#my city went in to lockdown a couple weeks ago :)
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Robots 2
Chapter 5: Cappy’s POV (A minute after the EMP)
FUCK.
What the hell just happened?!
I’m trapped in my car at two am, I’m on a six lane road that goes in four different directions, and there’s robots running around like the whole city’s on fire. That's problem number one. Problem number two is the green lights everywhere and the huge Storm Walls around Robot City were slowly rising out of the ground. Those Storm Walls were meant to protect the city and trains from any harsh weather conditions like hurricanes and flooding. If they’re going up, then that means something huge just happened. There isn’t a storm in the sky, though, so what’s causing them to go up?!
Robots are running around screaming something, but it’s muffled in the car. I was about to switch the radio to the news, but then I remembered that it broke a few weeks ago. Rodney was supposed to fix it yesterday, but he had a nasty run in with the press that day and didn’t want to work on anything…I still want to kill those guys for what they did to him.
Great, nothing is working and I’m stuck out here with all the crazy bots. Worse yet I left my phone on Rodney’s desk, so I can’t even call him and he can’t call me. The only thing that I could do was to get out of my car and run for help, which I really wasn’t eager to do, but I also didn’t want to sit out here like bait.
I peaked my head up a little higher to see if I could recognize anyone's car. I was out on the highway on the ground, thank Cog. I can’t even imagine being trapped in the air. There weren’t that many cars ahead of me, just a few trucks and other cars.
As I was looking around I saw a mob of those Ratchet freaks and ducked back under the steering wheel. There was a space big enough for me to hide under, but it was small, and I couldn’t turn in it unless I straightened my back and let myself be seen. Despite the metal shielding from the car, I could still hear their footsteps and chants, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I didn’t want to risk being seen by them, so I kept my head down and the engine off.
As soon as the chants and steps were distant, I straightened myself and took another peak. I looked around to see if I could spy anything I could run to. The walls were starting to gain speed, and the green lights started to turn into some sort of fog. It was getting harder to see from where I was, so now I have to hurry to find something.
I got lucky though as a couple of feet away from me was something I recognized almost immediately. It was the end of Bigweld’s limo. Out of the things I needed right now, that was it! I took a deep breath, and unlocked the car door. Without wasting any time I sprinted to the limo, weaving past the other cars as I went.
The limo was near the end of the railing that stops cars from falling onto the street below it. Transport pods usually flew overhead, but the sky was empty and bare. It was here that I noticed I made it to the limo in no time, and ducked for cover.
The limo was stuck between the railing and another car, so I had to hug the side of it to get to the door closest to me. It was a little awkward, but I was able to squeeze in between them and made it to the limo door. I felt around for the handle, praying that it was unlocked, but knowing Bigweld there was no chance of that happening.
Without any other option, I banged at the door.
“Bigweld?! Sir, it’s me, Cappy! Let me in, I need help!”
I heard a thud, then the sound of glass breaking. I banged at it again.
“Sir?! Bigweld, are you ok?!”
This time I heard the door handle rattle from inside, like he was struggling to grab and open it. A series of curses followed shortly after it.
I was starting to panic. Here I was all alone in a city that’s going into lockdown with a bunch of crazy bots inside of it. I can fight, but I can’t fight everyone at once. For Cog’s sake I didn’t even know what was going on! I had to get in, I wasn’t safe out here. Bigweld has his phone, I’m sure of it, he never forgets it. I’ll use that to call Rodney and-
BANG!
The sound from inside the limo brought me out of my head. In a panic I screamed and slammed my back into the other car, causing the alarm to go off. Right then and there I knew I was dead. I heard shouting and a thousand footsteps sprinting towards the car, and I knew if I didn’t get in, it'd be the end of me.
“Anytime now, Bigweld!!”
I started to bang at the door, paint chipping off of it and landing on the golden road below. There wasn’t a window for me to break, and even if there was, I don’t want to ruin the only shelter out here. At this rate I might as well just rip the damn door open. Just when I was about to though, I heard someone on the other side.
“The doors jammed, stand back!”
I got back, and the door flew open, shattering the doors to the other car. It would have taken me out if I hadn’t heard Bigweld’s warning. Without thinking I ran inside as he slammed the door shut. I fell to the floor of the limo as Bigweld leaned his head to the door to listen outside. I’m not sure why he’d do this, considering that you could hear them regardless of where you were in the limo. I could hear the mob from earlier return, now with even more members than last time. How did they get so many more bots that quickly?!
Bigweld turned to whisper at me. “What happened to you? I was on my way home when everything went crazy. Then out of nowhere a truck rammed into the limo and jammed the door.”
“Same thing happened to me.” I told him. “I was going to pull over until I saw the walls going up.”
He looked at me like I just said something in reverse. “The Storm Walls?! Are you sure?”
“Giant metal slabs rising out of the ground? Your face on each of the cardinal directions?”
“Yep, those are the walls.” He said, astonished. “But they haven’t been used in years, why would they be up?”
I waited for him to go on, but was met with silence, so I asked him the most important thing. “Do you have your phone? We have to call Rodney, he’s still at the office!”
“No, we can’t call him! This EMP is much more stronger then I-”
“Wait, the EMP?!” I yelled.
“SHHH! They’ll hear us!” He argued. “Yes, this is what an EMP looks like, at least according to the stories and theories. This has all of the tell tale signs of one, but I never thought it would be real.”
“Wait, so you were right?! How come we didn’t get hit by it? Was it our cars?”
“It might have been. It could have been anything!” He explained. “Remember? Anything can cause a regular EMP, so now anything could help us with this crazy one!”
We sat in silence again, unsure of what to think. We have friends that are in trouble, loved ones that we have no idea where they’re at, and we have no clue as to how we’re going to stop Ratchet.
Bigweld turned to me again, without the whisper in his voice. “I think they’re gone, I don’t hear anything anymore.”
Whew.
“Way too close…I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon.”
I expected him to give me one of those famous “let’s get to work” speeches, but I guess even he doesn’t have the words for all of this. I know I don’t. There isn’t anything that can make this ok. The entire city is controlled by Ratchet now, meaning that he’s after all of us. Me, Bigweld, Rodney, and just about everyone that I care about.
“…Let’s figure out a plan.” I suggested. “Let’s get out of here, find our friends, and get underground where no one can find us.”
He pondered my idea, then his face lit up. “Underground. Cappy, you're a genius! Signals struggle underground! Now we just have to find everyone else!”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult. They were supposed to be at a party, and knowing them, they should be heading home around now.”
“Alright, but where would they be now?” He questioned.
“I'm not sure, we could check out Lorrie’s place, but-”
“HELP!!”
We stopped dead in our tracks. We’d recognized that dramatic scream from anywhere. That was Fender’s scream. If he was here, that means everyone else might be close by.
“HELP! HE’S INJURED! FOR COG’S SAKE WHERE EVEN IS EVERYONE?!”
I looked up to Bigweld as he went for the door. “He’s going to bring that mob back again. We have to grab them and run.”
“Then let’s run.”
With that, he slammed the door open and we made a break for it. Bigweld was able to push the other truck aside with ease now that he was free. It didn’t take long for us to spot Fender even with the harsh greens everywhere, he was pretty hard to lose ironically enough. He was with Loretta and Lug, but I couldn’t see the others anywhere.
The two of us ran to the side of the highway, passing my car on the way there. I felt bad leaving it out here, and I didn’t like the idea of Ratchet or anyone else rummaging around in it. I swerved towards it and quickly opened the car door. I grabbed the keys to it, and locked the doors before sprinting towards everyone.
Bigweld had managed to stop them in front of an Oil Waste Management Plant, the perfect way under the city…minus the smell and used oil. As I got close to them I saw that they were in rough shape. Loretta had a huge hole in her left leg, and was propped against Fender. Fender wasn’t too bad, but it was noticeable. He was covered in scratches and dents, and he even managed to lose a few screws in his skirt. Miraculously though, his heels were still intact.
I turned to Lug to see the damage on him, only to gasp at who he was holding. “Diesel?! What happened to him?!”
Diesel was missing a leg. Scratches, cuts, and dents were scattered on his body. He was still online despite it all, but I didn’t want him to waste energy. Thankfully, Lug was able to speak for him.
“Those crazies got a hold of him when we were running away.” He explained. “I got him out of the fight, but I couldn’t get his leg. He’ll be alright, but he needs repairs fast. Where’s Rodney at?”
Great, the one time when we need him now more than ever is when I can’t call him.
“Last I checked, he was still at the office.” I explained. “We had a meeting about Ratchet and his cult and he decided to stay late and work on a plan. When we left, all of this happened. Where’s Crank and Piper?”
Now it was Fender’s turn to worry. He turned to me, with his arm still supporting Loretta. “We got separated when those bots chased after us. One minute we were at Aunt Fanny’s, the next we were running like everything was on fire! Last I saw she’s still with Crank.”
I felt horrible for the guy. Piper is the only sister that Fender has. With her to be in danger, and having no way to get to her has to be the worst thing you could do to someone.
Bigweld cut through all of us with his arm. “I’m afraid we’ll have to save talking for later! We have to get underground, fast!”
Loretta shifted from Fender, but still held on. “But sir, how do we get everyone down there? Not everyone can fit through the doors down there.”
She was right, but she forgot the fact that Bigweld was a running wrecking ball with Lug as the accessories. He managed to muster up a smile, but I doubt that it had much of an effect on anyone. “Then we’ll make our way in! Everyone follow me!”
We ran to the side of the rusted building in front of us, where the entrance to the Waste Tunnels were. As we neared the front, a giant locked door made itself known. It was large for everyone to fit in, but it wasn’t going to go down so easily. Lug and Bigweld were sizing up the entrance, trying to figure out how to break it down.
I was going to ask them about a back entrance when I heard Loretta and Fender cry in alarm. “Guys, we’ve got company!”
“And it’s not the friendly “We have cookies!” kind either!” Fender finished for her.
Sure enough, a gang of Ratchet creeps were on their way. We didn’t have time for a proper plan, so I made one on my own. I ran to Bigweld and grabbed his hand, dragging him behind me.
“Woah! Cappy, what are you-”
“Trust me!”
With that he followed close behind, with everyone else running behind. If we can’t go in through the front, we’ll just have to take the back entrance. Buildings like these usually had a back entrance for the larger bots that have to work down there. Sure enough as we raced to the other side of the building, we found the larger entrance. It was a giant pipe that was welded into the back of the building. I had no idea where it went, but anywhere was better than up here.
I turned to Bigweld, knowing full well that we’ll need some brute force. “Sir! The door!”
“On it!”
He backed up onto the street, and sped full force into the door. With a loud crash the door caved in on itself as he managed to force it open. We had our way in, but now there was a giant rotund bot speeding down into an abyss that no one knows how to navigate through…He’ll be fine. This is Bigweld we’re talking about, he’ll survive. I hope.
Before heading down I turned to stare at the sky. The walls had almost made their way around the city despite their lack of speed. The lights were now brighter than before, with almost every lamppost and billboard soaked in green. Fog was starting to form, and a light green haze covered the streets.
I had no idea how we were going to fix this. We don’t have Rodney, we have no idea what we're doing, and the only thing that we can do right now is to run. Run, and hide from whatever was happening up here.
I looked at the group that we had. They were still making their way over, likely due to them caring whatever injured we had, but they were far from behind. With one last glance at the city and the sky, I went underground, disappearing into the black. I don’t know how we’ll do it, but we’ll take the city back. For now, we’ll have to wait. Wait, and find the rest of our friends.
We’ll be back for you, Rodney, just hold on a little longer! We’re going to fix this! I don’t know how, but we’re going to fix this!
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On Writing & Physical Environment
One of the things I picked up during lockdown was watching tarot reading on Youtube. For me, who had just graduated, watching tarot readers was my source of solace in times when there were a lot of uncertainties in the world and time on my hand. It was nice to have someone with soothing voice telling you that things will be alright even with all the challenges you had to face along the way.
This habit of watching tarot reading from time to time continues until now (btw, my fav tarot reader is Kino Tarot for anyone wondering). I didn't watch as much as before but what I learned from watching those videos are how to put my feelings into words. Sometimes, you can't put a finger to what you're experiencing, and BOOM, the tarot reader skillfully put those into words. It wasn't always like this, but that's how I personally viewed tarot reading.
Disclaimer: Watching tarot reading doesn't mean you're hinging your life into some external forces or believing it can predict your future. I solemnly believe that the ability to move mountains lies within one's self.
Okay, enough with that introduction. So, a couple of weeks ago, I was doing my stuff while watching a pick-a-card tarot reading and through the group of card I chose, I was made aware how "physical environment" matters to my group.
I resonate a lot with that. I always told my close friends that I find certain places, easy to draw inspiration from. When I was an intern in Tangerang, I could write almost every day. Maybe it's because I joined a writing club back then that regularly publishes writing prompt, maybe it's because we always hang out at a cafe after work, maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the novelty of being in a new city, maybe, maybe, the lists goes on. There were a lot of things that I could factor in, but the peak of my writing phase so far had been that period of time. Only one month but it was etched in me and on the writings that I published.
I wish that my current job and environment could let me draw inspiration daily but alas, it wasn't the case. Just looking at the graphics, the time I write and write decreases drastically this past year. I was honestly sad, also frustrated for not doing anything about this. My vocabulary depleted and there were times I struggled finding the right diction for my writings.
I find writing to be my biggest source of comfort. If someone were to stop me from writing, I think I won't be able to stand it. I don't know when this has become a thing for me. Writing might not come easily to me lately but I think about writing a lot. Writing not in the context of jotting down minutes of meeting but for the sake of indulging in our own monologue literarily.
As if tarot reading wasn't enough, I find myself once again at awe on Victor Hugo's (author of The Hunchback of Notre-Dame and Les Misérables) workplace. In Hugo's Hauteville House at Guernsey, there sits at top was his belvedere or glass room that looks upon the scenic view of his home surroundings. When I saw an article on this, I immediately think of "writing" and "environment", and it hits me, I need to write about this (thus, this article).
I am honestly a fan of sunlight (I can sleep with a glaring sun light, but I find sleeping with lamplight difficult), big windows and study room. To me, who fantasize about having her own personal study room prior to the house, finds Victor Hugo's Belvedere compelling. It wasn't how I would imagine my ideal study room but it does gives me ideas on building one in the future.
But I shall leave this to the future.
Now, a pressing matter to attend is how to evoke the best environment for one to write? Even though I am currently writing, I constantly finding myself falling in and out of focus. I was only able to finish this post because my sisters went outside and I had this desk for myself. At least enough for me to put one laptop and a mouse.
If we had to copy the writing environment in Tangerang, it wasn't exactly the space where I write in. Sure, I still prefer typing on laptop rather than writing on paper or phone. But I did all of that, in my bed or sometimes on the coffee shop table. A bed wasn't an ideal spot to work and coffee shop doesn't always conjure my writing spirit. So what is then?
The thing that came to my mind would be being in a novel space. Allowing myself to just write without hesitance. Tidy (which is soooo not where I am right now). Greens, since I mix well with the nature. And I guess, the time to indulge and let your mind wander in and out. This was not very much accessible to me right now. But I know it's not impossible to create this environment for myself. It just needs a lil bit of work. Whether it's moving away, cleaning up your desk, designating a writing time, or simply do novel things and read books.
I will write again in a better place.
- Reina
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- Had to go back and check I hadn’t already post some ‘Chubby’ on this thing already and I’m surprised to see I hadn’t. I love both Chubby albums, and was paying pretty close attention when they were dropping visuals and generally building a lot of buzz around their tours and shows last year.
- I caught them opening for Turnstile, my first live gig post-covid lockdowns last spring / early summer. I’ve gotta say they probably weren’t at their best. Charlie looked a little lost on a stage the size of the Kentish Town Forum. The fact he necked a good half a bottle of JD during their 20 minute set probably indicates a degree of nervousness about being up there, and fair fucking play, I’d probably do much the same. That said, it was a great show. Turnstile killed and the kids went off. I certainly left happy. I similarly left happy after seeing Big Cheese play with Fucked Up a couple weeks ago in Kings Cross. The connection here being that two members of CATG play in BC also, and Meg played with Fucked Up on the recent tour too. Once again proving that irrespective of however many great punk bands and records come out and how big a scene might seen from the outside, it always the same small handful of very creatively motivated people doing 80-90% of the work!
- I don’t think Chubby and The Gang tend to play I Hate The Radio in their live sets. Although it might technically be regarded as ‘the slow song’ on their second album, ‘The Mutt’s Nuts’, it would be wrong to dismiss it as somehow less good than their usual oi-phetamine anthems. What I particularly love about this song is the chorus, and particularly the wicked vocal melodies between Charlie and Meg. It gives me very sixties melancholic Motown, girl group vibes, which, when think about it, still connects back to the band’s wider Rock’n’roll, proto-OI, bovver rock aesthetic and sound on this record. It might have blended a bit less well on Speed Kills, mind you. Aside from the killer vocals, there’s some low key fire drumming from Joe that stops the rhythm section from feeling a ploddy and pedestrian background beat to the harmonies.
- The video itself makes the band and central London look very cute. It’s a simple, vibes based vid and that’s ok. Maybe it was coming of age in the early 00s, the era of the DSLR democratisation, but I’m still a sucker for len’s flare and over exposure which the directors use a lot of here, to very good effect. And hat’s off also for taking full advantage of the much less busy streets of London a year or two ago to have fun with this video in an area of London you’re best avoiding any time after 5 in the evening.
- I’m sure there must be hundreds of music videos that have been filmed inn around Piccadilly circus (not a bad idea for Youtube Playlist!), but off the top of my head the only other one that springs to mind is Devlin’s ‘London City’. Although sonically quite different to ‘I Hate The Radio’, both artists shared a strong distaste for radio: Devlin was a member of infamous lyrical grime crew The Movement who filmed some of their most famous freestyles on a DVD series called Fuck Radio. The visuals on both videos share a similar late night central London wooziness and melancholy. They low key communicate that strange feeling of disconnection or loneliness in the busiest part of a city, at the busiest time of the week. What Dostoevsky say, eh?
- Anyhow, existential ramblings aside. This tune and video are very cute. I look forward to seeing Chubby play live again soon.
#chubby and the gang#static shock records#music video#london#devlin#punk#hardcore punk#ukhc#the movement#london city#picadilly circus#punk music#fucked up#big cheese
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2:33pm. Been a minute. I am still overall doing okay. The Maine trip I mentioned back in September did successfully happen. All of the stuff that was in Maine was great. I got to experience so much New England autumn. Quality time with my dad went well. My Stephen King nerddom was very much indulged. Maybe I’ll post pictures at some point.
The RI part of the visit was not so successful. Seeing my grandparents was great, but being back in the RI house that I lived in for so long was a terrible experience. I don’t think I can ever stay in that house again. Without Jack (my late family cat, he passed away this year at age 19), there’s nothing really there to hide the sad cycle that’s happening in that house.
Work bullshit continues. That is admittedly my norm now.
Personal life stuff is generally going well. My anxiety does continue trying to find ways to ruin it, but I’m doing my best to not let that happen.
I recently did a week and a half of cat-sitting/apartment-sitting for a couple friends. The cat-sitting part went great, she was a sweetheart to me. That definitely helped with the isolation part of the gig. I really didn’t think hard enough about what staying in an apartment without a car and far from my social circle would do to my brain.
I’ve accepted that December holidays no longer make me happy due to many memories of forced interactions and pressure to Do Something & Be Happy. I instead did a couple of low-key things this year that were what I wanted.
I’m feeling a bit off today because I’m doing some mild self-isolation. A friend of mine recently tested positive for COVID and while I have tested negative, and it’s been 5 days since I last saw said friend, I felt like I should be safe and stay in. It’s also cold and I’ve been so mentally exhausted from work that I’ve been using this extended weekend mostly to catch up on sleep and recharge.
But while I have done things like go to a movie theater or sometimes out to eat over the last couple months, I feel like I’m reverting a little bit to lockdown mode. Maybe it’s the rising case numbers, maybe it’s hearing about all the airline shenanigans. Maybe it’s my whole hiding-from-everything instinct that happens when I’m low or upset.
A little while ago, I became very fixated on The Weeknd. There was a live performance of his that I found from 2020. Specifically the November 2020 American Music Awards. LA was still in lockdown. He walks up and down an empty bridge street that is lined with fireworks. At the end, the camera pulls back and up and up as the city is shown behind the bridge, and The Weeknd gets smaller and smaller. Fireworks burst outside of the bridge. I have revisited this performance more times than I can count not just because of the music, but because it captures the specific time and place and feeling of lockdown for me in 2020. The Weeknd sings over and over again “save your tears for another day” as the city behind him is quiet and empty, even though there are still people there trapped inside their homes.
I keep rewatching it. I think it may be because I still feel trapped. Again, I’ve been outside, I’ve interacted with folks. But I still wear a mask at work every day and have just accepted that I’m one of the only people in the office that does that. If I’m invited to a gathering of more than half a dozen people, it is more likely that I won’t go. I left the choir I was a part of because I didn’t feel safe singing inside with a large group of folks without masks. I made the mistake of going to the zoo with a couple friends on the 26th and was completely unprepared for the LARGE number of people and families there, most of whom were unmasked. I was masked the whole time but I still felt unsafe.
Wearing a mask isn’t a problem for me. I just know that I can’t keep cutting myself off and distracting myself with fixations long-term. I need a social or creative outlet again, but I don’t feel safe enough to look for one.
On a petty note, Avatar: The Way of Water is a bad movie. I recommend not giving it money. It has enough.
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4 times his friends posted you on their instagram + 1 time he did - mat barzal
a/n: I wrote this literally back in july so lets just ignore how idealistic this is regarding quarantine but im a slut for some barzy this is all fluff
word count: 4,733
summary: like the title says, some friends (with benefits?) to lovers + a tyson cameo, fluffy summer quarantine fic
tagging @davidpastrsnack so kate can get on the barzy train
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1.
To say the whole quarantine thing was an inconvenience was an understatement. School had ended online, your summer internship was cancelled, and it seemed like your summer would turn into an uneventful couple of months stuck in your apartment in, probably, the worst place to be stuck in during a pandemic: New York City.
Or so you thought.
You’d planned on having the most boring summer ever until your friend, Mat, had invited you to hole up away with him and a few friends in a lake house back in Vancouver. Well, friend was a loose term. The two of you were friends… just ones that kissed occasionally… and sometimes more than kissed. You’d met him about a year ago at a bar while he was out with his teammates after a game. A cliche meeting, but you hit it off instantly. Instead of ending up in his bed at the end of the night (which you would eventually end up at after a couple months), it turned into an exchange of numbers and an invitation to hang out later in the week.
You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just thinking he was being friendly and wanting to end the conversation, so you were surprised to get a text the next day from an unknown number asking if you’d wanted to go on a bike ride.
Flashforward a year later and the two of you still went on bike rides together. At least, up until the pandemic started.
When the text came telling you to pack your bags for a month or so, you thought he was joking. Surely he couldn’t have meant you to join him in Vancouver over the summer? You were proven wrong when he showed up at your apartment the next day, two coffees in his hand.
“Uh, hi, Mathew,” you said hesitantly, opening your door to reveal your disheveled state, having just woken up.
“Why are you dressed like that? We have a plane to catch in four hours,” he said, pushing himself through your door, uninvited, to set the coffees on the counter.
“What are you doing here? What plane? You’re not supposed to be going out,” you reprimanded him for showing up unannounced and in the middle of quarantine.
“I told you we’re going to Vancouver, I know you read my text. Now let’s hurry up and pack, we gotta get going,” Mat rushed, already on the way to your bedroom.
You followed him after a brief moment once you’d processed what was going on. Mat had already pulled out your suitcase and set it on top of your bed by the time you entered the door. He was in the middle of rifling through your drawers and grabbing random garments to throw into the suitcase when you’d spoken again.
“You’re actually serious about this?”
“Of course I am. What better things do you have to do in a city on lockdown for an entire summer? Honestly, I’m doing you a favor,” he explained easily, turning back to grab more items.
“Oh, you’re doing me a favor? Thank you, Mat, for saving me from a summer of suffering. It’s not like I had other plans to find different internships or focus on my summer classes,” you replied sarcastically.
Mat rolled his eyes. “I am doing you a favor, and you’re doing me a favor by going. I need a hot piece of ass to get me through this, or I will lose my mind.” You slugged him on the shoulder in offense, but all he did was chuckle.
“And anyways, you can still do your classes in Vancouver. Instead of doing them locked in this apartment, you can do them lounged out under the Canadian sun. Preferably in a bikini,” he finished. You slugged his arm again, harder this time.
“In fact, you should take the red bikini, it makes your tits look amazing,” he said, noticing you shuffling through your swimsuits. You rolled your eyes at him but grabbed the red one anyway along with a couple others.
With both of you folding and packing, your bags were ready to go in record time.
“Alright, baby, let’s go.” And so you were off.
A week had gone by in total bliss. As much as you hated to admit it, Mat was right. Vacationing in Vancouver in a secluded lake house was a lot better than being alone in your apartment, even if you did still have classes to do. Mat teased you about it, but he always left you alone for a few hours in the day for you to focus on your work. Unless he really wanted something… like right now.
Mat had joined you laying on the couch while you were in the middle of annotating a book for class. He wiggled his way between your arms, causing you to break your hold on your book. He rested his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your middle, and nuzzled his face into your neck. Joining your hands back to your book and bringing your highlighter to the page, you continued to underline phrases you’d come back to later. A couple minutes passed in silence before Mat started sighing. And then he sighed again.
“What do you want?” you huffed out, closing your book with the pen marking your page.
“Let’s go swimming,” he said, pushing up to his elbows to look at your face.
“I have to finish, like, three more chapters today,” you explained.
“You can do that later. I want to go swimming now,” Mat whined.
“You know you sound like a petulant child right now, right?” you asked, moving a hand to his head, pushing his hair back as he pouted.
“Stop using big words on me. Let’s swim,” he said, rolling his eyes.
You paused to think about it for a moment, “Hmm… okay, I guess,” you said with a smile. Mat returned your smile with one of his own before hopping up to drag you to your room to change. It didn’t take much to convince you to swim. It was a really nice day out, and you didn’t really care to finish reading about 17th century philosophy.
You changed into your red bikini, Mat swapped his shorts for a pair of swim trunks, and threw on a backwards baseball cap. You went out back to join the rest of his friend group, who were in the process of loading up the boat with supplies and equipment.
“Oh, look, if it isn’t Brainiac and the Beast. Are you two finally going to go boating with us?” Tyson shouted from the dock. You rolled your eyes at his nickname they created for you and Mat. It had only been a week in Vancouver, but the chirps about you and school were tired by now.
“Princess here wants to swim in the pool, maybe next time!” you shouted back, pointing to Mat.
They laughed at your response, turning their attention back to the boat and running supplies to and from the house. You turned your attention back to Mat, who was taking off his hat and was about two seconds away from jumping in the pool.
“Mathew, stop!” you yelled out, “Get your ass over here!”
“What is it?” he asked, stopping just short of the deep end. He grumbled before marching over to you.
“You need to put sunscreen on first, dumbass,” you reprimanded. As you turned your back to grab the bottle of sunscreen, he rolled his eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mat,” you said sharply, turning back to face him with a raised eyebrow.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”
You ignored him, opening the cap and squeezing lotion onto your hands. You gestured him to turn around, and you spread the lotion over it, making sure to rub it into his shoulders.
“I don’t see why I have to put sunscreen on. It’s not even that hot outside,” he muttered.
“First of all, you’re a dumbass. Second of all, heat doesn’t automatically mean the UV rays aren’t strong. And lastly, you’re white, baby, you’ll burn like a sun-dried tomato and being in water only increases the amount of sun you’re exposed to,” you explained, reaching up to rub some on his face.
“Sorry, Miss Meteorologist,” he grumbled, clearly not happy he’d lost this argument.
“One of us has to have brains. We can’t all get by on our good looks and skating ability,” you replied, slapping his cheeks when you were done for good measure.
“Okay, well, if you’re finally done,” you nodded in confirmation, “Let’s go.” He picked you up from under your thighs and ran at full speed towards the pool before you could even process what was happening. You screamed his name in protest begging him to put you down, claiming you hadn’t had time to put on sunscreen yet. He ignored you as he jumped into the deep end, dragging you with him.
You emerged from the water clinging to Mat’s wet body, your hair sopping and hanging over your face like you had come straight out of the movie The Grudge. Mat was laughing at your chaotic look, knowing you were well pissed at him. You jumped higher in the water on top of him to dunk his head under and tried your best to drown him.
It wasn’t until you were relaxing on the couch later that night doing your routinely social media scroll that you saw one of the guys recorded your sunscreen interaction by the pool, you calling Mat a dumbass, and him throwing you in the pool onto their instagram story with a caption “all these two do is fight” with some laughing crying emojis added for effect.
2.
After a long day or hiking, you’d immediately crashed on the couch once you’d gotten back to the house, not bothering to walk all the way to your room. It was only early in the afternoon but you’d been out since sunrise, and dealing with people for hours on end had drained you. The group laughed at you as you plopped your body down onto the couch, curling your head under your arm instead of grabbing the pillow two feet away from you. The rest of them gathered in the kitchen, refueling their bodies with assorted snacks as they started popping open bottles of beer, ready to start the night. It seemed that even an entire day on their feet had not emptied them of their, seemingly endless, energy.
“Jesus Christ, we hiked for, like, six hours and you’re all still bouncing off the walls,” you sighed deeply.
“We’re about to go hit the boat and go water skiing, too. I’m assuming you’re too tired to join us?” Tyson teased.
“I will not be joining you because unlike some people, I need a nap. Now get out of here, you’re all giving me a headache,” you said, pinching your fingers on the bridge of your nose to emphasize your point.
They all snickered but kept quiet as they shuffled around, packing up more food to take outside. You heard the sliding door shut and close a few times as they ran in and out before it was finally silent. You let out a sigh of relief as you took solace in the calm quiet.
That was until you felt a pair of arms shifting you closer to the edge of the couch. You peeked one eye open to see Mat rolling your body over to give him some space as he climbed over your body to nestle himself between you and the back cushions.
“Not going out on the boat?” You asked as he tucked a pillow under the both of your heads and pulled a blanket over your bodies.
“No. They’re exhausting. I need some time for myself,” Mat replied, wrapping his arm around your middle to pull you into his chest.
“No offense, but if you’re with me, you’re not by yourself,” you explained, closing your eyes again as you settled into a comfortable position.
“Yeah, but you’re you. You don’t exhaust me,” he said quietly. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t answer. Within a few seconds you heard Mat’s breathing even out, and you followed quickly behind him into a deep sleep.
-
A couple hours passed in a dreamless sleep when you heard the sliding of doors and laughter travel through the house. It stirred you from your sleep and you both shifted around, letting out displeased groans.
“Are they both still asleep?” You heard one of them ask from the kitchen. Neither of you wanted to answer in hopes they would leave you two to continue sleeping.
You were sadly mistaken.
“Hey! Sleeping beauties! Time to get up!” Tyson shouted from somewhere above you.
You both groaned out a “Fuck off, Tyson,” without opening your eyes, both of you giving him the middle finger. Tyson laughed to himself and you expected him to keep bothering you, but you heard his footsteps lead away from the couch. You turned over on your other side, tucking your face into Mat’s neck before falling back asleep.
-
When you woke up later that evening, you checked instagram again to see Tyson posted a new story. It was the video of him bothering you two and flipping him off with a caption that said “I get no respect around here :(“
3.
It had been raining all day. Which meant everyone was stuck inside watching movies and eating pizza. It didn’t take long for you to get bored of lounging on the couch, especially when all they wanted to do was watch Fast and Furious movies. You sat on the loveseat you were sharing with Mat, and you distracted yourself from the boring movie by tangling your hands in your hair, French braiding the strands into pigtails mindlessly. You unbraided and rebraided your hair into a fishtail after the pigtails, and then into a regular braided ponytail after that. You let yourself get caught up in daydreams as you stared blankly at the TV when Mat started tugging on your leg. Dropping your braid, you finished tying it off with a hair tie and turned to look at him.
“Let me practice on you,” Mat said quietly.
“Practice what?” You asked.
“Braiding,” he said, shuffling to sit upright. He tried to gently push you off the couch until you got the hint and moved to sit between his legs on the floor.
“You think you can do it?” You asked, ready to offer him a demonstration.
“I’ve been watching you for the past half hour, I got this,” he replied, pulling out your hair tie. You rolled your eyes at his confidence, but let him continue unraveling the strands.
Every few minutes Mat would sigh exasperatedly before pulling out the twists he’d made to start over. Eventually, he’d almost gotten all the way to the end of your hair before he sighed again, clearly fed up by how long this was taking him. You didn’t say anything as he restarted for a third time, going for a straight back braid instead of a French braid.
After another ten minutes, Mat had finally completed his simple braid, tying your hair off with the tie. He tapped your shoulder to indicate he was done, and you pulled the long tail over your shoulder to look at it.
It was a braid.
An extremely loose one where he mixed up the strand order in a couple places, but a braid nonetheless. You turned around to get back up on the couch, and you were met with his triumphant smile.
“Good job, bud,” you complimented, leaving the braid in as you resumed your previous position on the couch.
-
You checked your phone to find a notification of a new story tag. You opened the app to see a picture of you on the floor, staring at the TV while Mat had his hands twisted in your hair and a confused look on his face and tongue poking out of his mouth. Next to your instagram tag was “he’s been knotting her hair on purpose for 20 minutes now”
4.
Your final exams for the summer classes you were taking were in a week. Finals stressed you out more than anything else in the world, and when you were stressed, you did a lot of baking. A lot of baking. After finishing your finals study schedule and nearly breaking down almost twice because of the amount you had to get done, you decided to start baking instead of going to sleep. So, at 3 in the morning when everyone was asleep, you’d turned on the oven and brought out the bowls.
It began with a few dozen cookies. You figured everyone could at least enjoy the cookies. Who didn’t like cookies?
Cookies turned into muffins, muffins into cupcakes, and then cupcakes into pies. By the time everyone was waking up, it was nearly eleven in the morning. You’d gone to the store twice and had taken a few twenty minute naps while you waited for your desserts baked in the oven. And right now, you were in the middle of finishing off some cinnamon rolls for breakfast
“Oh my god, what the hell happened here?” Mat had asked with a scared expression, taking note of the disastrous kitchen. You didn’t answer him as you were topping off the rolls with some icing.
A few more bodies had gathered in the kitchen and began to fill the seats at the countertop while they watched you with worried eyes.
“What?” You asked innocently, placing the plates of cinnamon rolls in front of all of them. Their eyes followed you carefully as you pulled more goods out of the oven where you were keeping them warm. Plate after plate you set on the counter, all the cookies and muffins and cakes.
“How long have you been up?” Tyson asked cautiously. You swear you’ve never heard him use a softer voice than right now.
“I’m not sure. I never went to sleep, I guess? What time is it now?” You asked, pulling out glasses for orange juice.
“Nearly noon. You seriously didn’t sleep?” Tyson asked. The others had delved into the confections, eyes bouncing between the two of you as they stuffed their faces.
“She’s stress baking,” Mat replied quietly, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.
“What the hell is tress baking?” One of the other guys asked.
“Yeah she does this when she’s stressed. Usually when finals are coming up,” Mat said, directing it more towards you than his friend. You gave him a sheepish look, deciding not to comment since he already answered for you.
Mat was used to your stress baking as it resulted in you showing up at his place in the middle of the night with bags full of pastries in the late hours of the evening. It was always against his diet and he frequently gave most of your desserts to his neighbor, but he could never tell you no when you arrived with gifts.
“Well, I’m all out of flour, so, I’m going to run to the store again to get some more supplies so I can make a chocolate cake later,” you said hurriedly.
You did a quick double check of the kitchen, flashing all the guys a bright smile before heading out the door with your purse in hand, all of them staring until the front door shut behind you.
-
When you came back, you found Mat in the kitchen doing the dishes and nearly all the sweets you’d baked earlier were eaten or wrapped and put away. Maybe there was a plus side to being in a home with five other people.
“Mat, you don’t have to do that,” you said, setting your groceries down and hip checking him away from the sink.
“You’re already stressed, I figured doing the dishes would take away some of that,” he said with a shrug. He continued rinsing out some bowls as you gave him a small smile.
The two of you continued to wash the dishes in silence, moving to clean the countertops when you were done. After half an hour, the mess you’d made was gone and any signs of a baking breakdown had been erased.
It was a shame you were about to tear up the kitchen all over again.
“How about this,” Mat said, noticing the frown on your face at the thought of making another mess, “Let’s have a competition.”
You quirked your eyebrow, “I’m listening.”
“You said you were making a chocolate cake, right? How about we see who can make the better cake,” Mat propositioned.
You raised both your eyebrows this time. You both knew you were the better baker by a long shot. You did have this same breakdown at least twice a year. You weren’t even sure Mat knew how to make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or included possible salmonella-inducing ingredients.
You knew what he was really trying to do. He was trying to distract you from all the stress, and he knew you couldn’t turn down a competition. You were just as bad as him when it came to winning. Thankfully, this was something you knew you’d win.
“Fine, but I hope you’re prepared to lose,” you agreed with a smile.
“I don’t know, I have been practicing my cooking skills lately,” he said, grabbing the bowls he’d just dried off.
“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied with an eye roll and heavy sarcasm.
You joined him in gathering all the ingredients and materials on the counter, setting up your respective stations. Mat divided the workspace in half, drawing a line in flour which made you laugh. You split the bowls between the sides and set up the ingredients on the second counter just like an actual cooking show.
“Okay, ground rules first. Half an hour to make the cakes, we bake them at the same time, and then another half hour for decorating at the end,” you explained, tying your hair back in a ponytail. Mat nodded at your statement and set a timer on his phone for 30 minutes.
“Ready.”
“Set.”
“Go!”
-
After about two hours, your creations were done. Well, they were supposed to be. Mat’s cake looked more or less like a brown lump coated in frosting and stripes. You’d tried your best to decorate yours with small chocolate roses, but you could’ve turned out a plain cake and probably would have done better.
“I think I won,” you stated confidently.
“You’re not allowed to decide, you’re biased! I’ll make a poll on my story,” Mat said, going to grab his phone.
“You can’t do that, your followers are going to pick yours.”
“Fine, we’ll get someone else to do it— Josty! Come here,” Mat called to his friend passing through the kitchen. He hesitantly walked over to where you were, not wanting to come in the middle of whatever you two were shouting about.
“We need you to make an instagram poll to see who’s cake looks better. Oh, and you’re going to taste test them,” you said, picking up your cake to pose for a picture as Mat did the same. Tyson sighed before realizing you two were serious and he opened his app to take a picture.
He added the photo to his story with a poll asking “Which one is better?” With two options, Y/N’s or Mat’s.
After you set the cakes back down, Tyson picked up a fork before stabbing them to pick out a chunk from each. He ate yours first, nearly moaning at the taste.
“Holy shit, this is, like, the best cake I’ve ever eaten,” Tyson said, shoveling down another forkful. You gave Mat a shit-eating grin.
“Okay, okay, try mine now,” Mat said, displeased. Tyson rolled his eyes before forking out some of his.
“Uh,” he coughed, “it’s a little,” cough, “dry.”
“What? No, it’s not! Let me try,” Mat shouted, outraged, and grabbed Tyson’s fork to try for himself.
It took him two seconds before he was spitting the cake into a napkin.
“Fine. You win,” Mat conceded, throwing a dish towel against the counter in mock fury.
You gloated for another 5 minutes, pointing out Mat’s terrible baking skills as Tyson continued to eat your cake and laugh at Mat.
You won the instagram poll too.
+ 1
It was the last week before you and Mat were flying back to New York. The past month had passed quickly, and Mat needed to get back for the start of training camps. As the summer began to end, the whole crew thought they’d spend one last day on the boat before everyone started parting ways.
It’s not like you were opposed to being on boats, but when all the guys did was water sports and no one wanted to slow down to teach you, it wasn’t as fun.
Today, however, had been quite calm as you sat against the front of the boat, a seltzer in hand as you watched Tyson wakeboarding in the back. Mat was curled up behind you as you leaned back against his chest, tanned skin shining in the summer sun. You reached back to grab the baseball cap off his head, placing it on yours to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten to bring sunglasses, and you figured Mat could part with his hat since he had a pair.
The day passed peacefully as all the guys took turns until it was sunset. Mat had joined you back on the seat, skin wet from just getting out of the water. He wrapped you in his arms before pulling you onto his lap, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.
“Hey, Tys, take a picture of us real quick,” Mat said, shoving his phone into Tyson’s chest.
You thought nothing of it, you and Mat had taken many pictures together, and this was no different. Mat rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your stomach as you both gave your cheesiest smiles to the camera. A quick shutter indicated the picture was taken and Tyson gave Mat his phone back.
-
Mat called your name from your bed as you stood in the adjoined bathroom, finishing your nightly routine.
“Hey, do you mind if I post that picture of us on my instagram?” Mat called out.
“The one from the boat? Why?” You asked, drying off your face with a towel.
“It’s a cute picture,” he shrugged when you reentered the room.
“People are going to start talking if you do,” you warned with a cautious tone.
He paused for a second.
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mat asked quietly, looking up to meet your eyes.
You stayed silent as you climbed in under the covers.
“What are you trying to say, Mat?”
He took a deep breath, “I think you’re amazing, you know that. And we’ve been friends for so long, it kind of feels natural, doesn’t it?” His fingers began tapping against the sheets anxiously as he held his breath and waited for your response.
You gave him a small smile, moving your body around to fully face him.
“It does,” you agreed, “But if you want us to be something more, you’re going to have to ask me on a date first.”
“A date? After I’ve already gotten you into bed? What’s the point?” You knew he meant it as a joke since he could barely finish the sentence without laughing, but you gently slapped his head as he began to apologize.
“I’m kidding!” He said between chuckles, “Will you go on a date with me once we get back to New York and it’s safe to go out again?”
“I’d love to, Mat,” you replied, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss.
“I’m still going to post that photo tomorrow, though,” he said after a short pause, smiling against your lips.
-
The next day when Mat had gone on a fishing trip with the guys, you saw a notification pop up on your phone.
“@barzal97 tagged you in a photo”
You unlocked your phone.
“Isolation isn’t so bad when you have this girl to spend it with”
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Welcome back...
Tartarus was a mess. The world was a mess.
He didn't care. Not one bit. The pain on his forehead was nothing. He had been hitting that door just for someone to finally open his cell for him to get out, as soon as he heard the commotion that was happening on that prison.
He wasn't the same anymore. His pride long forgotten as he could only mutter 'father' in a state of desperation as he saw the chaos and tried to run.
His arms were missing but his legs weren't. So he ran as fast as he could. Leaving the prison as well as a bunch of criminals.
God... now that he knew it how much he fucking ruined his life... He didn't even know if the Shie Hassaikai was still working after his left. Oh who was he kidding..? Pops was in coma as he the supposed sucessor of the yakusa was arrested.
He heard the screams and shouts as he ran. The chaos was established... this was Shigaraki's plan? He didn't know neither could care at the moment.
He walked in a state of shock and traumatized as he started to see the city over a few kilometers away... Tartarus was located 5km away from the mainland and he was a tad bit impressed on how much he could run still after those hellish months he had to endure on that place.
It was the dead of the night, almost midnight he guessed, when he dragged his feet at the desert street. Maybe the city was in a state of lockdown after the prisoners of Tartarus escaped...
No single soul was in that street, walking in a state of misery. He could feel the drop of blood slidding down from the middle of his forehead to his chin... he wanted to at leats wipe it off, but oh with what he would? With the remains of his long lost arms?
He stopped when he recognized the building he once used to live. His eyes widejing as his feet moved before his mind could as he saw that even after months, the walls seemes to be in construction to repare.
He licked his dry lips as he looked at both his sides to ensure none police or hero was nearvy before kicking the door with all his force in desperation.
He stopped dead when the gate opened just a bit to show a gun pointed at his forehead.
"What?" Came a harsh voice as he gulped the thick air stuck on his throat. "What do you want damn freack?!"
"Im... I..." why his voice was horrible and hoarse liek that he didn't know, but he soon got desperate at seing he couldn't even say who the fuck he was.
"Get the fuck out." The old male groaned but Chisaki got his foot in before the man closed the gate, hissing at the sharp pain.
"I'm Chisaki Kai. The adopted son of Pops." He blurted out in panicked pants as the old man eyes widened in horror.
The male opened the gate and reveleaved himself, an old colleague of pops for sure as he checked him form head to toe.
"The one who got arrested? The one that made experiments with my friend's actual granddaughter who is now on care fo heroes?" He asked with venom on his voice as Chisaki felt almost sick to the stomach at hearing but could only nod. "How did you get here? I heard you were locked in Tartarus."
"Tartarus broke down a couple of hours ago... I.. escaped." The male narrowed his eyes at him even more but sighed, opening the gate for him to enter.
"You look like shit. Come in." He swore he almost dropped to his knees at the moment. But tahnks to heavens his legs allowed him to walk enough to enter.
"I have to take you to (L/n)-sama first." He widened his eyes once again as he heard your name being spilled from that man's mouth.
You... you were still here...?
But.. you didn't contacted him. Not even once. Ever since he was arrested he eneber heard of you again.
"Pardon..?" He almost whispered as the male lead him.
"She was your partner, right? (L/n)-sama confirmed that when you were arrested. By our traditions, if the successor or the other boss get arreste don a state of coma." He glared at him whose truly made him want to vomit "The wife or partner of the last boss takes the lead of the said yakusa."
So.. you accepted that..? But he knew you, he knew hwo much you hated his work... why would you-
"Here." He opened the door for him to enter "Take a sit and wait here." He closed the door abruptly making him wince.
The office of Pops... that guy really wanted to torture him. It was almost untouched tha place. Even the couch felt the same as usually would...
He soon perked up when he heard footssteps and standed up the best he could. Almost tripping even.
Pathetic. He was pathetic.
The door opened and he felt his heartbeat stop as appeared, (E/c)'s eyes widening as soon as they saw his figurine standing there... you havent changed a bit. Only for the appearance of someone who has been overworking themselfs to death... face scrunched from nights of crying...
It was a silence and such a tense atmosphere as you both stared at eachother... his eyes burning at seeing you there... he thought he would never see you again...
He saw how you blinked and rubbed your eyes only for you to widen them even more at seing him standing there still.
"K...K-Kai...?" You managed to finally pet out as his heart clenches.
You still called him ny his first name... his true first name.
You stepped closer to him as your hands hovered over his face and widened in horror at finally noticing the missing of his arms...
"What... happened to you? What is this?!" You gestured to both of the rest of his arms and his bruised forehead.
For some reason.. hearing your still concerned tone of voice made him break.. how could you still use that tone of voice with him after what he has done?! After he put his iwn father on coma?! He hadn't heard of you ever since he was arrested and now you were being nice and concerned to him?! Was this some other torture?!
"Kai!" He hadn't notices he had fell into his kness and started to hiperventilate. He could feel your hands on him as you wiped whatever it was falling from his eyes. "Hey! Hey look at me! Kai!"
He wailed. Dropping his face on the crook of your neck. Tears casting down from his eyes like waterfalls as he shouted and sobbed loudly on you. Breath hitching when you hugged his bigger form and brought him closer.
The moment he finally calmed down you parted away from the embrace and helped him up.
"Lets get you clean up, come on." You went to grab his hand but immediately retreading to grab his shoulder.
He could only follow you. Feeling numb and the headache coming from how much he had cried on your arms.
.
.
.
The water was comfortably warm as he finally allowed to drop his shoulders at feeling the water dropping on his body. He was still in his boxers when you helped him up... he didn't even spoke a single word as you touched every part of his body just to help clean himself up since he couldn't even do that. Even surprising himself when you brought him his old clothes.
He couldn't understand... he thought that if you didn't even went to visit him, yomust had to hate him. Despise him for what he had done like everyone else... Luckily he didn't put you on the plans with eru or else the love of his life would be arrested as well.
"A penny for your thoughts?" Your soft voice manifested as he still looked down at the ground from the spot of his old bed.. it was so much comfier than the brick he was forced to.
"... is it because of pity you pushed aside your anger towards me?" His voice was so hoarse and pained himself crunched his face at hearing.
"Pity?" You giggled sadly sitting besides him "Not quite. I-"
"Why then you did all this...? You should had let me die ..." he whispered as your chest clenched at his words.
"Why would i do that with my boyf-"
"Dont. Dont say it. After all I've done you should despise me. Hell, I thought that so after being denied of even a fucking information if you were safe..." he dropped his head befoore hearing a gaso from you.
"What do you mean? I was told by the guards of Tartarus that visits weren't allowed. And I always at least send you a letter, pn your first week when I was denied entry I send you a mask and a letter." You said while arching an eyebrow as he catched what had happened.
"The guards didn't delivered... must have stocked or throw away..." you furrowed your eyebrows but sighed shakily.
Suddenly his breath hitched when you hugged his torso and burried your face against his neck. For the first time he hadn't tensed at sucha coforting touch, but felt warm after so long without it.
"I missed you so much..." you mumbled, wetting his neck with your tears as he clenched his teeth at feeling drops of water falli g from his eyes once again.
"Damn you... I already cried enough didn't I..?" He burried his face in your hair as he allowed to be hugged. For once wishing his arms were back only to pull your body closer to him.
#overhaul x reader#chisaki kai x reader#chisaki kai#overhaul#bnha villains x reader#bnha fanfics#bnha fanfiction#not my best but ok#zuffer writings
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Halfway—2021.
Two Filipino indies lead the Letterboxd Top 25 at the 2021 halfway point, as the coronavirus pandemic continues to shake—and reshape—the film industry. Jack Moulton and Gemma Gracewood take stock.
Cleaners, Glenn Barit’s photocopied, hand-colored, stop-motion feature about high schoolers in the northern Philippines city of Tuguegarao, is the highest-rated 2021 film on Letterboxd at the halfway point of the year, with a weighted average of 4.3 out of 5 stars. Ode to Nothing, by Barit’s fellow countrywoman Dwein Baltazar, is in second place, and Shaka King’s two-time Oscar-winner Judas and the Black Messiah rounds out the top three.
Last year was a transition year in many ways: for the world, a pandemic-led move away from cinema screenings to at-home virtual theaters and streaming-first releases; for Letterboxd, a move away from US-led release dates in our annual calculations. This has opened the way for notable films from around the world to be included on our lists far sooner than their oft-delayed American releases (which had resulted in, for example, Brazil’s Bacurau not making the 2019 Letterboxd Year in Review).
Both of these factors help to explain why we have two Filipino independent features leading our midway Top 25. “Cleaners and Ode to Nothing are exactly the kind of small Filipino films that would have struggled to get national distribution in theaters in the before times, despite the buzz that they garnered,” writes Manila-based film critic Philbert Dy in his companion essay to the Top 25, in which he explains how the Philippines’ particularly long and harsh Covid lockdown has “led to smaller, quirkier films being made accessible to more Filipinos, whose consumption of cinema were once beholden to the whims of conglomerate cinema owners”.
‘Cleaners’, written and directed by Glenn Barit.
When we shared the good news with him, a delighted Cleaners director Glenn Barit specifically shouted out his nation’s film lovers: “It is a testament to a vibrant Filipino film community still actively watching and supporting films of our own. Especially with a film like ours set in a small city far from the capital, it is amazing to read in reviews that it resonates with a lot of people (sometimes even outside our country).”
From this year forward, our mid-year rankings include films that have been released in any country, with at least a limited theatrical, streaming or video-on-demand run, and a minimum of 1,000 views on Letterboxd. These new rules allow us to celebrate the love for Katie Found’s lesbian romance My First Summer—released in Australia in March—without having to wait for the US to catch up. It joins indie highlight Shiva Baby, Michael Rianda’s animated hit The Mitchells vs The Machines and Heidi Ewing’s swooning romance, I Carry You With Me, on the Top 25 in putting young, queer characters on the screen.
‘My First Summer’, written and directed by Katie Found.
As expected, many films on the list have suffered pandemic delays. We use premiere dates to mark the year of record for each film, so A Quiet Place Part II will always be attached to its March 2020 red-carpet screening, despite the fourteen-month hibernation that followed. This is Not a Burial, It’s a Resurrection by Mosotho director Lemohang Jeremiah Mosese screened at 2019’s Venice Film Festival and had a very long festival run until Mubi picked it up for streaming in the UK this year. The film’s lead, Mary Twala, passed away a year ago, July 4, 2020 (see her also in Beyoncé’s Black is King). Gabriela Cowperthwaite’s Our Friend—one of the eight women-directed films on the list—went to TIFF, London, and AFI before being released this January without screening once in 2020.
More than half of our Top 25 films are directed by BIPOC directors, nearly a dozen of whom are of Asian descent, illuminating a key benefit of the new eligibility system. Challenging the US for the most represented country is India with five films in the list, taking advantage of Amazon’s distribution deal and creating greater accessibility for Hindi, Tamil and Malayalam-language films at home and abroad.
‘Red Post Post on Escher Street’, written and directed by Sion Sono.
Also among the Asian directors making the list are legends Tsai Ming-liang and Sion Sono. Tsai’s Days recently received a limited run in Spain (it will be brought to the US by Grasshopper Films this August), while Sono’s Red Post Post on Escher Street had a quick VOD run in February courtesy of Japan Society Film.
Produced in the US and directed by Japanese-Brazilian Edson Oda, Nine Days qualifies due to an exclusive run at the Singapore arthouse theater The Projector in May—it’ll be released in the US later this month. Finally, Asian American director Jon M. Chu makes the list with his adaptation of Quiara Alegría Hudes and Lin-Manuel Miranda’s In the Heights. We are also happy to see a couple of Letterboxd members in the halfway 25: Cleaners’ Barit and Chad Hartigan (Little Fish). If you’d like to discover more 2021 releases by our member-filmmakers, we have a list for that.
The Top 25 is, of course, solely made up of narrative feature-length films. On the documentary front, Flee is currently the highest-rated non-fiction feature of 2021. Neon is expected to release the film in the US for an awards run later this year, but it’s eligible now due to a release earlier this month in director Jonas Poher Rasmussen’s homeland of Denmark.
‘Flee’, directed by Jonas Poher Rasmussen.
Fellow Sundance Film Festival winner Summer of Soul (or… When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) is currently the year’s highest-rated documentary in general, but was 48 hours shy of eligibility for the halfway list, releasing in theaters and on Hulu on July 2. The runners-up are: Sir Alex Ferguson: Never Give In, directed by the notorious football manager’s son; David Attenborough’s The Year Earth Changed, directed by Tom Beard; and rock-docs TINA and (in his doc-directing debut) Edgar Wright’s The Sparks Brothers.
In other categories, It’s a Sin is the highest-rated narrative miniseries at the midway point, Can’t Get You Out of Our Head by Adam Curtis is the highest-rated documentary miniseries, Bo Burnham: Inside is the highest-rated comedy special, Blackpink: The Show is the highest-rated music film, Save Ralph is the highest-rated animated short film, and Four Roads, by Alice Rohrwacher, is the highest-rated live-action short film.
With Cannes underway and more festivals to come, it is still a long road to the 2021 Year in Review for these films—but given the journey most of them have already travelled, it is pleasing to celebrate the filmmakers’ success. Ang galing ninyong lahat!
On top of its meticulously bonkers production process, our highest-ranked film, Cleaners, had a long journey to its first theatrical distribution, and it’s far from over. The film premiered at the QCinema International Film Festival in October 2019, to raves from Filipino Letterboxd members, and it still holds a firm grasp on its high rating nearly two years later. Ultimately, the first non-fest release for Cleaners occurred when Singapore’s Asian Film Archive screened it for a week in April, thus qualifying the film for our 2021 lists.
‘Ode to Nothing’, written, directed and edited by Dwein Baltazar.
Ode to Nothing has been on an even longer journey. The film also debuted at the QCinema Festival, but in 2018, and finally arrived on local streaming services iWantTFC and KTX.PH earlier this year.
Being celebrated by their countryfolk on Letterboxd is one thing, but how can those of us outside the Philippines see these top two films? Perhaps we need to give our local distributors a nudge. As Cleaners director Barit explains: “We are a team of three first-time filmmakers and producers. We are still learning the ropes of film distribution and marketing—and it’s been very hard. I just want to shamelessly say that our doors are wide open for distribution and acquisition; we are not yet available on any streaming platforms locally or internationally [winks nervously].”
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Light the Pyres |Strike| - SUNGYOON
Based off the Burn It mv? Yeah I know it was like five months ago but whatever. Writing this honestly hurt me so I’m sorry if you’re reading it <3
(But no, really. This is a heavier and bloodier story. If this isn’t for you, please don’t read!)
Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader
Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au
Triggers: cursing, death, side character commits suicide (no mention of suicidal thoughts though), semi-graphic depictions of blood
Word Count: 3.8k
As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.
Strike >> Next: Light
Golden Child Masterlist
“It’s insane, isn’t it?” You pace around your dorm. “I can’t believe it went so wrong. Not to say that I ever agreed with the testing in the first place, but –”
“I know.” Your mother sighs into the phone. “Anyone would’ve thought such a project would be handled carefully, no? It’s a miracle anyone survived at all.”
You sit on the edge of your bed. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” you say. “When I heard the shaking could be felt even from home…”
She laughs, soft and gentle in a way that sends a pleasant warmth tickling down your spine. God, you love hearing your mother’s laugh. “I’m fine, Y/N.” You can almost hear the smile in her voice. “I appreciate you checking in on me, but I’m perfectly fine. We had a few tremors, that’s all. No one is hurt.”
“Yeah, I know, I know.” You smile. “I have to go to class now, but stay safe, okay? I’ll see you this winter break, I promise.”
“I’m counting the days, darling. I love you and miss you.”
“Same here, Mom.”
You press your head against the car window as Daeyeol speeds down the empty highway. It’s been months since that call, months since the test bomb failed, mutating the few who survived into flesh-eating shades of their human selves.
Of course, no one knew it then. The survivors were rushed to a nearby hospital for treatment and when they first woke up, there were no signs of abnormality besides some slightly shrunken pupils.
Then veins blackened, skin paled, and they attacked.
One infected hospital turned into an entire city. The few who managed to escape tried to spread the news, but no one believed them. Only a couple of the smallest news outlets, looking for a good scoop, related the stories of the shaking survivors of what they called a zombie apocalypse. Unbelievable, right?
Not so much when one zombie made its way into an otherwise healthy city and began biting people in full daylight.
Only a few states away, your mother was living her life when the government imposed a strict lockdown. No one was to leave their home. Certain stores would be open on certain days, and blocks would be allowed to shop at certain times. Otherwise, stay at home and do not go outside.
She called you that day and every day after until communications shut off. On the other side of the country, you panicked when your calls stopped going through, when your texts only rebounded with an “unable to send – try again” message that made you want to smash your phone against the ground.
Until several days later, in the middle of a class no one was paying attention to, she picked up.
Your professor doesn’t even blink an eye as you run out of the room, already halfway to tears. “Oh my God, Mom –”
“Darling, we don’t have time.” You can hear the cracks in her voice. “So many cities nearby have been overrun already, and we can’t use internet or even power anymore because we need to conserve. I don’t know how your call managed to go through.”
“I thought you were dead.” You slide to the floor, back pressed against the wall as you try hard not to cry. “Mom, I –”
“No, I’m alive.” She laughs, but there’s a frightened edge to it that you’ve never heard before. It feels like being doused with cold water, horrible – your mother, the woman who raised you so fearlessly in the wake of her husband’s death, is scared.
You can barely comprehend it.
“I’m alive, Y/N.” A tiny sniffle on the other end. “I just want you to know that I love you very much. I always will.”
“I love you too, Mom.” A tear trickles down your face. “I love you. I’m going to come for you, okay? I’ll come. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll come for you.”
No reply. You look down at your phone, only to realize the call’s disconnected with no way for you to know how much your mother heard of your last words.
You haven’t been able to call her since, not with her power completely cut off and your university going on lockdown just a couple of weeks later. But it doesn’t matter. When rumors that a wave of flesh-eating non-humans was going to hit your city soon, you rented a car with Daeyeol and set off for home, driving in a direction from where no zombies had come.
You’re pretty sure the rental owner knew you had no intention of returning the car, judging from the thin press of his lips as you handed over your card. He softened, though, when you slid into the driver’s seat. “Good luck,” he’d said.
That bit of luck seems to have paid off. After weeks of alternately walking and driving, weeks of crippling paranoia and sudden attacks, neither you nor Daeyeol has been bitten. You might be dehydrated, half-starved, and ready to collapse at any given moment, but at least you have no shrunken pupils, no blackened veins, and no hunger for flesh.
Daeyeol’s voice cuts through the car tires jostling on the road. “All right?”
“Mm.” You nod slightly, head still pressed against the window. A tiny smirk widens your cracked lips. “Still alive.”
It’s morbid. So many people you know or knew have died, probably more than you realize, so it maybe isn’t the best move to joke about being alive. But it makes Daeyeol smile, even if it’s more of a smirk than a real smile, and after everything that’s happened, you both need a reason to laugh every so often.
“Same here,” he says, words cracking slightly with disuse. His voice used to be smooth, sweet with his singer’s tones, but it’s all faded over days and weeks of silence.
Don’t exactly want to attract a horde of zombies for the sake of a bit of song.
His voice breaks you out of depressing thoughts again. “Get some sleep,” he says, glancing over. “We’ll stop at sundown.”
“Cool.” You stretch slightly, yawning. “I guess I’ll drive through the night?”
“If we don’t break down by then.” As if on cue, the motor sputters, nearly launching you forward, but thankfully, the car doesn’t stop just yet. Daeyeol sighs. “Halfway there,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
“Halfway there,” you echo as another faded highway sign flashes past. After nearly two months of travel, you’re over halfway home.
You let that thought comfort you into an uneasy sleep.
. . . . .
“Shit.”
You wake up to Daeyeol’s curse and the sputtering sound of the engine. He’s gone off the highway since you fell asleep, now trying to start the choking car on a street in what looks like it used to be a city. As you blink the sleep out of your eyes, he presses down on the accelerator, hard. The car jerks forward for a second, then stops.
Daeyeol groans. “We didn’t even make it to sundown.”
Sure enough, the sun still hasn’t fallen. From the beat up watch on your wrist, you estimate an hour or so before dark. Probably enough time to try and take a crack at fixing the engine or whatever’s gone wrong with the car.
“I’ll take a look.” You rub your eyes. “See if it’s something I can fix. Stay close, I might need your help.”
After years of growing up beside your mechanic mother, mechanical engineering was a no-brainer when you entered university. Since then, your technical skills have grown a little rusty when it comes to repairing cars (hey, not a lot of people drove around your college town), but in the months after the explosion, you’ve had to relearn those skills fast.
You don’t dare roll up your sleeves, not even in the heat of the afternoon sun and the warmth radiating off the engine. If a zombie comes out of nowhere, your layers are the only chance of surviving a bite.
Wincing at the memory of your first close call, you start poking around the engine. It isn’t smoking, which is good, but something rattles when you tap at it with a wrench.
Great.
Sweat pours down your face as you fiddle around with the engine. A few bolts are loose – how you didn’t notice when you first took the car, you don’t know – but you tighten them carefully as the sun sinks lower in the sky. “Hopefully that’s it,” you mutter before pulling the hood down. Even in such an empty place, the small thunk makes you flinch, looking around for zombies to come pouring out of nowhere.
Nothing happens. You sigh in relief, plucking the keys from Daeyeol’s hand. “Let’s see if it works.”
It does. After an initial sputtering, the car moves forward. Reflexes keep your mouth shut before you can whoop, but you settle for a satisfied sigh as you beckon Daeyeol into the car, his eyes smiling in a way that’s become rare in the past month.
Then –
A shout.
A bang.
You freeze, one hand on the wheel.
Gunshots.
Daeyeol’s already opening his door, eyes wide with worry as someone screams and the familiar sound of dead groaning fills the air. “Come on,” he says, his tone booking no room for argument. “Let’s go.”
He’s too kind. Too selfless. As you run behind him, pulling out the gun holstered at your own waist, you try to push down the urge to drag him back to the car and just drive away from the growing screams and groans.
But Daeyeol is your best friend, one of your two last anchors to his barren earth. You may not have the same selfless streak that he does, but you’ll follow him into danger and watch his back if it’s the last thing you do.
Someone like Daeyeol deserves that much and more.
Following the noise, you sprint between two buildings, tall and dirty and abandoned. Broken glass crunches under your feet as you turn a corner –
And come face to face with black veins and white faces, pupils shrunken in death.
Whirling away from bloody, grasping hands, you club the first zombie over the head with the butt of your gun. It falls. Bang. Dead. You twist around the mass of stilted limbs and race after Daeyeol, yelling for him to slow down as you run into the fray.
Bang. Bang bang bang. Gunshots lead you into a space between four buildings where the ground opens up to reveal what probably was a subway. A horde of zombies claws at a tall bus stranded in the square, a lone man standing on top.
Him. Your eyes zero in on the tall figure, gun in hand that he aims at the zombies. There are too many, though, even if there don’t seem to be more coming.
Daeyeol scrambles on top of an abandoned car. You quickly follow. The man hasn’t caught sight of you just yet, still focused on avoiding zombies that get too close. There’s only a matter of time before they sense your presence and start chasing you instead.
Think. Think!
“You pick them off,” you gasp. “Pick them off from here.”
He nods. “Watch the back. Help me if I run out.”
You turn around. Back to back, you raise your guns, aim, and begin to fire.
Your gunshots and the allure of more meat turn deadened eyes and bloody mouths your way. Trampling over their shot companions, they lurch over to your car, stumbler closer even as you pick them away.
One. Two. Three. Each of your last thirteen bullets has to make a difference. Gritting your teeth against the smell of rotting flesh that still makes you gag even after so many weeks on the road, you shoot down another zombie that’s gotten too close and lock eyes with the man still standing on the bus roof.
The horde has thinned. The groaning has decreased. Zombies still claw at the roof, but if he jumps far enough and runs fast enough, he’ll make it.
“JUMP!” you scream, another bullet embedding itself into a head caked in dried blood. Three bullets left. “NOW!”
An uncertain glance. Daeyeol shoots away another clawing hand and glares at his still figure. “JUMP!”
He jumps.
Lands.
Pitches onto the ground.
Not far enough.
Zombies lurch forward, rotting arms reaching for the man who’s still scrambling to stand. You want to scream. He isn’t going to make it, all of this was for nothing, you’ve wasted ten bullets – eleven, now, as another tears into a zombie head – on a rescue mission that’s going to fail –
Daeyeol jumps down from the car and fires a last shot that goes haywire before grabbing the man and literally dragging him forward, narrowly missing a lurching zombie.
“DAEYEOL!” You jump from the car, kicking away a clawing hand. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT –”
He begins to turn, helping the man stumble forward. Something’s happened to his leg. Your eyebrows furrow – God, you’re going to have words with Daeyeol about putting himself in unnecessary danger when you all are out of this – as you grab at one of the stranger’s arms, dragging him across the bloody square.
All facing the same direction, none of you notice several leftover zombies creeping up from behind.
Daeyeol yells. His hand releases the stranger’s wrist and you watch in disbelief as skeletal, bloody hands drag him backward.
You scream. Fingers fumble for your gun that still has two rounds left, two rounds, more than enough –
But Daeyeol is already staring in disbelief at the blood seeping through a prominent bite mark on the top of his arm that’s beginning to turn black.
No.
No.
No!
Letting go of the stranger with a shriek, you raise both hands and shoot away the zombie still hanging onto Daeyeol’s shoulder. But you have only one bullet left in your gun and there are several zombies lurching towards you and it doesn’t even matter because Daeyeol’s been bitten, you’ve made it halfway home already and he’s been bitten –
Disbelieving eyes meet yours. Something crumbles in his expression and in his gaze you see everything – pain, horror, care, love, determination, resolve.
“Go,” he chokes, stepping backward directly into the path of the remaining undead. “Go!”
Tears blur your vision. “Daeyeol –”
“TAKE HIM AND GO!”
Dimly, you register a hand closing around your trembling wrist, dragging you back, away from your best friend of over twenty years, away from one of your last anchors to life. Gunshots tear through the air and you blink in time to see two of the zombies fall, Daeyeol gritting his teeth as he pulls the trigger on his gun again. And again.
He locks eyes with you once more. His gaze shines with twenty years of friendship and memories as he steps backward over and over, luring the last zombies away.
His instructions pound through your head. Go. Go. Take him and go.
Take him and go!
Your mind screams to stay but your body turns traitor, latching onto the stranger’s arm and stumbling between buildings, back in the direction of the car. He doesn’t move fast but you drag him along, shoes crunching glass and bricks and dried blood.
Something turns your head back in time for the last shot. It doesn’t split a zombie’s skull.
Instead, you watch the muzzle of Daeyeol’s gun fall away from his temple as he collapses to the ground.
Dead.
Dead. Dead. Your best friend is dead. Dead. Dead. Daeyeol is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead dead dead dead your best friend is dead dead dead Daeyeol’s dead dead dead he’s dead dead dead dead dead he’s DEAD HE’S DEAD –
With a burst of strength you didn’t know you had, you haul the stranger forward to the car still parked on the street. Tossing open the passenger door, you shove him in, then throw yourself into the driver’s seat.
You jam the key into the ignition, turn it and hear the engine sputter to life. Instinct alone moves your limbs, foot pressing down on the gas, hands clenching the wheel so hard your knuckles burn.
Tears stream down your face as you drive into the setting sun.
. . . . .
The car dies ten miles down the road. Far enough to escape straggling zombies.
Not far enough to escape bloody memories.
You curse loudly, slamming a hand on the steering wheel as if it’ll do anything (it won’t. You don’t need two degrees in mechanical engineering to have that measure of common fucking sense). Next to you, the boy remains quiet, barely looking over as you hit the wheel again. And again.
It doesn’t bring Daeyeol back.
Still, you give the steering wheel one more whack before throwing open the car door to kick the vehicle in the side once. Twice.
“Don’t injure yourself.”
Ah. So he speaks. Mystery boy’s voice is a little higher than you expected. If you’d met him before the apocalypse, you might even say it was smooth. Nice. Like a singer’s.
Like Daeyeol’s.
You kick the car a third time, insides writhing.
And you hate it.
It’s irrational, of course, fully irrational. He hasn’t done anything to earn your anger. It’s probably not his fault he got cornered by a horde of zombies. It definitely isn’t his fault Daeyeol has – had – Jesus Christ, you can’t think of him in the past tense, your knees are already going wobbly and the tears are coming again – a stupid selfless streak that ultimately got him killed –
But how dare he speak. How dare he use his voice to warn you not to injure yourself when Daeyeol is the one who should be sitting there saying that. Daeyeol should be the one telling you to take care of yourself when the anger, the stress, the sheer enormity of the world and your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe start getting to your head.
If this boy hadn’t been in trouble, Daeyeol would still be here. He’d be here, alive, and though you’d still be stuck ten miles down the fucking road, at least he wouldn’t be dead. Dead because he sacrificed himself for a guy caught in the middle of a zombie horde on top of a fucking bus whom neither of you even knows.
With the last of your strength, you slam the car door shut before you say something you’ll regret. Sinking down on the dirty, empty highway, you close your eyes and take a shuddering breath.
You don’t cry. You just sit there, eyes staring into the darkness of your closed lids. There’s no telling how much time passes until a car door opens and shuts.
There’s a soft grunt. A gasp of pain. Then a presence settles itself on your side of the car, hovering over your still body.
Your fists clench. Unclench. It’s not his fault. Not his fault. Not his fault, not his fault, not his fault –
You open your eyes to stare flatly at the boy standing over you. “Yes?”
He flinches. It must have come out more accusatory than you wanted. You don’t do anything, though, only stare as he keeps standing, leg shifting awkwardly.
Not shifting. You lower your gaze, narrowing your eyes at his trembling limbs. Your mind flashes back to him jumping off the bus, the noise with which he landed, the way he was limping slightly as first Daeyeol, then you dragged him away.
He’s injured. No bones broken since he can still support his weight, but maybe a fracture. Something you don’t have the capacity to heal with anything but time.
Time that you don’t have.
“I…” He swallows. “I wanted to thank you. For helping – saving me.”
For some reason, that rubs you the wrong way.
“Don’t thank me.” Your voice slices the air, bitterly caustic. “Thank my friend. He’s the one who wanted to help.” You look away. “You know, the one who’s dead.”
He flinches again, hard enough to stumble backward. Only the car keeps him from falling over. A pang of guilt hits at your sharp words, but anger and grief for Daeyeol keep it at bay. “You can stay the night,” you say, still averting your gaze. “Take the backseat. Not like I’ll be driving any fucking further.” You stand and kick the car again, this time leaving a dent in the rusty metal. “Gonna have to go back to walking…”
Walking.
Your mouth goes dry.
This is the first time you’ll be walking alone. No Daeyeol to watch your back, no knowledge that someone who’s known you for over twenty years will be at your side. That’s gone, all of it. Gone with his death.
The thought ices your veins. You just want to curl into a ball and cry. But that’s not an option, not with this mystery boy enclosed in the same space as you, so you just throw open the door and slide back inside. He follows a little more cautiously, gingerly entering the car and closing his door softly before sitting in the back.
You sigh. “Close it fully.”
He blinks up at you in the grimy rearview mirror.
“Close the door fully,” you snap. “If a zombie manages to get in because you didn’t close it properly, we’re both fucked.”
It stings a little to be so rude, especially when he only opens the door again like you said and shuts it with more force. But nothing changes the fact that Daeyeol died for him, a person he didn’t even know, and that this boy is the reason why Daeyeol isn’t sitting next to you in the passenger seat, his silent, familiar presence comforting you into sleep.
A tear blinks out of your closed eyes. Why? you want to scream. Why did he do it? Why did he always want to help everybody, even if he knew it might come at the cost of his own life?
You know the answer. Humanity. Daeyeol told you every time you asked, every time you had another brush with death to save anyone you could. He had to keep faith, had to believe that there was something, anything he could do to alleviate some of the pain brought on by this tragedy.
It’s why you always admired him, were so loyal to him from the day you two first became friends in elementary school. Daeyeol always believed in strength that comes from kindness, believed in helping those who couldn’t always help themselves. It’s why you always followed him into the fight, regardless of how much you wanted to shove him back in the car and just drive away.
Bitterness lodges in a lump in your throat.
So much for humanity when all that kindness just got him killed.
If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3
(1 reblog = 1 prayer for Daeyeol’s soul :/)
#kpopscape#golden child#golcha#gncd#sungyoon#choi sungyoon#golden child y#golden child sungyoon#golcha sungyoon#golden child scenarios#golden child imagines#golden child oneshots#golcha scenarios#golden child sungyoon scenarios#golden child y scenarios#golden child x reader#golcha x reader#choi sungyoon x reader#golcha sungyoon x reader#golden child sungyoon x reader#angst#fluff#apocalypse!au#tw cursing#tw death#tw blood#tw suicide#light the pyres#light the pyres |strike|#scriptura-delirus
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Death
For Maribat March day 14 theme death
Master List
Marinette stayed cuddled in Damian’s arms as she scrolled through her photos. All dated more than a year before, she looked so happy, being able to go outside and do normal things. No constantly readjusting a mask, no being careful not to touch anything, no staying as far away from other people as possible, and no fear of dying just by leaving your house.
However, Damian felt her freeze as she reached a photo from a year and 2 months ago. It was the last photo she took with her Nona. It featured her and her Nona in front of her Nona’s motorcycle. It was the last time her Nona had visited them before Covid had gotten bad.
She wanted to punch herself for being so stupid a year ago. When they had received the email that they would be getting a few weeks off of school in order to stay safe, no one had taken it seriously. It was like an early break in their eyes. She remembered she was one of the students that went and hugged her friends, claiming that over the break they would have sleepovers and parties. How she couldn’t have been more wrong. She couldn’t have been more stupid.
Because a couple of weeks later she found out her Nona had passed away. Somewhere along her travels she had caught Covid and was unable to be treated in time. They held a small funeral, it was only her, her parents, and her grandpere.
Then they found out that they would not be returning to school. The city, the country was on a lockdown. Everyone was required to wear a mask everywhere they went, people wouldn’t leave their houses unless it was absolutely necessary.
Over summer she video chatted with all of her friends, unable to hang out with them in person. Many of them had also experienced the grief that Marinette felt. Some of their loved ones had passed away as well. Yet despite that they all thought that this would be over by the time school started. That everything would go back to normal. They were wrong.
School would now be online and there was a small chance that they would be able to go back in person. She had to settle for continuing to see her friends and classmates over a screen. Her grades were the worse they had been in years since learning online was so much worse than in person. Sure she was never late, but it was so hard to learn online.
This whole time it felt like she was going crazy. She never realized how bored she could get when she was so cooped up in her house. She got what many people called stir-crazy. And that wasn’t the worst part.
Her parents business was starting to slow, they had to switch to delivery in order to make ends meet. But with the spike in cases people were taking no chances.
But finally good news had come in the form of the Wayne family. They had offered to take in Marinette for the month of March, all of them had tested negative. Alfred, Bruce, and her parents had even been able to get the vaccine.
Her parents thankfully noticed how she was slowly losing her mind and let her stay with them. With daily check-ins, she was even flown with the Waynes’ private jet.
Of course that made school a little harder but she was glad to be in a new space. Plus, the manor was huge and it felt like she would never get tired of exploring it.
However today was March 14th, exactly a year ago she had thought that this quarantine wouldn’t last that long. Now here she was a year later, still in quarantine, still unable to do anything in the outside world.
But thankfully things were getting better, slowly but surely, vaccines were getting out and places were reopening. It just sucked that things would never, could never be the same.
Not with so many people losing so many loved ones. Including her Nona, who she hadn’t gotten to spend enough time with.
“Marinette, are you okay?” Damian asked, alarmed, moving her so that she was sitting up and facing him. His hand wiped her cheek and she realized she had been crying.
“No. I just-I just hate all of this! Why did this have to happen!” She cried, burying her face into Damian’s shoulder.
“It's okay, things are getting better. They will get better.” Damian comforted, rubbing circles into her back.
“I wish this never happened.” She whispered, Damian almost missed it.
“I know. I do too. I’m sure everyone does,” He pushed her back so that he could look in her eyes, “But I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want you to cry. She would want you to live your life once this is all over.”
A new wave of tears overcame Marinette as Damian pulled her into another hug. She couldn’t help it, she just missed her so much.
“How about I tell you about Tim’s latest attempt to stay up on coffee? He thought that this quarantine was a good excuse but Alfred caught him in the act…”
Marinette just snuggled into Damian, intently listening to his story. She would forever miss her Nona, but things were getting better. She just had to stay positive and hope for the future.
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I know, I know. You read fanfiction to escape the horrible reality of our world. Well, I did it, I wrote about it. And I’m not sorry.
Addressing the issue more, I am very lucky to say that Mr. Rona has not taken any people from me like he has so many other people. However, I thought that it was something that I wanted to address nonetheless.
Today I consider was the first official day of quarantine. Since it was the day after we were told to stay home. 1 year ago on March 13th of 2020, my whole school got an email stating that we would be doing online school up until spring break. After spring break was over we were supposed to return. We never did. We still haven’t.
I base Marinette’s experience off of my own, minus the death part. I celebrated with my friends, hugging them claiming we were going to have sleepovers over the break and god was younger me so stupid. I’m so ashamed because I didn’t take it seriously and none of my classmates did. The teachers did, especially my history teacher but we didn’t. In fact I had one classmate who would put on a mask, gloves, and spray down his desk as a joke on how seriously our history teacher took it. I look back and wish I had done the same.
But here we are, 1 year later, still in quarantine. I’m so thankful that vaccines are getting out and that no one super close to me was effected, but it sucks that this has happened. So to all those reading this it’s not over yet. Please wear a mask, avoid crowded areas, when hosting gatherings make it small, if you can get the vaccine. Things are getting better but we can’t jinx it just yet.
Sorry this had to be so dark, but since it has been officially 1 year I couldn’t help but address it. Now on a lighter not I was actually able to get this out what I consider early. Since it’s not 2 hours before the day ends. I do hope you enjoyed reading and this will get better, we just need to do our part.
@maribatmarch-2k21
#maribatmarch2021#maribat#maribat march#marinette dupain cheng#damian wayne#covid19#death#im sorry#i had to address it#its officially been a year#i couldn't not say it
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Some Actual Context - Pt II
Because I’m back on my bullshit until my headphones charge and I can go back to work. Part one is here - [X]
As I said before, Bailey started the reboot process back in 2019. There was so much going on, though, that I didn’t actually have the spoons to hammer anything out until now. So here’s what I’ve got so far:
I wanted to tie her in closer to the Hawks, instead of having her just be a fan. So Bailey became part Thanagarian, the X-great-granddaughter of a scout whose ship crashed here a few generations ago. I’m still figuring out the family tree. Bailey does not know of this at first, it is important to note!
Her powerset does still start out tech-based, but it’s less her forte now. Bailey went to school and double-majored in art history and museum studies -- before circumstances forced her to leave and move to a different state. She lands a job at the Keystone Museum of Arts and Sciences, and things are finally looking up. Maybe hitting rock bottom does give one a solid foundation. Maybe she really can make it on her own.
...Maybe making a horrible first impression with the Flash and nearly being late her first day of work aren’t terrible omens. Maybe. Hopefully. Please let this not be a sign.
Anyway, I’m fuzzy on what Bailey’s job in the museum actually is. I need to talk to people who’ve worked in museums, but I gotta figure out a way for her to get into the archives and help with the entry of a new collection: a series of extraterrestrial artifacts that once belonged to a collector named Andrew Fell. The collection was held by the state after Fell’s disappearance and declaration of death, and they’ve given up on trying to find his next-of-kin. Said collection includes a rather expensive-looking ruby, labeled the Eye of Sikri, and a suit of armor with an odd emblem on the chest.
An emblem that... Looks a lot like the pendant Bailey wears as a good-luck-charm, handed down from her grandmother, who got it from her mother, and so on.
......Probably nothing, right? Yeah. Gotta be a coincidence.
Anyway, Bailey’s at work, when a reporter comes in to do some preliminary research for a story on that collection. The lady says her name is Linda Park, and Bailey starts answering her questions as thoroughly as she can. The two hit it off pretty quick, and between Linda’s coverage of the museum and Bailey’s curiosity about journalism, they end up talking for hours.
Completely missing the fact that the city has gone on lockdown and the museum evaccuated because of some supervillain’s attack.
Bailey and Linda emerge from the archives to go get lunch -- and walk straight into a couple of goons who thought it would be a bright idea to rob the museum while the local heroes are busy. Linda gets a distress call out to Wally, but it turns out to be unnecessary, as she and Bailey get themselves out of the situation just fine. ...Bailey having to go have a minor breakdown in the bathroom does not mean it isn’t fine.
While Bailey is processing this, Linda wraps up the citizens’ arrest. Wally -- having finally got free of the badguys enough to go check on his wife who needs help oh god -- bursts into the museum and finds her standing over two unconscious men.
She’s such a badass. He loves her so much. He’s so relieved she’s alright. And he grabs her and kisses her. Right as Bailey walks back in.
Bailey, at this point, knows Linda is married to a man named Wally West. And she’s pretty sure most folks don’t just go around kissing people like that unless they’re married. Which means... Aw hell. Those were some dots she didn’t need to connect.
This has been a helluva week and it’s only Tuesday afternoon.
In the interests of not posting my entire damn fic outline here, I’m gonna cut that off. Long story short, Bailey ends up with a suit of armor haunted by the ghost of her ancestor, Rashel Tavo. Rashel awoke when her pendant was brought into contact with her armor again, and was able to connect to Bailey due to the fight with the thieves. She keeps this armor until Rashel has finished training her, and it’s time to put her ghost to rest. Back on Thanagar. While there, Bailey gets kidnapped by the worshipers of a Thanagarian goddess (who I’m making up because apparently all the Hawks’ writers wanna focus on is the stupid Doomed Soulmates shit and we get almost no development for the actual cool-ass planet full of bird- and lizard-people 🙄). Said goddess is Sikri the Everburning-- who the ruby back in Act 1 was bound to, yes. She’s a goddess of fire and the sun, and her followers decide that Bailey is just. The perfect vessel for her. Yeah, it’ll burn out her mortal soul, but who cares?
Anyway, Bailey gets rescued, and after that little adventure has her own magic wings, a higher body temperature, and even worse anger issues! Yay!
There’s also plot threads about Andrew Fell, Bailey scavenging and fixing what she can out of the badly-preserved wreck of Rashel’s ship, and a host of other things. But my headphones are charged now, and I gotta get to work. This should be enough context for folks to have a notion of what I’m talking about, anyway.
If you read through this far, I love you so much holy shit.
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The Mundane Lockdown Diaries, UK edition – part 2
EDIT, December 2021: I just found this sitting in my drafts, written at the beginning of April 2020 and never posted. I so wish I’d kept this up as a weekly thing because reading it back is quite something, especially as the UK teeters on the edge of another potential lockdown. So much has changed since last year that some of this feels alarming to read back on even after such a relatively short time, but so much of the things in these posts are still in place in some way.
I posted this a week ago and had some nice replies, so figured I’d hit you guys up with a part two. Maybe this will become an “every Friday” thing, who knows (knowing me, I will forget about it in precisely 7 hours’ time)? This week’s is somehow even more mundane than last week’s... doesn’t that tempt you to read on?!
So we’re on day... 9? 10? of lockdown. Something around that number anyway. I haven’t left my flat at all since Monday. Over the weekend a switch in my brain flipped and I went from being way too calm (I was aware that I was being way too calm and, disclaimer, I was taking all necessary precautions so it wasn’t reckless calm) into total panic mode, which was very much Not Fun. Even passing my neighbours as we go to take bins out feels dangerous now.
I’d say that maybe this total panic is an overreaction, but as of yesterday I definitely have the symptoms of the start of a chest infection. And as I’ve not left the flat at all in days (and not seen anyone other than my co-habiting boyfriend face-to-face since my supermarket trip a week ago), that is a concern as most infections would show up quicker than this.
I don’t have the Main Symptoms – a fever or a dry cough, but my windpipe and lungs have that feeling your skin gets when you stand a little too close to a bonfire. It’s very mild at the moment, but obviously I’ll be monitoring it.
Hopefully, it’s nothing, and I’m trying not to worry about it because really, what can I do either way other than wait it out?
ANYWAY.
My trips out of the flat since last Friday have just been for solo exercise. I’ve been for a few bike rides, around 8-12 miles a time so taking roughly an hour. In the centres of towns and cities the number of pedestrians is about the same as it was over the last couple of weeks – that is to say, wildly reduced compared to a normal day – but there is a huge difference in atmosphere compared to pre-lockdown. All of the businesses are shut other than supermarkets and pharmacies, pretty much. And with them, the noise is gone. It’s seriously eerie – even in a city centre the only noises are of footsteps and the wind.
The other hugely noticeable difference is the lack of tents from street homeless people (the councils have all been told / asked to find temporary accommodation, and around here they’ve been housed in empty hotels). It was only when I was cycling home that this difference really struck me, I'd noticed that something was “off” about the normally busy high street (other than the lack of people and businesses, obviously), but it took a while for the cause to hit me.
I’m pretty much spending my days with a cat on my lap, either playing Animal Crossing, watching TV or reading. This week has, weirdly, absolutely flown by. I thought it was Tuesday for a good while, and yet somehow it’s Friday.
The government is still giving daily briefings, however I stopped watching them about a week ago. The first few actually gave information, but day-by-day they became less informative or relevant. I don’t think we’ve had a major policy shift this week, other than more tests being promised – although that’s hardly a policy shift as it’s been something that’s been promised all along and not delivered on.
Speaking of which, out of the “main” infected countries who are this far along the curve, the UK and the US remain the only ones still on a straight upwards trajectory on a log scale. So that’s really wonderful. Happy Friday, y’all!
#no it wasn't covid#remember when everything being so mundane still had something new about it?#i do remember the eerie silence of a city centre on lockdown v well but reading this back threw me back 20 months to experience it all over#i have a video on my phone that i took while cycling down what is normally an extremely busy shopping street in a city centre#and it was just deathly silent other than the sound of the wind causing flags to creak#tw covid#tw coronavirus#not fandom#long post
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Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries
*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities
The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.
If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.
It’s easy to feel lonely here.
But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.
For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.
“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”
Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.
“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.
I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.
They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.
And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.
Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.
The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.
The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.
A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.
A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.
Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.
Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.
A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”
“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.
Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.
“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”
Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.
Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.
For example:
I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.
Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.
“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.
“How’d you get started?” I asked.
“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.
I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.
I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.
When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.
Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”
The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”
Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.
I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.
My book haul for the day:
Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata
The Diary of Anne Frank
Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva
Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector
In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:
…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”
From Earthly Signs, P. 40
According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.
The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?
When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.
Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”
Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.
If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.
Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,
“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”
What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75
What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:
“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”
-P. 79
The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.
The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.
While at the DMV, I overheard this:
“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.
“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.
My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.
“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”
At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.
It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.
“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.
What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.
At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.
“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.
This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.
“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.
Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.
Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:
“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”
It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:
Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.
--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179
Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.
“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”
--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16
You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.
Art, like Compassion, is defiant.
Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.
“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.
“Where at?” I asked.
“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”
“Nah, Bay Area.”
“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”
“Small world.”
On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.
“I think you know why,” he said.
More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.
“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”
The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.
The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.
But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.
Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.
The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.
“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”
From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33
If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”
It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.
The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.
When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.
I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI
Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?
Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.
It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.
I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.
During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.
Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.
Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder
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ego
pairing; agent whiskey | jack daniels x female reader
summary; you and jack are stuck in an apartment when the city you’re in goes into lockdown for covid-19. as the time goes by in isolation, tension can only rise.
rating; t
warnings; mention of sex and the results of a one-night stand, alcohol, angst, quarantine
word count; 3.3k
a/n; first whiskey fic! not sure how it went, but i’m happy with it. reader’s statesmen codename is agent cider
“Fuck!” Whiskey yelled from the other room and you heard the shattering sound of glass.
You didn’t want to get up but you figured you had to at this point.
“What’s wrong, Whiskey?” you say, leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom, staring out into the living space. He was pacing back and forth, which explained the sound that had been driving you insane. Glass littered the carpet near the coffee table.
“We have to fucking stay here,” he growled. He stopped to slam down his hand on the kitchen counter, causing you to jump. “Champ said the mission’s aborted. We’re stuck.”
Shit. “How long are we here for?”
“Don’t know. At least a couple weeks, if not more.” Whiskey was getting more worked up with every word. “The damn quarantine doesn’t start for another 12 hours, we could be long gone by then, but headquarters fuckin’ wants us to stay.”
“It’s for the best, right?” you said, trying to stay calm about things. You weren’t thrilled at the prospect of living with Whiskey for an unspecified period, but you couldn’t complain. Statesman would still pay you, and for the mission you were holed up in one of their properties, a rather large and well-stocked two-bedroom apartment. You weren’t supposed to be here for more than a couple more days so you’d need to get more food, but beyond that? You were set.
“For the best? The best would be lettin’ us not get caught in a damn city-wide lockdown. We could at least take up another job in another city.” He was so worked up you were worried he would smash another glass or pull out one of the guns you knew were strapped under that jacket of his.
You wandered into the living room, stepping carefully around the broken glass to perch yourself on the couch. “Agent Whiskey, you’re a smart man. What’s the primary purpose of Statesman?”
“To protect the people of the world from terrorists and other major threats,” he said, reciting the phrase every agent knew by heart. Not because they had to, but because Champ was always saying it.
“Right. And COVID-19? It’s a major threat. The virus itself, yeah, but also the panic surrounding it. Everyone’s going insane. Plus, the quarantine helps limit the spread. Staying here is best for the public health. And another mission in another city? Whiskey, you know that the rest of the US is going to follow suit soon enough. We’ve got to accept that we’re here for the foreseeable future.”
“I don’t want to be here for the foreseeable future.” Even though you were frustrated that Whiskey was acting like a baby, he had at least stopped pacing and was now sinking onto one of the barstools against the kitchen counter.
“It’s a big apartment.” You shrugged. There wasn’t much left you could do at this point. You had to accept the situation.
.
“I can’t sit and read another damn book.”
You looked up to see Whiskey standing a few feet away from the couch where you sat, working on a project on your laptop. He looked tired.
It had been almost 12 hours since you had lost contact with the rest of Statesman, along with all the intel work they had you doing. The distillery was shut down for health reasons, and given the high number of agents that had tested positive, they opted to shut down operations for a while, leaving you and Whiskey without anything to do to pass the time.
“You don’t have to read,” you said. “There’s a tv, a kitchen, you can do whatever you want. There’s an iPad too.”
“I don’t wanna sit around, doll. This life is much too boring.”
“It’s the life we’ve got to live, Whiskey,” you said, shutting your laptop and standing up. “And don’t call me doll.”
You walked back into your room and shut the door. Over the past couple of days, you had grown fed up with Whiskey; every couple hours he’d pop into wherever you were working and complain. He never wanted to talk with you. He never helped make meals. He didn’t want to do anything with you.
But you couldn’t necessarily blame him. Ever since that fateful drunken night a couple months ago things hadn’t been the same.
The two of you were celebrating a successful mission at the Statesman bar laughing and loudly boasting to whoever would listen. At 3am you stumbled out to the parking lot, attempting to get into your car when Jack sauntered up behind you.
“Cider, darlin’, you don’t think you’re gonna drive home in that state, are you?”
You scoffed. “I’m gonna do whateeeever I fuckin’ please, Jack, you can’t stop me.”
“I can stop you from driving home drunk.”
“What are you gonna do about it? Drive me home? ‘Cause I don’t think y’can like that.” You gestured lamely at Jack, swirling around your finger in front of his chest and then poking him.
“You’re right, darlin’, neither of us are gonna be makin’ it home tonight, but my truck’s got more space that that little sedan of yours so I’d suggest you sit pretty in my passenger seat, recline it and sleep.”
You made it into his car, but by the time he was helping you recline the seat-back you were tugging him on top of you, pressing your lips to his, and pulling him all the way into the truck. He closed the door and at the same time, dipped a hand under your shirt, working his way up to palm your breast. And the night disappeared into a drunken haze of moaning and connection and something slow and emotional that you were afraid to admit.
The next morning you woke up, pressed against Jack on the reclined seat of his truck, his breath light on your shoulder where his mustache tickled against your skin. Your neck was sore from the position and your arm hurt from the unnatural curve of the seat.
And you were both naked.
That was enough for your eyes to fly wide open. You had just drunkenly fucked your work partner of five years. Five whole years of a professional relationship. Five years of not letting his flirty nature get to you. And you ended up naked in his goddamn truck.
And Jack. He was still caught up on that high school sweetheart of his. The one he lost all those years ago. You knew Jack better than most, and ever since losing her, he hadn’t been one to fuck around. He was going to regret this, and you didn’t want to be the person that ruined things for him. Even if it was something you wanted. So you pushed his arm off from around you (thank god he was a heavy sleeper when hungover) and quietly opened the car door and slipped out into the morning sun.
Later that day you asked Champ to be reassigned partners. He looked you in the eye and asked you why and your silence told him everything.
And thankfully, he didn’t ask any more questions, just signed you off to work with Agent Brandy and for Jack to work with Agent Bourbon.
It was going smoothly until a week later you ran into Jack for the first time since that morning as you were entering the briefing room and he was leaving. The look of anger in his eyes when he saw you caused a sharp pang of guilt that you felt for the rest of the day. The following evening he approached you at the bar.
“So you requested a new partner? Was I that bad?” He was stumbling a bit. Drunk. That took a lot of work for him. A lot of alcohol. You could smell it on his breath.
“I’m sorry Whiskey, it didn’t make sense to keep going. Had to stay professional, you know?”
“Right. Professional.” You could tell he was trying to infuse his words with venom, but the alcohol slurred every syllable. “Throwing five damn good years down the drain, and now I’m stuck with Bourbon. Real professional, Cider.”
“You know it was the right decision. Don’t lie to yourself about it,” you said, trying to convince him. But you were also trying to convince yourself.
You didn’t see him for another couple months, missions keeping the two of you busy. That is until Agent Brandy got himself into a little accident and was stuck in the hospital for a few weeks and Champ gave you little warning before Whiskey wandered into the briefing room for your next mission, looking just as surprised as you were that the two of you were being assigned as partners again.
You sank down onto your bed. You’d be lying to yourself to say that you weren’t excited to work with Whiskey again, but you had fucked up and now he didn’t want anything to do with you.
.
“I’m going out for groceries,” you called back towards the bedrooms.
“Can you even do that?”
“Yeah, one person per household can leave for essential groceries.”
“When are you going to be back?”
“I don’t know, depends on the lines,” you said.
You heard a door open and Whiskey appeared in the living room. “Can you get some stuff for lasagna?”
“I don’t know how to make lasagna, Whiskey,” you said. If you were going to be doing all the cooking, he was going to have to deal with whatever you put on the table.
“I wanted to make it,” he said.
So Whiskey was finally willing to cook. Great. To be honest, you had missed his cooking. On previous missions, if you were lying low for a while, not unlike this, he would cook all the time. The two of you were both comfortable in a kitchen, but Whiskey’s cooking was really the best food in the world.
“Okay. Ricotta cheese, parmesan, the noodles, sauce, meat, what else?”
“Garlic and onion,” he said. And he smiled. That was the first smile he had directed at you. Probably since you had hooked up.
“Right. See you later?”
“See you later,” he grinned. You turn to head out the door. “And thank you, darlin.”
You would never let Whiskey know, but you smiled to yourself on the way out.
.
Things had gotten better between you and Whiskey after he made lasagna. He started helping out with meals. You had bought a few bottles of wine at the store and a few distilled drinks. Those made Whiskey’s eyes light up. Given your shared history with alcohol and each other, you were both pretty good at limiting yourselves, but a glass or two of wine with dinner had you talking into the late evening. You found yourselves spending more time sitting together on the couch to watch movies or read. Sitting down for every meal together became a standard, rather than an afterthought.
You still didn’t say a word about what had happened between you. You couldn’t. The whole thing was soaked in shame.
Sometimes you would come out to the living room but stop before you stepped into the light when you saw Whiskey staring at the photo of his late girlfriend that he kept in his wallet. Your stomach would turn and you retreat to your room again. As much as you hoped he didn’t notice you watching, you knew he did. He was nothing if not perceptive.
.
“Can we do something?” you looked up to see Whiskey standing in the door of your room.
“Like what?” you had been reading for the past five hours and were almost done with the series you had started the week before. It was probably good that he was getting you out of the room.
“I don’t know, I’m bored.”
“So am I.”
“Yeah, but—” he started. “Never mind. I get that you don’t want to spend time with me. I can take a fucking hint, just, next time? Can you just tell me and not act all distant?”
That went a completely different direction than you had expected.
“What do you mean, Whiskey?” You stood up. “I do want to spend time with you, where the hell did you get that idea from? I just asked what you wanted to do.”
“I mean you act so damn distant. I thought things were looking up, like you actually liked me again, but you clearly don’t.” His stance became defensive, and you could see the muscles in his face soften. “I try to do things with you and you accept but you’re never really there. You’re different, Cider. It’s like I don’t even know you.”
And here you had thought you were lucking out. Like he was beginning to forgive you for sleeping with him. For leaving him.
“Whiskey, I do like you. And I don’t know what I need to say for you to understand that.”
“I think you’re gonna need to do a lot more than saying shit,” he said. “You’re gonna need to do something. But maybe you could start by explaining things. That’d make me a bit happier.”
“And you think I want to keep talking?” You said it before you realized how awful it sounded. But the next words were tumbling out before you could stop them. “When you’re taking every word I say and thing I do and twisting it? I don’t have a fucking clue what I did that gave you the impression that I didn’t like you, I’ve been nothing but damn happy to have you talking to me again the past week. So I’m not going to be doing any fucking explaining when all you’re going to do is spit my words back at me like they were said to hurt you.”
“What did you do to give me the impression you didn’t like me? Does fucking disappearing the morning after and then asking to never have to work with me again count? Because that was a pretty clear message that you hated me,” Whiskey yelled. He turned around and slammed the door behind him.
He was right even if you didn’t want to admit it.
.
You spend the next couple of days holed up in your respective bedrooms. It was almost humorous how you managed to never run into one other. You even prepared meals separately, relying on leftovers from the week when you didn’t have the energy to cook. One lunch you made a plate for Whiskey too, leaving it out covered in plastic wrap on the counter. You heard him go out to the kitchen for lunch an hour later and that night when you made dinner, the plate was still sitting on the counter, wrapped up and uneaten.
He went out for groceries. You were in the living when he came back and stood up to help him unpack.
“I don’t need your help,” he said, almost devoid of emotion.
“I don’t mind helping.”
“Well, I don’t want your help.”
You took your leave. Not before seeing a large bottle of vodka peeking out of one of the bags. After you took your dinner into your room, you heard him wandering around with the television turned on, loud. When you went out to clean your dishes, he had a glass in his hand and was staring at the screen, playing some sort of morbid news about the virus. Something you were quick to identify as pure fear-mongering.
“You shouldn’t watch that, Whiskey.”
He glanced up at you, his voice thick with the alcohol and the southern drawl only amplified. “Cider, babe. You know my name.”
“And you know mine, Whiskey.”
“You should use it,” he smiled, “It sounds so nice coming from those pretty lips.”
Your stomach clenched. It was one thing to avoid you for what you had done. It was a whole other thing to torment you like this. You liked him, that was nothing new to you, the secret you had kept for years. Hearing him flirt again, flirt while drunk and out of it? It hurt.
“Right. Well, you should still stop watching. Good night.”
.
The next morning the entire bottle was empty on the countertop and you didn’t hear a single movement coming from Whiskey’s room until 2pm.
.
Things got worse. So much worse. The isolation was really getting to you. How anyone could manage this for more than a couple days was beyond you. Anyone doing this without anyone else in their home had to be the bravest souls.
.
“I can’t do this anymore,” your voice cracked as you stared down at Jack. You had pushed open the door to his bedroom after softly knocking and not relieving any response. It had been a couple days since that night with the vodka.
Jack was sitting on his bed, laptop up in front of him, but he closed it as soon as he saw you crying at the door.
“What’s wrong, Cider?”
“I can’t keep being alone in this house.” The tears were flowing down your cheeks and every few words were punctuated by a gasp for air. “I can’t keep avoiding you. I’m sorry. I fucked up, I know. And you haven’t responded well the last few days. But I know it’s ninety percent my fault, and I know you probably can’t forgive me at this point. I honestly thought you were getting close, but then—then you weren’t, and you probably hate me. And I’m so fucking alone now.”
In the time you had taken to say those words, Jack had sprung to his feet and was standing in front of you. His hands were planted on your upper arms, a calming pressure enough to get the tears to subside for a moment.
“Look at me,” he said, “All I ever wanted was an apology and for you to come back. I never wanted for you to disappear from my life, and then not offer any explanations. You’ve been my most trusted companion for years. I could never hate you.”
“You don’t hate me?”
“Of course not, darlin,” he smiled. “I’m mad at you, sure. Have been for a while. But hate you? Never. Can you just tell me one thing?”
“Anything.” You stared up at those swirling brown eyes that had always held you with such high regard. There were tears in the corners.
“Why’d you leave?”
“What?”
“That whole day was the worst day of my life since I lost her, you know? I woke up after an amazing night and you were gone, and then I got to work and was called in and told I had a new partner. It hurt. Just as much as losing someone. Maybe even worse ‘cause they’re still right there, but don’t want to see you.”
“Jack, I—” You weren’t sure where to start. Hearing his side of things made it so much worse. “You don’t do that. The whole, sleeping around thing? That’s me. But you don’t seem to have moved on, and I didn’t want you to resent me.”
“Resent you? I thought you knew. I wouldn’t have let that happen if I didn’t want it.”
“Do you mean—”
“Cider, you’re it for me. And I thought I wasn’t it for you. I thought you regretted that night.”
You stared up at Jack in shock. He didn’t regret that night? You had run away from him when he wanted you back? If you had stayed, would you two be—You couldn’t finish that thought.
“Am I wrong?” Jack asked, and you could now see the worry crossing his features. “You didn’t regret it, did you?”
“No. I didn’t.” It felt good to say that. After all of that, for those words to be out there. For the agreement to be laid down in front of the two of you.
He pulled you into a hug.
“You’re it for me too, Jack,” you said, and pushed him back. You wanted to see his face so that you could wrap your hands around his neck and kiss him like you had wanted to for years.
.
taglist; @pascalisthepunkest @turquiosenights @el-lizzie @sparrows-books @dxxkxx @opheliaelysia @trashbin2 @arcadianempress @rzrcrst @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead
#jack daniels#agent whiskey#kingsman golden circle#kingsman#agent whiskey x reader#camila writes#rated t#under 5#reader#angst#kingsman fics#whisk x reader#haha now jack is whisk forever in my tags#for organizational purposes
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Coming Up tour diary: day off
Almost missed my train this morning because I was too busy lying in bed looking at pictures of Brett, but I made it and had a nice journey up from Bristol to Leeds. Met a couple of Insatiable Ones on the way to the hotel which was nice, checked in and went out for a little shopping. I got a copy of Nadine Shah's latest album in HMV and it was reduced price which made it even sweeter, plus I went and bought a new bra since the wire has popped out of mine and is threatening to stab me during a show now. Last time I was in Leeds (just before lockdown) I bought a bunch of new bras so somehow this city has become the place for me to buy underwear. Anyway, I tried to find Primark to get an umbrella in case it rains tomorrow when I'm queuing but was unsuccessful 😔 headed to the cinema and went to see Last Night In Soho which was really good, talk about the love and poison of London! Came back to the hotel and dropped a pink and yellow sparkly Lush bath bomb into the tub, and lay there watching a 1996 Suede show on YouTube. It was so charming to watch Brett 25 years ago doing all the dances I've been watching him do this week, he really is the same. Leeds show tomorrow 🖤
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How would y/n react to finding out about Auston’s dog while still stuck in Toronto during the quarantine series
A/N: the quarantine series™️ I’m YELLING lmao welp here are the other two parts if anyone feels like reading them but here we go. (this was kind of rushed pls bear with me)
Word Count: 1.3k
It wasn't even two full weeks into May, on a random Tuesday night (you thought, the days just seemed blended together by that point) as you were sitting on the couch in yours and Auston's condo reading a book, that you got a random yet somewhat concerning text from Freddie.
All he asked was if you had talked to Auston lately. After explaining that you had FaceTimed your boyfriend earlier that day but hadn't really spoken since you just shrugged to yourself because you hadn't thought that much about it. But then Fred replied, saying you should probably call him, and you started getting anxious.
Did something happen? Was everyone ok? You weren't sure, but you wasted no time in bringing up Auston's contact in your phone and pressing the call button.
After three rings, his voice eventually sounded from the other end.
"Hey, babe."
"Hey," you replied and let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" He asked, making you feel even more confused than before.
"Well, Freddie just messaged me saying I should call you, and I got worried, so I-," you cut yourself off and let out a breath, feeling a little pathetic about getting stressed so easily when clearly it was nothing. "Nevermind, uh, how was your day?"
He didn't respond. Instead, what sounded like a sarcastic laugh of sorts left his mouth, and you just didn't know how to react. "He was trying to rat me out."
"What?"
"Freddie," Auston called out, obviously trying to get the goalie to come to the same room he was in.
"Aus, what is going on?"
"Fred!"
You didn't know what to do. Something was happening, and you had no doubts that Auston was going to tell you eventually, but damn did it suck being in the dark.
Eventually, Freddie's voice sounded, and you hated that you couldn't see your boyfriend to at least try to read his body language while talking to his friend. You listened to the two banter about how Fred tattled, while Auston insisted that he was going to tell you.
"Tell me what Auston?" You finally intervened, getting really fed up with the whole situation. "I just want to know what the hell is going on. You're stressing me out."
"I-," he started before sighing. "I'm sorry. Give me a second and I'll FaceTime you."
"Please…"
Before anything else could be said, your phone started buzzing with an incoming FaceTime call. You quickly pressed the answer button and were soon met by your boyfriend's smiling face.
"Hi," he greeted cheekily, and you just knew that he was up to something.
"Hi. Are you good to tell me now?"
You watched as he bit down on his bottom lip nervously and glanced to the side, assumingly at Freddie, before looking back at you and nodding.
"Yeah, well, I'm going to show you."
A small pout formed on your lips, but still, you waited patiently as he leaned his phone against something on the counter, and you were suddenly able to see the kitchen much better. He then exited the frame, and you took a second to look at the scenery outside the large windows you were facing. The sun was setting, and it looked stunning. A small sigh left your mouth as you thought about Auston telling you how warm it had been in Scottsdale as of late, while you were stuck in rainy, cold Toronto. There was one sunny day in the city that gave you hope for beautiful weather, but then it was snowing just a week later.
You hated it. But, you still trudged your way through it.
Before you could get too caught up in your thoughts, you heard Auston's voice from offscreen as he talked to someone and started whistling. Still confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and waited until you could finally see your boyfriend again as he stopped in front of the phone.
"Ready?" He asked and looked at you pointedly.
You nodded, and he let out a breath before bending down to pick something up. A moment later, he stood up straight again; but this time holding a black and white, extremely fluffy looking puppy.
"Oh my gosh," you gasped as you covered your mouth and took in just how cute this dog was. "Look at him!"
"This is Felix," he stated while rubbing between the dog's ears and smiling widely towards you.
"Hi Felix," you replied happily before looking back at Auston. "Oh wow, I can already tell he's one of the best boys. Who does he belong to?"
"Well, us," he told you sheepishly, and fell silent as he waited for a response from you. "I picked him up a couple of hours ago."
However, you were too shocked to answer, and it took you a minute to speak up again. "Wait. What?"
"Surprise!"
"Auston."
"I was going to tell you," he started. "You know how badly I've wanted to get a dog. We've talked about this."
"I know," you replied. "But I wasn't expecting you to get one during quarantine while we're in separate countries."
"The opportunity came up, and I just wasn't able to say no to this little guy," he told you before looking back down at the puppy. "That's your new mom, bud. You'll get to see her in person soon, hopefully."
You wanted to be mad, you really did, but you just couldn't be. Auston was a grown man and was more than capable of making decisions like getting a dog on his own, and the two of you had already agreed to get a pet someday soon as well, so there was no reason to be. Plus, Felix was freaking adorable.
"I'm sorry. Are you mad I picked him without you?" Auston's voice snapped you out of the little daze you'd fallen into as he set Felix back down.
"No, of course not," you replied with a tiny grin. "You did good, babe."
He smiled widely at that response.
"He's the breed we talked about getting. I went and saw him a week ago, and we just clicked, or else I would've waited. He's helped a lot with the boredom, though."
"I'm glad," you told him honestly and just couldn't stop smiling. "Auston, I love him already and can't wait to meet him once the border opens."
"I can't wait for you to meet him either," he stated. "Or for us to be in the same place."
"I know, soon."
"Soon," he repeated and let out a breath as he picked the phone back up and started walking out of the kitchen. "Well, we're about to eat dinner. Can I call you back after? Want to hear about your day."
"I'd love that," you said and started feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. "But now that I know about Felix, I expect all the pictures and videos."
"See, told you she wouldn't be mad," a voice spoke up from offscreen. You knew it was Freddie, and couldn't help but laugh as you watched Auston roll his eyes at his friend.
"Whatever," your boyfriend scoffed. "I was going to tell her eventually."
"Yeah, when you weren't being a chicken shit and could finally man up."
"Or when I got pictures from Alex or Bre because we all know they wouldn't be able to keep it from me," you spoke up, making both men chuckle.
"True," Auston said and shook his head. "Anyways, I'm going to go. I love you, and I'll talk to you in a bit."
"Sounds good. I love you too and go pet Felix for me."
"Oh, you know I will," he replied and winked at you before ending the call. After that, you scrambled to text Steph so you could plan an outing with Felix and Zeus once quarantine was over, and then Auston's sister's to gush over the new edition to the family.
Although it sucked still being separated from Auston and your loved ones, you then had another thing to look forward to for once the lockdown was all said and done. It made you feel hopeful and helped you remember how there could still be light during those dark times, especially in the form of a new four-legged friend who you simply could not wait to meet.
I have some requests to write a piece of them finally being able to quarentine together, maybe I’ll work on that next hmmm
#nhl imagines#nhl fanfiction#auston matthews#nhl imagine#auston matthews fanfiction#nhl writing#auston matthews imagine#hockey imagines#nhl headcanon#auston matthews imagines#hockey fanfiction#nhl rpf#hockey rpf#toronto maple leafs imagine#hockey imagine
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Snowed In, Locked Out
Hello beautiful people! This is a repost of a story I wrote back in 2018. I deleted my original blog (she-guitar-solo) a couple months ago, but I’ve decided to try coming back! I’ll be reposting the rest of my writing today and tomorrow. Feel free to leave feedback, it’s always very much appreciated! 8.5k words
xxx Tile
Even bundled up with layers of thick clothing, a cup of steaming tea, and three blankets, Rosie was sure she had never been colder. It had started with a severe weather alert on the news, and had ended in a power outage and four feet of snow, which meant that her heat wasn’t working, and every flat surface in her disorganized studio apartment was covered in candles. It looked nice, but the plethora of scents from the candles were giving her a headache and she couldn’t remember the last time she felt her toes.
She had tried to watch her weekly soaps on her laptop, but it quickly died, leaving her with a blank screen and an annoyed eye roll. Next, she’d dragged her puppy, Buddy, out into the snow for what was meant to be a quick walk, but ended up taking well over an hour due to his excited prancing and rolling. It was his first snowfall, and he was having a ball playing in the large piles that had already started to form along the sidewalk. It took an extra ten minutes to dry him off completely once Rosie got him back inside.
She hoped that this would be the worst of the bad weather. It was out of character for London to have a snowstorm this large. Ideally, it would all melt by the end of the month, and things would go back to normal. She didn’t know how much more of this she could handle.
Now, Buddy was curled up at the foot of the twin bed as Rosie cocooned herself so only her face was exposed. Having grown up in a warmer climate, she was a self-proclaimed wimp when it came to cold weather.
“This is basically hell, Buddy,” she told her puppy, who gave no indication that he’d heard her apart from a slight ear twitch. She nudged him gently with her foot, and he lifted his head slowly, giving Rosie a bleary glare before lowering his chin back to his paws. “You’re so lucky you have a built in coat.”
And that’s how the evening continued. Rosie would tug the blankets tighter around herself and tell Buddy about her plans to stay warm. Should she invest in a battery-powered space heater? No way, you’re right Bud, those are a huge fire hazard. It was starting to smell awfully strange due to the mix of scented candles, should she stand up and blow some of them out? Maybe if it wasn’t so cold, there’s no way these blankets are moving. When the power turns back on, she’s going to take a scalding hot shower. After we go for another hour-long walk, of course…
After a while of this, Rosie was running out of things to think about. Buddy had clearly fallen asleep. Just as she willed herself to stand up and fetch a novel from the tower of books teetering on her desk, there was a firm knock on the door, which of course, set Buddy into a frenzy. He jumped up from his place and raced towards the sound, hopping around on the welcome mat out of sheer excitement.
As soon as Rosie unlatched the lock, the person on the other side twisted the handle and let themselves in, forcing her to take a quick leap backwards to dodge the door. She watched as Harry pulled the beanie off of his head, shucked his jacket off his shoulders and onto the ground, and toed off his boots. There was a growing puddle of muddy snow next to his pile of winter gear.
“Bloody freezing out!” He exclaimed, “This is meant to be London, not the fucking North Pole.”
Rosie watched with crossed arms as he stooped down to pat Buddy before glancing up at her with a swoon-worthy smile. She almost wanted to scream at him for shoving his way into her space, but she couldn’t do that, not when she hadn’t seen him in nearly four months and he looked good enough to eat in his skinny jeans.
He stood up slowly, giving Buddy one last pet on the rump before opening his arms wide. Rosie beamed at him, not hesitating to walk into his embrace.
“Hey, Ro,” he had dug his face into her hair, so his voice was muffled, but it sounded like heaven to her. “It’s so, so good to see you.”
“Harry,” she gleefully cheered, “I didn’t even know you were back in town!”
“Got in late last night,” he explained, moving his face away but not releasing her from his hold. “Was gonna stop by later on this week to say hey, but then…” he trailed off, sucking his lips into his mouth and hanging his head.
“Let me guess,” she stepped back, placing a hand on her hip. Harry’s arms swung loosely back to his sides. “You’ve locked yourself out again?”
Harry Styles had been her next-door neighbor since she moved into the complex two years prior, and had immediately welcomed her with a handmade card and a bottle of sparkling grape juice (“was gonna buy wine, but wasn’t sure if you drank alcohol or not, didn’t want to assume”). He had made it his mission to make her feel at home, and despite only spending a few months out of the year in London, he made sure to always drop by with sparkling grape juice and frozen TV dinners for lighting round catch-up sessions whenever he happened to be in town. It had become their little tradition.
He also had a tendency to lock himself out of his flat, a nasty habit that forced him to seek refuge at hers while he waited for the landlord to come on site. Harry had to be one of the most scatterbrained, forgetful men Rosie had ever met in her life. If they weren’t friends, she’d be annoyed, but it was impossible not be endeared by Harry.
“Locked my entire set of keys in my car, only realized once I got inside,” he confirmed, at least having the decency to look sheepish. “Called somebody to try and get it unlocked, but they said they couldn’t get here until the roads are plowed.”
“Harry!” Rosie groaned, “The plows won’t be out until tomorrow morning, at the earliest!”
Before the power had cut out, the news channel had mentioned something about the blizzard raging through the night. It was one of the worst snow storms that London had seen in years.
“You really think it’ll take that long?” He asked incredulously, digging a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.
“Before the power went out, I was watching the news, and it looks like the city is pretty much on lockdown until the snow stops,” Rosie patted Harry’s shoulder sympathetically. “It’s supposed to go all night.”
“Well shit,” he laughed humorlessly, “think it’s too late for a hotel reservation?”
“I’m sure there’s something still available,” she reasoned, digging her cell phone from her pocket to check where the nearest vacancy was. Just as she found something closeby, Harry let out a soft expletive from where he stood. When she looked over at him, he was patting down his pockets helplessly.
“I’ve locked my wallet in my car, too,” he moaned. “I’m officially fucked.”
“Oh, H,” Rosie sighed. She gave her ratty couch a quick side-eye. She had bought it secondhand from a stranger on craigslist when she moved in, and even though a few springs were loose and the fabric was scratchy and threadbare, it was plush and large enough to take up the majority of her living room. Her flat definitely wasn’t big enough to share with another person, but poor Harry was absolutely stranded. “I suppose… you could take my couch, just for the night? I know you’ve been travelling a lot and probably want a nice bed, but that’s all I’ve got.”
“I… don’t want to impose,” he said, though his eyes brightened at her offer.
“You’re not,” she assured him. “I’m not going to kick you out into the cold with nowhere to go.”
“You’re absolutely sure?” He pressed. “I can call for a ride.”
“Nonsense,” Rosie waved him off, turning around to grab some extra blankets from the closet. “I’ll just set up the couch, it’s really no bother. It definitely won’t be comfortable, but I don’t want you, or anybody else for that matter, out on the roads. It’s too slippery to be driving.”
Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I owe you one, Ro. You’re the fucking best.”
“You say that every time,” Rosie reminded him, setting the pile of fuzzy blankets onto the arm of the couch for him.
“Well, that’s because it’s true,” he stated matter-of-factly, walking over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, H,” she smiled, “It’s been so long.”
Harry sat himself down onto the couch, pulling Rosie with him so that they could talk properly. Buddy, still reeling from having a new person in his space, hopped up onto the couch and set his front paws in Harry’s lap.
“Yeah, it really has,” Harry breathed with a faraway look in his eyes. “When’s the last time I saw you, then? September?”
“I think so,” Rosie nodded her head, feigning indifference. The truth was, she had been counting down the days until he made a visit to London, checking the hallway and mailroom for any sign he’d been home.
“I’ve been so busy,” he informed her, raking his fingers through Buddy’s fur.
“Have you?” He nodded his confirmation. “Tell me about everything you’ve been doing.”
This was one of her favorite parts about hanging out with Harry. Even though it only happened every once in a while, he’d always return home with the most amazing stories to tell her. It was worth the wait to see his eyes light up when he talked about recording his second album in Tokyo. His excitement was contagious when he told her about his last night of tour, when the crowd begged him to sing Kiwi three times. She rubbed his arm comfortingly when he spoke of how he missed his family, and even with his new cat, Evie, in LA, he still felt lonely often.
“But that’s enough about me,” he leaned back further into the couch. He had just finished telling Rosie a very detailed count of the moment he won the tour ping-pong tournament, a victory that had apparently required him to remove all of his clothing backstage. “I want to hear about you.”
“Oh,” Rosie hummed. “Well, I got that promotion at work I’d been trying for!”
“Hey!” Harry beamed, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “That’s amazing, Ro! Congrats.”
“Thanks,” she preened. “But other than that, not much else has been happening.”
“Waiting for me to come home?” He smirked.
“Stop flirting with me,” she warned, pushing his arm off of her as he cackled. She was grateful that he couldn’t feel how sweaty her hands had gotten from just one silly comment. If only he knew how right he was.
“Sorry,” he shrugged, not sounding sorry in the slightest.
Rosie playfully rolled her eyes, tucking her feet under her bottom for warmth. Even with the woolen socks she’d put on, the cold was a bit numbing.
“So, what are we doing tonight?” Harry asked.
“I don’t really know,” she admitted. “Obviously the power is out, so that narrows down our options.”
The pair sat quietly for a few moments, pondering the different activities they could find in Rosie’s shoebox apartment.
“We could watch a movie,” Harry finally suggested.
“I would love that,” Rosie started, “but my laptop battery is dead, and yours is locked in your flat.”
“Why don’t we just watch on my phone?” He pressed. “I mean, it’ll be a small screen but it’s better than doing nothing. I have a portable charger in my jacket, too.”
Rosie’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. She stood up from the cushion and straightened out the sweater she was wearing. “Let’s do that, then. Here, you stay there, I’ll grab your charger.”
“No!” Harry shouted, launching himself off of the couch. “I’ll… I’ll get it. Why don’t you dig around the kitchen for snacks or something?”
“Um, alright,” she furrowed her eyebrows at him. He ignored her, reaching into his jacket pocket carefully before pulling out a tangled cord. “What kinds of snacks are you in the mood for? I don’t have much….”
“Anything’s fine,” he muttered. He had thrown his coat back onto her floor, and was now focused on getting his phone plugged in. “If you’ve got anything alcoholic, bring that, too.”
Rosie brushed off his odd behavior, shuffling off towards her kitchen. She was able to find some crackers that weren’t stale, and a container of Oreo’s that still had a sleeve and a half left. She skimmed her eyes over the liquor cabinet briefly, but there was nothing that would taste good without a mixer, so she let it be.
“Okay, which do you want first?” She asked, holding the snacks in each of her hands. Harry glanced up, scrunching his mouth in thought before pointing at the Oreo’s. Rosie pouted slightly, handing him the package. That’s the one she was hoping to start with.
“No drinks?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
“Nothing good,” she told him.
“Hmm… bet I could find something.” He stated confidently, sliding his socked feet over to the kitchen. He pulled open her refrigerator, immediately reaching in to grab something. “You have wine in your fridge! Two bottles!”
“Yes, but it’s cold,” Rosie pointed out. “We’ll feel colder if we drink it.”
“Well, if we drink enough, we’ll feel warm,” Harry smiled, already pulling open her drawers in search of a corkscrew.
“I suppose you’re right,” she nodded, following him into the kitchen to fetch the wine glasses from the cabinets.
Harry found the corkscrew on the second drawer he opened, which wasn’t a surprise. He had been over often enough to know his way around Rosie’s place, even if it was just for a few hours at a time. It wasn’t difficult considering her flat was literally one room, plus a small bathroom. The only indication that the kitchen was separate from the rest of her space was the tile floor, as opposed to the carpet that covered her living room. Her bed was in the living room, pushed all the way into the far corner away from the window. Rosie was sure that Harry’s flat was much larger, but he didn’t seem to mind how small hers was.
Once they had settled onto the couch with their drinks and snacks, Harry unlocked his phone and held the screen between them. “Can you see?” he asked.
Rosie nodded. “We’re watching Grease?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Turns out the internet shuts off when the power’s down, and this is one of the only films I have saved into my phone. Is that okay?”
“More than,” she assured him. “I love this movie, used to have a huge crush on Kenickie.”
“Kenickie?” Harry repeated incredulously. “First of all, he’s such a sleaze. Second, Danny Zuko is clearly the heartthrob here. Him and Rizzo are the hottest.”
“Dunno what to tell you, H,” Rosie laughed, “just always had a think for Kenickie.”
“I think I’ll be Kenickie for Halloween next year,” he grinned teasingly. Rosie pretended that she didn’t see Harry’s gaze drop down over her body and then back up again.
“Harry,” she said sternly.
“I know, I know,” he raised both of his hands into the air, “stop flirting with you.”
Rosie let the conversation drop after that. After all, she wanted to focus on the movie. It had been ages since she’d been able to sit down and watch a classic like this.
Just as Danny Zuko belted out the last lyrics of Greased Lightning, Harry leaned over and cleared his throat. Rosie glanced up at him to see that he was already looking down at her.
“Erm, Rosie?” he said softly.
“Yeah H?”
“My arm is getting, like, really tired holding the phone up like this.”
“Oh,” Rosie frowned. “Do you want me to take a turn holding it?”
“Well, I was thinking,” he mumbled, rolling his bottom lip between his fingers. “It might be more comfortable if we just, moved to your bed, y’know? That way we can just set the phone down and prop it up with pillows and stuff.”
Rosie wasn’t sure if it was the wine she had consumed or the soft, calm focus that Harry was putting on her, but she found herself fidgeting with the ends of her hair. She and Harry had sat close together more times than she could count, but sharing a bed was an entirely different story. Things happened on beds, things that she and Harry definitely didn’t do.
As if he could sense her discomfort, he placed a hand on her knee. “I promise I’ll still sleep on the couch.”
His promise didn’t do much to appease her, but she agreed nonetheless, shrugging one shoulder and nodding towards her bed with her chin. “Go get us set up, then. I’m going to pour more wine for us.”
I’m going to need it, she thought.
“Getting me drunk and letting me lay on your bed?” Harry jabbed at her side playfully as he passed her. “If you want me that badly, all you have to do is-”
“Jeez, Harry,” Rosie groaned, unable to keep the smile from her face, “sometimes you’re too cheeky.”
She filled her glass higher than she normally would.
When she finished, she stalked over to her twin bed and carefully sprawled out, trying to avoid spilling her wine. It was a tight squeeze with both of them – their shoulders and hips were pressed together tightly while they both lay on their stomachs – but Harry’s reassuring glance had her feeling more at ease.
It almost felt too good having him this close.
“Alright,” Harry said, taking a quick gulp of his wine, “shall I press play?
~~~
“YOU’RE THE ONE THAT I WANT!” Rosie yelled, slurring nearly every other word.
“OOH, OHH OHH, HONEY!” Harry shouted back, sounding equally as inebriated.
They had gotten up off her bed ages ago, opting to listen to the movie rather than watch it. The funny thing about having ‘just one more glass of wine, Ro’, was that it had turned into about three more glasses of wine, and they had each drank enough to get the room slightly off kilter. It was Rosie who had suggested that they danced when the song ‘Sandy’ came on, and Harry had agreed, leading her around the room in a poorly performed waltz.
Harry had been the one to insist they stayed standing, acting out each of the parts. He knew the lines much better than she did, but it was still hilarious to watch him flounce around her flat dramatically, dodging furniture as he went overboard with every scene.
“I was in a movie, y’know,” he had sulked when she laughed at him.
“Yes, H, I know,” she’d told him, pressing a firm kiss to the stubble on his cheek.
Now, they were more energetic than ever, the upbeat music adrenalizing them to the point of insanity. Harry was whipping his head all around in circles, feet tapping against the ground in fast, short jerks. Rosie was sure she had seen him pull this move when he had performed in London, but she was too busy dancing to say anything about it. Buddy, not wanting to be left out of the excitement, was tearing around the flat, occasionally stopping to jump up and press his nose to Harry’s stomach before racing away again.
“You better shape up!” She continued singing.
“‘Cause I need a man!” Harry interrupted her.
“Harry! That’s my line,” she whined, gripping the back of the couch to keep her balance. “I’m… I’m supposed to be Sandy.”
“Hmm, you are Sandy. I reckon you’d look nice in that costume, too,” Harry said seriously, stopping his twirling to get a better look at her. He had to hold onto the couch to keep from teetering as well.
“I actually was Sandy for Halloween once,” she told him, smiling at the memory. She and her high school sweetheart had done couples costumes her senior year, and she’d wanted to go all out. “Did you know that for the movie, Olivia Newton-John had to be stewn… stewn… sewn into her costume because it was so tight?” Rosie stumbled over her words.
Harry stepped closer to her. “Were you sewn into yours?”
Rosie was taken aback by Harry’s unfaltering stare. There was an intensity there that she hadn’t seen from him before, and certainly hadn’t been there just moments ago, and even though she knew that it was irresponsible to egg him on, she didn’t want to stop.
“No…” she told him. “It was really tight, though. Completely made of elastic.”
“Wow,” he sighed, raking his eyes up and down her frame with wine-hooded eyes. “Wish I had been there for that….”
He was close enough now to touch her, but his arms hung straight as needles by his sides. The air surrounding them, though freezing, was thick with tension. Everything felt hazy, as if anything outside of the moment was immersed in fog.
“My boyfriend at the time… he was dressed as Danny.”
Harry’s lips curled downwards into snarl. “Don’t have a boyfriend now, right?”
“Nope,” she whispered.
Harry’s arm lifted to her waist. Rosie couldn’t move, and even though she knew her heartbeat had picked up a considerable amount, she felt like it wasn’t beating at all. She swore her lungs stopped working the moment his fingertips buried into her sweater.
“That’s… good, yeah?” He hushed, watching his hand like somebody else was moving it for him.
“What?” She breathed, unable to pay attention to anything but his touch.
“‘S good that you,” he gulped, “s’good you don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Why’s that good?”
He wrapped his arm further around her, pulling her closer to him. Rosie placed her palms flat against his chest, and relished in the fact that his heartbeat was just as erratic as hers.
“‘S good because you look, just, so beautiful,” he answered softly. Rosie couldn’t stop staring at his lips.
“Stop, um, stop flirting with me, Harry.”
His name had barely escaped her mouth when his lips pressed to hers. The kiss was gentle; timid, almost. Rosie didn’t dare move her hands, afraid that the slightest movement would shatter the moment. Harry’s head tilted skillfully to the left, his nose just barely brushing against hers. He sucked on her bottom lip like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, only pulling away to breathe in deeply. Rosie felt hypnotized.
When Harry finally took a small step back, they were both panting.
“Can’t believe I just did that,” he touched his fingertips to his lips. Rosie, however, was less than pleased by the distance he had created.
Taking a bold step forward, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. He watched her with eager eyes. “I can’t believe you just stopped,” she quipped.
Their second kiss was more intense, full of open mouths, clashing teeth, and tongues moulding against each other. It was sloppy, and tasted bitter like wine, but Rosie felt like she was flying. She loved the way Harry’s hands explored her body: running up and down her sides, tangling into her hair, and even reaching down to squeeze over her bottom. It was all heavenly.
She didn’t fight him when he walked her backwards towards the bed, and she definitely didn’t stop him when his hands pulled up on the hem of her sweater. She reached for the button on his jeans in retaliation, and the sounds he made were melodic, more beautiful than any song she’d ever heard.
“Ro,” he panted, rubbing over the fleshy part of her stomach with his thumb, “can I please….”
“Yes,” she breathed into his neck, “please, take it off."
She lifted her arms above her head, and Harry slowly tugged the material off of her, leaving her in nothing but her leggings and bralette. As soon as her shirt hit the floor, his hands were all over her; rubbing at her chest, latching onto her hips, even flicking at her nipples with his thumbs through the thin fabric.
Rosie tugged at one of the strings on Harry’s hoodie. “Take this off,” she demanded.
He complied, whipping his sweatshirt and t-shirt off in one go. She gawked at the way his tattoos looked in the candlelight, shadows flickering over the black ink in a dizzying motion. She couldn't decide if she wanted to stare at him or cover him in kisses.
She settled on the latter, sinking to her knees and pulling him forward by the backs of his thighs. Harry clearly hadn’t expected this, as he stumbled forward and nearly kneed Rosie in the chin.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Rosie couldn’t respond. She was too busy craning her neck to reach the center of Harry’s stomach. She placed one firm kiss to the patch of soft skin directly above his navel, and then she worked her way down with lighter, more delicate brushes of her lips. One of Harry’s hands reached down to tangle into her hair and gently press against the back of her head, guiding her downwards towards the waistband of his jeans.
“This okay?” She asked, fingers hesitantly brushing along his zipper. She could already tell that he was aroused, if the growing bulge under her hand was any indication.
“Yeah!” He panted, nodding vigorously, “please, yeah, ‘s fine.”
Getting his jeans off was difficult. They weren’t as tight as he used to wear them, but they still caught around his ankles and forced him to balance on one leg at a time to pull them off of his feet. Rosie had to scoot backwards slightly to give him more space.
As soon as they were off and flung across the room, she crawled back forward and drank in how appetizing he looked. He was swollen and leaking under his boxer briefs; a small wet patch leaking through where his head strained against the fabric.
Harry was breathing in broken puffs, the anticipation causing his chest to heave. Rosie watched as he reached down and pulled himself out of his underwear, sighing out loud when he gave himself a few short pumps. The bulbous head of his cock was a bright cherry color, while his strong shaft faded into a lighter pink. His foreskin had already been pushed down from the fisted grip he had on himself.
Her hand reached out to cover his. She followed his movements as he jerked himself off, marvelling at the way his thighs shook with each brush over the tip. The precum that hadn’t leaked into his boxers was now spread all around him, and the wet noises that his hand made with each movement were practically sinful.
Harry moved his hands away the moment Rosie leaned forward to suck part of him into her mouth, choosing instead to once again bury them into her hair. The pressure of his hands wasn’t forceful, but comforting. He would press her head forward just as his hips would shift, fucking into her mouth gently and slowly. Rosie closed her eyes, toying with the band of his boxers that were still tight around his thighs as the weight of him slid heavily against her tongue.
“Rosie,” he mumbled halting his movements. She let him drop from her mouth to peer up at his face, nearly moaning at the sight of his flushed chest and the thin sheen of sweat that glinted off of his skin. “Gonna cum soon… I don’t know if… did you, like, want to have sex?”
Rosie wanted to, she really did, but she was also hyper-aware that they were both still rather tipsy. She knew that if she had sex with him tonight, she might regret it in the morning. They hadn’t even had a conversation about what they were doing.
“Is it okay if we don’t?” She asked.
“Of course!” Harry gushed. “Not gonna do anything you don’t wanna do. I mean, obviously.”
“Okay, thank you,” she mumbled. She reached up to grab onto his cock again, squeezing it slightly. Small bubbles of liquid were dribbling from the tip, and she couldn’t peel her eyes away from the way they dripped down the underside and soaked into the small mousey hairs gathered at the base.
“Don’t thank me,” he muttered, closing his eyes at the feel of her fingers on him.
“Gonna help you finish,” she stated, pressing her mouth against his hip. “Then… will you maybe… just touch me a little?”
“Can do that,” he nodded, his jaw noticeably tightening. He bent his torso forward slightly to reach the hooks at the back of her bralette, fumbling with the delicate lace before pulling it open. It fell forward into the crooks of her elbows, and she quickly discarded it onto the floor.
The heat pooling between Rosie’s legs was slowly becoming unbearable, and Harry undressing her while she was still on her knees was making her impatient. She could already tell that she’d soaked through her underwear, so she hurriedly put Harry back into her mouth.
“Whoa,” he gasped, “slow, slower, Rosie. Promise I’ll touch you as soon as I’m done.”
He rubbed a finger soothingly along her jaw, encouraging her to open her lips wider. He went back to moving in and out of her mouth, pushing a little bit deeper down her throat with each thrust, but never to the point where she felt like she was going to gag.
“‘M about to cum, Rosie! ‘M gonna….” He warned not two minutes later. “Fuck!”
He was partially pulled out of her when spurts of salty, warm cum burst from him. Most of it landed on her tongue, but a few drips escaped over her lips, leaking down her chin and onto the floor beneath her.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments. The air surrounding them was musty and dense.
“Let’s move to the bed, yeah?” Harry requested tenderly, tucking himself back into his briefs. He gripped her hand in his own and pulled her to her feet. “You’ve got a bit of….”
He swiped his tongue out over her lips, lapping up the remnants of his orgasm from her skin. The open-mouthed kisses soon moved down her chin, over her jaw, and into the dip where her neck met her shoulder. He shuffled them both sideways until they fell unceremoniously onto her bed.
“Oof,” Rosie grunted, grimacing as her breasts bounced a little bit too heavily from the impact. This seemed to catch Harry’s attention, as he immediately moved to press his face into her chest, nipping at the skin above her cleavage.
“These are so nice,” he complimented, taking a breast into each of his hands.
“Thanks, grew them myself,” Rosie sighed.
“God,” Harry choked out a short laugh, “shut up, will you?”
And she did shut up, but only because he was petting her over her leggings and she thought she might scream if she opened her mouth.
It felt amazing, but Rosie knew that she needed something more. She let out a small noise, pushing her leggings and underwear down slightly. Harry smiled, leaning back to pull them fully off of her legs.
“Harry,” she whispered. His calloused fingers brushed over inner thigh.
“Everything okay?” He asked, meeting her stare.
“Yeah, just,” she gulped. “I’m probably gonna be pretty quiet, but it’s not because it doesn’t feel good! I just need to… focus.”
“Okay,” he laughed, “good to know.”
“Wait!” She said just as is hand shifted closer to her center. “I haven’t… shaved in a long time. It’s just, it’s Winter and I wasn’t expecting-”
“Rosie,” he deadpanned, “I’ve literally never cared about anything less.”
And then he was touching her. He played her like a musical instrument, plucking at her clit with his thumb and slowly moving his fingers in and out of her. He was tucked into her side, using one of his legs to hold hers open. His head dipped slightly so he could wrap his lips around the nipple closest to him. Everything about him was soft and slow; purposeful and skilled.
The pads of fingers were rough and calloused, and Rosie closed her eyes at the feeling. She felt her legs twitch every time he brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, and her stomach clenched every time he bit down on her nipple. It was sure to feel bruised tomorrow, but she didn’t mind.
“Hm?” Harry hummed when Rosie sucked in a particularly sharp breath.
“‘M good,” she assured him, “feels good.”
She could feel his eyes on her face, gauging her reaction to his touch. His movements were calculated; curious fingers exploring her inside and out.
Rosie came quickly, euphoria taking over her body as Harry continued working her through her orgasm. Her back arched off of the bed, and Harry eagerly kissed at her neck as she threw her head back. As soon as it felt too sensitive, she grabbed onto his wrist to halt his movements.
A giggle escaped her lips as Harry wiped his fingers on his bare thigh. He had a silly, satisfied smile plastered across his cheeks, and he shifted them both so that he had an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Now that neither of them were moving, the cold air was freezing against their exposed skin. Rosie quickly pulled her covers over them.
They stayed like that for a while, occasionally nuzzling closer for warmth or pressing small kisses wherever they could reach. Rosie felt dopey; cuddling with Harry post-orgasm was the most addicting drug she’d ever consumed.
She never wanted to move, but Buddy started yelping desperately at the door. She groaned, burying her face into Harry’s shoulder. He pouted when she pulled herself up into a sitting position.
“I need to take him outside,” she frowned.
“I’ll come with,” Harry announced.
After they haphazardly threw on some clothes (Harry had borrowed some of her sweatpants and his sweatshirt was inside out and backwards, and Rosie wasn’t wearing any underwear), they found themselves shivering outside while they waited for Buddy to finish. Despite their impatience, Buddy had decided to take his time, sniffing every single thing that his nose could reach.
“If it weren’t so bloody cold, this might be romantic,” Harry pointed out.
Rosie raised her eyebrows. This was the closest they’d come to actually addressing... everything, but she was still feeling a little bit wine-buzzed, and didn’t want to start a conversation she couldn’t finish. However, it did feel a bit romantic. Snow was falling in large, fluffy clumps, and the combination of streetlight and moonlight was casting a soft glow over Harry’s face.
“I think my brain is numb,” Rosie told him, deflecting from his previous statement.
“‘Cause of the cold, or something else?” Harry snickered, leaning over to bump his shoulder into hers.
“The cold, Harry,” she rolled her eyes. Harry continued laughing at her, so she ignored him while Buddy finished up. As soon as he was done, Rosie was making a beeline towards her door.
Harry was hot on her heels. “I know it’s not much warmer inside, but anything is better than this,” he stated, blinking his eyes against the wind. “Hopefully the power comes back on soon.”
Rosie hummed in agreement, twisting the handle and letting them back inside. It was just a short climb up the stairs, but Harry placed his hand on the small of her back to help her keep her balance. She could practically feel the heat of his skin burn through the thick layers she had on.
As soon as they were back in her flat, Rosie looked at him. His cheeks were flushed red and his nose looked a bit runny, but it was cute when he scrunched up his face, and she loved the way his hair looked when he pulled off his beanie, sticking out in nearly every direction as if he’d been electrocuted.
She stepped up to place a quick peck against his lips, but Harry prolonged it, following her movements as she went to pull away.
“Mmm,” Harry hummed against her mouth. “What was that for, hm?”
“Just trying to be a good hostess,” Rosie breathed. Their closeness was dizzying.
“Ah, I see,” he grinned, “do you give all of your guests this kind of treatment?”
“Oh yes, absolutely,” she teased, pulling away and stepping back to finish unzipping her coat. Harry frowned.
“Heeeey,” his hands latched onto her forearms, pulling her back into his chest. “‘S rude,”
He nudged her fingers out of the way and dragged her zipper the rest of the way down for her. His tongue poked out from between his lip as he concentrated on not getting any fabric caught between the tines.
They moved slowly while they got ready for bed, partly because Harry refused to take his hands off of her, but also because they were exhausted. While Harry finished wiping down Buddy’s feet, Rosie walked around her flat to blow out all of the candles apart from the one right by her bed. Once Harry stripped down to nothing but his sweatpants, and Rosie had changed into an oversized t-shirt, they sluggishly crawled under the blankets.
“Erm, I can sleep here, right?” Harry asked, picking at the corner of the covers. “I can still sleep on the couch if you want me to.”
“Harry,” Rosie smiled, shaking her her head, “you’re obviously sleeping here. Now pull the covers back up, you’re letting the cold air in.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, instantly scooching down in the bed and curling himself around her. She leaned over his frame to blow out the last remaining candle, and then burrowed herself into his arms.
Harry’s hands were icicles against her bare hips, and hers were frigid against his back, but it was the kind of cold where it was comfortable; the kind where they both knew that as long as they stayed pressed together, their hands would warm up against each others’ skin.
“Thanks for letting me stay,” Harry whispered, so quietly that Rosie could have dreamed it.
“Always welcome here….” she returned as she began to drift off. She thought she heard him start to say something else, but her eyelids suddenly felt ten times heavier, and Harry’s thumb circling her hipbone was almost too soothing. Rosie drifted off to the soft rumble of his voice, and the rough texture of his fingertips on her skin.
~~~
Rosie woke up the same way she does nearly every morning: a wet, cold tongue lapping at her cheek. She forced herself to peel her eyes open, and found herself nose to nose with Buddy, who was wagging his tail expentently.
As more and more of her senses returned, she became acutely aware of Harry’s hand on her hip. His chest was pressed snugly to her back, and small puffs of air were hitting her scalp where his face was nestled into her hair. A smile crept up her cheeks. She wanted nothing more than to settle into his warmth, but Buddy was growing increasingly impatient, letting out small whines and shifting his feet on Rosie’s leg.
Not wanting to wake Harry, Rosie gently lifted Harry’s arm enough to slide out without disturbing him. He shifted slightly, pulling the covers closer to his chin and letting out a small affronted sound, but thankfully, he stayed asleep.
The power must have turned back on overnight, because her flat was suddenly a comfortable temperature. Rosie let out a sigh at the thought of finally being able to lounge around comfortably.
“Hey boy,” she whispered, unhooking Buddy’s leash from the hook by the door. She held it out towards him and he pranced over to her, exposing his neck so that Rosie could attach the leash to his collar. “Wanna go for a walk?”
The moment she stepped out of the complex, her lips curled into a snarl. Snow certainly looks nice, but she hated the way that the small frozen particles scratched at her skin in the wind, and she definitely didn’t like how it hurt to breath in through her nose. Buddy didn’t seem to mind, already sniffing around to find a suitable place to do his business.
Once he was finished, Rosie decided that she would only take him around the block once. Normally, she’d go longer, but the bitterness in the air and the promise of returning home to Harry made her want to rush. She would take Buddy on an extra long walk later on.
Harry was just as she left him when she got back into her flat, but this time, his hooded eyes were blinking rapidly in the sunlight.
“Mmm, hi,” he groaned, raising his arms above his head in a stretch.
“Morning,” Rosie replied, eyes lingering on his biceps that were peeking out from under her bedsheets. “Sorry if I woke you, Buddy needed to go out. You can go back to sleep if you want.”
“‘M up now,” he grunted, “you should come back over here….”
His tone was soft and inviting, and an involuntary flush crept up Rosie’s cheeks. Remembering how warm he’d felt pressed up against her left a chill over her skin that rivaled the biting cold outside. She quickly bent down to untie her snow boots, trying to hide her reddening face from him.
“Please?” Harry whined when she didn��t respond. “‘S cold, and you’re warm.”
“Shouldn’t you get up too, H?” She raised an eyebrow at him, “the plows have already been through, so you should probably call the locksmith to get your car open.”
“Yeah,” he muttered indifferently.
Rosie knew that the moment she looked at him, she’d be a goner, and while she normally doesn’t like to get back in bed after moving around, she was going to have to make an exception. Just as she’d suspected, as soon as she settled her gaze on where he was laying in bed, she was met with puppy-dog eyes and an outreached hand.
“Fine,” she relented. “Let me just get my coat off.”
“You can take off everything else too, if you’d like,” Harry called out. “I wouldn’t mind!”
“Stop flirting with me!” Rosie grinned, giddiness seeping into her bloodstream. She felt jittery, excited, and far too focused, as if she’d just gulped down three cups of coffee.
“Think we’re a bit past that, Ro.”
Rosie huffed playfully, going to set her sopping boots and coat on top of the radiator by the window. There was nothing more pleasant than putting on warm, dry boots before heading out into the winter. As she was walking across the room, she noticed Harry’s jacket thrown across the floor, so she picked it up to place on the heater as well.
Just as she was shaking it out to set down, something heavy fell out of his pocket and hit the floor with a thud. Rosie’s eyes widened as she bent down to pick up the set of keys, dangling it over her pointer finger. Not only were his car keys attached, but a key nearly identical to her own hung from the collection.
“What was….” Harry trailed off after seeing what she held in her hand, “...that… um….”
“So you weren’t locked out after all?” Rosie bit out. She felt heat creep up her back and over her shoulders, the giddiness she had felt just moments ago giving way to disbelief. He had lied to her.
“Um, no, I wasn’t,” Harry admitted with a sigh, scratching at the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact with her. “I… I was just….”
Rosie threw the keys onto the table. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, but she knew she had to do something, so she began to organize the blankets that she’d set out on the couch for Harry. Blankets that had gone unused.
“Just what?” Rosie snapped. “Just coming over to see if you could get me in bed with you? Is that what this is?”
“What? No, Ro. Absolutely not!” He threw the covers from his lap, rushing to his feet. Rosie stormed over to the closet and shoved the blankets inside, closing it more harshly than she normally would. When she turned back around, Harry was already walking towards her, a wild glint in his eyes.
“Well you did a mighty fine job, Harry,” Rosie seethed, ignoring his attempt to brush his hand along her arm. “Managed to get my clothes off, on my knees for you. You must be so proud of yourself.”
“Rosie, no,” he pleaded, gently wrapping his fingers around her bicep to keep her still. “I swear, I would never do something like that. I wasn’t trying to trick you, or anything of the sort!”
“Then why lie about being locked out?” She demanded. “This… last night was a mist-”
“No!” Harry begged, cutting her off. “Please don’t say it was a mistake… it… it wasn’t-”
“And what about all of the other times?” Rosie interrupted. “Were you ever actually locked out of your flat, or were you just trying to… I dunno… wear me down?”
“How could you even think that?” Harry growled, his desperation morphing into something else entirely. He tugged at the ends of his hair with the hand that wasn’t gripping her arm, his eyes closing in exasperation. “I care about you so much.”
“So this is the only time you’ve lied?” She challenged, watching as his jaw flexed.
“Erm… not exactly,” Rosie went to tug her arm out of his hold, but Harry stepped closer, not allowing her to storm off like she’d planned. “But it’s not what you think! The first time, I really was locked out. It’s just… you were so sweet to me, I- I wanted to spend more time with you, that’s all.”
“You could have just knocked on my door,” she narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t need to lie to me to spend time with me.”
“I know,” he rubbed a hand over his face. The tips of his ears were tinged bright red.
“I… I really don’t appreciate dishonesty-”
“I was nervous!” Harry exploded. Buddy yelped on the bed, stressed out due to the tension in the room, and Rosie took a short step back, not expecting him to be so loud. “You… you make me so nervous. Like, when Mr. Goldman moved out of this place, I had never even thought about anyone new moving in, let alone a cute girl…. Like, Ro, I’m not even kidding, I’ve had a crush on you since I first met you.”
“You… you could’ve-”
“And I know I’m shit for being dishonest, but fuck, you took me by surprise. I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, looking down at their feet. “I never meant to upset you, I really just wanted to get to know you better. And then, once I started… I couldn’t stop.”
“Harry,” Rosie breathed brokenly, the air getting caught in her throat. “I don’t really… know what to say.”
“Just… say you forgive me?” he asked, his gaze lifting to flit around her face for any indication that she understood. “I’m so sorry.”
And then Rosie was laughing. It was definitely not an appropriate time, but she couldn’t contain her giggles. So many conflicting emotions were rushing through her; excitement, anxiety, relief, frustration. It was overwhelming.
“Um,” Harry watched owlishly as Rosie bent over to grip her knees, overcome by fits of laughter. “I’m... uh….”
“God,” she choked out finally, “you are such an idiot, Harry!”
“I’m… sorry?”
“No! I don’t mean, like, literally.” Rosie forced herself to stop laughing, but was unable to wash the smile off of her face. Harry looked both impatient and perplexed. “It’s just… hilarious. You could’ve asked me out that very first time and I would’ve said yes.”
A slow smile crept up Harry’s cheeks.
“And I’m sorry for laughing, it’s just,” Rosie continued, “it’s so simple, and we’re so fucking dramatic.”
Harry started laughing then, too. He dragged a hand all the way down his face, rubbing at his tightly closed eyes before blinking them back open to stare at her.
“So, just to clarify here,” he started. Rosie launched into another set of quiet giggles when she saw the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “You… would go out with me.”
“Yes, Harry,” she replied, “for fucks sake, I like you so much. Thought it was obvious.”
“I thought I was the one being obvious!” His shoulders sagged as the tension left his body. “We’re both idiots.”
“So stupid,” Rosie agreed.
“And god, so fucking oblivious,” he added.
“So oblivious.”
“And we’re also… getting dinner tonight?”
“Going on a date,” she confirmed.
“Yeah,” his smile was so wide, she probably could have counted all of his teeth. “That, a date.”
“Yeah,” Rosie beamed back at him, twiddling her fingers together, “so… you should probably go, then. And maybe, I dunno, put some clothes on?”
Harry glanced down as if he’d forgotten that he was shirtless. “Might be a good idea.”
Rosie leaned back against the wall as Harry gathered his things. Somehow, the handful of belongings that he’d brought had scattered all around her flat: his phone charger, his sweatshirt, his beanie. One of his socks was on the other side of the room, it’s partner stuffed into one of his boots. It didn’t help that Rosie was also disorganized; Harry was forced to move piles of her things aside to reach his own.
Finally, he’d collected everything into his arms. Rosie opened the door for him, but he lingered in the doorway, leaning back onto his heels and rubbing his lips together.
“Well I guess, erm, I’ll just see you later?” he raised an eyebrow.
“You will,” Rosie confirmed. “6:00, somewhere we could walk to?”
“Sure,” Harry said. They were engulfed in an awkward silence, and there was nothing else to do but stare. “Uh, bye then?”
“Bye,” Rosie repeated quietly, shutting the door as soon as he’d turned around.
She pressed her back against the door with a huff, mind reeling from everything that had happened. It had all gone down in such a short period of time, it almost didn’t seem real. Had Harry really dragged his lips all over her body, or had that been her imagination?
She had just started to walk towards the bathroom to check in the mirror for hickeys when a knock sounded on her door. She whipped it open to find a sheepish Harry on the other side. She didn’t know what she expected him to say, but when he finally spoke, there was a twinkle in his eye.
“I… may have forgotten my keys.”
~~~
To those of you made it this far, thank you! I’d love to hear from you if you’re willing to shoot me a message... feedback is key, after all!
xxxooo Tile
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles fic#harry#styles#harry styles fanfiction#friends to lovers#SILO
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