly like her more than a friend? They had been on a few dates, but nothing was official. Her heart pounded at the thought of more.

Shaking her day dreaming from her head, she gathered up her books and dashed for the dormitory stairs. At the bottom she nearly collided with a student, muttering her apologies she hurried into the Gryffindor common room and promptly tripped on a rug. Books flew everywhere and she landed on her knees with an oof! "Shit!"

A snort of laughter sounded beside her and a pair of boots came into view. "Colourful language, Leina. Are you alright?"

Garreth Weasley held out a hand and she took it with a sheepish smile. "Thank you," she said, climbing to her feet. Their hands remained clasped as she looked up at him. She felt a blush colour her cheeks. She didn't usually get embarrassed about cussing, but why else would she blush so? "Apologies for my language, that wasn't very lady like."

He waved it off. "Nonsense, I thought the situation called for something a little stronger, a good 'fuck' does the job when you need to vent."

Their gazes froze and now he was blushing. He let go of her hand as if it burned him. "I mean...I would never...oh crap." He fluffed his hair nervously, the soft waves falling haphazard about his face. "Um, let me help you with your books."

MC bent to help him gather her books and ignored the thoughts of 'venting' with Garreth that rudely danced across her mind. My goodness, just moments ago she had been daydreaming about Sebastian Sallow! Unladylike indeed!

.....*.....

By dinner time, Leina had decided that today was going to be written off as one of those days when nothing was going to be good. She had been bitten on the hand by a particularly snappy plant in Herbology, and Sebastian had laughed, the scoundrel, but he had made up for it by helping her with the wound and planting a soft kiss to her palm. At lunch she had dribbled soup down her robes and had to hurry to change before being late to Potions. Now she had a detention, not just for being late, but for encouraging Garreth and causing an unfortunate incident that involved a large spill of foaming fallout across their desk. To be honest, it had been rather hilarious, but the mood soured when Sebastian had sniped at her for being a little too familiar with Weasley. His words hitting her harder than Sharp's scolding. She told herself that it was nothing to do with her naughty thoughts about Garreth earlier this morning, but it may have been why Sebastian's words carried more weight.

Feeling tired and wanting her bed, Leina resisted the urge to retire early, and went to seek out Sebastian. She wanted to speak with him before dinner and try to end the day on a positive note.

The Undercroft was roasting warm when she entered and a haze of smoke filled the air. She coughed, her eyes stinging as she spotted Sebastian giving hell to a training dummy. He looked far too fetching in just his shirt and trousers, his collar open and his sleeves rolled up. The sight did rather hot things to her insides and she gulped. Perhaps she should leave him to it. But then, he spotted her, and she walked over to him.

"What did that training dummy ever do to you?"

He scowled, his eyes dark. "I just imagine it's Weasley," he sniped.

Leina sighed. Not this again. "What is it with you and Garreth?"

"I don't like the way he looks at you," he growled. He began to pace, his hand flexing around his wand.

"Are you two not friends?" Leina swallowed. She should leave, the air was thick with tension, it slid down her neck uncomfortably. "He isnt so bad, he can be quite funny."

"Oh, you think so?" He turned to her. "Is he your friend? Like I'm your friend? Do you let him hold your hand and kiss you goodnight as well?"

Leina gasped. "Of course not!" But then, this morning, Garreth had held her hand. It had made her blush. Her eyes skipped away from Sebastian and she pressed her hands to her cheeks, they were burning again. "There has been nothing...indecent."

"But there has been something!" Sebastian pounced on her words. He strode closer, invading her space. She looked up at him, stunned at the rage in his eyes. He took hold of her elbow. "I hate it when people touch what is mine. Look at me, tell me he hasn't touched you."

At first she flinched, stunned at the tone in his voice, but then iron straightened her spine and shs wrenched her elbow out of his grasp. "I am not a possession to be fought over," she hissed. His eyes widened. "How dare you! A few kisses here and there does not lay a claim on me either. If you wanted me to be yours alone then you should have asked me! I would have said yes without a second thought!"

"Does that you mean you wouldn't now?"

Leina groaned in frustration, done with today, she threw up her hands. "I cannot speak with you when you are like this!"

She spun and stormed for the gate, angry, tired and confused beyond belief. A firm grip on her arm made her squeal and she was spun fiercely against his chest. His mouth slammed down onto hers, his hand firm on her waist. Her body bloomed with fire. Isn't this what she wanted? Her hands seemed to think so, they slid over his shoulders, her mouth opening to him. His tongue slid over hers and she felt herself slipping, melting into the way his hands caressed her hips.

"Mine," he gasped. "Leina..."

This was possession, a demand from her, and she realised that this isnt how she wanted this to happen. He was trying to make a point with this kiss and the thought was like a bucket of cold water. Right now, she didn't have the strength to stroke his ego. She tore away from him, shoving him away. She caught the flash of hurt as she did so, but he concealed it behind the cloak of rage that stained the whole room. She sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I can't deal with this right now, I'm sorry."

Leina turned and left the Undercroft, left him standing there to boil in his own rage and misery.

.....*.....

Leina didn't appear for dinner. Sebastian sat there toying with his food, watching the door, but she never came. Garreth was there, eating, laughing, living his best fucking life and Sebastian sneered, tossing his fork down in disgust. He got up, dinner uneaten.

"Where are you going?" Ominis asked.

"To get myself something far stronger than this drivel," he grunted.

Ominis sighed and let him go. Sebastian in a dark mood was best left unprovoked.

Fire whiskey. Whoever invented the stuff must have been someone smart enough to know that one needed a release, an escape from the tangled mess that was life. Sebastian sank down another shot, the burn now getting barely a wince out of him as he drowned his sorrow. Solomon always used to say, the answers could never be found at the bottom of a bottle, but Sebastian thought Solomon had been a prick, and he would drink as much as he liked. Stuff didn't hurt so bad when you were numb. How was that a bad thing?

He was slumped in the chair by the fire, the Slytherin common room growing quieter as students drifted off to their dormitories. He wondered where Leina was. Maybe she was sitting in the Gryffindor common room laughing with her best buddy Garreth. He winced and rubbed his face with his hands. He was being a dick, he knew he was, but she was driving him crazy. He wanted her, wanted her so much it hurt, but letting people close meant you could lose them. Lose them to people like Garreth Weasley, the nice guys in life. He didnt think he could lose anyone else. Anne was the last wound in his heart and he was running out of bits to hurt.

So he poured another fire whiskey and felt the burn as it went down, savoured it even. He sighed and realised the walls were starting to close in. He needed some fresh air.

.....*.....

The cool night breeze whipped at Leina's face as she sped across the black lake on her broom. Despite her exhaustion and her confused emotions, she couldn't face her bed, so she had taken to the skies to try and clear her mind.

It was working. She could feel the tight muscles in her neck unwinding, she took deep breaths. It would be alright. She would let Sebastian cool down and then speak with him, try again. After everything they had been through, she couldn't give up on him so easily. He had a hold on her, she could admit that, he made her feel alive and wild and dangerous. She wasn't ready to give that up.

Neither did she want to give up Garreth either. He was so lovely, funny, kind, she enjoyed his company and wasn't about to apologise for wanting him as a friend. So, he made her blush this morning, what girl wouldn't? He was a handsome lad, so cute it made you want to squish him. No, she wasn't going to apologise for liking him, and Sebastian was going to have to come to terms with that, or risk losing her. She had done enough fighting in her short life, she didn't want to fight the people she cared about most as well.

Feeling better, Leina headed back towards the castle, feeling more hopeful and ready for her bed.

.....*.....

Sebastian found himself in the clock tower. No Crossed Wands at this time of night, but there were the odd few students passing through on their way to their beds. He staggered a little, feeling a bit unsteady on his feet and he sat down hard on the stone steps facing the door to the courtyard. He ran his hands through his hair. He needed to apologise to Leina. He needed to make it right.

As if he had conjured her through thought alone, he saw her coming through the entrance, but why on earth was she wearing Slytherin robes? He squinted, his vision blurring a little, and then he realised it wasn't Leina at all. It was Trixie in 5th year, the year below him. She had similar hair to Leina, but nowhere near as lovely. It really had been wishful thinking and he grinned at his foolishness.

"What are you smiling at?" Trixie cooed. She came closer, glancing around the duelling space. "Has there been a duel?"

He shook his head. "Not tonight."

"Shame," she said. She moved closer, taking a seat on the step beside him. "You are pretty impressive when you duel, it almost takes my breath away sometimes."

He looked at her, her face seeming to double up before swimming back into view. He thought she might be smiling, stupidly he smiled back. She shuffled closer. "Are you alright?" She asked.

He shook his head. "Nope."

"Oh no," she cooed. She put a hand on his arm. "Anything I can help with?"

"I fucked up," he said. "I don't think she is going to talk to me again after this."

Trixie pressed herself against his side. She felt warm and soft. Leina was warm and soft. He wished she was here right now.

"Don't worry, I will talk to you, everything will be alright."

He looked at her, without thinking he took a lock of her hair between his fingers, hair like fire, like Leina's. He smoothed it, so soft. She was so close, he watched as she licked her lips, he loved it when girls did that. It was sexy. He closed his eyes.

Warm lips were kissing him, they were soft, he felt a hand caress his neck and it felt good. Really good.

Somehow, she was in his lap, her hands were in his hair and he had a raging boner. She shifted, rubbing against it and he groaned. She did it again and he gripped her hips, her mouth moving along his jaw and down to his neck. He blinked madly, saw the curtain of her hair and pushed his fingers into it. Then he felt her bite, teeth sinking in and then she was sucking at him. He moaned, gripping her tightly.

He heard footsteps. Through the haze of fire whiskey and kisses he realised it wouldn't do to get caught snogging by the staff, especially when drunk. The footsteps were getting closer, coming from the courtyard, then they slowed to a stop.

"Sebastian?"

He knew that voice. He would know it anywhere. He tore himself back from Trixie's grip and looked. Oh, Merlin, there she was! She had come!

Leina stood there, staring at him, dumbstruck. Her hair was wind blown, her cheeks pleasantly pink and she was beautiful.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I..." Sebastian looked from her to Trixie and back again, confusion on his face. "I don't know."

"Oops," Trixie giggled. She put her hand over her mouth as she looked up at Leina. "I got the impression you were all finished with him."

Leina stared, her eyes darting over the scene, and Sebastian looked at Trixie. When the fuck had she unbuttoned her blouse? Her lips were pink from kisses, his kisses, and then he put a hand to his neck, the skin damp from her wanton attack.

He turned his eyes back to Leina, his stomach turning sickeningly. "Leina," he groaned.

Her face went blank, hard. "Fuck you," she bit out. And then she was running. Running away from him.

No! Not again. He shoved Trixie unceremoniously from his lap and stumbled to his feet, ignoring her cries of protest. "Leina!" He shouted.

He tried to run but the floor felt like it was tilting and he crashed his shoulder into the iron railings. The door to the bridge had swung shut already. Leina was gone. He staggered to the door, pressing both hands to it, his forehead making a thunk as it hit the wood in defeat. "Come back," he whispered.

.....*.....

Leina had no idea what corridors she ran down, who she passed, she just ran. There was a heavy feeling in her chest and it was wrapping around her, getting ready to squeeze. She didn't want to think about it, because if she did, it would hurt. If she let it win, it would crush her insides to pieces and she wasn't sure if she could take it.

Harsh breaths tore at her throat, her lungs were burning as she ran up the spiral stairs and hit the marble floor running, almost skidding to the floor.

She almost let herself tumble. Hitting the floor would likely hurt less than what was building in her chest. The fat lady saw her coming, her eyes wide. "Goodness gracious!" She exclaimed. "Where's the fire?"

In my heart, Leina thought. Sebastian Sallow set the match, made her burn, but what he left behind were ashes. She spat the password from stiff lips and the fat lady swung wide. Leina threw herself in, scraping her knees and not caring as she tumbled through and into the common room.

Silence. She stood there, panting. The fire danced in the hearth, everything looked cosy and warm, welcoming, but she felt empty and lost. She shuddered, fighting it back, but it was winning and an awful, heart wrenching sob escaped. She clutched a hand to her chest and bent forward. Not here, not yet. But where?

Her dormitory buddies would want to know what was wrong and she felt bile bubble in her throat. How to tell them what a fool she had been? How could she have been so stupid? 'Look at me, slayer of dark wizards, but when it comes to men, I'm a complete idiot!' No, she couldn't go there. Maybe the bathrooms? She could hide in a toilet stall and cry, but wouldn't that just seal her status as a fool?

The Undercroft popped into her mind and the heavy feeling in her chest expanded, threatening to suffocate her. It made her think of Sebastian and she did not want to think of him. She couldn't. She squeezed her eyes shut willing him to disappear, but to no avail.

"Leina?"

Her eyes sprung open and she sucked in a breath, her gaze darting up to see Garreth standing in front of her, his face creased with concern. He stretched out a hand, hesitated, then pulled back. "Are you alright? What happened?"

Of course it would be him who found her. Garreth Weasley. The reason Sebastian and her had fought, the reason Sebastian had...nope don't think it. Garreth Weasley had caused their fight for just being, purely and simply, a lovely human being. He had done nothing wrong at all, nothing. And here he was, yet again, standing before her being kind, thoughtful. She could see it in his eyes, the worry, his concern.

Just like this common room, he was warm, cosy, familiar and...safe. He was safety. He wouldn't hurt her.

Another sob cracked her throat and then she was launching herself towards him, her arms swooping up and around his neck, her face burying into the front of his robes, and bless him, he caught her. Strong arms wrapped tightly around her, one hand cradling the back of her head as she let go of the grip she held on the heavy ache in her chest. Betrayal hissed through her like a poison and she bawled, thick ugly tears and hitching sobs. And Garreth stood there, letting her vent, (but not the 'fucking' kind, mind you), letting her soak his robes with an embarrassing amount of snot and tears, and he held her. Tight. Safe.

How on earth was she going to be able to let go?

Chapter 2

Thank you for reading!! There is most definitely a part 2, it's almost finished, and likely a 3rd part. We are thinking alternative endings for this, where both boys get to win and then you can get your fave finish! You guys are amazing, thank-you 💜

#hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #garreth weasley #mc x garreth weasley

[artzychic27]

Hi, so I asked imsparky about hers but I also wanted to ask about your headcanons and ideas for the Hero AU. Both of you are so creative and I’d love your theories! I detailed the whole writing sitch with my AU in my ask to her, but I’d really just like to see what you think for the characters!

Adrien loves it when his friends braid his hair. Rose, Reshma, and Nathaniel weave flowers into it and Nino creates butterfly hair clips that actually move

Marinette and Kagami occasionally get into duels in the middle of the courtyard

Ismael, Aurore, and Nino only grant wishes for their friends. Anyone else? Make a reservation

Whenever Rose, Zoé, Myléne, and Nathaniel sing, they attract birds and other woodland animals

Simon likes to float around aimlessly just for the hell of it. Denise has to pull him down before he gets too high

Kim and Denise arm wrestle and it always ends in a draw and something getting destroyed

Nathaniel and Myléne fall asleep in class a lot

Marc, Adrien, and Reshma are dubbed the "Magic Princesses" despite Reshma not being a princess

Whenever Alya kisses a frog, it turns into a prince or princess. When her friends can't find a date to a dance, that when she comes in

Cosette can hit a note so high that it can shatter every window in a room

Alix has a flying carpet she uses to get to school

Mireille can shift into a lion

Ivan finds the sound of ringing bells to be calm that even his ringtone is a recording of a bell tower's bell ringing

Lacey and Simon are childhood best friends, same for Max and Denise, Aurore and Sabrina, Zoé and Nino, and Alix and Ismael

Jean HATES when people throw off his groove. 'Cause then he has to start all over, and he worked very hard on the choreography

Juleka turns into a beast when she gets angry and turns back either when she calms down or Rose kisses her

Sabrina likes the cold weather and is always dressed for it despite how warm it is outside. Marc gave her her own personal snow cloud

Cosette has a slight fear of red pandas... Don't ask

Nino travels by bubbles... Yes.

If you want to summon Nino, just shed a tear and say his name

Aurore can make dolls come to life

All of Zoé's shoes are made of glass, so she doesn't dance much

Kagami has a massive shire horse for a pet named Longg

Nathaniel has a lavish bed- A canopy with curtains, 360 thread-count sheets (very soft), memory foam pillows, and lavender-scented sheets

Marc gets to school by avalanche

Zoé is a pretty good seamstress and upcycles old clothes

Marinette is amazing at dressing as a guy. She contours, binds, and owns a ton of toupees

Reshma really likes cacti

Ivan can talk to gargoyles

Adrien is the grade's personal nurse

#class of heroes #disney #disney au #miraculous #mlb au #disney heroes #mlb ocs #miraculous ladybug

[1-million-interests]

the tower

I had another nightmare recently,

In this one I was a beautiful young princess.

My hair was long and slippery,

Great amounts of fabric drifted down my shoulders and hips,

And my head felt light,

Without the weight of a crown.

I was stranded,

Atop of a very tall tower,

Locked away by an unknown force,

With only the raging seas below me,

My only escape.

Atop this very tall tower,

The wind pushed against the stone,

And I swayed with it,

How thin its structure was,

A crooked spine.

I was told in a vision,

By a woman who felt to me like she could be my mother,

(yet her eyes were far too foreign),

She could be my captor,

(yet her hands were far too soft in mine),

That if I were to throw myself into the sea,

If I were to allow the foam to enter my lungs and eyes,

I would be rescued by a knight of the sea,

Taken into the care of a faraway kingdom,

And meet the prince of said kingdom.

We would then be wed,

And live happily ever after.

This vision also warned me,

That this was merely one possibility out of many,

That could come from tossing myself into the ocean,

However I had few options,

And I knew that the only thing by my side at the top of that tower,

Was boredom and doom,

For its erosion would eat at the base of the stone,

The wind would shatter its spine,

And regardless I would belong to the murky deep.

You see,

The prospect of eternal happiness and eternal warmth,

The possibility of standing on stationary ground,

After swaying in the sky for so long,

Was too great to ignore.

So I stepped off the tower.

I gave myself to the wind,

Which lifted my hair to its face,

Pulled tightly at my gown,

And handed me over to the sea.

I drowned.

The salt scratched at my lungs,

My eyes.

My hands were claimed by sharks.

And yet I awoke,

Not in my bed,

But still in my dream,

Staggering at the top of that tower,

Hair caught in my mouth,

Scratching at my tongue.

Again and again I threw myself from that stone pillar,

Once a sailor saved me,

Raped me,

And gave me back to the sea.

Once a band of pirates took me aboard,

Gave me a new name,

A new face,

And allowed me to rob and fuck alongside them,

Until I grew old and my legs were claimed by leprosy.

Once,

And only once,

Was I rescued by the royal navy,

Pulled from the salt by my hair,

Shaking and clawing at my own eyes,

Stripped naked and given the finest of garments,

And presented in front of a young prince,

Who saw beauty in my bluish tinge,

My wrinkled fingertips,

And took my hand in marriage.

He gave me a wedding,

A throne,

Children,

Until we grew old and died hating our spawn,

For wearing our crowns,

And counting our money,

As we took our last breaths.

All of these endings,

Always the same beginning,

Myself stood atop that trembling tower,

The memories of each possibility above me,

Egress seemingly beneath me,

And in between the heavens and the sea I stood,

Head bent,

Knees weak,

Certain that no matter the outcome,

I could not continue shivering there,

Atop that tower.

#writing #original story #creative writing #amwriting #poetry #original poetry #fiction #poets on tumblr #my poetry #poems and poetry #poetrycommunity

[cass1x1]

care, sender takes care of receiver when they're sick. | eden + maia!

@gerrykecy

Because Maia couldn't remember if the cold hand on her forehead and the softly whispered words of sympathy were real or not, she couldn't tell if the tap on the door was real or not either. It didn't really matter, she figured. Either the dream-visitor would keep tapping until she invited them into the dream, or the real-visitor would keep tapping until she invited them into her room for real. In either case, inviting them in was the only option.

She didn't really have the energy for words, still only half-awake, so she did her best to make a sound, hoping it would be enough. It was, apparently, too much--the door swung open and Eden rushed inside as quickly as someone carrying a steaming bowl can rush. "Maia," was all they said, though the word seemed ripe with questions Maia couldn't infer in her state. Eden put the bowl down on the bedside, sat on the edge of the bed, and put her hand on Maia's forehead.

The figure had appeared as though seen through a foggy window--more the idea of a person than anything else. When they spoke, it sounded to Maia's ears like she was listening from underwater, or a very old pair of headphones. Distorted, but recognizable. "I was wondering where you were..."

Maia tried to sit up, but the effort was about all she could manage. "I'm--"

The figure, evidently, wasn't interested in the answer. "Oh, sweetie." They reached out, and when their fingers, so pleasantly cold, reached Maia's forehead, it took all left--which was not much--not to lean into them. They were so cold, so pleasantly cool. Maia had been trying desperately hard to get cool before they'd walked in. "You're burning up. How long have you--never mind." They pulled away, and Maia followed after their touch. The effort of all that movement exhausted her. She should lie back down, only the bed was too and too cold at the same time.

Eden barely lingered on Maia's forehead, sliding her hand under the nape of Maia's neck. Maia wasn't sure if she sighed aloud or not. "A little better. But you need to eat." As if only just remembering, their attention snapped back to the bowl on the bedside table. "I wasn't sure what you'd want but I brought this. It's what I used to have when I was a kid."

Maia's memory felt difficult to wade through, the way a foam pit is hard to wade through, so she didn't bother trying. "I don't want--"

"You have to eat," Eden insisted, bringing the bowl into the space between the two of them on the bed. "Can you feed yourself or do you need my help?"

The embarrassment at the suggestion was powerful enough to get Maia upright and reaching for the offered bowl and spoon. It smelled amazing--nutty and warm. Maia hadn't realized how long it'd been since she'd eaten. Yesterday, maybe the day before. How long had she been asleep anyway? "What is it?" she asked. Not that it mattered. She'd take what she could get.

Eden smiled, warm and open and not hiding something, which was another thing Maia couldn't acclimate to. "Congee. Try it."

Maia dipped the spoon into the goop in the bowl, puling up a lumpy spoonful and carefully bringing it to her mouth. Hopefully, Eden didn't notice how her hand shook. The goop--the congee--tasted delicious. Like warm, savory rice pudding, with flavors Maia knew but didn't care enough to place. "Thank you," she said, only a tad begrudging.

Eden didn't answer that directly. "You shower when you finish. Let me know, and I'll change the sheets while you're in the shower, and then you can try to sleep more. I already called a doctor but they said it's probably just the flu so..."

An unfamiliar feeling swept through Maia. Not quite embarrassment, not quite gratitude. Something in the middle, though. "You don't have to do that. I can change my own sheets."

Eden knew better than the answer that either. "Do you want me to make you some tea, too, while you eat?" she offered instead.

#answered #gerrykecy #otp: maia x eden #ch: maia #o: eden #idk dude

[nat-alianovnaromanova]

this poem reminded me of bucky barnes (i just got into marvel comics like a few months ago lmao). particularly wrt nat. and of course the dog coding of both of them is very interesting to me also. dog as in a tool dog as in a loyal servant dog as in devoid of identity except for their place as a cog in the machine. what do you think?

ohhhhh i love u for this. hm yes obviously this is more bucky than nat but sidebar it has echos of younger nat in the red room/when she first starts out as black widow. i dont think she is as pathetically beaten down as ws bucky bc she’s never had her autonomy & personhood completely stripped away like him so she is not a tool like he is. like yes she’s had her memories altered and tampered with but essentially she could always think for herself and so she could always pick up and go. but when she was younger not really she just wanted to be a good little spy, ergo the dog, until she escapes the kgb and becomes the fugitive dog never to be chained again. however

the winter soldier is literally a nameless dog on a leash. they kick him when he whines. he sits and waits and speaks when he is spoken to and rolls over when he is told to. and it is all insanely brutal and violent but it is all he knows so he thinks ah well this is how the world works!!!! i am either going to be thoroughly violated or completely ignored!!! and so i must be Good and Obedient. good cog in machine. good soldier. and again its literally all he knows. and when i say knows i mean … idk how to explain it but essentially he’s cognitively impaired as the soldier: brainwashing + drugs + cryostasis have obviously done a number on him! and when he’s only let out for hours at a time before being shut back in—which means he can barely begin to comprehend his surroundings let alone figure out a way to approach them—he behaves very mechanically. very doglike in that he obeys cues (ie sit shake roll etc). so over time he is conditioned to only behave in the ways his superiors like (follow this man. kill this woman. mission report. stand over there and don’t speak. or actually no come here us have fun with the good little soldier) bc it gets him the desired reaction: no reaction! to him no reaction = he’s been good and loyal. so bucky is chained. no control whatsoever. and it's learned behavior. when nat happens he's very ill-equipped to deal with her bc she wants him to speak and she doesn't give a shit about his being good and loyal. which is ironic because she is the only time bucky ever WANTS to be good and loyal to another person!! so here he needs to learn different behavioral patterns to earn the 'no reaction' which in nat's case IS reaction. sorry i feel like im explaining this wrong + ive veered off the dog topic. going back to that - the last part of the poem about the dog learning to love is VERY bucky during and after his time as the winter soldier. because he is essentially learning love from nat he thinks love is like. a smile. and he has no idea how to get it so he whatever he tries that works is the thing he relies on - and he does it again again again in the hopes that it will earn him love. he's like when you feed a stray once bc you felt bad and he keeps coming back even though you try to kick him away. so with the black widow he's like. when a dog brings you a dead bird and expects to be praised for it bc he knows no better. and anyway character thesis for the winter soldier is that he's treated more like an animal than a person. he is an attack god foaming at the mouth. someones sharpened his teeth for him but all the biting and snapping is his own. no one gives a shit about his identity or his wellbeing beyond serving his purpose which is to be a good loyal soldier. ergo dog. during recovery bucky becomes soooo pathetic about wanting to be good and loyal. essentially he curls up at the foot of nat/steves bed and waits for one of them to pet him. but also he pretends he doesn't want to be pet so that neither of them can see the extent to which he is desperate for it.

ALSO obviously there is love as biting. like digging into the flesh is an act of affection. where the black widow and the winter soldier think that love is like. hey i killed someone for u! here's the severed head :) circling back to the dog with the bird in its maw. circling back to trying to learn kindness and coming back for the hope of it even after they've been let down (by one another or the red room/hydra or wtv). they get one (1) mildly affectionate gesture and it drives them crazy forever.

anyway in conclusion bucky and nat are specifically dog coded in different ways. nat is more rabid. she is the kind of dog who bites first and back. she bites for fun! (otherwise she risks being bit and she is much too wary to let that happen.) bucky only bites back and that is out of fear. they are both always scared & poised to attack. bucky only knows to wait for scraps. nat digs in the trash for her own. bucky and the winter soldier are also dog coded in different ways. bucky is more of the pathetic one sitting in the foyer while the ws is the one who barks and bites and gives u rabies until one good kick turns him into a curled up whiny puppy. hope this helps!

#sorry this got very long and meaningless. im a big fan of motifs and symbolism and talking✊ #i think i got off topic somewhere but uhhh essentially its like. don't sink in me with your dog teeth #also pathetic losing dog. betting on losing dogs. bucky is a bigger losing dog btw #.pdf

[chaotic-super]

The Log Cabin - 1/4

Lena swipes her thumb across the screen absentmindedly, watching Tik Tok after Tik Tok, bored out of her mind and having nothing to do today since she’s taking her first day off in months and so, as a result, it’s an unfamiliar concept to her.

Her bed is holding her captive, forcing her bones to relax and sink into the soft memory foam mattress that she doesn’t think actually remembers her because she is hardly in it and her pillows are soft as ever, cradling her head so perfectly that she can’t bear the thought of getting up.

Her eyes glaze over as she watches somewhat funny videos of cats, a few reddit posts that have been cross posted and then finally, her eyes find something very…interesting.

It catches her attention, pulling her focus from her distant stare to a more pointed gaze.

The video plays through once and then twice. She watches it through a third time before clicking the home button on her phone and tossing it aside. Now is not the time…but then again, if not now, then when?

It’s a decisive prod to the screen that opens the app back up and resumes playing the video she likes so much. She happily watches it through several more times, eyeing the details with each rerun but feeling a little odd for watching the same thing so many times. Repetitive actions like this usually grate of her nerves but she, for whatever reason, finds this to be enjoyable.

On her screen is a very hot, very muscular blonde woman. In her hand she is holding an axe and is using her very impressive arms to use it chop logs to the beat of a song, never missing a beat and never failing to split any of the logs in more than one solid swing. She must be a professional.

Over the course of the next few hours, Lena has found herself filling her time in a way she hadn’t really expected; she watched every video of the woman chopping wood that she had on her profile and had jotted down her professional details too. It turns out that the videos are promotion for her business, she builds cabins for a living in Midvale, just outside the borders of National City.

That information is intriguing. Perhaps she’ll find a use for it in the near future.

-

Sam waves her down as she struts into the fancy restaurant that makes her feel at home.

It’s something about the atmosphere. The way that every patron in the place thinks they are the most important and the endless hours she spent in establishments just like this one.

Those hours spent feeling like a fraud, like a stranger in her own skin makes her feel at ease in a way her therapist would despise and try to talk out her like it hasn’t been engraved onto her bones and seared into her soul. Sorry Franklin, you’re a good dude really but you don’t understand the complexities of the Luthor name.

Her heels tap against the polished marble floor with each poised yet forceful step she takes toward her best friend and new colleague.

“Hey Sam, you look wonderful.” Lena nods to the emerald dress her newly appointed CFO has chosen to don to their catch up dinner.

Sam ducks her head for a second, blushing at the compliment but having no protest to the statement. She looks bomb tonight and she knows it. “Why, thank you. You look hot in your suit, I always say you should wear them more often and those glasses are a major hit. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you in them and my eyes appreciate it every time.”

Now, Lena blushes, hand coming up to reposition them on her nose. “I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night because of stress from the upcoming board meeting in a couple of days and my eyes were so dry this morning that I couldn’t bear to put my contacts in, so I wore the suit to make me feel more confident.” She pauses to smile at Sam, thankful for her always sound advice. “It worked like a charm.”

They are interrupted by a man heading in their direction with an obviously fake grin and a stature that reeks of entitlement. “Ladies, Ladies! Thank you for gracing our humble restaurant with your fine presence tonight, we savour every second of you time you grace us with. I am the owner of this wonderful restaurant, and it would be my pleasure to serve you fine women tonight.”

Sam and Lena share a look, unnerved by the guy that never learnt how to not be a creepy, self-absorbed weirdo. A blind person could see that every word dripping from his tongue is ingenuine, yet they do what they must, just as they practice on a regular basis with board members at L-Corp.

“Thank you, we appreciate your hospitality.” Sam grins back at him, dazzling him with her warm atmosphere. “Could we get some wine and two of your chicken salads please? No rush, we’re quite happy to wait.”

He seems taken aback, clearly anticipating some sort of an altercation despite the situation not being a catalyst for anything of the sort, it must be the reputation of one of the  guests of the table that put him on edge.

He swivels his head to Lena, checking with her that the order is correct and struggling to keep his eyes to himself, getting visibly hot under the collar.

Lena can’t help but smirk. She loves having an effect on people, finding the right balance of attractive and persuading that makes people cave into her desires without the expectation of more. Nobody who has been in the same room as her in the past five years can say that they have been even remotely close to gaining anything from her, it has always been firmly off the table, and they don’t even know what ‘it’ is.

“That’s all for now, thank you.”

He clears his throat in a poor attempt to compose himself, slicking back his greasy hair with one hand. “Of course, right away, ladies.”

He scurries away, tail between his legs and Sam giggles to herself at the sight. “You really know how to take the wind out of their sails, don’t you?”

“It serves them right for expecting what shouldn’t be expected and lacking basic respect.”

An actual waiter comes rushing over, a bottle of fine wine and two glasses in hand. “Here you are, your food should not take long.” Her dips his head and takes his leave, never staying his eyes from their faces, and smiling softly, courteously.

“See, he was a lovely gentleman, it’s money and the illusion of power that makes people horrible.” Lena tilts her head up, sure of her words and willing to debate if necessary.

“I won’t argue with you on that, I just want to catch up with my friend, if that’s alright with you?” The snarky tone is a joy to Lena’s ears. This is one of the reasons she loves Sam so much. There is few people in this world that are brave enough to be open to her and bare their emotions without fear that she will use them against them, just like her family would.

The question, however, does make her pause. Should she lie? Should she simply avoid it? It might be too late.

“That pause means you are panicking and trying to find a way out. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell, I just watched some videos on social media.”

Sam leans forward, glass in hand, thoroughly intrigued by the confession. “Now I know something happened. You never spend more than a few minutes on social media. What did these videos entail?”

Lena’s face has never been so red, one would think she has been hung upside down so all of the blood would rush to her head.

Sam simply stares at her, her insistent expression never leaving her face.

Their staring contest is broken when their food is brought to them, which Lena uses as the perfect excuse to grab her fork and spear up some of the salad to shove into her mouth so she can’t be expected to talk.

“Don’t worry, Lena. I can wait her all night to get the details, no need to rush your food on my behalf.” Sam almost withers at the glare she gets but holds strong. She needs this information, and she has a feeling that it’s going to be good.

Lena swallows her bite with an eye roll. “Can’t you just let it go?”

“No.”

“Fine. I was watching a hot woman chop wood.”

Sam blanches. Of all the things she was expecting to hear, that was not one of them. It doesn’t stop the shit-eating grin from spreading across her cheeks. “This is great news!”

“How is that great news?” Lena is so done with her friend’s shenanigans.

“You’re not a robot and I now officially know you have a type. You like a bit of muscle on your ladies, huh?”

Lena keeps eating her salad, ignoring the remarks thrown her way. “I was simply observing her work. She builds cabins and I was interested in her business.”

“Oh, I bet you were. We all know you’re a sucker for a cabin.” She knows that Sam has her there, but she needs to save face somehow. She is thinking up her comeback when Sam’s hand clasps around her own. “In all seriousness, this is the first time you have shown any interest in anyone since I’ve met you. Go let your hair down and flirt with a pretty girl for a while. I’ve got this business running a smooth as ever so you can afford to take some time off.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good, now show me those videos, I need to see for myself.”

-

What is she doing here? This is an absolutely terrible idea, and she shouldn’t be doing this. Lena grips her steering wheel as she follows the curve of the road. This is the worst decision she’s ever made and yet she can’t find it in her to just turn around and go back the other way.

Why? Because she actually wants to do something reckless and stupid for once in her life that isn’t just to piss off her family. She’s a grown adult and she needs to do something for herself. This is it. It’s time.

She passes the ‘Welcome To Midvale!’ sign that is wedged between a bunch of trees on the side of the road, briefly questioning whether or not to ditch this but her gut makes her stay. There is something here for her and she knows it.

First things first though, she’s starving, and she would really appreciate some good food after her trip. Sam planned most of it for her so she already has a food order waiting for her at a local Chinese place that she can’t wait to try. From what Sam says, this place is better than any in neither National City nor Metropolis.

After she gets the food, she needs to head to the cottage that has been rented in her name, she already has the keys so she just has to show up and eat dinner then she can go get some groceries in the morning after she has had time to rest.

It takes her a little while to navigate around the town to find the place but eventually she spots it, hiding between a couple of other stores that she will probably find herself wandering into at some point on this trip even if it isn’t her main goal.

She finds a place to park and heads inside, giving her name to the smiling woman behind the counter.

She’s informed that it will be a few minutes, so she lingers off to the side, freeing up the counter space in case anyone else wanders in.

Out of boredom, Lena watches the workers, trying not to stare and freak them out but curious of what they are doing as they shovel dumpling after dumpling into boxes and then into a takeout bag. Surely that isn’t someone’s entire order. That would be ridiculous.

Then, in strolls the culprit. A very hot and very muscular blonde that is the reason for her trip.

“Kara! It is so good to see you. Your order is ready.” The woman behind the counter beams when she sees the woman. “I put in a little extra for you, you must be hungry after working all day, you must keep your strength up.”

The blonde has such a pretty smile when she regards this older woman. They must be very familiar with each other. “Thank you.” She takes the bag and peeks inside. “Whoa! You added loads of extra potstickers, you’re my favourite!”

“You are our favourite customer, we must keep you happy.” Is the only response she gets as she is ushered out of the restaurant so she can eat it whilst it is still hot.

Lena almost has a heart attack when she makes direct eye contact with her as she turns to leave. Her eyes are beautiful, a sapphire blue that burns into her in the most delightful way.

She gets a cheery wave and a quick quip before she’s gone. “You’re about to eat the best food of your life, enjoy it!”

A few seconds after that, she is out the door, Lena gets her own order and based off of that solid review, leaves them a very hefty tip that they try to deny but she doesn’t let them. Gifting them a rare Luthor smile and bidding them goodbye.

She pulls up in front of the cottage and stares in wonder. This is exactly what she had hoped for when Sam told her that she had got her a cottage for a couple of weeks.

This trip could be a nightmare but at least she gets a beautiful place to stay while it all goes down and if her brief interaction with the hot blonde, Kara, as the restaurant staff called her, she’s going to be pining the entire time she’s here.

She can only hope that Kara is open to what she has to say when she goes to talk to her.

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