#somehow I’m at a crossroads of deciding who should stay or go

[ratcandy]

CoGR Abridged/Summarized

Hello hello! My name is Clam, otherwise known as Squeakyclam on Ao3, and this is a heavily summarized/shortened version of my HK fic Camouflage of Great Renown. For anyone somehow finding this that doesn't know what it's about, CoGR focuses on Zote and his story through the game and what preceded it. He recounts his entire life up until the end of what's known in canon, and this includes a whole lot of angst, growth, realizations, and Trauma Revelations.

Oh, and he's a nosk. Zote is a nosk. Yep.

I've had a few requests for a summary, as the work is super long and reading through 130k+ words of Zote dialogue may not be for everyone, hehehe so I've compiled all the important plot points and wrote them out here in order of his story, rather than the plotline CoGR goes through specifically (in which big events in his history are revealed later on).

If I had to recommend reading the fic for anything, it'd be the... impact, I suppose? 'Cause reading the summarized events here will NOT be anything like reading it in CoGR. Seeing as the fic is all in Zote's pov and he actually has to force himself to admit all of this aloud. But I digress!!

Here's a summary of Zote's life according to CoGR.

THIS IS A VERY, VERY LONG POST DESPITE BEING A SUMMARY. I'm sorry, CoGR just has a lot happening! T/W for mentions of death.

A lot more heavy stuff happens in CoGR, but in this summary I do my best to step around those subjects. If you think more T/Ws should be added, let me know, and I'll put them here

Nosks were a species that inhabited Deepnest, specifically living in a den towards the nest's depths. It split off into lots of tunnels and caverns that each nosk lived in. "Society" there was very hostile and unwelcoming, as nosks valued brute strength over just about anything else. Caring for another nosk - be it kin or otherwise - was considered weak. "Burdens" to the den, such as nosks that were badly wounded, would/could not hunt, or were simply getting too old would be killed off. Death in and of itself was very common and hardly anyone would bat an eye at it.

Think the Mantis Tribe but largely feral and without a shred of decency of morals.

Runt donning mask of citizen was born into the nosk den alongside his brother, who would become hunter donning hide of tiktik.

(Before anyone asks, these are just the naming conventions that nosks have. No one but the nosk superiors - the leaders of the den - are granted actual names.)

A third egg was among them, but the brother broke it open and ate the younger sibling not long after hatching.

The two were born under a superior (their mother) and her chosen mate (their father). They were expected to grow up strong and eventually overtake their mother and become superiors. Or, one of them would, maybe.

The runt (Zote) was immediately scorned by the mother, as he was extremely frail and useless, and she just about killed him off right after he hatched - but his father stepped in, and the runt was left alive.

Zote grew up to be a weak nosk who could barely defend himself in a den full of beasts that would gladly kill him if doing so wouldn't be a direct offense to a superior. His brother was cruel to him, his father berated him constantly, and his mother was hardly in the picture at all. Only ever watching him distastefully from afar.

His father did, however, train him, if only sparingly. The least he could do to keep Zote alive. (Doing so would be a death wish were any other nosks to find out about it...)

However, an elder in the den - hunter donning mask of weaver - gained Zote's attention as she told him fantastical stories from outside the den. This elder had spent a good portion of her life among the Weavers, initially being sent to learn about them (to make them easier to hunt) but growing interested in their culture and choosing to stay. Until she did something to get her chased out.

At any rate, she told the stories from the Weavers to Zote, alongside news of what was happening outside of Deepnest. This caused the runt to become obsessed with the idea of being a knight, as the stories just sounded!! So amazing and heroic and awesome and!!! :D Yea!! He wanted to be just like that!

To the point where he even carved a sword out of the shellwood... with the den elder's help. He named it Life-Ender eventually.

At some point, however, his father found out about all this. His father figured that the only way to eliminate this problem - as wishing to be something heroic that saved lives or whatever was SO unnosk-like (and would get him killed) - was to kill the den elder.

Before she died, the elder told Zote to run away from the den, and not to return no matter what. The idiot did not run, and because of this, he witnessed the Den Elder's death at the hands of his father and some other nosks.

Man! this does, however, cause Zote to be more... "open" about his ideas. By this I mean he begins carrying Life-Ender around instead of hiding it in his nest. what do you mean it's a comfort item what! no he's just rebelliously showing off how much he wants to be a knight. totally. 100% /s

well, anyway, not long after this, the idiot's father dies at the claws of his mother. Zote unfortunately witnesses this as well. When he tries to run, his mother catches him, nearly killing him as well. Luckily(?), this attempt is thwarted by Zote's brother, who was very distraught over their father's death. The brother swears to kill the mother before storming off. Zote runs into hiding (still in the nosk den), and begins devising his plan so to get the hell out of there.

Of the few times that Zote leaves his nest after his father's death, 90% of them ended with him getting pummeled by his brother. The latter was livid, blaming the father's death on Zote and frequently bursting into fits of emotional rage. Rage is great for nosks, other emotions not so much.

On one occasion in particular, the brother goes too far, nearly killing Zote. In the scuffle, Life-Ender is shattered, and that sends Zote into a blind anger (mixed with survival instinct as he's About to Die). Zote then kills his brother.

A crowd had gathered around them during the fight. In that crowd was Zote's mother, who looked to him approvingly after he'd killed off his brother. This terrified Zote, so he gathered the pieces of Life-Ender and fled the den forever.

Stopping at the hot spring in Deepnest, he made a disguise for himself based on the vessels that nosks would often capture. He made a new name for himself, took on an entirely new identity, and decided to abandon the idea that he was ever a nosk. He would just go to the City, be knighted by the King (who he'd heard of from the stories the Den Elder would tell him), and live out his life as a knight. Just like he always wanted. Not as a nosk. because he's not that.

The events that follow now are just very short summaries of things that happen throughout cogr.

- He breaks a statue in the Queen's station on accident after a bug finds him there. as a nosk. oops

- He obliterates the entire uoma population /j and burns himself in the process

- He repairs Life-Ender originally using mushrooms in the Fungal Wastes. Fungal adhesion is real I checked I swear

- He makes it to the City of Tears! and while there, he

Gets caught by Hegemol who mistakes him as a vessel

Drowns in the City's gutters

Purchases a cloth to wrap around Life-Ender

Hears the Pale King talk one (1) time and immediately decides he hates him

- While leaving the City, he finds a grub. That grub never really gets named, but as he frequented calling the little thing "Fiend," and the grub eventually began responding to that title, he just considers it a name for them now.

- Zote travels with the grub throughout the Crossroads until he drops them off with the Grubfather, being rewarded for reuniting them but overall feelings pretty :( about it.

- He then goes to the. So you know the houses that are underneath the Gruzz Mother's lil arena? Yea that place. he goes there and "guards" it, becoming that place's self-proclaimed knight.

- then he starts being paranoid about the grub and returns to the grubfather only to see all the grubs have been stolen. he presumes Fiend is dead from this point on (and dodges around ever using the word).

- Then he goes back to the lil town place only to see everyone's infected :(

- We then spend TEN CHAPTERS!! in Greenpath. In which he

eats a plant and dies

Stands in No Eyes's tomb.

Visits the Lake of Unn (and nothing bad happens)

Sees a nosk at the entrance to Fog Canyon and proceeds to have a panic attack

Kills everything

Gets caught by the Vengefly king

Gets saved!

has a breakdown

Yells at Ghost and then Leaves

- Canon starts!

- He stops in Dirtmouth, listens to Elderbug talk, gets told the Myth of the Great old Nosks who are now all Extinct. The news that nosks are now extinct freaks Zote out a little, but he absolutely refuses to return to Deepnest. He doesn't need to make sure. It's fine.

- In an effort to convince himself not to go to Deepnest, he goes to the City again, thinking it can't possibly be all that ba-- oh no everyone's dead!

- he inadvertently steals a map marker from Ghost and decides to use that as a pin for his cloak

- Zote returns to Deepnest. He's very upset with himself for this, but he just has to know if all the nosks are actually extinct now.

The answer is yes

but before that he gets caught by dirtcarvers and put in a web and has to be saved. this makes him angry

Upon seeing all the dead nosks once he gets to the den, and noticing that the last nosk was mimicking Ghost (evidenced by the mask left behind) before it died, he decides that he's gotta Kill Everything again

- more specifically we're going to the Colosseum now.

- Zote's fear of water evaporates as he goes through the secret passage in the King's Station to get to Kingdom's Edge. He only found it because he saw Ghost go that way

- While at the Kingdom's Edge, he gets caught by the Fools, who he stupidly challenges and then immediately gets caught by.

- sits in dumb baby jail for a while. mean to tiso

- Then the colosseum battle happens! He does not win he then gets dropped down into kingdom's edge with little regard toward whether he's dead or alive

- He grabs a Fool's helmet before leaving, going back to Dirtmouth, and intending to bury that thing

- this goes wrong as he bumps into Bretta. He then sits and talks with her for God Only Knows how Long, spacing out while doing so, and not even noticing when she eventually gets up and leaves him.

- He buries the helmet, shuts himself away in his house, and gets stuck repeating his precepts to himself. At the end of CoGR it is revealed that he hasn't been talking to anyone, and is instead talking to himself endlessly as no one is left to listen to him

and that's it! that's cogr. yeah

#clamtalk #cogr #camouflage of great renown #zote #hollow knight #fanfiction #nosk zote #nosk #uh #yeah #long post #VERY long ramble #I guESs? #it is a very long post anyway #cogr summary #so i can find it again later #anyway. now to wait for someone to show up in my dms and be like ''wait that didn't happen/that's wrong!'' because memory of my own fic? #nonexistent #yea. that's all #thanks for coming

[sepublic]

The Astro Queue and Party Car!

           Kez… my beloved… You’re so wonderfully expressive and cartoonish, and unusually flirty with anything that exists. Yet so charming and delightful, yet beneath it all you’ve got insecurities and I feel so BAD for her… But you know what, she didn’t need Paco, and the uh… Okay I kind of forgot their names, besides Hive and Spice-something, I have a general idea, and it doesn’t matter! Oh yeah, there’s also a rock from the Hey Ho Whoa Car, I appreciate that kind of retroactive return for an old car, that’s fun.

           Weird tangent incoming, but… Going back to what I said about Kez kind of reminding me of Ryan’s lifestyle, she also seems to have the insecurity of Min, and how they both have this thing of… Being afraid of how they’re perceived and letting that really get to them! And Kez… she looked SO at ease and relieved on Min’s shoulder at the end, my heart is MELTING…! Maybe Kez has traits that can make her relate to both Min AND Ryan as a mediator, as an example of the one they become (also foreshadowing One who inversely becomes One-One), and I like that her lack of understand of social cues (or knowing disregard) allows her to comment as an impartial third, outside party…

           But also- LORE! So it seems that those boots are meant to root passengers in place so they can’t muck about whenever the Steward is operating in the same car; I think we finally, FINALLY have an answer to what it meant when it told Tulip to stay in her seat- It’s likely a default line for a passenger who somehow manages to move from their place whenever the Steward is operating… Which, given all of Amelia’s mess and hijinx with the Infinity Train’s normal functions, that’s kind of her fault! Seeing Kez glitch also lends credence to the interpretation of denizens being spawned by orbs in a sense… Which, for Tuba-is-Alive conspiracy theorists, hope is there? Because her orb might still exist?

           Regardless… The Steward seems to really live up to its name, and it’s cool to see how it usually is meant to function- Not necessarily for maintenance, but for giving passengers anything they need, should there be a necessity! Which, that makes me wonder if the Steward and One keep track of passengers to rescue them if things get dangerous, which again, is ANOTHER problem Amelia caused, and contributes further to Grace and Simon forming the Apex! Yikes… Still, it’s fascinating to see how the Steward’s role plays in interacting with passengers more, and intriguingly, Amelia’s own dialogue there… It kind of sounds like she suggested to One that he give Min and Ryan their things back?

           So, maybe this is what Amelia had in mind; Maybe she wanted a more hands-on approach to the Infinity Train? Perhaps One invited her specifically as an actual human, second opinion as a passenger, someone who can provide input on how the Infinity Train is working, a review and feedback, constructive criticism! Oh god… Imagine if Amelia actually got her number down, and THEN One asked for feedback, and she decided to stick back because it’s not like she has anything waiting- But then realizing the opportunity to bring back Alrick made her number go back up!

           Still, if Amelia IS trying to convince One to be more proactive, then it’s interesting that she becomes even MORE hands-off than neglectful when she takes the role of Conductor! Did she just, like… Give up at some point? She mentions that Ryan and Min have to ‘individuate’, is One keeping a human passenger as suggestions on how to handle passengers more, as they directly watch over them? Is Amelia suggesting that Min and Ryan be more individual and separate, perhaps having their own numbers even, because she disagrees with One’s experiment? I can only guess, but I’m glad that, as I’d hoped, Book 4 indirectly gives us a look and context to Amelia’s backstory on the Infinity Train, as setup for her eventual arc… Also, just considered Kez and Amelia parallels as people called in as a second, outsider’s opinion on an issue, especially if you consider how One becomes a duo himself, too!

           Poor Ryan, he really does seem to have an issue of… Feeling belittled, being made to feel like he’s dumb and his ideas aren’t good, perhaps? While Min, he can get frustrated and I feel more angry at Ryan openly as a result, VS Ryan at Min… And I think that of course plays into his obvious anxiety; How Min and Ryan both feed into but can also bring one another up… Min is nervous, he’s overtly cautious, but Ryan can encourage him to put himself out there more! But also, Min can be the patience that Ryan needs, they really complete one another… But on the other hand, Ryan’s outbursting behavior can make Min even MORE anxious and resentful, and Min constantly being a dampener on his AND Ryan’s ideas can make Ryan chafe, it’s fascinating!

           It kind of fits the crossroads theme; How these two could use their opposite traits to propel one another, or instead drive each other crazy… And that could’ve played into the Infinity Train’s decision to appear to them at that moment; Do Ryan and Min collaborate and let their differences make up for one another, or drive each other crazy? How Ryan taking the keys, it could’ve led to Min taking cues from him and growing, or it could’ve led to Min being understandably frustrated and even MORE resentful with Ryan… And Ryan could learn to take into account Min setting his own boundaries, or instead disregard them recklessly! They go hand in hand together, it is a FASCINATING synergy!

           Also, I have to wonder what happened to Morgan, where they are… And I like the neat subversion of like, everyone already being gone; But it doesn’t matter, the party is still a ‘hit’ because our trio had fun together! And how they don’t need to impress anyone, just themselves; That’s some incredibly clever symbolism there, I like it! Also appreciate the return of Mr. Green and the theming of the Green Car in some capacity, I wonder what’s the story THERE, if the Green Room actually has a secret portal to the Green Car, etc.! Who’d have thunk that Green Car short didn’t just allude to Book 2, but also Book 4 as well!

           Onto the next destination, passengers! I can’t wait to see what awaits us…!

#infinity train #infinity train spoilers #infinity train book 4 spoilers #infinity train book 4 #infinity train duet #infinity train ryan #ryan akagi #infinity train min #min-gi park #infinity train kez #infinity train amelia #amelia hughes #infinity train one one #speculation #analysis

[sunflowerheartsandstarryskies]

Ain’t Family Great? ~ Lucifer Morningstar x  GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: You have come from a very religious household, and they don’t take too kindly when they heard that you are dating someone literally named the devil.

Author’s Note: I literally got this idea from seeing a dialogue prompt on Pinterest, and it just spiraled out of control. 

Trigger Warning: Curse words, some innuendos, biblical literalism, religious talk (It is Lucifer)

You were a friend and coworker of Chloe Decker, you mostly worked in the background doing research and gathering the data on the criminals and suspects of the cases your unit was working on. That is how you met Lucifer, Chloe asked you to gather information on two main suspects on a case she was working on and Lucifer was lingering on in the background.

 When you gave Chloe the information you gathered and she left, Lucifer piped up, “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you before” “That’s because I mostly work on research stuff for cases, so I do a lot of the office work and investigative work that requires me to be in a chair for the whole day. My name’s (Y/N), Chloe’s mentioned you before,” you replied with a small smile. “Ah I hope not all of them are terrible, even if I am the Devil I like to think I have a certain amount of charm,” he said with a smirk.

That’s when you first heard him call himself the devil, and if you were honest with yourself you were always curious about his name: Lucifer Morningstar. 

You grew up in an extremely religious household, which at times felt like you were suffocating from the relentless biblical literalism that was upheld in your house. You were always curious about the Devil in the biblical stories and you always found the quote by Mark Twain interesting if read in a certain context otherwise it’ll sound like an angsty emo kid trying to be philosophical. 

There was an instance where you were on a case with Chloe and Lucifer, and the killer had said, “Oh, you know that phrase? The devil made me do it? It felt like that” 

You let out a light snort at that as you immediately responded, “The devil didn’t make you do anything. Your poor impulse control and anger management, and might I add quite a horrid spectacle of internet history could certainly be a bad combination to make you do something.”

After the case, Lucifer was very curious about your statement towards the killer as you guys headed to a cafe to get some lunch together, he asks, “Why were you so against the man using that phrase? I mean I hate it because it is so demeaning, I’ve got better things to do.”

 You shrugged as you sipped your beverage and responded, “I don’t know, maybe it’s partly because of my very religious family which I have realized how much bullshit I was forced to listen to since I was born, so I guess I grew to have sympathy for the devil.” “Oh really?” Lucifer’s small smile grew to a smirk as he leaned forward, Chloe swatted him to move back.

“Not you. I don’t know you, but one of my favorite quotes about the devil is from Mark Twain,”  you commented. “I don’t think I have,” he continued to have that smirk on his face. He was very handsome but he was so goddamn annoying, you thought. “Well, it goes: ‘Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?’ Like, there’s this whole thing about redemption in the Bible and catholicism but does the Devil ever get the chance to get his redemption? No, I think God wanted a scapegoat and he got it from a rebel,” you ranted. 

Lucifer looked shocked for a moment but gathered his posture and said, “Well, you thought about this quite a bit. I assume because of your family?” You just shrugged at first, took a sip from your drink, then nodded. “Their family is very strict, I thought my family was weird but they got me beat, ” Chloe informed him. 

“They stopped talking to me, they didn’t think that I was enough for them. It hurt at first but y’know as time moves on I figured that I have better things to do than wallow in my past, so I realized I needed help so I got therapy and now I’m here,” you surmised. “Family is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Filling us with traumas and issues since we were created,” Lucifer commented.

                                                                                                                             Time has passed between that first case with Lucifer and Chloe, now whenever they needed an extra pair of eyes they’d call on you to help with them. It was an interesting dynamic that you and Lucifer had developed over the weeks that you were going with them on cases. You were able to talk about literally anything with Lucifer, he made you feel comfortable which is odd since his persistence on him calling himself the Devil. By him associating himself with it, you thought he was supposed to be like an actual bad guy, but gauging his reaction to your conversation about your first case with them, you made a realization that because of his name people treat like the actual devil. 

One day, you went through your mail in the apartment lobby and spotted a letter that was from your hometown, and another one with the return address being your parents’ house. ‘The hell is this?’ you thought. 

When you opened the first one you found a wedding invitation that your cousin was inviting you to, you were actually pretty close with this cousin, she was really chill and she understands the conservative and religious household you used to live in. The second one was your parents’ basically condemning you from being at your cousin’s wedding, and that pissed you off. You were a grown adult, you would be damned if you’d let your parents try to control you anymore. 

You decided to go out to LUX, because if there is one person who understands controlling parents it was Lucifer and maybe he’d be able to give you the extra courage you need to stand up to your parents. You had on your favorite party outfit, and when you entered the club you could feel the thrum of energy and the bass of the music go straight to your heart. As you walked to the bar you spotted Maze whom you’ve met before when you came here out of Lucifer’s request, you waved her over.

 “What can I get for you?” She asked. “I’m sure you know what’s the best drink here, so I’ll leave that to you,” you said. You turned around to just watch the crowd and started to get a little nervous about the idea of going back to your hometown for the wedding, you love your cousin but hate your parents. So, you were at a bit of a crossroads with this. While you were watching the crowd you saw Lucifer come up to you with a big grin on his face. 

“Well, hello (Y/N) this is a surprise. What brings you here?” Lucifer beamed.

 “I actually came here to see you, to ask for advice,” you replied. 

“A horrible decision really,” he smirked.

“My cousin invited me to her wedding but my parents know and basically condemned me from going to the wedding, and I’m unsure of whether to just stay here in L.A. or to go to the wedding and just be resilient against what my parents’ might say to me,” you said crossing your arms and rubbing them back and forth. 

“Well, that sounds like quite a situation you got yourself in”

“I know, that’s why I am asking what I should do?”

“You know I’m all about that rebellion against parental figures, so I say go to the wedding and have a good time, your parents be damned. In fact, I would never say no to a party, so I could come up with you,” he added with a wink.

“Would you like to be my plus one? But please don’t start anything with my parents,” you begged him.

“I thought you’d never ask, and I can’t promise you that,” he smirked.

                                                                                                                            After, that conversation both of you got ready for travelling out to your hometown and you made sure to bring the outfits that gave you the most confidence in yourself because you knew that you’d need that. 

You admitted to yourself a while ago that you had a crush on Lucifer, he was hot as hell, always polite with you, and treated you with genuine interest and respect.  You also made a promise to not let your feelings get caught in the middle of your mission. You are going to have a good time at this wedding, congratulate your cousin and just have a good time. 

                                                                                                                            Both of you made it one piece to the hotel that Lucifer somehow booked without your knowledge, because you swore you got a cheap motel room but as you tried to convince Lucifer to let you go to your motel room, he just said, “Are you crazy? I’m the devil for a reason, darling, I got connections everywhere and plus this place is much more spacious. We don’t need to sleep in the same bed if that’s what’s making you uncomfortable.”

“I just thought you would probably be looking for hookups or something and would want your own hotel room for that stuff,” you sputtered. 

“Well if that comes to it, I’ll go to their room because I wanted to give you the comfiest place to go back to because I know how family can be,” Lucifer answered. 

“That’s really nice of you, y’know for someone insisting he’s the devil you can be really sweet.”

The hotel room was really nice, it had two bedrooms and a large tv screen in front of the dining area. As time moved on and you guys decided to decompress and relax on one bed and decided to just mindlessly watch the tv. You fell asleep and Lucifer watched you for a moment as he realized you were asleep, he put you under the covers and fell asleep next to you.

The next day you woke up to the sunlight hitting your eyes, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and as you took a deep breath in you smelled something delicious. You turned around and saw Lucifer cooking breakfast with his shirt half undone and his hair all curled up. 

“Good morning (Y/N), how did you sleep?” Lucifer asked.

“Pretty good, actually,” you answered with a yawn still trying to wake up.

As you both ate breakfast in relative comfortable silence, you looked at your phone and noticed the time. “Shit, we should get ready to go to the church and the party afterwards,” you told him as you got up and went to your suitcase to gather your things.

After what seems like hours to both of you, you managed to get out of the hotel room and to the church. Lucifer dropped you off in front of the church as he wanted to find a parking space for his car. As you waited in front of the church you noticed your parents walking to the church and felt your stomach churn as they were inching closer to you. Your mom looked furious and it was like her whole head was on fire how red it was. Your dad had a more quiet anger to him but you saw the clenched fists and the tightened jaw on him. You put out a little prayer to whoever to get Lucifer faster to you. 

“What are you doing here? I thought we told you to not come here,” your mother sneered.

“The last time I checked I am a grown adult and (Y/C/N) invited me to their wedding,” you stated. 

“Listen here you bitch, you are a disgrace to this family and that is why we didn’t want you here,” your mother hissed.

Before you could get another word in you heard Lucifer, “Oh there you are, love, I was looking for you.” He kissed the side of your head as he wrapped a hand around your waist and looked at your parents as he continued, “You must be (Y/N)’s parents, I’m her boyfriend, a pleasure to meet you.”

You looked at him a bit surprised and your parents’ faces were that of a gulping goldfish. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar,” he stated.

“Like the devil?” your father said with apprehension in his voice, he made your mom step back behind him. 

“Oh, I’m not as bad as the books say, you know,” Lucifer spoke with a wink.

“Quiet, evil one,”  your dad sneered.

“Oooh, name-calling so fearsome, “ Lucifer scoffed. He looked towards you as you were just staring at the three of them. “C’mon love, we’ve got a wedding to go to, can’t be late.”

                                                                                                                            After that encounter the wedding reception went quite beautifully, you may or may not have teared up hearing your cousin and their spouse recite their vows. When you both went to the after-party you both stayed away from your parents and they seemed to have lost interest after that conversation earlier. 

A slow dance came on while you were at the bar getting a drink when Lucifer appeared next and offered you his hand. You just raised an eyebrow at him in response and just said, “I thought you weren’t the type for slow dancing?” “Only with the right partner I find it enjoyable,” he smirked with a wink. 

You hit him on the chest playfully and replied, “How do you know I’d be the right partner?” you asked. “Ooh I’d figure you’d be good at from the first day I saw you” he quipped. “Okay show me your moves, then,” you replied, taking his hand and walking to the dance floor.

He led most of the dances, keeping you close to his chest with his hand on your back. It was nice, the rhythm of his heartbeat in your ear was very soothing as well as him occasionally humming with the song if he knew, which more often than not he did. 

You looked at him and you both started to stare at each other’s eyes. You felt your eyes flutter between his eyes and his lips, he was doing the same to you. His hand cupped the back of your head and he engulfed your mouth with his. You kissed back with as much passion, but as soon as he was kissing you it was over. That kiss left you wanting more and you subconsciously leaned in closer to him.

“Wow” you whispered looking at him. Lucifer just smiled at you for a second. “I hope you wouldn’t mind if you became my real girlfriend then a spontaneous fake one?” he asked. “I would love nothing more Lucifer,” you replied with a huge grin. “Let’s get out of here then, love,” he said as he took your hand and led you out of the building and back to your shared hotel room. This time there didn’t need to be any excuses to sleep next to each other, you just did.

#lucifer #lucifer fox imagines #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer fox x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader

[tooft]

It isn't surprising that death hides itself behind the countless names we have created for it. Few like to think about their supposed end, and so those that have died will be spoken of in hushed tones, described as having passed on, or more commonly, that they are resting, at peace as they sleep beneath the earth. Eternal rest from the calamity and chaos that is living, with many choosing to think that it is a welcome respite from the world that is constantly changing and shifting. In a way, they're not fully incorrect, but their reasoning for why the dead rest so soundly is not quite right either.

See, what people don't know (or the living ones at least), is that death is utterly and exasperatingly exhausting.

To be dead is to be tired, adrift in a haze as you struggle to keep your spirit, soul, whatever it is, from fading too much. Without the energy that comes with having a physical vessel, the dead are perpetually on the edge of burnout, with newly deceased barely able to handle a few hours at a time. It does get easier as one adjusts to the afterlife, able to stay up for weeks or even months, but the desire to just drift off into blissful unconsciousness never eases up. It just is a matter of building up one's ability to resist it.

Most can't be bothered, and I can't say I blame them. Unless someone was murdered, or has some other form of dramatic, unfinished business there's little reason to stay aware of the passage of time at all. The mortal world has little impact on that of the dead, and most are content to just catch up on any important events that happened during their rest the next time they're able to shake off sleep.

I suppose that the dead being buried in cemeteries both helps and hinders the eternal rest that so many choose to turn to. A comfortable place to sleep is hard to pass up, especially when it's conveniently arranged so that there's little interaction with the more rowdy aspects of living society. Definitely makes it harder to motivate themselves to get up, but then when they've been dead long enough to see the world they lived in disappear into modern day society then there's little reason to hang around. So, they rest, deep within the earth where few can bother them. And the few that do... well that's why I'm around.

Now, given what I've just told you, it might sound like a contradiction when I say that I am the barrier between the living and the dead. Surely a job like that is difficult to accomplish when one spends their days struggling to resist a rather comfortable nap in the dirt. Still, it's true. Anyone trying to start trouble in my cemetery will have to go through me first, and I've yet to find the desire to sleep stronger than my desire to protect those under my care.

There is a reason I'm awake, beyond my overprotectiveness of my charges of course, and that is that this cemetery also happens to be where I died. It was rather dramatic, an ill-planned tryst with a lover that got a bit too stabby near the end. Guess I should have known that any relationship involving a person who wants to meet in a cemetery in the dead of night was not going to end well. I did get over it eventually, once the first few decades had past and I was able to think beyond my anger and exhaustion. Even then I didn't need to sleep as often as those who had been dead far longer than I, though I didn't understand why until one of the older spirits awoke for long enough to explain it to me.

Your site of death has power, one stronger than almost any other force I've come across. It's a gateway between you and the life you once had, a literal crossroad that you passed over to reach the inevitable end. Even if you're body no longer inhabits it, your death site holds the memory of who you once were, and with that comes a well of power and energy that fuels those still close enough to access it. So, unlike everyone else here, I am able to stay up for years before I need to rest, and even then it's only for a few hours.

So, given that I had ample time to do things, and my only friends were asleep 90% of the time, I decided that I would need to find my own ways to entertain myself. You would not believe how many games of solitaire I have played here. I like to think that all that time was useful, but I still somehow suck at that game. I find my other job a lot more productive, even if it doesn't happen all that often.

See, I work to scare the shit out of the living.

Not all of them of course, not even most of those that come to visit. Many are just here to see those long gone from their lives, to reminisce and honor the dead who sleep below them. Bothering them would be a waste of time, not to mention rude, and if I tried scaring off every single person who came through those gates I would not have enough energy to even speak with you now. No, my targets are those that come with hopes of bothering the dead, though they might not know that's what they're doing at the time.

The living tend to have respect for the dead, but not everyone does. Mainly kids, teenagers who are bored and angry with the world, or just those that think the remote nature of a cemetery means that no one will be bothered by something that their doing. They arrive and cause whatever ruckus they're seeking out, and oftentimes waking up a lot of people who have more than earned a peaceful rest.

Some are easier to deal with than others. I like the ones that come with their boards and pendants, rituals to speak to those that can barely keep their eyes open. They're easy to mess with, you just need to knock over a couple of things and poke the planchette around enough to get the threat of retribution across. Maybe throw in a few whispered words and far off cackles to be caught by the wind that just so happens to creep into their heads. They tend to leave in a hurry, to which I say good riddance. They're better off trying to talk to some pissed off spirit or poltergeist in a house somewhere, those that want to talk and oftentimes rarely stop doing so once you get them started.

Others are... interesting to say the least. While annoying, at least most of those trying to communicate with us are respectful about it. Those who just come to a cemetery to raise hell or to have a seemingly empty location to perform acts away from living eyes are quite different in that regard. If they do acknowledge us, it's in passing, and more than often with laughter as they taunt the scary ghosts that apparently "haunt" this location. It's all rather rude if you ask me, especially since if anyone's haunting somewhere they're not meant to be it's them. I'm a bit less creative when it comes to bothering these types of folk, I prefer to just make my presence impossible to ignore. You know those times when it feels like the air itself is pressing down on you, to the point where it's hard to breathe? While often that's just anxiety, it could also be that you managed to piss off some spirit or another, and that just happens to be the best way for them to tell you to leave.

It doesn't always work, of course. The living can be remarkably dense to the desires of the dead, even when they claim to know what we would have wanted were we still alive. They just ignore whatever signals I'm sending them, going about their business as if a cemetery isn't a place of peace. That's when I have to get a bit more aggressive.

It's a lot of work showing ourselves to the living. Even if you died in the place you're occupying in death, it can take a lot out of you to physically manifest yourself in such a way that the living can see you at all. I try to stick to more simpler methods, pushing or throwing objects or even telling them to leave. But some just don't want to listen, even when I know they're scared, they act as though they have a right to be there. So, physical manifestation becomes a lot more appealing.

Even those who take pride in their bravery find it more than a bit unsettling when a young woman dripping with blood rushes them from the shadows of the trees, screaming bloody murder. If they don't take off immediately, cackling maniacally as I wield the knife my lover left me tends to do the trick. I've yet to meet anyone whose stuck around after that, though it does tend to result in the police having to make sure that there isn't an actual murderer roaming the gravestones. I don't mind though, especially since it seems the police are getting used to such reports and don't stay long. Plus I'm usually asleep long before they arrive, since such matters are rather tiring.

It's a job I enjoy, and a job that's necessary for those who live (or "live") here. With that said, it is a lonely occupation. Any friends I've made are more often than not using their eternity to dream, which I don't mind, but it does make it harder to drift alone day after day. I've learned everything there is to know about this place, every tree and every stone. I love it more than anything, but the monotony does take its toll.

You, however, are certainly a break from the usual.

Don't get me wrong, I would have much preferred if we weren't having this conversation at all, given that doing so confirms the awful truth of the matter. But it's not like there's anything we can do to change it now. I do apologize for not intervening, but I had thought the two of you were just another pair that had come to pay their respects. By the time I saw the gun, there was little I could do to help you. 

If it helps at all, they should find your body fairly quickly once someone does arrive. Hard to miss the bloodstains when they are such a contrast to the snowy winter landscape. What are the odds that another person would be murdered here? I appreciate you letting me blather on like this, it's so rare I get to talk to someone new. Usually anyone arriving here is asleep for a good few years, and even then we haven't had anyone new since the last plot was filled ten years ago. But then, I shouldn't keep you awake any longer. 

I'm honestly impressed that you're still conscious, not many people tend to be at this point. I hope I've answered any of the urgent questions you might have. The rest can wait until after you've slept. There's a few places I'd highly recommend for napping, I'll take you to my favorite now! It's just over the hill there, can you walk? Wonderful, right this way. 

I'm sure everyone will be happy to meet you, whenever that ends up happening. Not like we don't have time for that in any case. I do hope you like it here, moving resting spots can be a bit of a nightmare. Lots of energy needed, though I guess you could just follow your body if you truly wanted. I'll keep an eye out for anyone nearby who might be able to help. Whatever happens next, I'm sure it will be interesting if nothing else.

Sleep well, for you are among friends, my dear.

Goodnight.

#my writing #response to a prompt #short story #ghost story #technically anyways #haunting is a subjective term #writing #story

[kittydemon9000]

SO @blursed-ninjago-ideas​, sorry how long this took! The prompts was Cole turning evil by a weapon, I took that prompt, and only partially followed it. Hope you like it.

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Spirits In My Head And They Won’t Go

The cave was very dark with the only light source coming from the small lamp Kai had lit.

The four ninja had been receiving many warnings, calls, and even letters about the cave and the legends surrounding it, and had eventually decided to check it out for themselves.

The plan had been to stay in one big group, but it seemed like fate had other plans.

Barely five steps into the cave, the floor had collapsed, separating the ninja among the many caverns. The ground was too unstable for Cole to try and open up new tunnels, so he was stuck using the already existing ones.

So now Cole was alone, in the dark, with only a small lamp for light and no idea where he or the others were.

And on top of everything else, his scar was absolutely throbbing. It had since they first entered the cave, and it only seemed to get worse with every step he took. Spectacular.

There were small moments like this where he missed being a ghost. He would have been able to find the others so easily if he could just travel through walls.

Hello.

Cole jumped, snapping his head around trying to locate where the voice had come from.

“Who’s there!” He exclaimed. He didn’t expect whoever it was to answer, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

A friend. Someone who wants to help.

The Voice, if you could even call it that, was strange. There wasn’t any sound to it, but it was clear as day. It was as if someone had written the words in his head, but there were no letters to be seen.

It set him on edge.

“Is that so?” Cole asked. He scanned the tunnel again.

You can’t find me that way.

"Oh, really? Cole said aloud. “Then how can I find you?”

Cole jumped as a ball of small green fire appeared in front of him. Then another. And another and another and another. They bathed the cave in an eerie green glow as a clear line of the strange orbs led further down the tunnel.

Follow the Wisps.

And once you find me, I can get you out.

“And why would you help me?” Cole asked aloud. ‘If that’s what you’re really doing.’ He thought to himself.

“For all I know, you could be leading me straight into a trap. Or keep me down here forever!”

Because I know what it’s like to be left behind.

Those words left a chill down Cole’s spine.

“What…..what do you mean?” He hesitantly asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Your so-called friends left you, did they not?

“What are you talking about? They haven’t left me!” Cole exclaimed, anger seeping into his voice.

Take a look.

The wisp closest to him came closer. Cole watched it with hesitancy, reading to bolt at a moment's notice, but much to his surprise, in the center of the fire were the other ninja!

All of them were gathered in a group, seemingly safe from harm. They all had a greenish tint, but Cole choked that up to the green wisp.

“What do you mean we should leave Cole behind!” Jay’s shrill yelling echoed in the tunnel.

Cole stopped. They were going to leave him behind?

“I’m not saying that! I’m just-“ Lloyd said, but he was cut off by Jay again.

“No, that’s exactly what you’re saying!” Jay yelled, taking a step toward Lloyd and jabbing a finger in his direction. “We can’t just leave him in there!”

Cole couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Zaptrap.” He whispered under his breath.

“If we go in now, we’ll just get lost!” Lloyd argued back.

“Calm down Jay. Lloyd has a point.” Nya said, placing a hand on Jay’s shoulder.

Those words felt like a punch in the gut. Nya was agreeing that they should leave without him.

Jay seemed to share his sentiment and looked at her with an incredulous face. Nya made a motion to Kai, probably asking him to back her up.

Kai hesitantly glanced behind him. “I’m with Jay on this one. The longer Cole’s in there, the more likely he is to get hurt.”

Then Zane jumped in. “But if we go in now without a plan or more surprise, we could get hurt ourselves.”

The warmth Kai’s words had given him was quickly stamped out by the cold ones of Zane. Yes, he understood that Zane was the logical one…...but was he really thinking that leaving him behind was the best option.

Lloyd let out a sigh. “So it’s decided. We’ll all head back to Master Yang’s temple.”

“No! No, it’s not decided!” Jay shrieked again, but this time Kai was the one to stop him, silently shaking his head with a sober look on his face. He whispered something to Jay, but Cole couldn’t hear. The group slowly walked out of the frame of the wisp, but not before Jay cast one final look back.

The wisp went back to the line.

You see.

Something wet started dripping down Cole’s face, and when he reached up, he found tears.

It was a lie. A trick. It had to be. His friends.....they wouldn't. Not again......right?

But if this wasn't a trick.....and his friends really had left him...... then this was just like the Day of the Departed.

“So how did you get here then?” Cole asked, his voice wavered slightly as he wiped the tears from his eyes. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as we learn things about his only company.

The voice hesitated, before two more wisps broke away from the line, sending another throb through his scar. Much to his shock, the wisps started changing and growing until they took the form of two small children, each one no taller than his waist.

The two were smiling, dancing, and playing in a way that reminded Cole fondly of his own childhood.

I wasn’t always stuck here.

The children were hand and hand as they started running down the tunnel. Not wanting to lose them, Cole was quick to follow.

We wanted to go on an adventure together, experience what the world had to offer.

The two children reached a crossroads, unsure which was to go. They eventually picked the left tunnel. Cole followed, but it was a dead end.

Neither of us knew where we were going, and we got lost.

The two children started yelling at each other, but no sound was coming from their mouths.

Julie wanted to keep looking to try and find a way out while I wanted to stay put.

One of the children, Julie, pushed the other away and stormed toward the tunnel.

“You can stay here if you want,” she said. “But I’m going to find a way out!”

And then all the wisps but the first child disappeared.

I waited and waited, hoping that on the off chance she’d made it out, that she’d come back for me.

The room was much darker with only the one wisp, and it was rapidly growing smaller.

She never did.

The wisp went out.

The only thing left to light the cave was the lamp and Cole’s scar.

Ever since that day, I swore that if I somehow made it out, I’d do everything in my power to make sure no one would be left behind like I was ever again.

The voice let out an empty chuckle, one that struck a chord in Cole.

A rather unrealistic goal, I know.

“I don’t think so.” Cole found himself saying. He felt the confused silence, so he continued. “I mean, it definitely wouldn’t be easy, but I do think you could make a difference.”

…….you really are different than her.

Cole’s confusion was short-lived, as a plethora of wisps ignited around him, giving him a good look at the cave he was now in. Stalagmites and stalactites littered the edges, but the center was different.

In the middle of the room was a small podium with a scythe. It is a dark, black metal with small green gemstones embedded at the end of the handle and parts of the blade. It was an elegant weapon and the designs that littered it were not much unlike the wisps that had led him here.

If you take this weapon, you will be granted control over my wisps, and be able to help the lost spirits, living and dead alike.

Cole couldn’t tear his eyes away from the weapon. Some far off part of him was screaming at him to run away, that this was all a trap that he’d walked into.

But that part was drowned out by his memories. Of becoming a ghost, of the Day of the Departed…….and of the conversation he’d just heard. He remembered the pain of not being seen or heard. Of not existing.

He didn’t want anyone else to feel that.

Cole reached forward and grabbed the scythe.

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PS: I was also able to to a drawing

#Ninjago #cole brookstone #jay walker #lloyd garmadon #Nya smith #kai smith #zane julien #cole #jay #lloyd #nya #kai #zane #reverse prompt challenge

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 12: Closure

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which they’re the most happy they’ve ever been.

Warning: smut

Word count: 5.1k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

There are three chapters left :)

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.

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This felt like a dream. He’d awoken beside her so many times before but it wasn’t until this morning that it felt official. He lay on his side with an arm folded under his head, taking in her sleeping face. She looked so beautiful and serene, just staring at her alone gave him butterflies in his stomach. He thought he was too old to feel this way; butterflies sounded so juvenile, but he was way past feeling embarrassed about it.

As if she could read his mind, her mouth gave a subtle twitch, and he could tell she was awake.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Her eyelids fluttered as she blinked lazily at him. “I love it when you pull an Edward Cullen.”

Her voice was hoarse from last night, the memories of which made his hard cock jerk slightly. He stroked her naked side and dragged her closer. She nuzzled his neck as he kissed her forehead.

“You’re so warm,” she said. “And hard.”

He let out a small gasp as her cold fingers closed around his cock. All it took was her touch and Harry was a goner. Sex had been added to their morning routine a long time ago, but the idea of them getting to do this more often now that she lived here made it all more exciting.

They made love, and she’d come twice before he carried her to the shower so she could wash up and wouldn’t be late for work.

“There’s no need to rush,” she reassured him while he was washing her hair. “I’m buying us some more time together. I’m sure Eddie doesn’t miss me, but I’ll surely miss you.”

The beam on her face made his heart leap. He grinned, massaging her scalp while holding her gaze. “Look at you. We’ve only lived together for one day and you’ve already become clingy.”

She nodded and spread the soap across his chest. “By next week, I’ll be crying and hugging your legs when you leave for work. Don’t say I haven’t warned ya.”

He laughed and playfully bumped his forehead against hers. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you cleaned and I’ll drive you to work.”

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Eddie was over the moon to see Harry again. He literally pushed right past Y/N before she could say hello and tugged Harry into a hug. Harry hesitantly patted Eddie on the back, eyeing Y/N questioningly. She could only answer with a shrug while trying not to laugh at Eddie’s fangirling moment.

“Congratulations on your Oscar nomination!” Eddie pulled back, gripping Harry’s arms and grinning from ear to ear. “It’s just two weeks away! Are you excited? What are you gonna wear? Oooh, how are you gonna style your hair?”

“Jesus, let the man breathe, Ed.” Alice emerged from behind one of the shelves and ambled toward them, her burgundy lips arched at Harry. “I’m so sure you’re gonna win. You’re the best actor of our generation.”

“You’ve never watched any movie the other actors were in.” Eddie’s remark earned him a warning glare from Alice.

Harry laughed and waved her compliment away. “Don’t hype me up. It’ll just make me cry harder when I lose.”

“Don’t say that!” cried Alice.

Eddie turned to Y/N, his eyes gleaming. “Are you gonna attend the Oscars?”

“Of course!” She tousled Harry’s hair and smiled widely. “I cannot miss a chance to see Harry cry in public.”

“Jesus, be optimistic, you two!” Alice yelled, and Y/N responded with a shrug, pursing her lips.

“Lose or win, I’ll cry anyway,” Harry interjected.

“See?” Y/N pinched his chin and tiptoed to kiss his temple. “Only I get him the most.”

“Disgusting,” Alice jokingly coughed as she rolled her eyes and told them she’d have to finish sorting the new arrivals. Eddie seemed relieved that Alice was gone; he was desperate to have Harry’s attention again.

“So.” A smile crept up to his face. “Have you written your acceptance speech yet? Or do you have someone write it for you?”

Y/N snapped her head up to look at Harry with her eyes wide. “I haven’t heard you mentioned your speech.”

“Don’t need one.” He shrugged and draped an arm around her neck. “It’s not like I’m gonna win.”

“Are you joking?!”

“Y/N’s right!” Eddie looked overly distressed. “You can’t possibly think you’re not gonna win.”

Harry pursed his lips and let out a sigh. “This is my first nomination ever. And have you seen the people I’m up against? I’m just happy I got nominated, really.”

“Baby.”

“Yes, baby?”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows as she crossed her arms. “No, I’m calling you a baby. I’m insulting you.” The way she scrunched up her face cracked him right up. “I’m not joking! You have to take this seriously. What does Jeff have to say about this?”

“Up to you.”

“What?”

“He said, ‘Up to you.’” Harry chuckled. “So I guess it’s up to me.”

She scowled at him. “We’re so having this conversation tonight.”

“Uh-oh, is this where I regret asking you to move in with me?”

“You two are living together?” Eddie brightened, but then Y/N pressed her whole palm to his face and gently pushed him aside. If Harry didn’t know them, he might think she was the owner of this shop and Eddie was working for her.

“Have a good day, Eddie,” Harry told the lad and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s pouty lips. “I’ll pick you up tonight?”

Her expression softened with a beam. “I’ll stop by my place to collect some stuff. Once I’m done, I’ll call you.”

“All right.”

“Harry?” He turned, both eyebrows raised as she walked up to him and grabbed his face with both hands. He bit his lips to stifle a laugh since she looked so ridiculously serious. “Write that goddamn speech.”

“I’ll think about it,” he gleefully told her and ruffled her hair before heading out.

As soon as he got back to his car, his phone buzzed aggressively inside his pocket and he didn’t even have to check to know who was calling.

Gemma.

He considered her name for a long moment until he felt someone watching and spotted a random girl standing across the street, pointing her phone at him. This was why he hated showing his face in public. He waved politely at her and watched her squeal and run back to her group of friends. Hurriedly, he got into his car and drove off, crossing another crossroads before pulling over to answer his phone.

Gemma seemed determined to talk to him. He heaved a sigh as his thumb lingered above the screen, his eyes rolled skyward. Last night, he’d promised Y/N that he would give Gemma and Isaac a chance to properly apologize and explain themselves; he couldn’t back away now.

He slid his thumb across the screen and answered. “Hello?”

“Can we talk, please?” Gemma asked, sounding nervous and uncertain. “All three of us. You, me, and Isaac.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Okay. Where do we meet?”

“The coffee shop by your house?”

“All right. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Thank you.”

Harry only hummed as he didn’t know how to respond to that. He hoped he could manage to keep his composure when he saw the two of them together.

.

.

.

Gemma couldn’t recall the days when her family, all four of them, were happy together. She couldn’t recall how her parents had grown to hate each other. She didn’t even know what had been their first serious fight from which everything had fallen to pieces. When she’d been a little girl, her parents would always send her to her room before they’d started a fight. She’d thought they hadn’t wanted her to be scared. Now that she was older, she knew they had sent her to her room so she wouldn’t overhear something that would ruin her childhood. Somehow she was thankful for that.

However, one night, she had sat in the shadow of the stairwell, peering through the bannisters and eavesdropping them arguing in the kitchen. She’d heard something about a woman named Aleigh, or Alex, or Ally, and had assumed it’d been someone her parents had known from work. That woman turned out to be Emilia’s mother. Even back then, when Gemma hadn’t known who that woman was, she could already tell that that woman had been the reason for her parents’ endless fights, and she had resented the woman she’d never met before. She guessed she’d been right after all. Twenty years had gone by and that woman was still the reason for Gemma’s and Harry’s misery.

When Gemma had told Harry that Emilia’s mother was still alive and Emilia and Winton had been using him all this time, he’d been so calm it’d frightened Gemma. After much thinking, it’d occurred to her that maybe he’d known all along, not really known, but he’d felt something wrong and decided to overlook it all so he could live in the fantasy where Winton was good and misunderstood.

“I’m going to see him.”

“What?” Harry almost spilt the drink in his hand as he flinched. “Why? Gemma, this is—”

“I’m just gonna say a few words and then leave.”

Harry’s gaze jumped to Isaac. “Did you know about this?”

“Yes,” Isaac said.

“And you also agree she should go see the man who’s fucked us both over.” It wasn’t a question and Harry sounded genuinely pissed as he ruffled his hair and exhaled sharply. “Look, you don’t have to do this for me, Gem,” he told her. “The things I gave them, just...let’s just think of those things as an act of kindness. Just cut them out of our lives and get on with it. They don’t deserve that much of our headspace—”

“I want closure, Harry,” she blurted. “It’s easy to just cut people off but they’ll never really leave you alone until you have the final words.”

“You already wrote him a letter.”

“How do I know he’s read it? Besides, that was before I knew about the shady things he did with his new daughter.” She tried not to sound bitter, but from the look Isaac and Harry were giving her, she guessed it hadn’t worked.

“Okay, then I’d go with you,” Harry said.

“No way,” she scoffed.

Beside her, Isaac straightened. “Harry’s got a point. I can’t let you go alone.”

She whipped her head to him. “Winton’s not gonna hit me.”

All three of them froze. Harry mirrored her reaction with his eyes bugging out and his mouth hanging open. She couldn’t believe she’d said that.

“Gem,” Harry ventured, and her heart was thumping so loud it almost drowned out all the other noises. “You weren’t in a car accident the other night, were you?” She didn’t answer, but her unconsciously touching the bandage on her forehead had confirmed his guess. “That son of a bitch!” he half-shouted, receiving questioning stares from a few people around them.

“Winton didn’t—”

“Asher did that to you,” Harry asserted and then grabbed his phone. “I’ll call my lawyer right now.”

Gemma hadn’t got a chance to stop him when Isaac interjected, “Or we can just go to his house and beat the shit out of him.”

Harry slammed his phone down. “Great idea.”

“Stop! Both of you!” Gemma cried out and flung an apologetic glance at the couple sitting across the aisle, who were just trying to enjoy their breakfast in peace. She then turned back to Harry and Isaac, her arms folded, her fists clenched. “Just...let me handle this. I’m gonna handle this myself. I know you care about me but I’m not afraid of Asher. I mean, I was...but not anymore.” She shook her head to make the memories of that night vanish. “He’s gonna pay for what he did, but I’m here to talk about Winton and you’re not going with me, Harry. I want to speak to him alone.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, but he didn’t seem too opposed to the idea anymore. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked at last, his forehead creased. “About Asher and about...you two.”

“It’s...it’s me.” Isaac cleared his throat, giving Gemma a sideways glance. “I didn’t want to let you know—”

She held up a hand to stop him. “Isaac, don’t. You don’t have to take the blame. It was me,” she told Harry. “I was too afraid that you’d judge me and–and you’d get mad at both of us.”

“I would’ve got mad anyway,” he breathed. “But I’m not gonna abandon you or think any worse of you. You’re my sister and I love you, Gem.”

“I cheated on my boyfriend—”

“Who abused you.”

It hurt to hear her brother say the word. If no one had addressed it, she could have just pretended it’d never happened. But it had. Her ex-boyfriend had abused her, and it was just another ugly reality she had to face.

“Still, I could’ve left,” she whispered, eyes on her half-empty cup of coffee.

Harry reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Gem, he wasn’t allowed to lay a finger on you no matter what you did.” She looked up and met his soft look. “I promise I won’t interfere,” he went on, “but can you promise me you will fuck up his life?”

She exhaled a laugh and nodded. “Promise.”

Harry leaned back into his chair, crossed his arms and considered Isaac. “What are your intentions with my sister?”

Gemma face-palmed herself as she felt Isaac squirm in his seat, apparently unsure if Harry was being serious or simply joking.

“I just want to make her happy, H,” he said. “If you don’t trust me, you can ask Y/N—”

“Just as I was about to forgive you!” Harry gasped dramatically, and Isaac let out a laugh. He exchanged looks with Gemma. Both were relieved to know that Harry wasn’t against them. “I’m glad that you two are happy,” Harry continued. “This is a bit weird but...I’ll get used to it.” Then he pinned Isaac with his glare. “If you break her heart, I will kick your ass.” To Gemma, he said, “And if you break his heart, I will tell mum.”

“Classic.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “By the way, congratulations. Heard you moved in with Y/N.”

Harry’s eyes went round. “Who told you?”

“Y/N told Alice who told Niall who told me,” Isaac said.

Gemma folded her arms on the table, leaning forward. “Alice and Niall, huh?”

Harry waved off her speculations. “Niall would’ve told us.” Then he jolted with a start. “Well shit, maybe he wouldn’t.”

“The next time I see him, I’ll make him talk,” Isaac asserted. He and Harry fist-bumped, and Gemma couldn’t stop the smile on her face.

.

.

.

Y/N knew she’d run into him. He always got home early on Monday night, and still, she’d hoped she wouldn’t get unlucky. When had luck ever been in her favour twice a day?

She was locking the door with one arm carrying a box full of books when a voice came up from behind, “Do you need a hand?” And she felt her stomach clench and sweat trickle down her temple.

She looked over her shoulder, forcing a smile. “It’s fine, I got it. Thank you.”

Blake stood there with his laptop bag slung over his shoulder, waiting for her to finish, waiting for the conversation she’d been running from. Last night, she’d told Harry to talk to Gemma and Isaac and get his thoughts across, so she couldn’t possibly go against her own advice and avoid Blake until he moved back to the States. She might never see him again once he’d left, but she would never stop pondering over the things she could have said but didn’t.

She squeezed her eyes shut and slowly turned, curses springing up in her head. She hoped he couldn’t see past her tight smile, and if he did, it didn’t show.

Blake’s gaze fell to the box she was holding as he raised an eyebrow. “So you’re finally moving in with Harry.”

“Yes,” she answered then quickly added, “It has nothing to do with–”

“Me.”

Her mouth clamped shut.

She’d known this encounter would be awkward, just not this awkward. Her first instinct was to look around frantically as if seeking a place to run and hide. Blake seemed to notice her weird behaviours. He shifted from one foot to the other, staring at them like he normally would every time he got nervous. Whenever she saw him do something like this, she would see the sixteen-year-old boy she’d fallen in love with, then she would remember what he’d done to Laura, to her, and the picture of that sixteen-year-old boy would fade to black.

She heaved a sigh, held his gaze and nodded her head at the stairs going up to the next floor. He automatically followed. He put down his laptop bag beside his leg, and she hugged the box to her chest awkwardly. They sat on the bottom stair side by side. Something about the mood reminded her of their last afternoon together in Holmes Chapel. Their first goodbye. For all she knew, this could be their last.

“How did you meet Laura?” she broke the silence and watched Blake fidget uneasily. It was comforting to know that they felt the same about this situation.

“Her ex-husband was my professor,” he confessed.

“Well, shit.”

Her mindless response made him chuckle. “Yeah...Shit.”

“Were you in love?” This time, he cast her a questioning glance. “With Laura?” she ventured.

“No, I don’t think so,” he admitted. “I was really attracted to her. I’ve got a thing for smart and powerful women.”

She pursed her lips and released a long breath. “I mean, if I went to Yale, I would probably have a thing for smart and powerful women, too.”

He chuckled and waved off her comment. “Nah, it’s not Yale. I just always have.”

She blinked at him. When he caught her stare, she averted her eyes and tucked a strand behind her ear. He didn’t need to explain himself. She knew he’d meant her – she’d been the first ‘smart and powerful’ woman he’d fallen for, which should have made her feel flattered, but all she felt was sadness for Laura. Y/N knew what it was like to be wholeheartedly in love with someone who only loved one small part of you.

“Your book is still getting published, right?” Blake changed the subject, or maybe he really cared. Either way, she was relieved.

“Yes. Maybe I’ll send you a copy when it comes out?”

A hopeful grin lit up his face. “That’d be so cool. Can you sign it first?”

“Sure.”

Silence ensued.

“I’m not sure if you know this,” Blake trailed off. “But you smile the brightest when you talk about books...and him.”

Y/N was taken aback. She opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. Blake smiled as if to tell her he wasn’t expecting a response, and it wasn’t until then that she noticed he also smiled the brightest when he was with her, even if they were talking about another man, the one she loved.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he spoke when she didn’t. “I was so selfish. I said I was doing it for you, but I guess I was doing it for me, too. I thought it could help me get you back, but it was never up to me to decide.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled. That sounded so out of place, but she didn’t know what else to say to him.

“Can we still talk sometimes?” he asked and bumped his shoulder against hers. “When I’m over you, of course.”

She was so relieved to hear his playful tone again. “And when will that be?”

He pursed his lips, his dark brows furrowed. “Let’s hope it won’t be too long.”

She said nothing, but she also wished that for him, and for them.

.

.

.

Gemma’s hands were shaking as she held the shoebox to her chest and knocked on the door. A voice from inside the flat told her to wait just a moment. She shivered as it was the first time in twenty years or so that she’d heard that voice again.

The door was unlocked, and she was standing in front of the man whose face had become a blur in her memories. He was much older now, still, something about him made her feel like time had never passed, and it’d been yesterday when she’d chased after his car, crying and begging him not to leave her behind. The only difference was, he was in a wheelchair now, and she no longer wanted him back.

“Can I come in?” she asked in a neutral tone despite the emotions in his eyes. She knew it wasn’t because he was happy to see her again after that many years. Winton was just shocked and scared to see her after what he and Emilia had done.

He had no choice but to invite her in. She took a seat on the couch in front of him, the shoebox on her lap. The first thing she set eyes on was the massive picture of him, Emilia and her mother. Gemma’s heart sank as she bit her lip and looked away immediately.

Winton asked her if she’d like some tea, and she refused. “I suppose your daughter has told you everything.”

He seemed startled by how straightforward she was. What did he expect, though? ‘Hello, how are you, Dad’? Never in a million years.

“I-I feel awful–” he started, but she wasn’t interested in hearing the rest.

“Save it,” she cut him off. “I have questions and I demand answers.”

“Yes, yes...of...of course,” he stammered, unable to look her in the eyes. “You deserve that.”

She almost said he was in no position to tell her what she deserved, but then she contained her anger and went straight to the point. “Were you cheating on Mum?”

His eyes grew big. When he received a stern look from her, he lowered his head and whispered, “Yes.”

She calmly nodded. “Did you leave us because that woman was pregnant with Emilia?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anything real about the stories you told Harry?” she went on, fisting the hem of her dress. “The trainers. The day of his football match.”

“I was at the game,” Winton blurted, still not looking at her. “B-Because your mother asked me to come. But I could only watch you from afar. I was too afraid that you wouldn’t want to meet me.”

Coward.

She sat up straighter. “And the shoes?”

This time, he took more than a second to answer. “They were Emilia’s.”

Arsehole.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I swear I’m a better father now. Just ask Emilia–”

“You’re an arsehole,” she raised her voice, causing him to jump in shock. “I don’t care how well you treat your new family, but you don’t make people and abandon them. Harry was only five years old when you left us. I fucking chased after your goddamn car and you didn’t even stop to tell me why you had to leave. You’re...you’re a fucking coward!” She schooled her face, trying her best to keep her voice clear and calm. “You’re a shitty person and you don’t deserve our forgiveness. I’m just here to see for myself how pathetic you’ve become. And do you know what the worst thing is?” Tears stung her eyes as her voice dropped, “I cannot feel the slightest amount of joy to see you like this.”

He stared at her with a pained look on his face. She fought back her tears and slammed the shoebox on the coffee table. “Here are your daughter’s shoes.” And took out some bills from her purse, put it on top of the box. “Hospital bills,” she said before he could ask. “Harry told me to tell you you don’t have to pay him back. Not every act of kindness requires something in return. It was what Mum has taught us.”

“Gemma–”

She stood up quickly and straightened her dress. “If you or your daughter ever bother us again, our lawyers will contact you. Good luck, Winton. You’re gonna need it.”

The front door swung open, and Emilia froze when she saw Gemma. Gemma didn’t pay her a second glance as she made her way to the front door as brushed past Emilia into the hallway. She didn’t look back. It felt like a ton of rocks had been lifted from her chest.

Now she could finally breathe, and move on.

.

.

.

“What are those?”

Y/N descended the steps of the building and shoved the box into Harry’s arms, grinning. “Books. This is just a corner of my bookshelf, by the way.”

He laughed and put it into the car before turning back to wrap his arms around her. She buried her face into his chest as he kissed the top of her head. It felt nice to just be able to hold her like this after a long tiring day. He could do this on repeat for the rest of his life.

“Maybe I’ll build you your own library in my house,” he said as she pulled back. “Like in Beauty and the Beast.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I never knew a Disney reference could turn me on so much.”

“It’s me actually. I turn you on.” He pinched her chin and pecked her on the lips. “By the way, I talked to Gemma and Isaac today.”

“I talked to Blake,” she said nonchalantly. “How did it go?”

“Good,” he said, brushing her hair out of her face as a wind blew right through them. She pressed her body against his own and he wrapped her in his coat, leaving only her head exposed. “Is it just me or is it really weird to see them together?”

“It’s not just you,” she giggled, arms tightened around his waist. “But Isaac’s a really great boyfriend so don’t you worry.”

“Shut up! I don’t need that reminder from you of all people.”

His reaction got her laughing. “I’m yours. I always have been.”

He already knew that, but hearing it from her made his heart flutter every time. “And I’m yours.” He kissed her nose. “I hope you told Blake that when you talked to him earlier.”

Her cheekbones lifted as the corners of her eyes crinkled. “Blake told me I only smiled the brightest when I talked about books and you. So I think he knows.”

“Good.” Harry shrugged. “Maybe he does deserve redemption.”

.

.

.

When they got home, she told him to take a shower first as she had some work she had to finish. He assumed it was just her Uni assignments so he didn’t ask.

As soon as he stepped out of the shower, he screamed and almost tripped when he saw her standing right in the bathroom, holding some papers. She looked extremely serious even though he was naked and dripping in front of her.

“Okay, I have a few options for you,” she said, handing him the pages with her scribbles all over them.

He wiped his hands with one of the towels on the rack and took the papers from her. “What are these?”

“Your potential acceptance speeches.” She clasped her hands behind her back, grinning from ear to ear. “I wrote them at work and polished them up while you were in the shower. I don’t know what mood you’d like to go for so…” She peered over his hands and pointed a finger to each page. “This one is ‘Men also cry’. This one...is ‘I’m better than all of you bitches.’ This one, my favourite, ‘I don’t deserve this but maybe I do but I don’t wanna sound like a conceited asshole’. And here–”

He didn’t let her finish and crashed his mouth against hers. Startled, she pushed him away with a hand on his chest. Her cheeks were flushed, and it wasn’t from the steam. “What did I say about kissing me while I’m talking?”

He shrugged, grabbed her by the hips and her first instinct was to wrap her legs around his waist as he pushed her against the tiled wall. She was kissing him back when she saw the speeches she’d written scattered on the wet floor, and she let out a gasp so loud and patted him frantically on the chest. “Wait, you haven’t read them!”

He refused to put her down, his kisses trailing along her throat. “I’m not gonna use them.”

“Why not?” She pouted but didn’t protest when he unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to his feet. She wasn’t wearing underwear underneath, and he wasted no time to suck a nipple into his mouth. She moaned softly, fingers dug into his shoulders.

“Because I’m gonna write my own speech,” he said into her neck, smirking when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged his head back so he’d look at her.

“Really?”

He nodded and pressed a chaste kiss to her cupid bow. “It’ll be for the best if I write it on my own.”

Her expression softened at once. “I trust you,” she said, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “When will I get to read it?”

“At the Oscars if we’re lucky.” He nudged her head back with his nose at her jaw and left open-mouthed kisses down her throat. She’d slid her hand between them, stroking his cock before guiding it to her entrance. She was so hot and wet and ready for him. His eyes squeezed shut as he laughed lowly into her skin. “Maybe I’d take you on the stage with me...and propose to you in front of the whole world.”

She gasped and eased down on his cock with a hand on his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered and her voice was strained as she joked, “Don’t make me break up with you on live television, baby.”

He kissed her mouth again and thrust all the way in, making her drop her head back against the wall, panting heavily. “What a little brat,” he said through gritted teeth. “Normal people would find it romantic.”

“Have we ever been a normal couple?” she asked and bit his lip. “Now stop talking and fuck me.”

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #my girl series #older!harry #actor!harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry styles series

[elliothollandhanbury]

      I was having a night out with 7 of my friends 2 weeks before my prom. I was on my moped, my friends were all on foot. It was quite late at night, about 1:35am. One of my older friends said “Let’s go back to the park for his alcohol that he had hid in the bushes” (Winter gardens, Malvern) So we decided to all go back because that’s what friends are for! On the way there we passed a crossroads, we saw 3 people all walking towards the park! One was short & stocky about 23yrs old, another was quite tall with blonde hair medium build about 22yrs old, but there was also an older looking person who was really really big, pure muscle with solid fat about 30yrs old! I was only a young boy at 16 years old! I didn’t get a very good look but they looked very sketchy! After we had passed one of my friends said to me “they’re the worst people” I thought nothing of it really, I was quite a confident young child in my youth. When we got to the park, my friend jumped on the back of my moped & said “head towards the bridge!” I got to it, then he said cross over!

   When we had crossed the bridge, I saw those three people standing in/near the boat sheds. I pulled my bike over and stood it on It’s stand. Went to sit down, (while I took my helmet off) To wait for my friends! As I sat down I realised that (Antony Farley) The short one, who I realised was quite muscled. (Looked like he had been working out in prison) was sat on my bike! The other two approached me (John Smith & Chris (Krissy) Willis), that second I knew that I was in a very uncomfortable position, they made me feel this way! They were the worst people I had ever come across, I could tell that just by looking at them and there body language! The worst burglary sort of people, trouble anyway you look at them, murderers/tramps! (I knew I was about to get beaten up no matter what basically) I knew they were crack & heroin addicts! I wasn’t, I was only a thin normal sized kid, I thought I would “try” & talk my way out of it! There was nothing else I could really do! Everyone arrived & no one said much, I was stuck in a situation that was very difficult!

   As I was sat there everyone sat down around me including the two lads while the other one was sitting on my moped! People were just talking a bit, while I sat there trying to be quiet (But I was very worried) The big ginger one, who had “LITTLEMAN” wrote across his back (The irony was ridiculous) sat there looking depressed with hid fist leant up his face! Started talking, he was kind of wondering would I go to the police! He said something like “you think your better than me” I noticed he had a nasty gap in his teeth, I thought a bit like mine! I mentioned teeth & he looked at me like he was going to kill me” I Said “You’ll have to excuse me I’m wired” I’ve been totally clean now for 10 years, since that night! (I’ll tell you why) He said to me “Are you posh” I replied nothing because I am a bit! He said “Are you deaf” Once again I said nothing! My “friend” Danny said “he went to Grammar school” “He races motocross” I just could not believe my friend said something like that with people like this in our presence! They were the worst people ever! I said “someone got robbed at gunpoint in my yard in Birmingham” I thought I’d better say something to play myself down a bit! He started asking me about girls, saying “did I have a girlfriend!” I replied “not at the moment” he laughed at me! You could cut the tension with a knife! They were taking advantage of me! They built it up until I was too scared to do anything! I sat down in the boat shed really scared! The fat older man sat down next to me, then he squished his body up against mine! I asked him “What‘s your name“ (Squashing me against the arm rest)  He then raised his fist to my face, stood up & said “If you don’t give me the keys to your moped in 3 seconds, I’m going to plaster your face across that wall” He started counting “3...2...” I said “wait, I’ll let you have a go on it” He said “ok!”

 

   I took out my keys and walked over to my moped! (Anthony was sat on it) I put the keys in the ignition and turned it! I said to the person on my bike “do you want to borrow my helmet” me being safety conscious (I was being nice) That person tried it on & for what ever reason didn’t want to wear it! (I also knew Anthony’s name because my other friend who wasn’t with me said “He steals motorbikes, he stole my friends neighbours monkey bike a couple of days before, I don’t know how but I saw Anthony ride it down a road a few days later) Anyway he passed the helmet to Chris Willis and tried to wink before I saw past the post he was hidden behind, He didn’t put it down, so I somehow guessed that he was going to whack me with it! So I thought I’d wait for him too! Anthony pulled off on my moped into the park, Chris leant sideways a bit and swung back another bit to use all his momentum! He swung my helmet as hard as he possibly could to smash it into my face! I ducked because he wasted to much time trying to use ALL his force! Luckily I stood next to one of the pillars/posts as he swung & swung round in circles trying to smash my face open! Eventually he gave up and let go of my helmet, it went flying across the concrete smashing all the visor and tearing the paintwork, and ended up in the middle of the lake on purpose, to trap me!

   

I walked up to him & was going to punch him in the face, when I thought about the big fat gypsy/traveller/yobbo one! I thought what’s the point! Anthony came back on the bike & stopped outside the boat-sheds! I wanted to get out of the situation more than anything, but Anthony leant over my bike & started asking questions like “How would I start it if I didn’t have the keys” I said “it has loads of problems like loses water and there is something wrong with the exhaust” I told him a bit about the spark plug trying to seam helpful! As I was pointing to it, I had this gut instinct to look up, as I did I saw this fist go whoosh straight past my face, Chris fell flat on his face, straight onto the concrete! He tried to punch me as hard as he could, while I wasn’t looking! I had done nothing wrong at all! I was beginning to get fed up! I was going to laugh at him & kick him in the face, but I’m a nice person! So I didn’t say anything not even an expression! Next thing I know “Littleman” comes rushing in full blast punching me in my face full blast! I covered my face up with my arms but it still really hurt, he wouldn’t stop punching me, at least 10 times! Then Chris started punching me as hard as he could like another 10 times! After they had finished I stood up wanting to leave! 

   When I stood up I wanted to get on my bike and leave! I was hoping they would leave me alone now! They had a bit of a punch that was it! Oh nooo! While I was stood there wondering what had just happened! Littleman slipped behind everyone made about 8 ft room beside me and swept up and punched me as hard as was physically possible in the side of my head! Trying to knock me out unconscious, or kill me! Showing off! I blacked out a bit and thought I cant believe a 30yr old man would do such a thing & that he was going to be in big trouble if he did that again! (It hurt like hell) I stood next to my bike and tried to keep my composure! I stood in front of a pillar and said to him “Is there a mark on my face” He looked at me in the worst way ever & said “there’s more where that came from” I was just praying it was going to end now! I wanted to get out of there but it was too awkward, there was nothing I could do! Why should I let him have my moped for free! None of my friends said anything at all! If I was them I would of left me, which is what they did, one said “lets go” so they all started to walk off and left me! I wanted to shout “call the police or my Dad” but I was soo scared I couldn’t even speak! Littleman was saying I’m gunna punch him in a minute” I said “look at the size of you” He said “You calling me fat” You know that yobbo attitude! I had nowhere to go! One of my friends said “I’ll stay” without saying anymore, he played it as he kind of knew them! Sort of thing. Wasn’t much help, but if I got murdered at least he would of seen everything!

   So I was basically all alone stuck in the park having a nightmare! little man sat on my bike to have a go on it! There was nothing I could do, hopefully they would leave me alone if I did! As little man pulled off on my moped! Anthony was winding/egging Chris to attack me! Chris did, he started punching me in the face as hard as he could hanging on to me, clinging to me grabbing me swinging his fist punching me like 20-30 times, half way through he head butted me as quick as he could real HARD! It really hurt, I felt like crying but this was the least of my problems! They were making me fight, but they didn’t want me to really, you know cheating. Tough. Unfair! I thought stop touching me! Littleman arrived back on my moped! He instantly got off it ran up to me and joined Chris with decking my face in! They punched me in the face a lot, like 40-50 times between them, but because I held my hands up they had to settle for brain damaging me, the side of my skull and all around my head! It was very painful, they carried on doing this for quite a while! They didn’t say much, they just wound me up as much as they could, saying this & that! Punching me in the face the best they could like another 100 times! This went on for like an hr or two I didn’t know! Littleman eventually asked me if I had a phone, I said “I have nothing” as I putt my arms out to show! (I did have my phone though) They kept beating me and beating me! Really painful! They were fighting really dirty! The whole time I defended myself to the maximum, by blocking as much as I could, it was exhausting! They kept touching me & harassing me! The aggression was like nothing I had ever seen before, they were in such a bad mood for nothing! They hated me beyond belief for no reason at all! Chris tried to pull my trousers down & steal them (Burberry) I held on to them to keep them up, or next thing I knew I would be tied to the tree strung up with them. He fell on the floor! My friend was stood there saying nothing! They continued to wind me up and hurt me for quite some time, they must have punched me at least another 3-400 times again! Really violent! Chris kept looking at his nails like he could polish them he was having so much fun & that it was that easy to abuse me. Again Little man  asked me “have you got a wallet” I said “no” it just wound him up more and made him more angry! Chris kept punching me as hard as he knew how! Again & again & again! This was very distressful! I wasn’t sure I was going to leave the park that night! They had a look of a killer in there eyes!  They weren’t very good at fighting, but they were learning quickly with the practice from me! They had previously robbed an old lady for her handbag, she unfortunately died of a heart attack! I had done nothing wrong at all! They went on & on punching me into the night! Really fierce a disturbing! Like another 400 times taking it in turns! One after the other! While one rested the other went, they had like a system it was soooo nasty! I didn’t know people like this existed! They were really violent my face was aching and I could feel I had two black eyes! I thought about my life and how it was all going out the window because of these people! I was going to have a heart attack from how much horror, from what was happening!

   

   My head was hurting REALLY bad! I knew there was permanent damage done no matter what I did! I didn’t feel right, it wasn’t me! I was obviously worried, but there was nothing I could do! I was trapped in the park being held hostage by three thugs! I was kidnapped, no escaping! They proceeded to torture me more & more! I thought I was going to die. It was good versus evil! They were definitely jealous that I was a millionaire! They were beginning to get in so much trouble they were falling out! They had punched me soo hard like 900 times or more by now! They looked at each other, thinking we’re in so much trouble now! I could tell! After all I was stuck with them! I reckon they were out of their eyeballs on heroin! I was going to offer them the beer in the hedge but I forgot, I was panicking & was so worried for my life! I said “leave me alone” a couple of times that was it! They just kept pounding away at me, when I had done nothing wrong! Litlleman was swinging for me with so much aggression I could dodge some of his attacks because he was heavy! Chris on the other hand was just a complete psycho! Also I was so much younger, it wasn’t fair at all! I had no chance. Taunting me the whole time! They were very vindictive, pushing me around telling me what to do! This was going on for way tooo long! I needed to do something, but I was trapped in the boat sheds covered by all 3 of them, with my helmet stuck in the lake! 

   Chris was willing to take things to another level, (As well as Littleman!?) Chris grabbed me by the arms and held me in position! He struck his absolute hardest head butt at me with all his might! He tried smashing my nose open! I countered this with my head as well as I could! The violence of him was absolutely atrocious! He did this 10 times in a row hardcore! He was so vicious it was unbelievable! I was lifting my leg up in case he tried to sweep my footing! I could feel the marks on my arms from his nails! Ow! I was considering biting him, but I thought I better not because he might have aids from needles and syringes! He just would not relent! It was starting to get light now! I had been punched enough to last a lifetime! It still wasn’t over!? I defended myself as best as I could, but there was nothing I could do the physical & mental damage was done. They were very controlling. They were taking out all there anger on me, & I don’t know why! I had half a cigarette in my pocket, I thought I could offer it to them! It might distract them or give them something to do because they weren’t leaving me alone for 1 second! Little man (John) took it from me and made a roll up! As he was doing this Anthony said “You’ll have to excuse my friend he’s in a funny mood” Littleman asked me “Have you got any money” I took out 2p from my pocket and said ”You can have it” He said nothing!

   They still went absolutely mad in a psycho rage at me! Punching & beating me down! Chris was so astonished that he was getting away with it that he leant back & was like I’m the greatest ever! Couldn’t believe what he was doing/getting away with! Though that it was so bad and so cool! I was pretty much dead at this stage, I was in so much pain and anguish, I didn’t understand what was going on! I don’t really say much in this writing, but the whole time I was getting punched! Harder than a freight train! Total brutality. They even said to me “aren’t you going to cry” I was defending for my life! I really thought I was going to die! Chris had a really hard session of fighting me on my own! Littleman let him, but hawked over him just in case I did anything! He kept randomly going psychopath at me going mad beating the crap out of me, like proving he was harder or something! Trying his absolute hardest to hurt me! This went on forever! They did everything physically possible to physically disable & mentally destroy me! I would never be the same again. I didn’t throw 1 punch that night! I walked over to the lake to look like I wanted to leave, by looking at my helmet in the middle. Littleman was saying things like “I’m gunna push you in, in a minute if you don’t get your helmet” They still punched my lights out another 400 times, They were in fight mode all night! it was like up to over 1000+ times now & I was sick of it! They were making the most of it, dragging it out.

   After Chris had finished his fighting session of talking a foreign language dancing like a ritual, I grabbed him by his jacket and said ”I don’t want to fight you” Then I pushed him away from me! He stumbled over a bit then fell head first backwards and might have clipped his head on the step where my helmet had flung passed earlier! Littleman instantly came running over and just laid into me with all his power! I put my hands up to defend myself & he said what are you doing like Simon says! Tricking me into putting my hands down then beating me profusely.  I lay on the floor worried to death about my health, I thought if I laid there they might go away, so I lay on the floor with my hands covering my head! Next thing I know they line my head up, like a penalty spot to kick a football! The damage was immense, it hurt more than words could ever explain! Then my friend said something “wow wow” Made no difference, they did it again! I’m not sure who kicked me because I couldn’t see. These people were the worst bully/yobbo/gypsy/scum you will ever find on planet earth. I had a lumps on my head for weeks.

   

   When I stood up after the kicks I held my head it hurt so much and slouched, I was three quarters dead at this stage and I wanted to go home! Littleman said “Your not going to tell anyone about this are you” I said “I don’t even know you” Littleman said “ I’ll kill ya” I was so scared for my life, I walked over to my moped and Anthony jumped off it & stamped his foot at me! I ran like I’ve never ran before, the best sprint I’ve ever had to do. I ran around the lake waiting for them to follow me. I was going to run to the nearest house to ask for help when, my friend shouted “They’re gone” Matthew got my helmet out of the lake with a stick and gave it to me, I put it on even though it was drenched! I forgot my glove so my friend went back for it! I left the park a different way because I thought they would close line me off my bike, if I went the same way they did! When I was on the road home I looked at the time it was nearly 9 o’clock in the morning and it takes me 15 minutes to get home! I kissed the ground when I did! They attempted to kill me any way possible all night! The heart attack was one of the ways they tried to murder me! Spent 7 hours with those people fighting for my life the whole time. They were the most indecent cowardly no respect for human life people I have ever met. It’s very sad what happened that night. Even at my prom I still had two black eyes. The year was 2005 the start of June. Also after a couple of months I fell out with 1 of my friends & they told them where I live, I was asleep at Christmas time at my dads house it was about 4 o’clock in the morning when I heard a tapping at the window, I was so tired, but I woke myself up (I had to) To see the blonde bald person at my window with a tool that looked like a crow bar obviously trying to break in! I got out of bed & raised my fist at him he backed away from the window! I went straight back to sleep! He was gone for now, It ruined my whole persona on life at my homes, also I was getting phone calls with people saying they were going to cut me up, someone killed my cat as well! I had to worry constantly now… The torment & torture continued!

   I was also informed by a close friend who lives in Malvern that Chris Willis lives in a crack house, & makes heroin at his home  in Malvern link near Matalan! Littleman is a hobo but also lives in Malvern, a place called the royal estate! I’m physically & mentally even physiologically damaged! I was very, very, very ill for 3-4 days after the event in bed! I was too scared to go to hospital in case they were there! Which continued. I was too scared to even leave the house for years & years! I hear their voices & have nightmares about them everyday! I worry about them being outside my house all night, I can't sleep! They had totally disabled me. I stopped socialising all together. I received psychiatric help ever since, I’ve had physiatrists, psychologists, mental health nurses, CPN's, NLP, councillors, counselling e.t.c e.t.c I have even been put in mental hospital for over 8 months of my life! I've been on at least 15 types of anti-phycotic medicines all day everyday 24/7 for the last 10 years! They said that the incident helped trigger & contributed to my post traumatic stress! I was NEVER, the same Elliot after that night, what happened was so wrong! I was an innocent little boy a child! Never touched a drug since, for obvious reasons & I was so worried about my health! I played the whole night like an angel so I could go to the police! But after they threatened to kill me, I was so scared for my well being, I didn’t!  It’s like the James Bulger story! This is only the basics to the complete nightmare, but it is all true & feel free to ask me any questions! It couldn’t really be much worse! That’s the worst thing in prison adults beating up children. I want my piece of mind back! Justice must be served… They were child killers.

Elliot Michael Holland-Hanbury

#trauma #ferrari #king #gold #mercedes #trillionaire #new #fun #millionaire #money #better #nasty #drugs #police #goodday #glocksofinstagram #glockperfection #glock #army #russian #royal rumble #royal #wwenetwork #family #lifestyle #real life #life #girls #the lost boys #manhattan

[queenofgoats]

Shadows & Fears | Imagine having a date with Crowley

Summary: You’re the lucky human being who dived deep into the SPN Universe. Unfortunately you fell in royal demonic hands. So let’s see how you will get out.

Characters | !no pairs! : Crowley x Reader (gender not mentioned)

Word Count: 2.708

Warning: angst, alcohol, flirtations and words = just spn ;), no cheesy romance stuff

A/N: So. It's been a long, long time since I wrote a FF at all. And it’s my very first in english - so please be gentle. ;) I had a lot of fun while writing and hope whoever is gonna read it enjoys it at least a little bit. Feedback is very welcome. 

Have fun! :)

You were led through endless corridors. Which was hardly lighted up or even heated.   Only in the last room at the end of the hall you could  just guess a warm, flickering light. The thought of what was behind door 3 made you freeze. “Hey, what is the... OH COME ON!” you were shouted at. You didn’t dare to move. Like a deer in the face of the light at a highway.   A rough grib on the upper arm forced you to go on. Your breath became heavier. Faltering. Would the brothers come and save you? At the door frame you stuck again. You couldn’t, no, you didn't want to go in there. This would be your end.

And you were so careful. No involvement in the cases, at most some background research. Even to Sam and Dean you didn’t mention a word about their fate, however difficult it was. And damn it, it did! Still, you knew that it was only a matter of time before the bubble burst.   You just wanted a coke from the vending machine at the motel. As if out of nowhere they suddenly stood behind you. Two middle-aged men, really nondescript-looking and before your lips could even form a “help”, you found yourself in the back of a minivan. They were fast, strong and scary quiet. You didn’t know what happened to you until you saw these deep pitch black eyes in the rearview mirror. This couldn’t be true! Your thoughts circled around wildly, blurred and sheer panic ran through you like a poison, which slowly spreads in your nervous system. You knew these creatures very well. How they worked, what they drove or what they were capable of. And you knew him. So far from stories from Winchester or television. That alone was enough to make your blood run cold just imagine what's ahead of you. Various breakdowns later, you were already standing in this old freezer - probably an old slaughterhouse. He loved the atmosphere.

Again the grib at your arm. But this time you stucked. Everything in you resisted. The demon right next you groaned. Apparently babysitting wasn't in his payroll. His face reflected disgust and a certain… overwhelming? “Finally, we meet. Birdie.” This voice. This damn, damn voice. Your eyes squeezed tight, you hoped it was just an imagination. Or maybe you weren't meant. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Slowly he came closer. His presence crushed you, while your body wouldn’t stop shaking. You have never faced anything so dark and threatening.   A hand on your back made you wince. It barely touched the fabric of your top and yet it resembled an iron grip. You blinked open your eyes, the gaze fixed on the floor. A pair of very elegant lace-ups with fine lyra perforations caught your attention. You swallowed.

The king of hell pushed you into the room surprisingly gently and yet firmly. Closing the door made you flinch. You were terrified. So incredibly terrified. “Please, sit down. Don't be shy, my dear. " Breathing heavily, you complied with his request. It was a miracle that you could even hear his words over your hard pounding heartbeat. Crowley was one of your favorite baddies. You hated how he left the show. But you never wanted to meet him. For obvious reasons.   The demon took a seat next to you at a large table. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that one of his peasants stood by the door. The fire in the fireplace slowly thawed you again, but you still shivered. If not at the hand of this monster, you would probably die of pneumonia. You couldn't decide which was better. “Soo...” Crowley started smoothly voiced and as if caught you looked up at him. “We both know why you are here, it’s up to you if we stay in this chilly atmosphere or...” He smirked slightly.  

His hazel eyes drilled through yours, you felt like he was looking straight into your heart. While his voice was so calming and gentle. In fact, if it weren't Crowley himself, you'd find some pleasure in it. You became disturbed by your own thoughts. Focus! For the first time in your suddenly short life you looked at him. Or more at his absolute charming vessel. You got a feel for why he was called the King of Crossroads. A sigh escaped your lips. You took a quick look at the second demon on the door and leaned slightly towards Crowley. Breathe in. Exhale.

“Fine. I’m talking. But! Just under one condition.” you tried to sound professional and acted businesslike. You had a plan. Kind of. But you weren't allowed to show any weaknesses for that. You also saw these kinds of conversations so often in tv shows. You could do it! A twitch of the corner of his mouth indicated that you hit a point. Crowley didn't like arguing. Let alone from a simple human being like you. And yet he looked as if he had expected it. “Of course you have.” he mumbled almost bored. He grabbed himself a glass of whiskey and took a sip without leaving his eyes on you. “That would be? Let me guess y...” “I want a date!” you interrupted him hectically.   Crowley spat the drink across the desk: “A what?!” He didn’t even bother to hide his surprise. “With whom?” “You.”   There was silence for a short moment. The king of hell looked at you in disbelief. He really didn't expect that: “Why? What for?" You first took a look at the demon at the door, who didn't twist a mine, and then back to Crowley. “When I have told you everything, you kill me afterwards. That's ... okay I guess. But I don't want to die here in this hole. I want to shower, look good, and... be alone with you. A one-to-one conversation. Then you will find out everything you want to know.” You tried to smile triumphantly. “A good deal. For both, right?”

Actually you didn’t lie here. There will be no way to survive this. You’re not strong as the Winchesters, or smart like Kevin.   So why not make the best of it? Maybe you can avoid having him face his destiny? Maybe Lucifer won't be released from his cage?   Nobody except Crowley is allowed to hear this. Especially not one of the other demons. They would instant throw a welcome party for Abbadon. The king of hell stayed silent. Presumably he was wondering which part of your body to tear out first with his bare hands. He wasn’t exactly known for his patience. "I can tell you how you are going to die.“ you continued. For a brief moment he raised his eyebrows, but then he finally agreed: “Good. I choose the location."

You felt a painful sense of surprise and relief.

Just a few hours later your time had come.   You stood visibly nervous in front of the entrance of a big old cinema. The fingers kept pulling your clothes into place. Shortly after your deal, a servant brought you to Berlin. There you were allowed to freshen up and get dressed. Everything under the demon's watchful eye, of course. Crowley himself should receive you later in front of the location, it was said. And now you’re here. Oh damn what were you thinking? Sighing heavily, you looked over your shoulder. Maybe you should dare and just run away? Was it worth trying? Did you really want to be led to the slaughter like a pig? A thousand questions buzzed through your head. Yesterday was just a moment of panic. Not really thought out. Somehow. You turned on your heel and were just about to start a run when you heard his voice behind you again: “Birdie! You shouldn’t even think about that. We had an appointment.”

His words sounded so soft and smooth like a good red wine. Crowley knew exactly how to use his british charme.   You took another deep breath before turning to face him. A gentleman who would try, but couldn’t find his equals, Crowley smiled warmly and sweet. Yeah. Like good red wine. Soft and smooth. And poisoned. With an inviting gesture, he waved you over to him: “Let's have a drink, my dear. You look gorgeous by the way, really." He was different from when you first met him. Apparently he took his deals very seriously. You felt a bit like a prostitute's customer. You swallowed hard, but accepted his invitation.

First you entered a large reception room with sparse lighting.The ceiling was completely covered with small lamps that looked almost like a starry sky. While the old wood paneling made everything look a bit old and seedy. "The Kino International was built in the 1960s, right after they pulled up the big wall." Crowley broke the silence. There was a slight smile on his lips. “Oh well... I spent so many years in Germany,” he reminisced. As far as it was at all possible, you felt even more queasy.

A staircase took you to a large foyer in typical East German chic. Even if the brown dominated, it looked surprisingly classy. The chandeliers emitted pleasantly dimmed light, so that you could catch an overwhelming view of Berlin's landmark - the television tower - through the huge panorama windows. You are stunned.

~*~ Possession is the motivation ~*~   ~*~ That is hanging' up the God-damn nation ~*~

~*~ Looks like we always end up in a rut ~*~ ~*~ Tryin' to make it real, compared to what? ~*~

Roberta Flack's voice came to you calmly from the loudspeaker near the bar. If the initial situation were different, you would feel quite comfortable. Still astonished, you looked around as Crowley moved behind the counter. "What would you like to drink, my dear?" he broke your thoughts. “Erm... well... surprise me.” You sat down on one of the bar stools. The demon then rattled off all the barriers and drawers. Your eyes followed his movements until you blurted out: "I can't do this! Sorry!" Crowley furrowed his forehead: "What do you mean?" Desperately you threw your hands over your head. “This!” You bumped. "It’s ridiculous!"

You sighed. Hardly. “Are we really among ourselves here? Just you and me?" "Sure. As agreed." He said dryly as he handed you a freshly made cosmopolitan. You snatched the glass from him and drank the cocktail. In one sip. "Fine. Let’s do this." Then it literally gushed out of you. A long monologue about Abbadon, the darkness and everything that could be of interest to the king of hell. You only left out Chuck. Cause you already had Crowley on your neck and certainly didn't want to provoke God then.

The demon said nothing, just listened and at the same time seemed to be thinking about your words. When you were just finishing up, he put a new cocktail in front of you. Which you also emptied in one go. The nervousness just didn't want to be drunk away. "Mmh." he made. "Do the Winchesters know about it?" You shook your head. “Oleg and Bolek? Of course not." Knowing full well that they would only make it worse. As much as you loved the brothers, you knew that they were a danger to everyone around them. The confusion was written on Crowley's face: “But ... Why me? Don't get me wrong, Birdie, I'm honored and yet ... ” Inevitably you had to smile. "Let's be honest. You're probably the smartest being here. And you have the least interest of anybody else in seeing Lucifer free again. "Not untrue." he muttered. You tapped your finger on the edge of your glass: “Could I possibly get another one? Or wait! Better just the vodka. " Lost in thought, Crowley compiled while you listened to the well-chosen music.

With two glasses in hand, the king of hell stepped around the counter and sat down on one of the stools next to you. You knew you wouldn't leave this place alive. Nevertheless, a faint smile crept onto your lips. “You know Crowley, I like you. Somehow. You're practically my favorite baddie. " you started and held your glass out to him to toast," That's why I know what's in store for me. Still ... one more thing... or more a question." "Which would be? ... and cheers. ”, he checked. His gaze was on you. You couldn't help yourself because you suddenly felt comfortable around him. Safe. It was completely insane.  

The vodka burned your throat. You shook yourself briefly and turned to face him. “Crowley, what if I die here? I mean I don't belong here. No more than a disruptive factor in an intact universe. Am I, my soul, going somewhere or ... am I stuck? " The thought has plagued you since you (unintentionally) set foot in this cursed universe. You knew you didn't belong here. Every fiber of your body lets you feel it. All the time. So far you haven't really been able to grasp the fear, but rather suppressed it. But now it was sitting in a heavy weight on your shoulders. A deep sadness took you. Tears welled up in your eyes. You leaned against the demon next to you. The head was put  on his shoulder. You didn't want him to see you cry. Apparently you still have a bit of your pride left.  

You heard Crowley sigh. “Birdie, I can't tell you that. I don't know." His hand landed on your knee. It was surprisingly soft and warm, but nevertheless you twitched. “I've never heard of anything like you before. I'm sorry, and it really is, I can't help you.” Was it really Crowley who offered you comfort? Crowley? With a heavy heart you straightened up again. The alcohol slowly got into your head. Finally You leaned towards him, very close to his face. His breath brushed your cheek. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck which leads to goosebumps. You were mildly aroused and then grimaced as soon as you noticed.

The demon looked irritated: “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” You felt stupid. “I just... I thought. You’re far far out of my league. Forget it. Please.” You wrapped the arms around you and blushed.   “I understand.” Crowley grinned. “Oh my sweet, sweet summer child.” He leaned back and studied you intently. “I don’t give a damn fuck about human current body preferences. It’s constantly changing anyway.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m a demon, as you may remember, and all I desire is to spoil a pure soul beyond any recognition.” Embarrassed you thought about his words.

“Crowley...”, you began almost in a whisper, “would ... would you take my soul?” Hell didn't scare you nearly as much as the thought of your ghost going full vengeful in that old movie theater. He laughed. Loud. It was cold, arrogant and left you freezing. You felt it right down to the bones. "What should I do with it?" For the first time that evening, the demon came through him so clearly. You were afraid of him. More than ever before. You let him fool you. He leaned back in amusement and studied your shocked face. "Babe, your soul is useless." he said, still smirking and slid off his bar stool. "Another one?" he waved the glass. Ashamed you just nodded. You'd already got rejected dozent of times, but this was by far the worst.

Crowley prepared two glasses on the counter for you. The look he gave you was almost pityingly: "Oh Birdie, don't be like that now." Just slowly he moved back to you until he was right in front of you. "You are already useful." he whispered.   You looked at him wondering. And didn’t understand anything.

“Oleg and Bolek, as you called them so beautifully, still have the lost part of my demon tablet. And my prophet. ”He paused and took a long swig from his glass. "I would be crazy if I got rid of my pretty, little bait now, huh?" While he was speaking the last sentence in a haughty tone , his lips barely touched your ear. Tenderly he brushed a lost strand of hair from your face and patted your cheek.  

His demonic smile indicated that he was definitely the legitimate king of hell.

#supernatural #supernaturalff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural oneshot #spnfandom #crowley #crowley fanfiction #crowley x reader #Crowley Resurrection Year 2021

[lastoneout]

Comfort Food

Fandom: Persona 5

Rating: PG

Summary: 

Akechi has a food blog, Futaba thinks that's hilarious, Akira is a good friend, and Sojiro needs a drink.

Notes:

This was supposed to just be me projecting my issues on to Akechi because he's my emotional support bastard boi but somehow it turned into nearly 2500 words of tooth-rotting slice of life fluff. Whoops.

A03

Goro learned the hard way that hiding things from Futaba was impossible.

To be fair it wasn’t like he was trying to hide his food blog, he mentioned it in passing a few times and he knew that most of his followers were his fans, but he never really expected any of the Thieves to actually read it, let alone read it out loud, in front of him...while laughing at it.

“What are you, a high school girl?” Futaba said with a snicker after she finished reading his latest post aloud, “I’ve seen little girl’s diaries with more class.”

“Oh my god.” Akira choked out from beside Futaba behind Leblanc’s bar, desperately trying to muffle his laughs as Goro floundered.

He knew he shouldn’t care. The Thieves always poked fun at each other. ‘It’s what friends do,’ Akira had said. If anything he figured he should be grateful that Futaba considered him enough of a friend to playfully mock his hobby. But Goro was never good at regulating his inner emotions, and so as much as he tried to not let it get to him, it did.

Truthfully, he never meant to get into food. For the longest time, he considered it a pointless expense. In the various foster homes that he was tossed between food was almost a luxury. And to someone who often wondered where his next meal would come from it was hard to justify the cost of a fancy dinner when the same money could get him a month's worth of instant ramen and convenience store bento lunches.

But when he got into high school and wormed his way into the police force he suddenly was financially stable enough to justify luxury spending. Nijima-san was kind enough to pull some strings to get the agency to act as a guarantor so he could move out of the foster home and into a small apartment, and after he paid his bills and rent he was left staring at the remaining sum in his bank app, trying to wrap his head around how that money was his, and he could do whatever he wanted with it.

He tried to keep a level head and decided to go to a nearby department store to pick up things to furnish his new home, but on the way there he passed a diner and was stopped dead by the incredible smells drifting out the door. His stomach growled, and he found himself trying to remember the last time he had eaten something that hadn’t come wrapped in plastic and styrofoam.

His stomach growled again, and before he had time to think about it, knowing that if he did he would decide against it, he hurried into the restaurant. He was seated quickly, and despite feeling weirdly giddy and anxious he smiled at the kind waitress who took his order. The simple latte and plate of pancakes were probably the most delicious things he had ever tasted, and he couldn’t help how his eyes watered after the first bite, the food filling some empty part of himself he hadn’t even known existed.

Looking back on that day he’s grateful that he wasn’t famous yet, as no one cared to pay attention to the skinny teenager in the booth by the wall trying not to get tears in his dinner.

After that, he ate out at least once a week. He spent little on necessities, picking up most of the things he needed at the ¥100 store and buying used clothes, saving every extra bit that didn’t go into bills for food. Eventually, he started looking up new places to eat, and after finding a few food blogs he decided on a whim to start his own. It didn’t take off until after his big break, but he didn’t mind. The simple pictures and reviews he posted weren’t really for anyone else, and on days when he felt empty and angry, he would scroll back through them and feel a little bit better. Almost happy at the little niche he had carved out for himself.

Shortly after that Akechi’s entire life quickly became a delicate web of lies. He was a double, even triple agent, under so many layers of falsehoods even he struggled to keep it straight sometimes. If anyone ever bothered to break him down to his bare parts there really wasn’t much he actually did for himself. Every single facet of his life and personality had been carefully crafted to ensure he would be able to get the revenge he so desperately craved. He hardly ever did anything just for himself. Every interest he shared in interviews or mentioned around his ‘friends’ was for show, not something he honestly cared all that much about. It was annoying sometimes, having to pretend to care for things he felt apathetic towards, but it was necessary.

But food? Food stayed safe. It helped his Detective Prince facade once he got popular, after all the only thing teenage girls seemed to like more than cute boys was trendy food. And cute boys who love trendy food? That’s a check that writes itself. It made him look soft, approachable, and normal. So he indulged. Actually enjoying sharing the one part of himself that wasn’t fake.

Maybe that’s why Futaba’s mockery stung so much. He wouldn’t care if people made fun of his fake interests, but when it was the real him? It hurt.

He tried to laugh it off, blushing and begging her to stop. He insisted it’s just for his fans, he’s not really that immature or girly, it’s just for show! But each plea seemed to only make the situation worse, so he gave up and silently begged for her to get bored soon, his face an unnatural shade of red.

Akira, ever perceptive, seemed to notice something change in his demeanor, and without a second thought, the teen reached forward and plucked Futaba's phone right out of her hands.

"Hey!" She shouted, grabbing for it.

"Alright, alright, that's enough." He chided, holding the phone just out of Futaba's reach, "We all have our hobbies. But since we're in a sharing mood how about I tell Akechi-kun all about your Featherman shipping blog?"

A chill came over the room. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would." He turned to Goro with a devilish smirk, "See she loves the red and blue rangers together-"

"Akira I'll end you!" Futaba yelled, diving forward and attempting to tackle him. Akira, however, was taller, and easily deflected her blows.

"She was telling me about this doujinshi she read the other day-"

"I'll spread rumors about you on websites you've never even heard of!"

"It was so romantic-"

"I'll leak your bank info on the dark web!”

"It's by her favorite author too, she buys everything they release-"

"I'll destroy you with malware, you won't be able to BREATHE near a circuit board without getting a virus!"

"Tell me, Akechi-kun, do you know what smut is?"

"AKIRA!!!" Futaba shrieked, and it was quickly followed by the sound of clanging pots and Sojiro swearing loudly from the kitchen.

“Would you two cut it out?” He shouted, poking his head around the corner.

“Sorry Boss, just giving Futaba a lesson on being a good friend,” Akira replied with an apologetic smile.

“Well next time can you do it outside? You’re lucky I don’t have any customers in here right now.”

“You never have any customers...” Futaba mumbled.

“I heard that. And Futaba, I thought I asked you to tie up your hair when you’re behind the counter.”

“On it...” She grumbled, pulling her hair back into a lazy bun with the scrunchie on her wrist.

“We’ll keep the noise and health code violations to a minimum, Boss,” Akira said, shooting a lazy salute Sojiro’s way. The older man eyed them for another second before sighing and mumbling something about herding cats as he turned back to the curry.

With the situation defused, Akira and Futaba stared at each other, having a silent yet very animated conversation, but eventually, Akira seemed to win and Futaba sighed heavily, "Okay, okay,” She turned to Goro and gave him a bow, “I'm sorry for making fun of your blog Akechi-kun."

Goro hardly knew what to make of the display, let alone her apology, but it made him feel a bit better, so he relaxed and gave her a genuine smile, “It’s alright, Futaba-chan, I forgive you.”

“Can I have my phone back now, please?”

“You may,” Akira replied amicably, handing the hostage technology back to Futaba.

She smiled triumphantly before another dark look crossed her face. She eyed Goro, suspiciously, before blushing and tapping her fingers together “A-and Akechi-kun...you won’t tell anyone else about the...shipping thing, right?”

“To be honest...I’m not sure I fully understand what you were talking about,” He replied, “But your secret is safe with me.”

“I’m so proud of both of you,” Akira said with a fake teary-eyed sniff, “My two little introverts, making friends.”

Goro and Futaba broke out in protests, but a quick glare from Sojiro shut them both up.

“Wow, you’ve really got that ‘disappointed dad’ look down, Sojiro.” Akira quipped.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than raise hell in my cafe?”

“As much as it breaks my heart, yes.” Akira said, untying his apron and heading around the counter, “I’ve got a date with a pile of dirty dishes in Shinjuku.”

“You’re not taking Morgana?” Futaba asked as he grabbed his bag and jacket.

“Nah, he hates The Crossroads, says the alcohol smell makes his nose itch. When he wakes up from his nap just let him know where I went.”

“Roger that.”

“Thanks,” He said, “See you guys later! Oh, and try not to get into too much trouble while I’m away.”

Futaba rolled her eyes dramatically, and Goro, still feeling a bit lost, simply shrugged.

“Akira, text me when you get there! You know I don’t like you going to that part of town so late.” Sojiro called, and Goro had to suppress a smirk. Akira had faced down far worse threats than the red light district at night. But it must be nice, he figured, to have someone worry about you.

“Got it!” Akira replied, the bell jingling as the door closed behind him.

Futaba seemed to deflate in his absence, looking anxious. She had explained once that Akira was something called a ‘key item’ that gave her ‘a plus ten confidence boost’, and he assumed that just meant she was shy when he wasn’t around. Goro turned back to his discarded coffee, grimacing a bit when a sip revealed it to be lukewarm.

“Uh, I can make you another cup...it’s my fault that one went cold anyway.” She said, clearly trying to make things up to him, “Sojiro’s been teaching me. It probably won’t be as good as his though. I’m still totally stuck on tutorial mode.”

“Oh, um, that would be lovely.” He replied, “Thank you.”

She started the process, carefully measuring grounds as the kettle heated, “You know, you should write about Leblanc on your blog. You like the food here, right?”

“I-”

“Absolutely not.” Sojiro interrupted, joining Futaba behind the bar to supervise the brewing.

“But Sojirooo! Akechi-kun is popular, you might actually get some business for once!”

“I don’t want that kind of business. Sorry Akechi-kun, but hundreds of fangirls in here every day ordering fancy drinks and asking when their beloved Detective Prince is coming back? I can feel my blood pressure skyrocketing just thinking about it.” He replied with a chuckle, “A man my age can only handle so many loud teenagers at once, and Akira’s band of hooligans already pushes the limit.”

“Don’t worry, Saku...uh, sorry, Boss. I understand.” Goro clarified, “There have actually been several cases of popular food writers unwittingly causing small restaurants to close due to their articles increasing interest to an unmanageable level. I wouldn’t dream of doing that to Leblanc.”

“Glad we’re on the same page then.”

Futaba finished making the coffee, grinning when Sojiro complimented her technique. She eagerly pushed a fresh cup to him, practically vibrating while she watched him take a sip. It was true that it wasn’t as amazing as her father’s, but it was still good and had its own charm.

“You did well.” He said, and he couldn’t help chuckle when she broke out in a wide smile, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest at the sight.

“Yes! I leveled up! Plus five coffee making exp!”

“We’ll make a barista of you yet.” Sojiro said fondly, “Now, it’s getting late. Akechi-kun, do you have dinner plans? I’ve got enough curry back here to feed an army, you’re welcome to stay.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“Just say yes.” Futaba whispered to him with a smirk, “Sojiro put all of his stat points into feeding wayward teens.”

“Then...yes, I’d be honored.” Akechi said, too confused to be offended by being called ‘wayward’.

“The honor is ours,” Futaba replied solemnly, giving an overly formal bow before breaking out laughing.

Sojiro wasted no time serving up three plates of curry, chatting idly with Futaba as she went to flip the open sign to closed. The two of them managed to herd Goro into a booth just as Morgana trotted downstairs, asking about Akira and demanding food. Futaba poked the poor not-cat a few times while Sojiro retrieved Morgana’s food bowl and popped open a fresh can of cat food.

“Sorry,” Sojiro said, pulling up a chair and making room on the table for Morgana’s dish, “He throws a tantrum if he doesn’t get to eat with us.”

“I do not!” Morgana shouted indignantly, “I’m just too civilized to eat on the floor.”

“Chatty cat,” Sojiro replied, giving Morgana a few chin scritches.

“Morgana is family,” Futaba said sagely, “And a family that eats together, stays together.”

‘...Family, huh...’ Goro thought to himself.

“What’s up Akechi-kun?” Futaba asked, and he blushed lightly as he realized he was staring off into space.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s nothing,” He deflected, “The food looks delicious, Boss. Thank you.”

“Thank you for the food!” Futaba yelled before digging into her plate, and the rest of them quickly followed suit.

As the four of them shared the meal, Goro felt the warm feeling from before grow and spread through his chest. Futaba was using her fork to flick small bits of meat at Morgana despite Sojiro’s half-hearted complaints, cheering as Morgana somehow managed to catch every single one. The smell of curry and coffee and cat food mingled in the air with laughter and shouts, giving the whole room a feeling not unlike a comforting hug.

Goro allowed himself a small smile, sure that the only reason he felt so happy was the food.

#persona #persona 5 #akechi goro #futaba sakura #akira kusuru #no persona 5R spoilers #loo writes #please read my trash #long post #just in case the readmore doesn't work #Me And Mine #Text

[sumeshi-t]

hinata shoyou x reader | hanahaki x reincarnation au; a chaotic mix of fluff, crack, and angst.

song: lifetime by ben&ben

a/n: a three-part fic because i didn’t want it to get too long in one post. this is my first time working on an au and hinata so i hope i did him justice. beta-ed by @taeiliee ​ iloveyou mom always <3

i. 》 ii. 》 iii.

*:･ﾟ✧ "Tangled with another's eyes–nevermind, you were never mine," ✧･ﾟ: *

Your fingers drummed against the table, eyes intent on the ginger sat before you. “So, what do you say?”

He looks away, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his seat. Hinata Shoyou wasn’t sure why he was feeling nervous under your gaze, especially when you were the one basically asking him for a favor, “B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

When you don't respond, Hinata decides to raise his eyes to look at you—your face looks solemn, and somehow… something about it, something about you just draws him in. This time, you were the one staring outside the glass wall of the antique cafe. His heartbeat quickened, breath getting caught in his throat—

‘...beautiful,’ was the only word he could find to describe that moment, even if your eyes had a faraway look in them. Hinata knew your true wish was that this never had happened, and that you were talking to Kenma instead.

If only he never went back to the restroom.

You tried not to heave a sigh at your impulsive and brash decision, and at his innocent question. But what can you do when your life's on the line? Ten years left in your life may seem like a long time but, “It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

You had the sudden urge to cough, and, upon doing so, Hinata could only watch as your pale hands covered your mouth, and the sound of coins dropping to the floor entered his ears. There was a bit of blood that ran down your nose, and he immediately reached for a table napkin. More than guilt, it was worry that bubbled from his chest. 

Even if you had explained it—this sickness—that you had, he still found it ridiculous.

You saw nothing but the disbelief in his eyes, desperate to get a grasp at this uncanny reality.

You saw yourself in them, in his constricted pupils and lids widened—reminded of the first time you discovered that you were sick with a rare disease you thought only exists in fiction.

The Hanahaki Disease, a disease acquired from garnering an unrequited love, was something that no medical doctor could cure nor control—anthosectomy, the surgical removal of flowers, was nothing but a temporary solution.

One must be loved in return to be free from it. 

Apparently in your case, the disease has “mutated”. That instead of flowers or petals blooming from your lungs, money would begin to collect in them, beginning from coins and eventually into large bills as it grew worse over time.

You only discovered this fact just two, about three weeks ago, during breakfast, after a lone coin dropped into your cup of coffee, mocking you as it floated; the aftertaste of iron and aluminum on your tongue. 

“Our family inheritance… came from their chest—even your mother’s.” your father muttered regrettably, with a hint of disgust, back turned to you in the study. 

“I didn’t expect for you to catch the disease this early, and you’re doing so well with your current business projects,” he heaves a sigh, fingers grazing through the spines of the books, before pulling a velvet-covered hardcover, worn out from time.

“How long… has this been going on, dad? Is this some sick family tradition?! So… does this mean…?” you couldn’t even say the words—you haven’t even confessed and yet, having this disease only meant that Kozume Kenma didn’t feel the same way you did.

Finally, your father sits before you, sliding the title-less book towards you. He explains further that you read its contents—the ancestral diary—about the history and the findings made by your predecessors.

He calls for your name softly when your wide eyes never left the book in your hands. He looks over you sympathetically, “I thought that by hiding this from you, I was protecting you from harm.” Your father’s eyes squinted, wanting to reach out to you but his conscience telling him he failed you as a parent was stronger.

“But y/n, don’t give up… don’t be like them, like me,” your father says this with blood dripping from the corner of his lips, before clutching his chest, spitting bills of varying amounts out his mouth. 

“I never thought ten years would pass by so quickly,”

You look at him, mortified at his pallid face, standing up in worry, going to his side. “Who…?”

With a weak smile on his lips, your father utters your mother’s name, voice just above a whisper, tender and soft at hearing her name come from his own lips.

“And I don’t regret it. Loving her is the best decision I’ve made, even if she didn’t want it.”

You spent the next week with him, until he breathed his last, inevitably leaving you to face this battle of love and pain on your own.

As if everybody’s expectations from you weren’t high enough already, now that you were alone, it skyrocketed through the roof. Even as you knelt before the portrait of your father, refusing to talk to anyone on the first day of his wake.

You heard their whispers, you knew their motives—nobody really cared about the life of a rich man, they only cared about the man’s riches. You shut down any and all talks about businesses to potential or lifelong business partners; the least they could do was respect you and let you mourn.

On the third and last night of the wake, someone unexpected came to pay his respects.

“Kenma…?”

“Hello, y/n. I…” he looks away shyly, a few strands of hair falling to cover a portion of his face. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to squeak out. His hand reached out to you, holding a tiny plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks, all over a black-white envelope.

Seeing Kozume Kenma in a formal suit, bun loosely tied by his nape, awkwardly scratching his cheek; you could feel the ice in your heart being slowly thawed by the scene before you. You would’ve finally smiled; you would’ve pulled him in just so you could cry out into his chest.

But you felt suffocated, and the slap of this impossible reality you couldn’t dodge stung against your bare and open heart, pulling you back and keeping you rooted in your place.

You knew his apologies were meant for condolences—but your father wasn’t the only one who died. You mourned for your own demise, wishing you could bury these hidden feelings along with his ashes and leave everything behind to start anew.

But secrets turn into regrets, and buried feelings would only grow.

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you took the plastic bag in your hands, the sensation sending sparks to your nerves. You didn’t hear yourself mutter your gratitude, only the sound of Kenma’s soft gasp. The back of his hand wiped the tear stains off your cheek, “How long have you been holding back, y/n?”

‘A long time, Kenma,’ you wished to answer, but you knew you or your words didn’t matter to him as much as you’d have liked to. Even through the tears that blurred your vision, the love in your eyes for him was clear.

Kenma awkwardly pulled you close, a hand behind your head to press your face against his chest, while his other arm remained by his side. His actions strongly reflected how he felt nothing more for you than just a friend and a board director—he didn’t even choose to hug you.

But the unheard truth didn’t stop you.

Behind the lids of your eyes, you saw little moments of joy you had shared with Kenma—maybe it all began with an inevitable meeting in your office, unlike the usual video conferences he would attend. Working with someone your age with the same prospects and visions was rare for you in the world of business—you mused, this feeling was mutual.

Then the meetings became less about business, and more for just the heck of it.

You daydreamed about him, seeing his smile from the corner of your eyes when you were alone. His intelligence was a given, so maybe it was his soft-spoken, honest nature; or the way he was athletic even if he stayed in his house majority of the time.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Because really, it was more of feeling so at peace when you were with him. You couldn’t hold back being yourself when you were with Kozume Kenma because despite hiding behind several secret doors you’ve put up all your life, the scrutiny of his sharp, cat-like eyes opened each of them, finding you over and over.

You didn’t want to lose that sense of familiarity. So, you chose to ignore the signs that you were indeed falling for him. And by doing so, your life was now reduced to a mere ten more years, caught at crossroads, burdened with making the decision between continuing your family’s horrible legacy or carving out your own place in his heart and have him learn to love you.

The words of your father echoed in your head.

And it bounced off your lips, “Kenma… please stay, just a bit longer,”

“Kenma, are you he—oh?”

Hinata Shoyou peeks from behind the corner, checking if he didn’t get lost in your family’s large home. His presence made you shy away from Kenma, clearing your throat before the ginger-haired man was introduced to you.

He offered you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, fitting for the shade of his hair and contrasting the dark hues of his clothes. “Kenma and I go way back, he actually sponsors me!” his cheeks were dusted pink, both embarrassed and excited. “Now I play for a team in Division 1,”

‘Ah, he’s that kind of person,’ was your initial thought. Hinata Shoyou seemed so easy to read, pure and unadulterated intentions out in the open for everyone to see. What’s fascinating was that he makes it seem so easy to not let that be a vulnerability.

Spending a few hours with someone whose energy was bigger than him—cliché as it sounds, but it was akin to standing beneath the rays of the sun. Hinata Shoyou radiates warmth upon your frozen heart, even if for just a moment.

It was a different kind of peace. And you looked forward to seeing more of his large smiles.

Just… not this soon.

Maybe it was fate playing tricks on you. The timing was quite impeccable.

Kenma went ahead first, Hinata had to go to the restroom. Soon as you stood up to see him out, you cough, coins falling to the floor. One of them finds its way towards Hinata, rolling and stopping when it hits his foot.

“Oh? Lucky!” he picks it up, hears more coins hitting the floor that he has to look for the source. Hinata sees your back hunched over, money around your feet. As he was approaching you, he said sheepishly, “y/n-san, is this yours? I was about to take it—!”

“y-y/n…y/n-san… are you… okay?”

Hinata flinched as you glared at him, voice seething, words through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare tell Kenma.”

Hinata nods once, pocketing the coin he had in his hand on instinct, before scurrying away.

You let the incident pass, as you had the cremation and burial to worry about in the meantime. But a few days after, all it takes you is a phone call to Kenma and a few texts to Hinata—which leads you to the present wherein you and the athlete agree to meet at a café.

“Now that you know, here’s the deal I’m offering you, Hinata-san. I’ll sponsor you in exchange for your silence. And…” you take a sip from your coffee, watching him from over the rim of the cup. Hinata was uneasy, confused, and shocked at the illness you had. It was as if he were in a volleyball game, forced to take in so many things at once.

“Hinata-san, go out with me. Let’s date. What do you say?”

“E-Eh…?! B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

“It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

Hinata stood quickly, contemplating just how he was going to help. He has to bite the cheeks of his mouth, looking over you with worry as hundred and five hundred yen coins spilled from you. You felt his hands slightly shaking when he gave you the table napkin, and in return you motion for him to take a drink so he could calm down.

“Sorry about that—so, do you agree to be my boyfriend? If you need time to think of a response, I can give you two days, because I have to go in a few minutes,” you say this, looking at your wristwatch while slowly gathering your things.

“y/n-san,” Hinata began, still standing by your side, looking down to meet your gaze. “I… I agree. Because I want to help you in any way I can, just to give back, with how generous you are and… because you don’t deserve this. But why does it have to be me?”

His words struck something within you, but then your own sorrows blocked him out. “Your timing was just perfectly terrible. I’m sorry for dragging you into my problems, Hinata-san.”

Hinata felt his pulse quicken at how you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. His unease somehow was replaced by something. But your next words broke his trance, “There is only one condition that you have to follow,”

With a smile that never reached your eyes, Hinata feels his own heart break at how you were like a broken porcelain doll, red lips moving so easily to convey words, convey the one law you’ve forced him to follow and would eventually break—

“Never fall in love with me.”

cheese cult: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi ​ @hanibuni ​ @cupofkenma ​ @kawanisshi ​ @milkandc00kiez ​ @thiccbokuto ​ @shinsukestan ​ @sufiawrites ​ @wakaitoshi ​ @skyguy-peach ​ @fern-writes-ig ​ @briswriting ​ @kawaiikraykray ​ @bubbleteaa ​ @miyuswriting ​ @raevaioli ​ @ouikarwa ​ @hakueishirei ​ @pineapplekween ​ @estherwritess ​ @keiji-n ​ @achoohq ​ @badlywritten-hq ​ @mochibeaa @oinkanna ​ @chxrry-wxne ​ @spudicide ​ @airybby ​ @asranomical ​ @karmasuna ​ @nekoglasses ​

gen. taglist: @yams046 ​ 

#cheese cult fic event #hanahacheese #cheese cult #hinata shoyou #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata x reader #hinata hanahaki au #hinata shoyou fluff #hinata shoyou crack #hinata shoyou angst #hinata shoyou x you #kozume kenma #kozume kenma x you #kozume kenma x reader #hanahaki au #haikyuu hanahaki au #haikyuu hanahaki

[airis-paris14]

Human Nature 3

Summary: He has a secret and he’s tired of loving her in secret.

Warnings: None

A/N: Here’s part three of the short story. I hope you enjoy! I also tried out a new banner graphic.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

See that girl, she knows I'm watching

She likes the way I stare...

I like livin' this way

I like lovin' this way

- Michael Jackson “Human Nature”

T’Challa grinned as his car pulled into the driveway. He grabbed his suitcase and prepared to surprise Naomi. He’d purposely not called her back this morning and instead flew the first jet he could get his hands on over here. Though he had taken Okoye’s advice and asked one of the pilots to fly him due to his lack of sleep. He took out his keys, and smiled as he heard the bass line of a song bouncing through the house. He turned the key and pushed open his door, grateful that the music would hide his presence for a few seconds more. He shut the white door quietly and left his suitcases by the doors. He slipped off his shoes and tiptoed into the kitchen.

The previous song had ended and he heard her sing along to the intro of the new one. “I am a single QUEEN!,” the king laughed, recognizing the track from one of her recent obsessions. “Oh so you’re single now,” T’Challa teased, giving away his presence. “T’Challa!” Her whole face lit up once it registered that he was standing in front of her. She ran over to him and he scooped her up in his arms. She grinned as he covered her face with kisses. “Hey baby,” he finally replied, placing her back on her own feet. 

“Hi, you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.” 

“I know, I finished my work early and I wanted to surprise you,” the king smiled then cleared his throat, “there’s also something I need to talk to you about, but it can’t wait for a little while longer.”

Naomi’s smile fell, “Okay. I was cooking some leftovers from dinner last night, you want some?” Naomi walked back into the kitchen. T’Challa nodded and simply drank the sight of her in. Her hair was pulled into a large puff and she wore sweats and a t-shirt. She looked absolutely stunning. The new king took a seat and watched as she filled a bowl with pasta for him. Once she was done filling her own bowl. She turned off the oven and walked both dishes over to the island. She took a seat next to him and smiled. 

“How was work?” She asked. 

“It was great actually,” T’Challa twirled some of the pasta around his fork. “I actually got a promotion that I can’t wait to tell you about, later.” Naomi smiled. That's amazing baby! I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Somehow I doubt that the king thought to himself. “What about you?” he asked his wife. “It was good, I finished up that really big wedding I was telling you about. It was really sweet and surprisingly went off with very few problems.”

 T’Challa grabbed his wife’s hand and kissed it. “You do it every time baby.” Naomi blushed and it caused the man to chuckle. “I also worked with the girls on our wedding,” Naomi revealed. 

“How’d that go? Did you have a venue that you liked?”

“Yeah we narrowed it down to two, I wanted to make the final decision with you though. I’ll pull the profile on them and we can decide now if you want.” 

“Let’s save that for later,” T’Challa smiled.

 “Okay,” Naomi sat back down. “I wanted to ask you though, do you think that I could go on your next work trip with you? I know I probably can’t go work with you. But I could buy my own ticket and I could explore the city and just hang out with you whenever you have free time.”

“I am so glad that you said that. I’m going back home and I want you to come with me,” the king revealed. He knew that this was not the way to address the problem but it felt so much easier than telling the truth. His heart broke a little more as he watched a grin spread across his lover’s face. He needed to start telling the truth soon, or he’d be in too deep. 

“Speaking of home-” Naomi started, “I wanted to know if you wanted to have your family at the wedding. We could start putting away some money for their plane tickets, and I wanted to include your little sister in the wedding party if they were gonna be there. She’s my family too now you know.” Naomi looked up expectantly but T’Challa’s heart was exploding. That right there was why he married this woman. She was intelligent, funny, goofy, and unbelievably caring and generous. He knew that now was the time for him to start telling the truth. He pushed his now empty plate back off the counter.

“That’s actually one of the things that we need to talk about,” the king started. He grabbed him and Naomi’s now empty bowls. T’challa rinsed and placed them in the sink. All the while he felt the heaviness of his statement and Naomi’s eyes following him. “Let’s go in the living room eh?” He grabbed his wife’s hands and pulled her into the living room. 

Once they were settled he took a deep breath. “Baby what’s wrong?” the king felt her hand lightly lift his chin. “This is not easy for me to tell you Nay, but I already regret that we got married and I haven’t told you the truth. I didn’t tell you everything from the jump for selfish reasons, but I am getting ahead of myself.”

Naomi frowned. 

“I do work with the United Nations, that much is true. Every time I told you I was on a work trip I was telling the truth. I was at a United Nations meeting every time. Except this last one. I am not a united nation’s ambassador, I am a leader baby. A nation leader. I am the Leader of the nation of Wakanda.” Naomi’s face took on shock then amusement, “Stop it,” Naomi laughed before realizing he wasn’t laughing with her. 

“What do you mean you are the leader of the Nation of Wakanda T’Challa. Wakanda is a monarchy, you told me so. Or were you lying about that too?”

T’Challa frowned, “When you met me at Essence Fest baby, I was Prince T’Challa Udaku of Wakanda, heir to the throne. I was there with my sister Shuri. Princess Shuri.”

“So when you say you got a promotion-”

“My father passed away, which is why I had to go off for business. I am king now.” 

Naomi let her head fall into her hands. She dragged them down her face as she stood up. “You expect me to believe that I married the prince, no king, of fucking Wakanda! Not to mention that your father, whom you said you hadn’t seen in years passed away and you didn’t tell me, your wife!” The woman fumed. Her hand now covering her mouth in anger and disbelief. “I was supposed to be there for you T’Challa. Comfort you!”

T’Challa watched, guilt taking over as she tried to come to terms with everything. “So you waltzed home early to tell me that surprise you’re a fucking KING and your father DIED and that what I’m a queen?!” 

T’Challa was at a crossroads. Accepting that any response, including no response, would elicit more anger, he cut his losses. “In a more complicated way, but yes. Naomi, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you dare ‘I’m sorry me’ T’Challa Udaku, I am pissed. Pissed because I don’t know my husband. The man I fucking promised the rest of my life to. I gave my life to you, and the life I thought we were going to have was half-lie, and the other half just went up in smoke. I mean, we are getting ‘married’ next year. If your father hadn’t died would you even be telling me this? You’d just let us build a life together, me thinking you haven’t seen your family in years. Do you know how hurt I am and for what? Why would you not tell me who you are T’Challa? I told you everything. I married you. I became your wife. I’m going to give you children one day and you wouldn’t have told me that they were in line for a throne halfway across the world.”

“I don’t know what to say, Naomi. I didn’t tell you because I enjoyed not being the prince of Wakanda for once. We had fun that weekend, you didn’t know who I was and I enjoyed just getting to be T’Challa. Wakanda was still pretty closed off so I knew that most people wouldn’t know who I was and tell you. It was selfish and I am so sorry for building this life on a lie, but I am not a lie. The man you fell in love with is still here. Should it matter that I have this title?”

“The title isn’t the problem T’Challa,” Naomi dropped back on to the couch next to her husband, tears running down her face, “the problem is that you lied to me, and now there’s this position that I am going to have to fill that I had no idea about. And, I’m guessing the king can’t live in a different country?”

T’Challa’s face said it all. “That’s where the trip comes in. This week is coronation week in Wakanda. The festival starts tomorrow and I want you to come with me. The decision is yours though, if you want a divorce, we are not ‘legally married’ in Wakanda, so if you do not want to stay with me I understand.

“T’Challa, are you stupid, or are you dumb?” The king and his wife chuckled lightly, “I signed up for better or for worse. Richer and poorer. I’m coming with you, I just don’t like all of the lies that are unraveling right now.” 

“I promise that, that is all of them. Now I just have to explain this to my family and friends back home. I am sure they will adore you, but everyone is going to be very upset with me. I needed you to know first though. We needed to be in this together. You deserved to know first.” 

Naomi nodded and sighed. She leaned her head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent. “I’m pissed, but I love you T’Challa Udaku.”

“I am glad. That you love me Naomi Udaku. I am head over heels in love with you too.” The king kissed the crown of her head. She patted his thigh, “Help me pack,” she groaned standing up off the couch. “Of course my love,” he stood and followed her into their room. 

taglist: @almostpurelysmut​ @blackbypurpose @nyneebee @hutchj @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @strictlyashley @afraiddreamingandloving @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @gorjiss @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @yoyolovesbucky @derangedcupcake @builtalongthewayside @ilcb7 @chaneajoyyy​ @lalapalooza718​ @ororowrites​ @leahnicole1219​ @dopegalkk @sarcastic-sunshines​ @sarahboseman​ @shesakillerkween @waitingonafriend​ @faatassbitch

#t'challa x reader #T'Challa x black reader #t'challa x oc #t'challa imagine #T'Challa #t'challa x you #t'challa x black! reader #apbpfics #humannaturefic

[rosykims]

‘i loved you’ for ashara and solas💕

For better or worse, Solas keeps her true to herself, in his dreams. He wouldn't change her, not even here. Not even if he wanted to.

He knows this imitated memory isn’t her - not really - but he holds it in his arms anyway. Kisses it, cradles it, tells it “I love you" and pretends that somehow, underneath the fantasy and delusion, it's her who says it back. Some nights, he can almost convince himself – can fight off the sense inside him, screaming of danger and distraction and duty, long enough for just a few more moments of self-gratifying peace. He understands the risk of a pretty dream – has learnt his lesson through eons beyond counting. These dreams are a weakness, an addiction. These dreams will bring him nothing but ruin, in the end. Be it by spirit or his own weak, lovesick heart, its outcome is indisputable.

He is wiser than this. He is more disciplined than this.

But he is so lonely.

And so the dreams continue, a makeshift balm for a wound cut deep through his spirit; self-inflected, and metastasizing daily. He keeps to self-imposed rules, mostly as an attempt to justify his own foolishness. The events of the dream must not deviate. The location must stay the same. She must stay the same, not idealized for his own comfort

Solas has never been good at following rules – not even his own. But for that one, he obeys.

The setting he decides on is familiar, if a little indulgent – her Skyhold quarters, light and decadent, with balcony doors thrown open to bathe the room in the soft gold-pink of sunrise. Her bed is dark mahogany, her sheets clean emerald cotton. The air is silent, save for their own gentle breathing and the distant hint of birdsong outside.

“I don’t want to wake up.” He whispers.

“You never do.”

She – the she he forged from memories of happier times - sits cross-legged beside him where he lays, naked and with her back to him, as always. Her black hair is held neatly in place at the base of her neck in a tight bun, and he watches as she goes through the familiar routine of rubbing lotion onto her arms, slow and with deliberate care. He can’t help but reach out, gentle fingers tracing the sparse, subtle freckles of her back.

Pleased at his touch, she hums, but otherwise ignores him to focus on her ritual. Even here, wrapped up in sleep, she still smells exactly as he remembers; wild lavender and ash, beautiful and unnerving. He sits upright, shifting closer to wrap his arms around her bare waist and bury his nose against her neck, wishing he could breathe her in entirely.

“You say that as if it detracts from my point.” He murmurs against her throat. “I never want to wake up from you, vhenan.”

At this, she tilts her head to the side to smile at him, small and bemused. She leans back into his chest, her soft arms coming to fold over his own, locking him around her. Solas squeezes her lightly, and smiles as she hums once more.

“We all have to wake up eventually.” She says, with that slight, chastising lilt to her voice that he so loves. “Even you. Especially you. You know that.”

“I do.”

She doesn't reply, but for now he is far more comfortable with silence, trailing soft kisses against her shoulder, and willing his mind to remain within the present. She's staring out past the balcony again, as if she were deep in thought, though her fingers still brush against his arms in slow, idle strokes.

Eventually, inevitably, she pulls away. Stands up, detangles herself from his hands, and makes her way to her armoire. Slowly but surely, she prepares her face for the day, as if there were a day to be had at all, outside of this room.

“You could stay,” Solas murmurs. “For a little longer, this morning. You could stay.”

“You didn't.” She scoffs.

“I should have.” There's something cold and heavy in his chest, suffocating. “I would stay if I could. I would never leave you.”

“And, again, I would have to remind you that you did leave me, ma lath.”

“I know. Ir abelas, I know.”

She picks her assorted clothes from their drawers and returns to the bed to set them out, regarding him curiously as she does. She dresses soundlessly, and he is content to watch her, committing her body and mannerisms to memory. When she's all but ready, she finally deigns to speak, cocking a brow in his direction.

“You had another chance at the Crossroads.” She says casually. “Surely you saw it. I loved you, even then.”

Solas smiles. “You also despised me.”

“Yes, well, you can't exactly fault me for that.” She shakes her head with a wry smile. "My love is what matters, two years later, complicated as it might be. I reached out to you, again. You pulled away. Again. For all your insistence upon carrying out this . . . ridiculous pantomime fantasy of yours, you seem strikingly averse to the idea of the real thing. “

He knows better than to argue with her. Knows even better not to argue with himself. “Not averse. Realistic, perhaps, about the inevitable tragedy of such a thing. You – the real you – need not bare every burden, least of all mine. It's better for everyone that these dreams remain dreams, and nothing more. Safer.”

“Safer.” She snorts. “You would truly prefer making an enemy out of me?”

“I am your enemy, vhenan. You aren't mine.”

She regards him for a long time, searching his eyes as intently as if she were standing right there in front of him. Eventually, a grin begins to creep across her features. She sits back down against the bed, takes his face in her hand, and smiles at him with eyes that betray only the slightest hint of sadness.

“You,” she says softly, before pressing her lips soft against his forehead, “Are a true masochist for the ages. Aren't you, heart?”

He smiles back, because if he doesn't smile, he'll weep. “Incurably so, I think.”

“Not incurably, perhaps.” She stands up, pulling herself from his grip around her wrist as he pleads for her to stay. “But there will be no curing you tonight, I'm afraid. I have to go now, Dread Wolf.”

He has rules. He shouldn't deviate. He should be stronger.

He doesn't care.

“Don't leave,” he pleads again. “Stay a little longer by my side. Turn away, tell me how foolish I am, how selfish, but don’t leave. Vhenan, don't leave.”

“I can't protect you from the fact that you did.” The words come out so tired, so distorted, he can hardly tell if it's her voice which says them, or his own. "You made this bed, Solas. Did you not expect that you would die in it?”

Solas's eyes snap open, blinking back tears in the dark, with a Dalish woman's words echoing in the suffocating silence.

We all have to wake up eventually. Even you.

Especially you.

#solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #lavellan x solas #i left ashara unnamed bc it just sounded better to leave it unsaid but like this could apply to any lavellan rly ! #also the ending is a little rushed but i hope u enjoy it regardless !!! #mine: writing #oc: ashara

[sepublic]

The Infinity Train’s All-or-Nothing Gamble

           Oh, Simon Laurent, you… MESSED UP, messed up… I don’t even know what to call you… A pile of ash? That seems a bit too soon, but then so was bragging about murdering Tuba, so I mean. Mm.

           A lot of people are rightfully discussing how small Simon’s number was, how he was just a kid when he got abducted by the Infinity Train! And it makes you wonder, surely he could’ve figured things out on his own, had the Infinity Train NOT kidnapped him, right…?

           …But by that logic, we could also say that surely he would’ve improved HAD it taken him? Obviously having seen that option through, Simon didn’t improve and instead became a straight-up murderer and traitor. Given what Oweeeeeen Dennis had to say about the Infinity Train appearing to people who are at a ‘crossroads’ in life, it makes me think…

           …What if Simon was, in a sense… destined to be messed-up? That had the Infinity Train not picked him up, it could see into his future, and it would’ve seen that Simon would’ve become just as screwed-up an adult in the human world, as he did on the Infinity Train?

           But the Infinity Train is WEIRD, to say the least. There are a lot of variables. Perhaps Fate isn’t as determined on the Infinity Train, as it is in our world. So, the Infinity Train kidnaps Simon, under the belief that… Either he’ll still become as messed-up as he was fated to be due to his circumstances and mindset, OR there was a chance he’d improve! And even the smallest chance is better than NO chance at all, so one might argue that the Infinity Train was justified!

           Of course, Oweeeeen also said that the Infinity Train and One-One can be wrong. So…?

           (I’d ask him myself, but somehow I doubt I’d get a straightforward answer.)

           Does the Infinity Train appear to people, ideally at moments when their hypothetical numbers would be at their lowest? It never appeared to Amelia until after Alrick’s death… But then again, why appear before his death, what would she fix/learn then? How to cope with the death of a loved one BEFORE they died???

           Oweeeeen mentioned crossroads. It makes me wonder if once a person has an issue, then the moment they’re at a crossroads, where they could proceed to fall down a slippery slope no matter how low their number is, OR change for the better… That either option is equally likely… Then the Infinity Train comes in to hopefully tip the scales in the balance of their emotional healing. Healing is a weird process… Could a passenger’s number stay stagnant for a long while, or would it inevitably climb because of this, as that’s proof they’re not improving and being stuck in their old ways?

           What if the Infinity Train knew Simon was messed-up no matter what, and picked him up because his interactions with others (not just Grace but the kids who joined the Apex) could teach them a lesson? Though with Grace, I’d question this… Which makes me wonder if SHE was also gonna be super-messed up, with or without Simon. So in the end, Simon and Grace were put on for the sake of some other kids destined to board the Infinity Train, while still given the chance to improve themselves… Who knows? Maybe not even Oweeeeen!

           Discussing Simon “Boy am I MESSED UP or what?” Laurent further, it’s worth noting that Grace, at least initially, is willing to take the blame for misleading Simon. That part of her growth came from acknowledging that she DID deceive him. For a moment Grace said that Simon could absolve himself of the blame, that could he change while not actually having to confront himself over HIS own mistakes by dumping them onto Grace! But the whole time he tries to kill her, it’s not over lying to him and causing Simon to become a murderer… Rather, Simon is under the impression that Grace only started lying recently.

           Does he know, deep in his heart, that he really CAN’T blame Grace for this- That should it turn out that Amelia was telling the truth, he was still accountable for his actions no matter what Grace said at the time… And her admitting that she’s not supposed to take care of him basically confirmed this? Was Simon latching onto the IDEA of Grace, the idea of a Grace that was never wrong… And now he was trying to kill off this ‘corrupted’ Grace to preserve the perfect one in his memory?

           Because admitting she was wrong, even if he tries to scapegoat the blame onto Grace… I think Simon would’ve been more horrified by the thought of a Grace who was always wrong up until now, VS a Grace who had actually been totally right and had only recently gone down the wrong path! And he’s more betrayed by the former option than the latter… So Simon just opts to shut up Grace, because clearly she’s become a liability if she’s wrong now! And if turned out that Grace had been wrong from the beginning, well then why suddenly start trusting her at all, period? I mean, look at how she threw Hazel under the bus! (Train? Well not really only TUBA was thrown underneath the train…)

           Of course, Simon only acknowledges that Hazel was genuinely betrayed if it’s in a context that justifies his dislike of Grace, because otherwise you can’t betray a thing, right? Because otherwise fully acknowledging that moment as a betrayal also means fully acknowledging Hazel as a person, which means fully acknowledging that Simon considered killing a CHILD and that her grief over Tuba was real… you get the idea. I swear it’s like I’m taking a Criminal Psychology course and Simon is my case-study…!

           Going off what @fermented-writers-block reminded me, of what Oweeeeeen said about the Infinity Train ‘trying to account for all possibilities’ with its many, MANY cars, some of inexplicable practicality…? I have to wonder if the implication is that, be it on a literal or metaphorical sense, the chaotic environment of the Infinity Train provides more means and basis for change, for a passenger to pick a certain path and go down it… Versus the more orderly structure back home.

           Granted, what if the Infinity Train were to rescue a passenger from a war-torn environment? Surely THAT would be a lot less ‘orderly’ than the Infinity Train! But then again its objective is more towards healing, so… Either the Infinity Train rescues someone from a bad situation and they’re in a better one on the Infinity Train so they can heal! OR it’s just as bad… but also chaotic enough that the randomness of events and experiences could cause a change in –hopefully- the right direction!

           That is to say… The Infinity Train doesn’t know what it’s doing either. If we DO get a Book 4, I have to wonder if the direction will be One-One taking a more proactive role as Conductor and making sure passengers are less messed-up… Of course once he DOES start stepping up with his role, then why stop there? Why not keep breaking MORE rules, until you eventually decided to stop putting people aboard the Infinity Train in the first place? And I have to wonder if the hypothetical Book 4 will go more into the determinism of the denizens, especially since Lake is a pretty vocal indication in the direction of them being able to make their own destiny, for the most part.

           And hey- If Lake can do it, then maybe One-One is capable of learning some sense, and just stopping the Infinity Train, period! Or at the very least, only picking passengers up from objectively-terrible and dangerous situations where they’d TOTALLY die or be further traumatized, and then being more proactive in keeping them safe as they make a journey… Or just dropping them off somewhere else back on Earth!

           Honestly I would not be at all shocked if Oweeeeeeen’s idea for a hypothetical ending involved the Infinity Train no longer making any ‘stops’ for passengers, that this is the last ride… It’ll keep moving, but only for its denizens (because we’ve established they’re people and destroying the Train and their lives is unfair). Or, the Infinity Train just keeps going, and GOING… Because they don’t call it the Infinity Train for nothing!

           Jeez, this train is making me go mad. No wonder Simon went nuts. Overall, if I HAD to guess… I think the Infinity Train, as pointed out to me by @fermented-writers-block, is just as chaotic as Earth, that both Earth and the Infinity Train allow people to choose their own fates respectively, that your destiny isn’t pre-determined on Earth when you’re potentially rescued by the Infinity Train! It’s just that to the Infinity Train, if you’re at a crossroads in your head, it may as well pick you up because the chaotic environment provides more potential… 

          More potential for growth, but also more potential for becoming messed-up, so it’s an All-or-Nothing Gambit, like some messed-up Gambler designed this automaton! Like the train WANTS you to go ALL THE WAY with your healing, or go all the way with becoming messed-up, because apparently Earth is too stagnant for meaningful progress in either direction right?

#infinity train #infinity train book 3 #infinity train cult of the conductor #speculation #analysis #infinity train simon #simon laurent #owen dennis

[tinayoufatlarrdd]

She

Frankly, they didn’t start on the best term.

He met Y/N during a photoshoot for a certain famous magazine. She was assigned to grace the cover of said magazine with the photograph of the world’s most it couple, Harry Styles and the supermodel who gained the universal acclaim for ‘taming the baby Mick Jagger’.

It was all fun and pretty until Y/N accidentally stepped on the girlfriend’s polished toes.

“For fuck’s sake!” Harry screamed at Y/N as the supermodel girlfriend suddenly started limping her way to Harry, asking for some sort of first aid.

Y/N couldn’t stop muttering sorry, offering ice blocks, even kneeling next to the supermodel girlfriend begging for forgiveness. The creative director, the crew, the editors—the whole studio apologized countless times for the tiny slip as the girlfriend pouted, complaining about the unbearable pain, causing Harry to hit the ceiling.

He yelled at Y/N and refused to go on. Y/N, knowing her inferior position in the equation, could only look down as the apologies continuously rolled out of her tongue. To be fair, everyone in the studio (except the lovebirds, obviously) knew it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Y/N was capturing Harry’s solo session while the girlfriend fixed the hair and makeup. She was up next for her solo session and then it’s a wrap. Of course the photographer would move around; every supermodel should be aware of the fact that angles were plenty and it took treads to actually find the right ones. Y/N was constantly moving, camera on hand, eyes on the viewfinder, then suddenly the ‘big accident’ occurred.

Y/N was barefooted, she wouldn’t even be able to squeeze a hard turd if she ever stepped on one with that wonky heel of hers. There was no way she’d had caused the girlfriend that much pain. And nobody blamed Y/N as they all witnessed how the girlfriend walked on set with her eyes on the phone, hitting Y/N first. Nobody but the girlfriend and Harry Styles, of course. So they all just watched in silence as Harry cursed and threw a fit on innocent Y/N.

The power couple didn’t want to continue unless Y/N was replaced. The crew had to comply no matter how irrational the demand sounded. And on top of that, suddenly Y/N was plastered on the internet as the girl who assaulted the world’s biggest supermodel and Harry Styles.

She would never forget the overwhelming uneasiness caused by the sudden rave of negative reviews about her, all from people who endorsed and supported her in the first place but decided to be the footnote of the Hollywood sweethearts’ testimony: ‘awful to work with’, ‘nothing without the connection’, ‘a mediocre photographer who got lucky’, and ‘talentless’.

And she still couldn’t wrap her mind around that dreaded event. She had heard tremendous chivalry and gentlemanlike attitude when it came to Harry Styles yet somehow, he was nothing but a certified dick who put her job on the line that day. Some friends who remained loyal to her speculated that the girlfriend was the bad influence. Some even were convinced that he was voodooed. She didn’t care about either, all she believed was that he’s an absolute wretch with an extraordinarily thick mask. A media trained monkey was the term she occasionally used after a few tequila shots.

“That witch is his Yoko Ono, I tell ya,” the creative director told her during their final meeting—the meeting to let her go, of course.

She just shrugged. All she wanted was her old life back. And if Harry Styles and/or that supermodel got into some terrible misery in that comeback, that would definitely be her cherry on top.

She still got a few gigs, just not as much and definitely not with big profiles like she used to. For Pete’s sake, she was deemed a promising photographer by those fashion executives! She was only getting started. She would have never imagined that with just a short answer during a talk show’s truth or dare game—who’s the one person you’d never want to work with ever again?—the power couple could diminish her entire life’s worth of hard work.

Within the next few months, she’s back to square one. Every morning she tried to contact some old clients who would perhaps still deign to be affiliated with, according to the world’s biggest supermodel’s words on that talk show, ‘the rudest effin’ bitch I’ve ever seen in the industry’.

And after countless unsuccessful attempts, she went back to the cafe she used to work at when she’s still starting her career, not to network like she used to but to pour some coffee for other people again. She’s back with the apron and the napkin and she couldn’t stop being cynical over some hopeful youngsters who got signed right in front of her eyes, on the table she just wiped.

Her cameras were laid unused on top of her rack and the mini darkroom she built in her apartment became a storage room. Believing she had failed miserably in life, she found herself no longer had hopes on anything. All she knew was to get by the day.

It was a cold December night. Everyone else went home to celebrate the holidays so she decided to do the shift. She’d be paid double plus she wouldn’t have to face her family, which would go eerie in this state of her life, so it was the better choice.

Having had just finished cleaning the whole cafe, she put on her coat. She was ready to come home to… nothing. Her mind raced back to this time last year, where she was fully booked and couldn’t wait to come home so she could recharge herself for an exciting tomorrow. Her life had become exceptionally dull and it was painful to go on.

An abrupt banging on the door halted her train of desperate thoughts.

“We’re closed. Can’t you see the time?! It’s almost midnight!” she snarked, back facing the intruder.

“S- Sorry, love…” the hoarse voice was paused with a couple of hiccups. “‘m just completely devastated…”

She rolled her eyes as she turned around and she almost had a heart attack. There stood the man who destroyed her life, terribly wasted out of his mind. He could barely stand straight without holding onto the doorknob.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she rolled her eyes, asking some deity entity if there was ever one.

“Hey! I know yeh…” Harry tried to get to her but his legs just gave up.

Falling face first, Y/N really wanted to leave him on the street. But of course she had that little voice of reason inside her that constantly screamed, “If you abandon him, you’re nothing better than him!” She was a decent person and she really hated it this time.

“Come on up,” she pulled Harry up and lingered his arm around her shoulder to help him walk. “Where do you live?”

“I don’t k- know,” he giggled. “I can’t remember, love…”

“Try,” she slapped his arm when he almost fell off yet again.

The snow was pouring down and they stood by the empty crossroad. Harry wouldn’t even remember his own name by now and she didn’t know how to get to his house. There was no other choice than to bring him home to her place.

It was nothing short of hard work to carry a man twice her size to her house on foot since there was not even a single cab around. It was even harder to hear him tell a story about his first imaginary friend during that wobbly trip where he tumbled more than five times and she had to pick him up every time. But it was the hardest when she had to take off his shoes so it wouldn’t mess with her couch—he didn’t want to take it off, nagging her with numerous ‘Go away, Mum!’s.

When she finally got to lay on her bed, she was too tired to even think of what just happened. She literally did some cardio workout bringing Harry home safe so unlike her usual nights, she fell asleep quite fast this time.

It was around four in the morning when she felt a body of weight sunk into her side. She turned around to face his uninvited guest sound asleep, legs tangled over hers like a knot. She quietly removed her legs and tried to get up. She needed to move to the couch, or anywhere far away from this invader.

This is my fucking house, why am I the one sleeping outside, she thought to herself. Anger boiling at the top of her head as her movement was stopped by his strong hand.

“Stay here…” he slurs.

He didn’t seem conscious to her. Maybe he mistook her as his girlfriend.

“I’m not—“

“I know,” he cut her off while still sleeping. “Just stay here for a while. It’s cold out there.”

She sighed and laid back down. Stiff and uncomfortable, but obviously exhausted, she closed her eyes as Harry’s arm pulled her closer to him. She could only hope the night would soon end or better yet, this was all not real.

When Harry woke up, he found a sticky note on his forehead.

‘You were hammered last night, didn’t know where you live so I took you home. Nothing happened, you just sorta burst into where I work around midnight so I kind of had to not abandon you. Don’t make yourself at home because this is my home.’

He couldn’t remember anything. He remembered getting blind drunk after gulping those spirit shots but what happened after that was redacted. His surrounding was unfamiliar and there was no other sign of life other than him that morning.

After splashing his face with cold water, he looked around the apartment. It was modest but very personal. There were random film rolls hung by the ceiling as Harry made his way to the living room. He put on his shoes by the couch as he observed the vinyl shelf at the corner of the room. It was filled with 60s-70s biggest musicians, from Jimi Hendrix to Van Morrison—which grew his curiosity of the owner. There were books that he also read, and the series of psychedelic photographs framed by the doorway was the biggest tic that made him wonder: how did he end up in this hippie’s safe haven, one that he actually wanted to live in when he was young? Did he get so hammered that he traveled back in time? His head hurt too bad to even think of the possibilities, all he knew was there was something about the owner that felt familiar and he ought to know them. He had to.

Harry rushed to shower at his home and got some aspirin. After running some overdue errands, he immediately went back to the apartment. He knocked on the door a few times to no avail so he decided to wait by his car outside.

Y/N was relieved when there was no sign of Harry when she got home that night. She would be lying if she wasn’t a tad bit worried of him considering he could absolutely die that night if he went to the wrong place, but then again he was the guy who ended her career so she couldn’t care less.

She picked Nick Drake’s Pink Moon from her vinyl collection and put it on the turntable. Relaxing by the couch that still reeked of alcohol and him, she ignored the constant knock on the door. It was usually her crazy neighbor looking for his nonexistent cat.

It was the sixth track that she finally got up and opened the door, hoping to end the annoyance of her peaceful evening.

Her eyes bugged out when she saw the figure by her door. It was him again.

Harry, with his furrowed eyebrows and lanky feet, looked just as surprised as she was. He clearly remembered who she was and somehow, not even Nick Drake’s soothing voice could calm her down. Filled with rage, she slammed the door right in front of his face.

Harry was shocked to see her. He’d never thought in a million years that he’d ever meet her again, moreover lodged by her. He wanted to thank her but he knew she’d probably throw a glass of water to his face. But he could not just leave.

So he did the tackiest trick in the book. When the track from behind the closed door hit Free Ride, one of his favourites, he began singing along as loud as possible. Some neighbors shushed him, some even scolded him but he didn’t stop.

She heard him loud and clear. She ignored him at first, but then she received a noise complaint call from the super. Upset, she thumped her way towards the door.

“Stop it!” she gritted her teeth as she opened it.

He stopped. “May I come in?”

“What do you want?” she barked.

“Just wanted to say thanks,” he muttered low.

“You’re welcome. There,” she slammed the door again.

There was nothing he could do so he decided to leave for now.

He came again the next day, this time saying there was something he needed to give back to her.

“What now?” she wasn’t as upset as the day before, but was still unfriendly as they just stood by the door leaf.

Harry handed her the sticky note she left on his forehead the day before.

“You can keep it,” she said as she closed the door.

No slamming door. A progress, Harry thought.

He came back again two days after that, carrying a limited release Fleetwood Mac record signed by Stevie Nicks herself.

“Got Stevie to sign it. They don’t have this at the stores anymore,” he presented it as if he was doing some product placement scene.

“Look, Harry Styles,” she crossed her arms. “I don’t even know what the hell do you want from me but I really don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. You’ve done enough.”

“Yes, about that…” Harry scratched his forehead. “’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” she pushed the door but Harry was quick to hold it open.

“I’d help you make things right again,” his green eyes were desperate for her answer.

She let out a heavy sigh and moved aside as if cuing him to enter her little bubble. Harry entered immediately, not wanting to waste any more time in the outside world.

She was listening to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon, to which Harry sang along gently. She could hate him all she wanted but he really sounded divine especially within close proximity.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else, anyway?” she sat on the far end of the couch.

He put the record on the coffee table. “Where, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Some talk show to say some shit about me with the girlfriend perhaps?”

“Look ‘m really sorry, I truly am,” he sighed. “And ‘m not with her anymore…”

He then explained everything. How he fell in love for the first time in his life with the supermodel who was perfect, beautiful, smart, and everything he’d ever dreamed of. How he was so sure of her but she didn’t feel the same so he tried to show it with everything he’s got—grand romantic gestures, going public (which was personally hard for him since he was a very private person), and siding with her on every kind of problem even if it meant hauling over an innocent photographer’s coals. He also explained how he felt awful most of the time since he’d changed so much for a person who didn’t even love him back and he began to feel lost. It all then culminated a couple nights ago when she decided that it was all still not enough and broke up with him over a phone call. That’s when he went crazy with the liquor and ended up wandering around.

She felt sorry for him and although she knew he could be lying, she could understand his pain. So, she decided to accept his apology. She knew it wouldn’t change anything for her but at least she wouldn’t have to carry around so much hatred in her life and he could also move on with his life, not haunted by the guilt.

He promised to help her gain her reputation back. The two planned to make some exclusive photoshoot of Harry himself.

They began meeting every now and then. At first, they would talk about all things professional and did photoshoots. She started receiving positive feedbacks especially after Harry gave her the shoutouts—it didn’t take a split second for his loyal fans to swarm her online profiles. With her raising popularity she started getting bigger gigs again, even bigger than her old gigs. She quit working at the cafe and her darkroom was occupied yet again.

Then, they would spend even more time together. He would make up excuses to meet with her, like he needed to see how she developed her rolls or coming by with a batch of eggs saying he was worried she ran out of eggs. Y/N knew Harry was just feeling lonely after the breakup so she always let him in. Nobody wants to hurt alone, she always thought.

He soon didn’t need any more excuses as he had become an extended roommate of hers. He always said he wanted to live in the 70s and her apartment was like a dream home for him. She just brushed it off, saying it’s because of her hidden interior designing talent. And with each passing day, as they grew closer, her hatred dissipated and was replaced with something strange yet pleasant inside her heart.

She learned the depths of him that no one else knew and it all became the little things only she understood. She felt privileged to gain the limited access.

Sometimes he’d show her the sneak peak of his newest song and she would give notes as she watered the many plants around her place. Sometimes they would play board games while discussing the possibility of living on Mars. Some other times, Harry would lay his head on her legs, not saying a word while Karen Dalton’s magnificent voice filled the air.

Her favourite moment with him had to be when they did the impromptu picnic under the stars. With a bottle of cheap wine, portable turntable, and shared blanket, they laid by the garden as they talked about their fears and desires. That was the first time in such a long time she could open up to someone and he said that made him feel so special.

Of course he was special to her. That’s why she still tiptoed around him from time to time, avoiding conversations like her love life because she didn’t want him to think that she’d like him when actually the growing feelings inside her heart had begun to suffocate her.

The way he spontaneously baked for her (and snobbishly told the infamous ‘I was a baker’ story), the way he laughed at her jokes, the way his eyes sparked when they were dancing around, the way he snored a little when he’s sleeping, the way he called her name—she wanted to just sink herself into his warmth and never let go.

Yet she couldn’t help but wonder whether he felt the same way too. The frequency of the supermodel’s name mentioned in their conversations has since reduced to almost never, but she still felt a sting in her heart as she knew she could never replace her. She was, after all, his first love. And don’t get her started on the physical prowess which she obviously lacked in compared to the supermodel. She didn’t dare to ask Harry whether he’s really forgotten about her, afraid that he’d find out her true feelings for him. So she remained the same. At least, he would be still by her side.

At least, there would never be any rejections.

The city was already blossoming when she realized that Harry had left traces of himself on every corner of her place. The hung film rolls were filled with his silly expressions, so was the polaroid collections stuck on her walls. He had installed a pile of pants by the corner of her living room so that he didn’t have to bring any change. And of course her bathroom now had a pair of tooth brushes. It rocketed her hopes but still, her doubts crept inside her mind every so often.

That lazy Saturday night, she went home from grocery shopping to find Harry asleep on her couch. He looked so soft and warm and she couldn’t help but to run her fingers through his smooth hair. She nervously came closer to his face and pressed a tender kiss on his forehead.

She got up immediately, afraid to wake him up. To her surprise, he suddenly grabbed her arm.

“What was that for, love?” he asked.

He didn’t even have the bed face he usually had, which led her to believe that he wasn’t really asleep.

“Were you pretending to be asleep?” she pulled away.

Harry stood up just as fast and within seconds, he wrapped her in his hug. He placed a kiss on top of her head and slowly traveled down to her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. His lips roamed over hers as he slowly pressed them. It wasn’t heated and full of lust but rather deep and passionate as if he was taking his time.

It didn’t take long before they made their way to the bedroom and undressed each other with no rush. There was no spoken words, no roughness, just two people tangled up in heated infatuation.

When she woke up, he was still there. And it was beautiful.

It was still beautiful the next few months when they became a couple. He was her world and everything else was just background noise. He made her feel like the only person that mattered, as if everything that happened before ‘them’ was unreal. That this was the only real thing and it was all too good to be true.

Y/N should know better though, that life came just like a full circle. She just didn’t expect to actually be put back into the circle so soon.

They were invited to an afterparty of a fashion line Harry was strongly tied to and Y/N was more than proud to be by his side when he was introduced to be the muse that season. He was having the time of his life and so was she. The two held hands the entire time as they talked to everyone.

The belle of the ball, Harry himself seemed overwhelmed with the amount of love he received. He occasionally pressed her hand a little tighter when he was nervous, to which she’d respond with stroking his hand with her thumb. The simplest gestures that they’d developed overtime as they grew accustomed to each other’s idiosyncrasies or as Harry said, the good stuff about you.

That was until he saw a glimpse of her in the middle of the crowd that he suddenly let go of Y/N’s hand as if he was afraid that she would see him with Y/N. It would have been a little over a year since she last saw the supermodel and almost a year since Harry last met her.

All this time, Harry constantly convinced her that her insecurities over his love was nothing, that he only wanted her. And yet, he never even said those three words to her.

She knew now why he never did.

All this time, it wasn’t doubt that kept haunting her. It was a hunch.

The music was blasting but for Y/N, everything was silence. It only took a few seconds before she realized the look in Harry’s eyes. As if it was never truly her his eyes set on. That she was just a company to pass time. That she was the one he wanted just never loved.

She was never the one.

She tried to grab his hand before he’d be gone for good, and could only let out a faint ‘Please, don’t.’

But he could only mutter a little ‘Sorry.’ as he let go of her grasp and made his way through the crowd, trying to get to her, while leaving Y/N drowning in the sea of human who celebrated the man that she loved.

Part two.

Part three.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #tinayoufatlarrdd #harry styles fanfic

[5lazarus]

Winter in Amaranthine, Ch. 4: Oghren

Summary: The Wardens' companions decide to leave, and Warden-Commander Arana Mahariel cannot find a reason good enough to tell them no. Meanwhile, letters between the Warden and Leliana get lost in translation, and Arana makes it worse. Chapter 4, Oghren: Oghren sobers the Warden up.

Read on AO3 here. On Tumblr, read here for Justice & Anders, here for Velanna & Sigrun, and here for Nathaniel Howe.

She stays in her office all night drinking. Arana sits at her desk and sips slowly at her tumbler, enjoying the warp of the fire in the high-priced Serault glass. She is perhaps the only Dalish elf to ever have the privilege to drink from glassware normally preserved for the Divine and Her Holiness’ followers. They had been sent to the Divine as a bribe from the notoriously eccentric Marquis de Serault and waylaid by Leliana. Remembering that, Arana’s hand tightens around the glass and she contemplates smashing it, as she has smashed most of the relationships in her life. But she is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and the Arlessa of Amaranthine, and it looks bad enough that she is drunk--she does not want to imagine what the servants would say, if they had to clean up glass worth several years of their salary. Instead of breaking it, she tops up her glass. She wakes up to the cool seabreeze whistling outside of her open office window, gulls crying out for bread. Blearily she pulls her head off her desk, cheek sticking slightly to the surface. Her head is heavy but the hangover has not begun to ring through her yet. Arana wrinkles her nose: coffee in a silver pot, embossed with the Warden crest, steams before her, with an equally beautiful silver cup. “Drink up,” Oghren says. “You’re gonna need it.”

She fixes him with a red-eyed stare. Did she cry last night? She should have, if she didn’t. “Food?” she asks. They have done this before, the two of them, after they killed Branka, after Alistair left, and then Leliana. Oghren grunts. “Enough to tide you over,” he says. “Servant’ll be bringing it up, not me.” Ashara snorts. “Distinctions of rank must be preserved,” she says drily. “You want a cup? I imagine you brought your own.”  A servant knocks on the door and brings in a hefty rasher of bacon, thickly-sliced, and three eggs fried in the grease, along with a shot glass of a mysterious green liquid. Ashara raises an eyebrow at Oghren. “Pickle juice,” Oghren grunts. “Works every time. Now get eating, we have to get to the city by noon.” “You don’t give me orders, Warden,” Ashara says, and laughs when Oghren rolls his eyes. “Fine. Enjoy your hangover. I’ll take the bacon.” Oghren feints towards the food, and Ashara waves him off. She eats, feeling her flesh gradually restore around her bones, and takes that shot of pickle juice. It is all surprisingly good. “No hair of the dog?” she says. “That’s a road you don’t want to go down,” Oghren says. “Trust me. Been trying to walk back up it for three months.” He grins at her. “Three months sober today. Sister Nightingale sent me a pretty little amulet to wear. Silver. Supposed to ward off poison.” He laughs. “‘Nuff poison I’ve thrown into myself. And out.” “You’ve been corresponding,” Arana says flatly. She sips her coffee. Leliana has been corresponding personally with Oghren, but has not bothered to send her a letter in months. She is furious--how can she find Oghren more pleasant to talk to than her? Did her letter anger her that much? She could have at least written her back, rather than turning her quill towards other people--to Oghren, of all people. Arana tolerates Oghren, and sometimes she even likes him--she has grown to respect him, after he joined the Wardens and apologized to Felsi, and she knows sobriety is not easy. Still, out of everyone left at Vigil’s Keep, one would think she rates higher than that fool. But Leliana has always liked a good redemption story, especially if she can prompt it. Arana scowls again. Oghren snorts at the look on her face. “Aye,” hen said. “And that’s why I’m taking you on a walk.” “Is this an intervention? I’m not a drunk, Oghren. Not like you--were.” “Andraste’s tits,” he says. “You’re not a drunk like me, no, and you haven’t puked away all your opportunities and shat on all your loved ones--” “You shat on Felsi?” Arana interrupts. Arana occasionally finds Oghren’s stories reassuring: it is always nice to know that someone has fucked up more than she ever can. Oghren pauses. “No!” He considers it. “Maybe. Her doorstep, more like it.” “And she answers your letters.” Arana leans back in her chairs and downs her coffee. Leliana doesn’t answer her letters, and Arana has never even drooled on her, let alone shat on her doorstep. “Sweet Sylaise, that woman has the patience of a Keeper.” Oghren snorts. “She doesn’t answer my letters, but she certainly cashes the notes I send her. You good? You drank your coffee? You gonna eat that? Let’s go.” They leave the keep quietly. The keep is bustling as usual, with the trainers and the recruits and the cooks and the cleaners running about. Arana catches sight of Ser Pounce watching from a young tree she planted, that passes as a Vhenadahl, and she stops a second. Ser Pounce cocks his head at her and mews. He looks very well-fed. “He hasn’t been hunting the Blighted rats, has she?” she asks anxiously. “I do not want Anders to hear we poisoned his cat.” Oghren says, “Ser Pounce took out a hurlock alpha. Think he’s immune to the Blight at this point, Commander.” Ser Pounce lets out a meow, and disappears into the leaves. Arana hopes he has not been pissing on the tree. They move off the main road to avoid listeners, and because Arana deeply craves the woods, the feel of the living earth under her soles, and the whisper of the lost that press against the almost sheer Veil, trying to get their stories heard. They trudge along in silence for the first hour. Oghren hums to himself. He is not a particularly good singer, Arana well knows, but she enjoys having company. They meander, and Arana loses herself in the cool gray copse that acts as a natural barrier between Vigil’s Keep and anyone avoiding the King’s Road. When they are far  from Vigil’s Keep but still an hour  from Amaranthine City, Oghren finally speaks up. “You been getting a lot of mail lately.” “Yes,” Arana says. “I have certainly been filing my dispatches.” Oghren looks at her sideways. “Dispatches,” Oghren says. “From ol’ King Alistair, from that warden from Clan Lavellan, maybe even one or two from Tabris. But nothing from Surana, or Brosca, or Zevran, or Leliana even. Except that one, right? From the batch that came in before Anders left.” “Are you reading my mail?” Arana says, annoyed. Her hand reaches for her sword handle. “Fen’Harel take you, dwarf, those letters contain sensitive information, and you are enough of a drunk--” Oghren raises both hands. “Three months sober,” he emphasizes. “Since Anders left. Ser. Though I guess I’ll always be a drunk, I’ll be a dry drunk for sure. And no--I file your mail. Quartermaster told me to make myself useful, and it keeps me from going to the tavern for lunch.” Arana deflates. She crosses her arms instead, and looks up at the bald trees reaching for the gray sky. It does not snow in Amaranthine, even in winter. She hopes it does not rain. Oghren continues, “Struck me as weird, it did. That you’d only get official business, but Tabris was writing Velanna and Nathaniel, Leliana was checking in with me every two weeks, Alistair even sent me some cheese. ‘Twas moldy to be sure, but I think he did that on purpose.” “Some Orlesian cheeses are supposed to be moldy,” Arana says, amused despite herself. “Leliana told me.” Oghren shot her a look. “Didn’t it strike you as weird that Leliana was writing me but not you? And I didn’t want to intrude on whatever your lover’s spat was, I know how you get.” Arana opened her mouth to protest, but Oghren barreled on, “So I did some investigating. And guess what I found out?  The courier who takes letters from the crossroads, and sends them up the coast? Well, her husband’s got an Orlesian last name, and his cousin works in the Divine’s scriptorium.” His moustache twitches as he beams up at her triumphantly. “The Divine’s been stealing your mail, lass. She’s trying to fuck you and Leliana up.” He spreads his arms out, as if he is expecting applause. “You took me out here to tell me this?” Arana says incredulously. “You couldn’t have told me this in front of my fire?” As she says that, she feels a cold drop hit her forehead. She wipes it away, crestfallen. It begins to rain. She glares down at him. Oghren says cheerfully, “Better get to Amaranthine quick. Time to sprint!” They reach the city gates, mudsplattered, soaked, and sour. Arana bitches the whole way back onto the King’s Road and through the gates. It is the most she has spoken since Velanna left, and her throat gets sore. “And now!” she exclaims, as Oghren shepherds her towards a relatively nice inn near the alienage, “now my throat hurts! I will get a cold, and I will be bedridden, and someone else will need to find a polite way to tell the Chantry they have no right to censor us for recruiting whomever wanted to flee Kinloch Hold, while simultaneously keeping them from scrutinizing too heavily whatever Blighted nugshit Weisshaupt is up to--you know Morrigan has been sighted in Serault, bearing a writ from the Divine? And somehow it’s my fault.” She has not spoken this much, or so openly, since Surana last visited, and though she knows it is perhaps unwise to confide this all in Oghren of all people, she cannot stop the torrent of words. “And, and, I need to apologize to my clan, and--” In the corner of the steaming inn, a woman sits, tuning a lute. Arana stops dead. Leliana looks up and smiles. “My love,” she says. “My heart.”

#leliana/mahariel #female mahariel #oghren #oghren & mahariel #leliana #warden #dao #dragon age #awakening #fanfic #dragon age fanfic #winter in amaranthine

[stay4stray]

Map for Broken Compass and the Stray Kids Timeline

Recently, Stray Kids have been displaying a lot of performances with literary and/or cinematic themes - often 2 in one (Dead Poet’s society, Game of Thrones).  In the Intro to Levanter video, Chan mentioned inspiration from a book and also a poem, and of course we have the Road Not Taken, referencing Frost’s poem (oh and of course Kung Fu Panda!).  I think these are hints for us, that their MVs have similar allusions - namely, they allude quite a bit to Maze Runner.  After realizing this I did some more research and found that someone else had reached this conclusion long before I did, so watch their video here!  This really makes me want to reread the whole Maze Runner series ‘cause it’s been a while but that’s irrelevant.  Obviously I’m slow catching onto this so I’m not really gonna argue for this as its argument is already established, lucky me!  But understanding this allusion does help with how I’ve come to understand the SKZ storyline through the Map for Broken Compass that was recently released.

The main connections to Maze Runner that I’m concerned with:

dystopia

man vs. society; themes of manipulation

the plot set up as a series of trials, hidden one illusion inside of another (maaaaAAtryoshka? 👀 I kid I think)

the very beginning of the Maze Runner movie has extremely strong parallels to the Hellevator MV)

Note: This isn’t to say that the SKZ storyline is the same as Maze Runner!  It very obviously isn’t, in my opinion.  The villains seem completely different and the overall conflict is likely different (in MR if I remember correctly the overall issue was that the world had suffered from solar flares so it ended up being an environmental conflict?).  I don’t know what the overall conflict of the SKZ storyline is just yet but from Miroh they seem to be setting up a rich vs. poor conflict... Though that might not be the overall issue, just like how MR has multiple layers.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s go back to the Map.  At 3 am two nights ago, I made a super chaotic post about how I think it’s meant to be read, so check that out for details if need be but the main idea is that the motifs from different MVs and the way they reappear in different eras and places on the map is how we can find our chronology.

So in the map image above I’ve labeled various things.  The numbers are the motifs, in no real order, but vaguely in order of their visual placement on the map.  Some have letters, a and b, which are when motifs repeat on the map.  The circles draw attention to some things that I think are likely important but am personally still very confused about.  And then I’ve added some translated lyrics that I think are important to the storyline.

I don’t think Hellevator is the start of the timeline.  I think, like MR, it’s the start of the timeline the boys’ remember.  At that point, I think they’ve already entered their first “trial” or “illusion” - that being, they’ve been given a place to live “happily,” but they’re isolated from anyone except themselves.  The reason they haven’t left is because their way out is labeled Hellevator - in other words, they’re convinced to stay through a combination of contentedness and fear.  However, when they eventually leave, they end up in a field of flowers, which doesn’t exactly scream “Hell,” does it?

In my opinion, My Pace and I am YOU are directly connected and in that order - they almost have to be, based on the MVs, I think.  I believe My Pace is the start of the timeline as we know it - I think it is where the conflict between the boys and society starts, as the boys decide to do their own thing, go their own speed.  This is further confirmed when Jisung takes down the camera in I am YOU, which may be the significance fo the broken camera that I’ve circled in red on the map - even though it’s by the My Pace tunnel, it’s not actually broken until I am YOU!

Similarly, Miroh seems to lead to Side Effects/Yellow Wood based on the MVs.  What’s confusing is there’s a possibility that Side Effects actually happened more than once - that the part where the kids get on the bus did actually happen, but somehow they eventually ended up at the same crossroads and took the other path.  On the map, the elevator connects the two of them, which leads me to believe that Hellevator leads directly to I am NOT/District 9.  

Based on motifs, namely the shopping cart and the couch (both of which are in both IAY and the Hellevator MVs btw), Hellevator is up next.  Notably, the Hellevator motifs are placed near the District 9 bus, so we could reasonably say that I am NOT comes next, based on that as well as the elevator.  I mentioned before that their hideout in Hellevator is a place meant to make them complacent, which is supported by the fact that some of their things, the shopping cart and the couch, were taken from their initial I am YOU hideout.  It reminds me of when you move a pet from one place to another and keep their toys with them so that the new place still feels like home.

Based on the 1.5 moon motif, though, Yellow Wood is up next!  Either that, or Yellow Wood came before I am YOU, which I don’t think is the case.  My thought is, Side Effects represents choosing to blend with society or choosing to rebel, so perhaps at one point they chose to go with society, but they eventually realized they were unable to fit in and rebelled, ending up at Hellevator in the end either way.  That’s also why I think the I am NOT part of the map has the Side Effects drone - it’s another point at which they had to make that choice between society and freedom.

From Hellevator, as I’ve mentioned, we go to I am NOT, video-wise this means the I am NOT trailer and the District 9 MV.  From there, we have the bottle of flowers and the field of purple flowers from Hellevator replicated near Levanter... which we can’t say too much about until tomorrow!  But it should lead to Miroh based on the eagle motif and the walkie talkie motif there-- which, people have probably said this already, but the eagle itself likely represents SKZ while the lion represents society (think Young Wings for the eagle and for the lion, it’s attached to things like the City Jungle and the bus driven by the Miroh dude so that checks out imo for more than one reason).  My suspicion is that the use of so many previous motifs in Astronaut represents Hyunjin getting lost and having to remember the way back to where the rest of the group is... This could mean literally having lost his memory or it could be a more figurative form of losing his way.

Anyway, from Miroh we end up at Yellow Wood, based on the elevator on the map as well as the MVs, and this time it’s more literal than the previous encounters with YW - this time they chose a path and throw away the key, never looking back.  They won’t go back to Yellow Wood again because they’ve made their final decision to truly rebel, there’s no going back (which I think may be why Hyunjin was so stressed in SE).

We find ourselves once again at the Levanter part of the map, with the eagle representing running from Miroh’s City Jungle.  And that’s pretty much all I’ve got, at least until tomorrow!

I will say that I think it’s possible that SKZ infiltrates society a few times before fully rebelling, in order to free more people like themselves and build up their forces.  I think something similar happened in Maze Runner as well.  A part of me wonders if SKZ plays themselves, but also other like them in a sort of metaphorical way (if that makes sense?).

It’s also possible that someone else helped them escape from District 9 - the drone that broke in that Chan found, for example.  Where did it come from?  It could have been their past selves, who anticipated their being stuck with wiped memories!  It could also have been other “stray kids” who’ve already escaped.  Maybe it’s I.N’s “twin?”

Okay yeah I think I’m really going off the rails here so I’m gonna wrap up really quick with one final section here!

Things I don’t know what to do with:

keys - my suspicion is that they are part of yet another illusion set up by society (meaning, society wants them to think that the keys will help them escape but it’s all just another trick/trial), and that’s why SKZ has discarded some of them - for example, taking down Miroh will probably not grant full freedom, because freedom is outside of the map, so maybe they discarded the key to return there.

marbles - I’m guessing they have to do with memories somehow but thus far they have only showed up in Astronaut so it’s really hard to see patterns with these just yet.

elevators - I mentioned that they might show direct connections between MVs, but I’m very uncertain about this, actually.

“ghost” I.N who stayed behind in Astronaut - though I will note that he seemed to have a clone or a twin or something in District 9 so that could explain how one I.N went with SKZ and another stayed behind?

#stray kids #skz #stray kids theories #levanter #clé: levanter #hellevator #district 9 #my pace #i am not #i am you #i am who #miroh #clé 1: miroh #clé 2: yellow wood #side effects #the road not taken #yellow wood #kpop theory #kpop #bang chan #lee minho #kim woojin #lee know #han jisung #han #seo changbin #i.n #yang jeongin #hwang hyunjin #kim seungmin