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arotechno · 3 years

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Jughead (2015), Issues 7-8: Discussion and Commentary

Boy oh boy am I excited to talk about this arc!! These two issues hold a very special place in my cold little aro heart.

(By the way, do you see that? I managed to get a digital copy from my library via Hoopla, which means you are spared from my shitty phone grabs. I’ll fix the previous post, don’t worry. Try clicking on the screenshots if tumblr blurs them. And try Hoopla, if you’ve got a library card and have been looking to read these.)

Fed up with him sitting around the house playing video games all summer, Mr. Jones forces Jughead to get out of the house and do something outside. Jughead finds Archie at the pool where he’s working as a lifeguard, and convinces him to take time off to go camping in the woods with him at their friend Dilton’s cottage.

They take Archie’s car out to the woods, only to find that the lake is overrun with Reggie’s over-the-top relatives at the Mantle family reunion. Horrified, Jughead and Archie go out on a hike to get away. This is where things go downhill—literally.

Jughead calls Archie out for his growing fixation with Veronica Lodge, whose father is the one trying to clear out Fox Forest. Archie immediately goes on the defensive, but Jughead, understandably, really doesn’t get it. And here’s where we see that this is a divide that has been brewing between them for quite some time, even if Archie seemingly had no idea it was happening.

The boys end up getting lost, which only serves to fuel their frustrations. It occurs to Jughead, some time later, that the lake they’re camping at is not that far from Camp Lucey, an all-girls summer camp. Shocked and hurt, he accuses Archie of only agreeing to go on the trip to pick up girls, and not to hang out with him. He tackles Archie and they tumble down a hill into the woods below.

This is a really interesting story, from an aro’s perspective. Jughead can’t relate to Archie’s teenage obsession with girls, and it isn’t something they can bond over like other friends may have been able to do. On a simple level, all Jughead really wants to do is hang out with his best friend, just the two of them, just like old times—back when they were younger, before Archie’s interest in girls seemed to take over his every waking moment. Importantly, Jughead never objects to Archie’s romantic pursuits on principle (he does have an issue with Veronica, but that has to do more with her father’s actions than her). It isn’t that he wants to stand in the way of Archie’s happiness—he just feels left behind, and that’s something I think a lot of aromantic people, teenagers especially, can resonate with.

Eventually, Archie and Jughead run into Mr. Weatherbee of all people, who begrudgingly offers to help lead them back to camp. It’s at this point that we get one of my favorite moments in the entire series, one that I have waxed poetic about on this blog before and probably will again.

Archie insists that he is in fact here to hang out with Jughead, and that he’s just being dramatic. Jughead, on the other hand, insists that Archie’s the one being dramatic with his love triangle problems, to which Archie replies:

“Look, I’m not going to apologize for being a normal guy, I—”

And Jughead’s reaction to those words has stuck with me since the first time I read this. He’s shocked, hurt, and clearly a little angry that Archie would say something like that. And it’s a subtle moment, one that you might not even feel the gravity of if you didn’t know that Jughead was aro. What’s most important here, though, isn’t Jughead’s reaction, but the fact that Archie is clearly in the wrong, and he knows it. He tries to backtrack immediately (“Jughead! I didn’t mean it like that! Wait!”), but Jughead ignores him, as Mr. Bee has already gotten them lost again.

This singular page is, to me, a deeper and more nuanced portrayal than many works with “on-the-page” canon aromantic characters. This arc isn’t about Jughead being aro (in fact, none of the comics particularly are). But this is a meaningful incorporation of Jughead’s orientation into his daily life and his relationships with other people—namely, with his best friend. Although Jughead is being somewhat harsh with Archie, never does the narrative place him in the wrong for feeling abandoned, hurt, or angry because of Archie’s words and actions. Even Archie, his best friend, is capable of saying things that hurt him, and his words in this scene are never excused or justified by the narrative.

It also means a lot to me that Archie apologizes the second he gets the chance to, and that Jughead is quick to forgive him and explain that he just misses the time before Archie was so obsessed with girls. I wouldn’t want the story to just turn into a feud between them. You know when you’re on a trip with your friends and you get lost and you’re tired and frustrated you just end up airing your grievances and coming out of it with a new understanding of your friendship while trying to solve the mess you’re in? That’s what this arc is.

Anyway, after a run-in with Reggie’s relative and Mr. Weatherbee’s old high school bully Ted Mantle, the trio manage to make it out of the woods—after several hours of walking until the sun has come up. There, they find that Camp Lucey has actually been renamed, and is now a camp for elementary school girls, where Betty happens to be working. So after all of that, Archie just ends up making a fool of himself, like usual. Mr. Bee’s wife drives over to rescue them and brings the boys back to Dilton’s cottage, where she remarks that she’s heard a lot about Archie and Jughead, and that they’re inseparable.

At its core, this is a story about friendship. It’s about the difficulties that come with realizing you can’t always relate to each other, and you can’t always read each other’s minds, and you sometimes say the wrong thing without meaning to. It’s a story about growing up, but not necessarily growing apart, and being able to reconcile your differences.

Archie assumes that after all of their bickering, Jughead would just want to go home and not hang out with him anymore. But turning back now would be contrary to what Jughead wanted in the first place, which was just to hang out with his best friend.

All’s well that end’s well, and Jughead and Archie patch things over and vow that they will always be best friends. It’s a wholesome moment, and reflects a common struggle for aspec teens that I rarely see addressed in media, if at all. Sometimes, it feels like your friends are all moving on without you, and sometimes they don’t even realize it when they’ve been neglecting your friendship. It takes communication to work these things out, and I’m happy to see that illustrated here.

This arc is my favorite, I think, and there’s reasons for that even outside of the aspects I’ve already detailed here. The kids getting lost in the woods on summer vacation is a fun way of framing the deeper story, and there are a lot of funny and endearing moments in these two issues. (Archie falls on his face, a lot, and Mr. Weatherbee is stoically exasperated with both of their antics.)

These are the last issues written by Chip Zdarsky. So shoutout to him for some of the most nuanced representations of aromanticism in fiction to date, even if he never wrote the word down on the page (I’ll get to that, don’t worry). But these are the first issues illustrated by Derek Charm, whose art style I love (no offense Erica Henderson), and the rest of the volume has a lot of other good aro moments in store. Until then, here’s himbo Archie:

See? Pure of heart, dumb of ass. You can’t be mad at him for long. (He falls into a hole later on the same page.)

Yeah, me too.

#woo!!!#techno's jughead reread #aro #aromantic #aro jughead #ace jughead #aroace jughead #jughead jones #jughead comics #long post #op

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polyghostfacehours · 3 years

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Poly!Ghostface x GN!Reader - Impromptu Roadtrip Part 1

So this was inspired by a video a favorite Youtuber of mine made and I haven't been able to get this out of my head since before I even made this blog.

Part 1 aka Leading Up to the Trip

TW: brief mentions of sex, slight suggestive content, murder, homicide

I guess you could say this is set in college and Billy's dumbass plan actually worked (because they decided to stab themselves AFTER killing Sidney, Gale, Randy, and Mr. Prescott) so yeah a Billy and Stu Actually Planned Shit Better AU

okay so lets say there's this really rare and unique giant plushie you really want, from this thing you're a big fan of. Like a giant ass Snorlax, or a life sized plush of that huge ass spider from Harry Potter. It can be anything.

So you find out that this thing is actually being sold physically at a SINGULAR store all the way in New Mexico.

And the best fuckin idea enters your head as midterms wrap up

mother. fucking. impromptu. ROADTRIP. with your boyfriends. Just the three of you

Spring break. What a perfect opportunity to drop everything and drive across state lines for an overpriced piece of merch.

This things is pricey as fuck like 500 USD or something, so despite the fact that you almost never ask Stu to spoil you, you decide to bite the bullet for this one and use his rich boy ass.

You approach Stu and Billy one night and ask them if they have any big plans for spring break

Stu wanted to host a rager, and Billy didn't have anything particular in mind besides hitting up the cinema for a few new releases. So they were pretty free.

You lay it on them, you want a roadtrip to go buy this thing and you wanna leave like, the day after tomorrow.

Stu is SOOOOO for it. Like this dude lives for shit like this. Billy is down also, he's never been outside of California or (insert city/state where you guys are going to college to) so why not.

You ask Stu that you need him to buy the thing and you even offer to pay him back slowly. Stu's a little shit and asks how you're planning on paying him back. You smirk and ask him if he's ever had roadtrip car sex. He sticks out his tongue and laughs, Billy smirks.

Once getting their approval you tell them you want tomorrow to be prep day. Buying a bunch of snacks for the road, making some new mixtapes with your cassette players, doing laundry, packing blankets and pillows and camping gear in case you wanna camp out or sleep in the car, etc. etc. Stu is vibrating, Billy is getting more and more into it and excited himself.

You guys migrate to the kitchen and start planning. I cant emphasize how happy Stu is right now. The spontaneity, the fact it'll be just you three, the places you can stop by, the strangers' parties you can crash.

!TW: HOMICIDE, MORAL BANKRUPTCY!

And most of all, the opportunity to kill again. This is something Stu and especially Billy are looking forward to. The opportunity to finally make a sequel to Woodsboro all these years later, a hitchhiker/roadtrip slasher movie. The fact it'll be 1000x harder for it to be traced to them is too good to be passed up.

If you don't participate at all in the Ghostface thing, they don't bring it up too much or talk about their plans in front of you. They know you don't like it and/or feel guilty about knowing, so it's out of sight out of mind. It's also because, even though they love and genuinely trust you, there'll always be a subconscious part of them that fears you knowing too much detail and blabbing to the police. They cant have that.

If you're a Ghostface accomplice or act as support, they'll give you a rundown of their plan. Your role will be to keep lookout, call on the phone, keep track of the victim in case they're able to break away from the two, and be the getaway driver. You're also in charge of patching them up.

If youre a full fledged Ghostface and have as little regard for human life as they do, you get the know-all of the plan. you get into the nitty gritty.

!END OF TW!

So your planning day passes and its finally the day of the trip.

You guys considered renting an RV or even a van, but Billy nixed that idea when he realized renting a vehicle meant putting it in one of your names and could be used as evidence of leaving the state when murders happen, which was a horrible idea given their plan.

So you end up taking the sedan Stu's parents got him for his getting into college. It's big enough for you 3 and had foldable back seats, so you guys could sleep in the back if you wanted to. Also it had a sunroof for stargazing so yeah.

So off you go. The actual trip will be detailed in Part 2!

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

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Cutie Pie | Sweet Pea

Hey Lovelies! Still updating from my Wattpad! Today’s feature: Sweet Pea! On another note; I think I’m going to open my requests for Thanksgiving! What do y’all think? All my love!!

Description: Y/n, Southside sweetheart, thinks Sweet Pea despises her. He really, really, does not.

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Warnings: Hints at smut but not really

Word count: 3k

Tags: Fluff, angst

Toni groans and throws another top on the growing pile of shirts that she has deemed unwearable. You had seen nothing wrong with it, a flowing pink blouse with cream polka dots. To her, however, it was too girly. You had scoffed at that. There's nothing wrong with femininity, she of all people should understand that. Maybe if she had wanted something that screams masculinity she should have raided Sweet Pea's closet instead of yours.

The Serpents seem to think there is something wrong with being girly though, looking down on anyone who dares wear anything pink or flowery and definitely anyone who wears both at the same time. You roll your eyes at that every time. You, a teenage Serpent yourself, are perhaps the most "girly" person to have ever set foot on Southside grounds. You take pride in that, wearing your Serpent jacket over all the ballerina skirts and pretty pink bralettes that your flowery heart desires. Yes, you get glares all the time but the switchblade in the pocket of your cherry blossom backpack just begs them to start something they can't finish.

"Y/n, baby, I love you but your closet is a nightmare! Do you have nothing remotely black? Or skimpy! C'mon, you want to impress Sweet Pea don't you?" Toni's voice is teasing and your cheeks flame in embarrassment and a tinge of anger.

"I would never dress to impress," you make air quotes with your fingers and pretend to gag, hiding the unavoidable lust in your voice before you say his name, "Sweet Pea! He's a jackass who's high on some masculinity crap! I can't do that."

She smirks at you from the mirror she's applying her bright red lipstick in, "you can very much do that and I know you want to. You're telling me that you don't lay awake at night and imagine his hands, his very large hands, doing unspeakable things to you? You may be the cutest little thing we've got on the Southside but you, baby girl, want him bad. Trust me, I know. I'm your best friend."

"Yeah, well, you're wrong and even if I did want, well, all that," you blush at the thought and swallow hard, pushing down at the buzz in the pit of your stomach, "he hates me so it would never happen. Theoretically, of course!"

"Uh huh, sure," is all your pink haired best friend says before turning back to your baby blue, vintage vanity to curl her pink locks.

You cross your arms over you aqua t-shirt, feigning annoyance, "and just what is that supposed to mean, missy?"

"Just that we both know you're turned on from just hearing Sweets' name. And he doesn't hate you, I roll with the guys remember," she catches your wide, doe eyes in the mirror and shakes her head lightly, laughing softly at your blown pupils, "he wants you. Bad."

You scoff again, leaning down to tie up your white tennis shoes, "he does not. He thinks I'm weak; that I'm going to bring down the pack.”

"He feels like he needs to protect you. There is a difference," Toni stands, twirling in front of your mirror to approve her outfit for tonight.

Some of the Serpent teens are gathering at the quarry, much like they do most weekends, to hang out. Today is special, though, because it's the last weekend before summer ends and you're all forced to go back to an educational prison. You're heart races knowing that Sweet Pea will, in fact, be there tonight. He's a jerk, at least he seems like one. Every time you’ve spoken to him it's been to tell him to let you handle your own problems. Granted most of your problems have involved ghoulies trying to make you their lunch because of your cute aura and quiet voice but he's never given you an opportunity to prove yourself. No one has.

Your voice is soft, like usual, but a tad annoyed, "I don't need protection. Why does everyone assume that I do?"

"Because you're so cute we could just eat you up!" Toni leans over to pinch your cheeks and you try not to giggle because that would only prove her point, "also, that isn't what you're wearing, is it?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" You peek around her and scrutinize your outfit.

An aquamarine t-shirt that stops right before a pair of fashionably baggy, cuffed jean shorts. The same pair of pink pearl earrings that you always wear are in your ears and the white tennis shoes you just laced are on your feet. Your worn Serpent jacket hangs proudly off your shoulders, the bright red patches bold against the black leather. The cherry blossom backpack is settled on your bed, ready to be grabbed and filled with your reusable water bottle, rose perfume, matching cherry blossom wallet, and switchblade, of course. All in all, it’s the perfect outfit.

You glance up to see Toni just smiling lightly at you, "Nothing, you're right. It's perfect."

* * * * *

Like usual, you and Toni take her bike to the quarry. You don't have your own bike so you ride behind her, your arms around her waist, her sugary scent blowing at you in full force, and your head thrown back, hollering into the wind. The two of you have been best friends for as long as you can remember. Nobody would have ever seen it coming. You were always playing in princess dresses and she was the pirate storming the tea party in search of cookies that were dubbed gold. You're polar opposites yet she's, perhaps, the only one who really knows how alike you are.

You arrive at the quarry laughing and cheering like maniacs, nothing out of the norm. You swing your legs over the side of her bike, hopping off gracefully and smoothing back your wind blown hair. It's dusk, the sun having just set, and there are mason jar lights sitting on the picnic tables and fairy lights strung through the trees. For such a rowdy gang, there is soft indie music floating through the air; the final touch to, dare you say, a romantic atmosphere. You couldn't be more proud.

A familiar arm is slung over your shoulders, pulling you into a playful side hug.

"Fogarty! I haven't seen you all summer," you swing yourself into a real hug, latching your arms around his neck and squeezing as he pulls you off your toes, "where have you been, Fangsy?"

He chuckles and sets you back on your feet, ruffling your hair and grabbing one of your hands to twirl you around, "hey cupcake, it's good to see you too. I've been here and there, sorry I wasn't around."

You giggle and shake your head, pulling him to sit at the practically full picnic table that Toni claimed. The table cheers when they see you, pulling you in for hugs and playing with your hair. You hear a couple voices tell you that you look cute and others telling you to come sit with them. You slide your backpack off, placing it under the table when you find an empty spot. Before you can take your seat, however, a pair of muscled arms circles your waist, pulling you onto their lap and stealing your seat for themselves.

A leather and pine scent envelopes you as the table breaks out in hooting laughter, "Sweet Pea this is my seat. As in singular. Mine."

All he does is tighten his arms deliciously around your hips, pressing down slightly on your lower stomach and making you very much aware of the intimacy of your position. You look to Toni for help but all she does is wink, turning her head to join one of the many side conversations taking place. You sit in silence for a while, as stiff as a board in Sweet Pea's lap. You aren't uncomfortable so much as nervous. You can't lie, you've been practically in love with Sweets for as long as you can remember but, until now, he has barely shown you any form of affection besides ‘saving’ your sorry butt on numerous occasions.

"Relax, baby," he mumbles into your neck for only you to hear, "it's just me."

You want to yell at him for calling you baby, you really do, but it sounds so perfect coming from his lips and his mouth on your neck is too pleasurable to push away. Instead, going against everything you stand for, you sink into his broad chest, leaning your head under his chin and pulling one of his hands into both of yours.

"Much better," his chest rumbles softly under your back.

"Pea we're supposed to hate each other, remember?" You toy with his fingers, noting their size and remembering your conversation with Toni from earlier today.

She wasn't wrong, thoughts of his hands, among other parts of him, keep you awake at night. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck.

He leans down, skimming his lips over your earlobe while he answers, "Since when? I never got that memo."

His hand moves from your hip to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers dipping in and resting on the skin under your naval. You bite back an unexpected moan at his lips and searing fingertips, leaning further into his chest and shifting your hips backward to fully press yourself against him. You let go of his hand in exchange for digging your fingernails into the picnic table. His hands are hidden, given him all the encouragement he needs to slide his now free hand up your bare thigh, drawing circles with his thumb on the inside of it.

"Sweets," your voice is raw, "what are you doing?"

"Showing you just how much I don't hate you."

His lips inconspicuously move to your neck, claiming the skin under your jaw as his own in the darkness. His hand draws further up your thigh, under the denim of your shorts and stopping at the apex of your thigh.

"Let me show you that I very much do not hate you, baby," he murmurs into your ear, the hand in the waistband of your shorts skimming over your skin in mesmerising patterns.

"Not here," you force the words pass you lips, melting into his touch.

"Then let's go," he practically pleads into your ear and it's all you can do not to wrap your legs around him right here and right now, nodding desperately as he scoops you into his arms and stands up.

You giggle loudly and, for the first time tonight, you're able to see his face. He's smiling down at you, a soft look in his molten chocolate eyes. His stare soon turns heated and he licks his lips, drawing your eyes to his mouth. Your arms tighten around his neck, pulling you flush against his chest. You turn to look at the table in time to see Toni nudge Fangs and point to the two of you, smirking at you when she catches your eye.

"Well guys," Sweet Pea addresses the table as he walks stealthily backwards, "it's been fun but we're going to head out now."

Before anyone can protest you lean up and whisper run in his ear. Before you know it he's sprinting to his motorcycle, the table of hollering Serpents shouting words of advice at your back. One that rings louder in the night is your best friend's voice screaming to "use protection". You blush and bury your head into Sweets' shoulder.

He sets you down on his bike when he reaches it, placing his hands on your hips and staring into your eyes through the darkness. The tension between you is tangible. You can hear every inhale he takes, imagining his bare chest moving over your own. In the blink of an eye you reach up and hook your arms around his neck, pulling his lips to yours. Sparks dance up your spine and his hands find your hips. Fire burns everywhere he touches you.

You break the kiss quickly, "crap Pea, my backpack! I left it under the table!"

His eyes are still closed and he finds you lips once more, pressing another kiss to you lips, "okay baby, wait here, I'll go grab it."

"No, it's okay I ca-"

"Baby, just let me go get it," he stares into your eyes, pleading with you to let him go retrieve your backpack.

"Fine."

You watch him run back towards the others. You don't realise how dark it is until your all alone and the woods around the quarry become more prominent. Every noise you hear sets you on edge. You swear you keep hearing twigs snap but it's only your imagination, right? It has to be. That or Sweet Pea is pulling a prank on you. Maybe you should have just gone to get your bag with him.

You hear another twig snap and tense up. You ball your hands into fists, readying for anything. You can fight, that puts you somewhat at ease. Toni is the only one who knows that, spare a few older Serpent women who aren't in Riverdale anymore, because they had been the ones to rough you up during your gauntlet. Yes you, the softest girl on the Southside, refused to do the dance. There were no rules prohibiting you from the gauntlet so you opted for it instead. Needless to say, you can take a hit.

"You little skank!" A voice sounds from behind you, causing you to whirl around.

In front of you stands a tall redhead with hair to her elbows. Her serpent jacket clings to her slim form, accentuating her curves in a way that makes you jealous. She wears a paint of off brand skinny jeans and a black t-shirt that's a little too tight. Her eyes are bright green and furious, glaring bloody murder at you. You have no clue who she is.

"Uhm, excuse me?" You glance behind you just to make sure she isn't talking to some else.

"You heard me, slut. Who the hell do you think you are? Sitting on my man's lap?"

The ‘slut’ thing doesn't bother you and neither does the ‘who the hell’. She doesn't know you so you refuse to take her meaningless words to heart. However, the part where she claims Sweet Pea has you seeing red.

"Amazing. Everything that you've just said is wrong." You smile innocently at her, curling your hands into fists once more behind your back.

"I'm sorry? What did you just say to me?" She takes a step towards you, her chucks cracking another stick.

"Oh, sorry, let me explain. My name is y/n, not slut,” you counter her step with one of your own, “that's who I am. Oh, and he's not your man. If he is than why is he pulling me onto his lap instead of you?” you scrunch your eyebrows and look her up and down, “Oh, wait, who are you again?"

Your sugary sweet smile turns sinister in the blink of an eye; the same amount of time it takes her to charge at you. The words ‘cat fight’ ring in your ears as you dodge a poorly thrown left hook. You use the opportunity to land a blow to her exposed stomach. She coughs quietly and you step back to give her room, trying to be as kind as you can to someone who's wrongly accusing you of being a harlot. You're caught off guard though when she lunges for you, knocking you to the ground and pinning your legs under her.

Rookie mistake number two. She goes to swing again but before she can you grab her shoulders and roll, ending in a straddled position with her arms secured over her head. You smirk triumphantly down at the red head under you.

You plan to keep her there until Sweet Pea gets back but she decides to, rather stupidly, open her mouth, "I bet this is a familiar position for you, huh?"

It's not red that you see this time but blackness. All you remember is calling her a bitch and the next thing you know your hands are bruised and you're being pulled, legs kicking in protest, off the red head who now has a busted eye and a bloody nose. You're screaming at whoever has you in their grasp to let you go another round with the nameless girl. A mass of teen Serpents surrounds you, cheering loudly for you.

"Baby, as hot as that was, I'm not putting you down," a familiar voice whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You look back at the bloodied girl on the ground. She makes eye contact with you from around Fangs who's trying to help her stand up. You don't know where the reckless idea comes from but, to be fair, you aren't really thinking straight right now. Perhaps that's why you follow through with the plan you have just hastily concocted in your head.

You toss the red head a cute smile and mumble delicately to the tall raven haired boy, "hey, Sweets?"

"Yeah y/n?"

You glance up at him, still in his arms, and pull his lips to yours. You kiss him slowly, drawing it out for as long as you can before you have to breath again. You keep your lips millimetres from his, pressing them against his softly a few more times. When you look back to the ground, the girl is nowhere in sight and the rest of the Serpents have migrated back to the picnic tables. Your cherry blossom back pack is settled at Sweet Pea's feet.

"So," you giggle at his dazed expression, "do you still feel like you need to protect me?"

"Yes," your face falls and you almost push yourself from his arms.

"But, to be fair, I always will. That's just me. You looked amazing fighting though. Absolutely fucking beautiful."

"Okay," you kiss his jaw softly, "I think I can handle that. Now can we please get out of here?"

"Fuck yes!"

#sweet pea riverdale #sweet pea #sweet #pea #riverdale #riverdale imagine #toni topaz #topaz #toni #fangs #fogarty #fangs fogarty #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x y/n #imagine #reader insert

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aclosetfan · 3 years

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17 for the ask game?

(ask game)

Thank you for the ask!!! I really appreciate it 😊

Ugh 17 is so heartwarming/heartbreaking and I'm so glad i get to finally talk about it. 17 isn't a story per se, but rather a concept that I actually include in every canon(ish) compliant story I write, even though I don’t think I’ve ever published the idea fully. It’s about the rrb’s birthday. I know everyone has their own take on how and when they celebrate, but I personally chose to subscribe to the following snippet:

Typically, ordinary people only had one birthday. Brick and his brothers, however, were not ordinary people. So, obviously, they had two birthdays. And they "celebrated" both—one on April 7th with Mojo and one on November 6th with HIM. "Celebrate," of course, was used in the loosest of fashions. But, typically, their "birthdays" were marred with lengthy custody battle shenanigans between Mojo and HIM that he and his brothers had grown tired of years ago.

They didn't care for their birthdays, not one bit. Brick didn't consider him and his brothers as "birthday" people, to begin with, what with all the colorful balloons and creepy birthday clowns. Anyway, they hardly ever got crummy birthday presents, so really, what was the point?

Instead, without their parental guardians around, they celebrated another year around the sun on April 28th, which was always a thousand times more fun than anything Mojo or HIM had ever done for them. It was a day just for the three of them. No schemes, gimmicks, criminal activities, or fighting the stupid PowerPuff Girls—especially no fighting the PowerPuff Girls. It was a special day, and they didn't need the girls mucking it up.

This year, though, he, Butch, and Boomer had all agreed that April 28th would likely be a dud, but still, Brick was determined not to let school of all things put a damper on his—

"Happy death day!" Boomer smiled and presented to him a plate of crispy bacon and fried eggs.

Brick adjusted his hat over his mop of messy long hair. It was the only hat he owned that was, in fact, not red but black. He wasn't wearing a single streak of any other color. Just black for the special occasion.

"Happy death day." He said through a yawn, still semi-pissed he had to get up early on his death day for school. Freaking school! He didn't get why adults were constantly forcing them into school.

Boomer, who was also in his proper mourning attire, turned back to the oven with a happy hum. His brother had on his oversized, patched black sweater, and to make it fancy, he even had a black, sort-of plaid shirt underneath it. Butch would eventually waltz out of his room in something that would probably look pretty similar.

"Hey, maybe we can cut during lunch today," Boomer suggested brightly, "so we can still visit the cemetery. We can say our grandma died or something."

"Who's gonna believe that?" He asked through a mouthful. Everyone in Townsville and their mothers knew exactly who their parents were. No one would ever believe they had a grandma.

Still, he knew what Boomer was trying to do. There were important traditions when it came to celebrating a Death Day. Especially this Death Day. The three of them should have been dead cold in the ground for a decade by now, but here they were, alive, so they saw no reason not to celebrate. Sure, Death Day didn't mark the fact they had turned fifteen, but neither did their actual birthdays since they had popped into existence around the age of five-ish. They didn't care about counting their age. Death Day was about being alive. That's what mattered.

This snippet (that I titled “Death Day”) would be found in a oneshot or even a multi chap fic, tracking the boys celebrating their Death Days throughout the years and how eventually the friends they end up making in the future would celebrate with them. And, yeah, I would include the girls in that group of people, who feel immensely guilty that there is a Death Day in the first place. I don’t see people talk about the fact that the Girls just straight-up murdered other children on this show. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but damn, it’s insane. Anyway, I think it would be fun to track Death Days since it’s a special singular day for the boys that isn’t overrun by their parental guardians.

Also, April 28th is an arbitrary date. Death Day can be any day someone feels like it should be. April 7th is the date of the rrbs first episode on CN and Nov 6th is the day their revival with HIM was premiered on CN. I figured the montage of destruction the boys and Mojo do together in their first episode would span a few weeks, so I just settled on April 28th as the day the girls blow them up lol.

It's interesting, I see a lot of people give the boys separate birthdays and I guess I just think that being a triplet would still be important to them, so they'd want to celebrate together. "Death Day" would be the best choice because it's the one day the reincarnated rrb have with their previous forms. I think that's significant too, especially if you're a person who thinks that HIM's reincarnated versions of the rrb are completely different people when compared to Mojo's boys. Like could you imagine replacing a version of yourself that didn't even have a chance and the only reason you're alive is because they're dead?? Idk heavy stuff man. I think about it way too much. (and it's a concept I'd explore in this Death Day fic)

Anyway, the rrb's death day is important and this is my homage to it!! Sorry not really an outline, but it was important enough to me that I saved it in my files!

#my writing #my outlines #outline ask game #ppg fic outlines #death day fic #actually to make things clear this is probs my most fave h/c i have and I really hope other people enjoy it too #fave h/c about the boys at least

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

| caffeine | [chapter 1]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; some smut, mild degradation. (some art history bs cuz I, in actuality, am a nerd) can I get a yeehaw! we’re finally kickin’ this off~ this is mostly just the lead up with some mild touchin’ but you know how it is~ thank you all for being so patient! can't wait to get the next chapter out 💕

chapters; 1 - x - x - x - x

It’s 10:48am when Mingyu all but begs you to return his art history books on Dadaism back to the campus library. You give him 4 sentences to explain why you should be the one to do it; the tall male whining that he’s already late for his exam on Baroque art.

“Can you not be a bitch for 4 seconds, please? I’m literally begging you and I know for a fact you need to get books on that fuckin’ art and gender course so don’t play me like you’re not heading there anyway!” Mingyu shoves his books into your arms, adjusting the messenger bag on his shoulder.

“I swear after the rager on friday, I’ll take you out to get those mochi donuts on saturday, okay? I gotta go!”

He gives you no time to respond, jetting off to his already-late exam. You roll your eyes, adjusting the books in your arms as you begin the trek to the library. Mingyu was a friend that you’d met in your Intro to Photography class with Minghao, another mutual friend of yours. Both of them were no-doubt handsome and insanely educated when it came to art and art history but both of them were also part of the SVT House; one of the most notorious frat houses on Greek Row. They threw parties every other week, inviting the entire campus to show up if the cops didn’t show up first. Mingyu had invited you to a few in the past but you’d always decline; citing that you rather not be around when the cops showed up. You always wondered how Minghao dealt with being in a frat house knowing he typically hated loud parties and huge crowds of strangers.

When you finally get to the library, you struggle with the door, the damned books making it difficult for you to pull the handle open. A kind soul helps you out, a small ‘thank you’ leaving your lips before you make a beeline for the receptionist desk to return Mingyu’s books. Noticing a different male there than the usual librarian, you quirk a brow.

“Um, hello?” He spares you a glance, closing a few windows on the computer he was working on before he walks over to your side of the table. You take in his features; sharp eyes, silvery blue hair, wire frame glasses, pressed white shirt under an argyle printed sweater vest tucked into beige pressed chinos. He looked like a stereotypical version of what most people would think a librarian looked like but also had the features of a high class model. You were sure you’d seen him around, probably when you’d run into Mingyu or Minghao between classes.

“Yes, can I help you?” Fuck, you think, his voice is hot too. You can feel your body heating up just from his voice alone and you take a second to recover, stuttering as you set the books down on the counter.

“Y-yeah, um, I--uh, just wanted to return these books? That’s all.”

Cursing under your breath for stuttering, you miss the way his lips quirk up into a small smile.

“Sure, let me just scan these in.” You opt to just nod, saving yourself from any further fuck ups with talking as you watch him grab the scanner.

“Hmm, it says Mingyu borrowed these books. Can I ask why you’re returning these and not himself?”

“O-oh, we’re friends. He was late to his art exam and I needed to do some work here so… figured I’d just return them for him since he’s already suffering.” He laughs, sliding the books off the counter and placing them on the return cart for later.

“I don’t see why he didn’t just give them to me this morning but I guess the beer pong from last night must’ve been the reason for him being late.” You sigh, “I knew there’d be a stupid reason he’d be late for his exam. Anyway, thanks for helping me…?” You leave the question open ended, wanting to get his name before you disappeared to one of the empty study rooms. He smiles at you again, dusting off his hands on his neatly pressed pants.

“Hi, my name’s Wonwoo. I volunteer here at the campus library every day from 10am to about 2pm. If you need anything, just let me know!” He shakes your hand, eyes twinkling as he gives you a quick up and down from behind the receptionist desk. You give him your name; watching him as he whispers it under his breath, lips tilting up into a warm and inviting smile.

“It’s nice to meet you. I hope we’ll get along well.”

You hate the way the image of Wonwoo smiling at you is embedding into your eyelids while you try to work; the stupid essay sitting in front of you still blank even when you get up to look for materials on the course an hour and a half later. Checking the kiosk to find out where the said art and gender books were, you make your way through the bookshelves, not finding any of the books you were looking for. You contemplate for a second, wondering if you really want to go visit Wonwoo at the receptionist desk. Fuck it, you think, I’ll get my books and I swear I’ll finish this damn essay before I leave, it’s not just eye candy.

“Hey, Wonwoo?” He turns away from the return cart, adjusting his glasses as he walks over to you at the counter. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“Um, I… it said the art and gender books were on the shelves but they weren’t, uh, there? Can you… check for me please?” He nods, sitting down at the computer while you recite the necessary info to him. Wonwoo jots down a few notes on a notepad, getting up and gesturing for you to follow him as he tears the sheet off.

“Sorry, I’m new here so we might get lost but I think they might’ve accidentally been shelved in the wrong section of the library.” He threads through different bookshelves, taking you deeper and deeper into the library until there’s hardly anyone around.

When he finally stops, you’re in a section of the library you don’t recognize, the emptiness mildly eerie as Wonwoo searches for the said books.

“Wanna give me a little snippet of what these books are about while we’re here?” He didn’t strike you as a small talk kind of person but you shrug behind him; you were already there, might as well.

“Um, it’s just, kind of how different genders consume and interpret the human form in art. Lots of it is old and outdated but it’s for an art course I’m taking right now. Y’kno, things like the ‘male gaze’ and stuff. I’m sure it’d bore you to death.” Wonwoo hums in acknowledgement, turning to face you as he slowly backs you up against the bookshelf. It takes you off guard as you hold your breath, eyes boring into the argyle print on his sweater vest.

“Interesting course you’re taking. I don’t think it’d bore me though, I’m quite enamoured with the female form.” You’re convinced if you breathed wrong, he’d feel it with how close he was. But he whispers a small ‘ah-hah’, his hand resting on the shelf next to your head as he pulls out a singular book. Wonwoo steps back, placing the book in your trembling hands.

“That’s one book, 3 more to find.”

He continues like that, his body in close proximity to yours the entire time you stand there, unsure of what to do. Wonwoo finds two more of your books, setting them on an empty shelf nearby as he checks his note for the last one. You mentally curse yourself for wearing a sundress to the library because you can feel the back of his hand grazing your thigh when he kneels on the floor next to you, hand placed on the shelf and eyes scanning for the damned book you don’t even care about anymore.

“Hmm, I can’t seem to find this last one. Weird. Maybe someone checked it out already and it got misscanned.”

“Oh, um, that’s fine, this should be g-good. I can check the shelf myself or something!”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind helping you out back here. I wouldn’t want you to do it alone, you know. Joshua should have already come in for his shift already anyway.” Wonwoo stands back up, his face close to your body as he towers above you. “Don’t you want my help? I don’t really offer it very often.” The suggestive tone in his voice has you clenching around nothing, already embarrassingly wet. You hope to a higher power that he can’t tell but something inside of you already knows that he’s aware of his affect on you.

“O-okay, please… please help me.”

You swear you’ll finish your essay.

Right after Wonwoo finishes getting you off.

He touches you underneath your dress, fingers pressed firmly against the wet patch on your panties as you bite your lip to keep in your moans.

“You’ve only met me today and you’re already this wet for me? You’re such an easy little thing. Do you get this turned on just for anyone or am I doing that much damage to you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Wonwoo waits patiently; wanting to hear your reply anyway. Under any other circumstances, you’d probably punch a guy that called you easy, but for some reason the way Wonwoo says it has you getting even wetter.

“I, mmh, don’t normally… d-do this I swear.” He has you pressed against the bookshelf, a leg slotted in between yours as he braces his other hand next to your head. Wonwoo’s thumb presses hard against your clit, the fabric of your panties adding extra friction as you grind down onto his hand. “Oh? So I am just that special, huh? Lucky me, I’ve got such a cute girl cumming in the palm of my hand.” He chuckles at his own joke, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose ever so slightly.

Your hands dig into the fabric of his sweater vest, wanting nothing more than to just cum so you can go back to working on your essay and simultaneously dying of embarrassment that you got that turned on from a guy you’d just met a couple hours ago and he made you cum in some back part of the library.

“Wonwoo, can you… touch me harder, I’m really close...” You whisper. He hums, his fingertips grazing the hem of your panties.

“Harder? Or would you want my fingers instead? I wonder how many of them you could take before you’re begging me to just fuck you?” The juxtaposition of his words and his gentle touch is enough to send you over the edge, biting your lip to keep in any sounds that threaten to escape. He lets you ride out your orgasm before his hand is slipping from underneath your dress and he’s pulling away. Your dress slides back down into place, not a hair on your head looking disheveled other than the fact your face is redder than a tomato.

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses, hands immediately smoothing down any wrinkles on his clothes after.

“My shift is almost up here and I need to get to my archeology class afterwards but if you’re ever curious about the male form, I’m a willing subject.”

#fratboy!wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo

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ashestoashesjc · 4 years

Text

A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend On A Couple's Retreat

Short Story 1/2/(3)/4/5/6/7/8/9/10

"RrRRrrrr... grrr? <Hey, uh, babe... seen my arm anywhere?>" rang Sett's voice throughout their cigar box of a house as he rummaged through closets, opened cabinets, overturned couch cushions.

Shutting and latching the front door behind him, Ulrick began flipping through the stack of envelopes clutched in his right hand. "Huh? Oh…”

“Okay, so… don’t get mad,” Ulrick began, as meekly and guilt-tinged as one can make a shout. “But... there was this huge, I mean HUGE silverfish…”

“GRrrr! Rrrrr. <Dude! Not cool,>” could be heard as Sett stomped his way to the foyer.

“I know! I’m sorry! I’m weak!” moaned Ulrick.

Sett sighed as he entered the cove and laid his single remaining hand on Ulrick’s left shoulder, the other sleeve draped flaccidly at his side. “Grrrr. <Well, yeah.>” he said. Ulrick snickered.

“You know, having your boyfriend kill a bug for you is exceedingly normal,” Ulrick said, separating the bills from the letters that weren’t bills. There were very few that weren’t bills. “Almost conventional.”

“Rrr. <True,>” Sett replied. “Rggrrrr. <Probably while the arm’s still attached, though.>”

“A mere quibble.”

“Rrrrgrrr? <So, where is it now?>” Sett asked.

“Ugh. Still getting cozy with the silverfish, I’d imagine,” Ulrick admitted, guilt creeping back into his voice. He covered his eyes with his free hand and shuddered. “In… the shower.”

Sett sucked air through his teeth in a compassion-filled cringe.

“Yeah,” Ulrick sighed, resigned to his trauma.

“Grrrr. <Don’t worry,>” said Sett. “Rraarr. <I got it.>”

Ulrick slid his hand down his face with a grateful groan. “God, I love you.” Sett pulled him forward by his collar and pecked his forehead.

Continuing to sort through the mail, Ulrick came to a red envelope and, seeing it addressed to Sett, handed it over. “Looks important.”

Confusion clouded Sett’s eyes for the first few, slow moments spent undoing the envelope’s seal flap, until suddenly, a surge of realization like lightning drove him to violently tear the crimson paper away.

As he scanned the contents of the letter contained within, words failing to do his emotional state justice, Sett began to fist pump wildly, God help anyone in the flight path of his singular elbow. Ulrick looked on in entranced bewilderment.

“Was there itching powder in that envelope?” asked Ulrick.

Sett shoved the creased letter in Ulrick’s face, his manic energy not yet dissipated. Ulrick took it and held it out at arm’s length until his eyes brought the words into focus.

“A couple’s retreat?” he wondered aloud, lowering the paper enough to peer over the top at Sett.

“Grrgrrrr. <An all-expenses paid couple’s retreat.> Rrrrrr. <At a swanky resort.> GrrrrRr. <Complete with water skis.>”

“This is from a contest?” he asked, rotating and inspecting the sheet. “When did we enter a contest?”

“Rrggrrrr? <You know those entry slips we’re getting in the post all the time?>”

“The ones I’m always throwing away? I’m familiar.”

“RrrRrrrrr ggrrrr. <Well, your aim could use some work, because some of them wind up in the mailbox,>” said Sett, with a shrug.

The sound that next filled the room, colored with exasperated mirth, was one Sett was used to Ulrick making, though one that never stopped bringing a flush of heat to the place where his heart used to be.

He grabbed Ulrick by the hips and the two began to sway back and forth. “Rrrrrr. <Just imagine it,>” he purred dreamily. “GrrrRRrrrr rrrrRrrr grrr...arrrr? <Massages, rock-climbing, a luau. And… did I mention waterskiing?>”

Swaying still, Ulrick looked up with his head cocked. "I've... never heard you mention waterskiing before."

"GrrRrrrrrr. <I enjoy a lot of things I don't talk about.> Rgrrrrgrrr. <Like country music, or bad chick lit,>" Sett said before twirling and dipping Ulrick in a blur. "Rraarrrr. <I'm a multi-layered zombie.>"

Breaking clumsily away from the songless dance and squeezing the bridge of his nose, Ulrick set down the remainder of the mail on the side table by the entrance and looked his boyfriend over. “It’s totally free?”

“Grrarrr. <It’s totally free,>” confirmed Sett.

Ulrick raised an eyebrow. “No catch?”

“Rrr… <Well…>”

“And streeetch! That’s right! Streeetch!”

At the front of Meadow Grove Resort’s famed yoga studio balanced - one foot planted on the ground, the other hooked deftly behind her neck - Chrysanthemum Smith, a remarkably limber 60-year-old instructor, urging her out-of-shape contest winning students to achieve the same feats of flexibility.

All around Ulrick and Sett, a pretzel factory’s soon-to-be-discarded collection of heinous, gnarly undesirables had been given life in the form of sweaty middle Americans.

That pretzels went through a less agonizing process being baked at 500 degrees was a fact Ulrick was both confident in and envious of. His legs were angled in a way he was sure he’d feel for weeks to come.

Sett, on the other hand, had apparently been a contortionist in a past life, the way he bent himself into poses, well, a pretzel would gawk at, holding each position stoically before moving gracefully on to the next. It also helped that he couldn’t feel what would leave most tendons shredded rags.

Ulrick gave up the pursuit of dislocating his pelvis and instead went to poke Sett in the cheek. Through his mask, Sett made a chomping motion at the finger, though remained otherwise totally still. "Okay, but this kind of bites, right?" Ulrick signed.

"A little. And not in the fun way," Sett signed back.

On a pair of blue, rubber mats to their left were two women - one in a biker's jacket and tattered, patched jeans, short red hair tied into a haphazard ponytail; the other a dark woman donning a shaved head, flower-patterned maxi dress, and combat boots - the former of whom suddenly grabbed Ulrick's attention with a nod.

"You're telling me," she signed.

And in an instant, they were no longer alone in the hazy, secluded sphere that made their reality.

So taken aback was he that he blurted aloud, "You sign?"

The yoga instructor shushed him from her place at the head of the wide room, leading him to duck down sheepishly. With the forced inclusion of an overly casual air, he said more than asked, "You sign."

"Oh, yeah," the woman chuckled gruffly. "Mom's Deaf."

Taking a sudden interest in the conversation, Sett's head swiveled to the leather jacket-clad woman. "Shit yeah!" he signed with fervor, eliciting a harsh snort from the woman. The instructor's head whipped around to glare her way, but went ignored.

Sett's hands jumbled for a moment before he continued. "I mean, I'm sure that must have been very difficult for your family and--"

She gave a dismissive wave of the hand. "Nah, don't worry about it. She's capital 'D' Deaf. A congenital thing. Whole family's been signing forever."

Her wife - Jen, they later learned - chimed in with, "Di does it at home, too. She's taught me half the lyrics to Boys for Pele."

"Wow!" Ulrick said with teeth-clenching enthusiasm. "That's so great! Isn't that so great, Sett?"

The mask did nothing to conceal Sett's raised, beaming features. "That's so great!" he signed.

"I'm sorry!" bellowed the lithe yogi, shattering all delusions of serenity. "Am I boring you?"

Several overlapping voices came to the general consensus of "Christ, yes."

One of the husbands, portly and somewhat resembling the famously affable capybara, asked, somewhat less affably, why they were being stretched into taffy when they should be outside taking one-on-one lessons with the beach volleyball instructor. He was joined by a few surly “yeah!”s.

They were met with an unimpressed crossing of the arms. Though it should be noted Smith’s foot was still being held comfortably behind her head.

"I would suggest, in the future, that you more closely scrutinize contest entries," Yogi Smith advised in as calm a manner as it seemed she could now manage, though with an unmistakable edge to her voice. "In order to partake in our facility’s more... physically involved activities, you’ll first need to align and cleanse your mental, emotional, and spiritual energies.”

This provoked a studio-wide groan, with the exclusion of Jen, who seemed just eager enough to cancel out the cloud of grim impatience encircling her.

“Unless, of course,” Smith said, shifting poses to something favoring the letter ‘G’, “you’d prefer to construct your own schedules. In which case, a full price admission to Meadow Grove Resort remains available.”

She sleekly extended her right leg, pointing its foot pin-straight toward the sliding studio doors. “Don’t, as the masters of yore were wont to say, let the door hit ya.”

When no one moved and the room went quiet enough to hear an acupuncture needle drop, Smith resumed a standing position and bowed three times to each division of the studio. “Namaste. Namaste. Namaste.”

Chrysanthemum Smith had in no way undersold how ‘aligned and cleansed’ couple’s therapy and its airings of dirty laundry and subsequent ferocious dissolutions of decades of marriage; couple’s pottery, the same thing but with clay vases; and couple’s finger-painting, a bonding exercise in shared humiliation, would make their minds, emotions, and souls through sheer gut-rending hilarity.

Ulrick almost didn’t want to stop watching people who, hours ago, seemed all confidence and bravado, now being brought to tears by an instructor’s criticism of their macaroni art lacking ‘depth.’

But their confinement was over and they were free to roam the grounds as they saw fit and Sett, without even feigning to look for a map of the resort, made a beeline for the largest body of water (and the largest gathering of humans) he could sniff. Ulrick was still surprised at times by how agile Sett could be on his feet when on the hunt for blood - or recreational watersports - and struggled to keep up.

Their long-awaited waterskiing adventure began almost as soon as they arrived at the lakeside, the instructor needing a volunteer at that instant to man the skis while he lectured another guest on the controls of the boat. At nearly a head taller than anyone else present, Sett didn’t need much more than a raised hand to stand out.

Things were going great; Sett mounted on skis as long as he was tall, the boat revving greedily for take off. At Sett’s thumbs up, the runabout hammered off in a thunderous roar. And then, all at once, things were going wrong.

The envisioned majesty of skimming the motionless calm of the crystal river was halted abruptly with a leaden Sett stumbling mid-lake in his skis, trying and failing to correct himself, going feet-over-head, and sinking like an anchor to the agitated silt of the riverbed below.

Ulrick, though he jumped with concern at the first hint of a misstep, expected a brief swim back, perhaps slowed a bit - but not much - by Sett's stoney limbs. He’d been the star diver of his local swimming hole as a teen and still maintained some of the underwater dexterity, though nowadays tended to lurk the floors of bodies of water like a carnivorous bottom-feeder; eating habits included.

But then a few minutes passed, and nothing. A lifeguard and two of the more experienced swimmers among the guests plunged into the river and searched for fifteen minutes, cracking the surface now and again for a gulp of air, all to no avail. The water was too cloudy with sediment to see past a certain depth, and the orange-purples of dusk were beginning to settle in. They'd need to return in the morning with a diving team.

It'd now been forty-five minutes, and three of the resort’s other guests were consoling Ulrick, one herself on the verge of waterworks. They'd just witnessed a man - someone's significant other - torn tragically from life's teat, and in front of the man he loved, no less.

Ulrick, for his part, was positively miffed.

"When I get my hands on him..." Ulrick started, before one of the grievers tossed him a teary-eyed questioning look. "Er, that is... would that I could only put my hands on him... again..." he corrected.

Just as Ulrick had begun mentally reviewing the basics of the Arts of Throttling, a movement, barely noticeable, shook the surface of the lake. Then bubbles, then the full break of the water as a head rose into view. Then the screams of onlookers as, in the fading light, a ghastly lake monster began its murderous approach. Then screams of a different kind as people began to make the connection proper. Then there was weeping, fainting, more than one declaration of faith renewed. It was a miracle!

Later, after insistences for medical attention were politely but firmly refused and the religious stragglers begging for just a smell of Sett’s waterlogged clothes were shooed away, Ulrick asked why he waited so long to resurface, to which Sett said, "GrrrrRRrr. <Well, at first I was just sort of embarrassed.> RrrrrrrGrrrRrrr? <Then I thought, "How often do these people see miracles?>"

"Oh, sure," groaned Ulrick. "A man comes out of a lake after half an hour and it's a miracle. A man comes out of a grave after a few months and it's "Grab the torches and pitchforks, everyone!""

"Rrrr. <Babe.>"

Ulrick gave a pouty grumble. "I'm just saying. One's a little more miraculous, is all."

Sett pulled Ulrick's head into his chest and stroked his hair. "GrrrRrrrRrrr. <Shh, I know, dude, I know.>" His heavy, soaked clothes and lack of body heat didn't chill Ulrick as much as they should have, and though a fine coating of sand covering him from head to toe gritted against Ulrick's cheek, it only made Ulrick rub his face in rebelliously.

"Okay," Ulrick said, resting his fists on Sett's chest and gazing up into his eyes. "What's the next activity? I think we’re... due-au for a luau?" The moment the words left his lips, his face collapsed into disgusted regret.

“Rgrrr... <Actually…>” Sett said, wrenching off his mask and shaking the excess water from his hair, teasing a blush out of Ulrick. “GgrrrRrrrr? <Doesn’t watching the stars by the lake sound pretty relaxing?>”

Ulrick grinned and took a seat on the shoreline, running his hands through the tufts of ryegrass stretching out in waves around him. He tapped a spot to his right and Sett, half-cocked smile in tow, came lumbering over to take it.

Hours flurried past, changing nothing about the image of the intimately silent pair but the number of stark white pinpricks in the sky they beheld.

They threatened to sit silently basking in each other forever.

And then Sett said, “GRrrrrgrrr, rrgrrr, graargrr. <So, Diane and Jen gave me their number, and they want to plan an outing.>”

Unease shot through Ulrick’s veins, but he held his tongue in search of the correct words. “O-oh?”

“Grrr? Rrgrrrrr. <Isn’t that cool? People want to spend time with us,>” said Sett, ensorcelled with the twinkle of every new star. “Rrrrr. <With me.>”

“That might be…” began Ulrick, before noticing the glimmer in Sett’s eyes and faint lift at the corners of his mouth as he stared up towards a great unknown. He sighed. “It’s going to be great.”

Sett rested his hand on Ulrick’s, their fingers interlocking. He smiled, and the two gazed into an ever-darkening firmament, speckled with a thousand stars and a thousand futures.

#A Necromancer & His Zombie Boyfriend #short stories #supernatural #mlm #wlw #queer #series #A Necromance #original #fiction

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downondilaudid · 4 years

Text

Sixth Street

Spencer takes his daughter for a walk, but she quickly goes missing.

Requested: @angryknightstatesmantrash

Prompts: People don’t just run away. & Where did Y/N go?

Word count: 2.9K

Warnings: none

“I mean, when the world comes for your children, with the knives out, it's your job to stand in the way.”

― Joe Hill

Today is what you considered, the perfect day, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and everyone seemed to be smiling. It was the perfect day for a walk on sixth street, one of your favorite places, in which you loved to beg your father to take you. It had been a street your mother loved to drag Spencer down, ogling at all the sights, and the first time he took you there you fell in love. There were so many things to see, sixth street was filled with street vendors, performers, and restaurants.

Spencer had always been extremely cautious when it came to you, especially with the job he worked, it often left him paranoid that one day he would walk through the door and you would be gone. This is why he held a strong grip on your hand as you walked down sixth street, a bright smile on your face at the sight of a man juggling a few baseballs.

“Dad, look!” You cried one of your arms outstretched, pointing at the man across the street.

“Wow! Did you know only 21% of people can juggle? Juggling improves your hand-eye coordination, reflexes, and peripheral vision. It’s also said that juggling can affect the size of the brain, studies have actually shown juggling increasing the size of the brain's grey and white matter. There are actually lots of different genres of juggling, such as mouth juggling, hoop rolling-”

He was cut off by a loud gasp, “Dad! Dad, ice cream!” He looked to see where you were now pointing, there stood a small pastel pink cart, with a smiling vendor, scooping up some chocolate ice cream, and plopping it onto a cone.

“Can we get some, please?” You turned back to him, your face in a slight pout.

Usually, he was very careful of how much sugar you ingested, but it was just so hard for him to say no to you when you did that face.

“C’mon, Spence!” JJ encouraged him. She was like your mother-figure, always helping you and talking to you about girl things. Spencer loved having her around, and you were good friends with Henry and Michael, so it worked out. She helped a lot ever since your mother passed, you were young but old enough to understand she wasn’t coming back.

“Alright, alright, just this once.” Spencer gave in, how could he say no? You were his world.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You wrapped your small arms around his legs, smiling up at him.

He laughed, bringing a hand up to ruffle your hair “anything for you, sweetheart.”

You giggled happily, pulling his long frame over to the ice cream stand, JJ trailing behind, a sweet smile on her face.

JJ loved being a part of your life, you shared qualities of both Spencer and your mother. You were no doubt extremely intelligent for your young age, but you also had an amazing sense of creativity and enjoyed the fine arts. Something your mother had been extremely passionate about. You weren’t quite tall like Spencer, but maybe you hadn’t hit your growth spurt yet. Your hair fell in deep brown curls, slightly darker than Spencer's, and you shared the same hazel eyes. Your face was adorned with the same sun-kissed freckles as your mothers was, a feature of your mother’s Spencer used to worship. Even though your mother was gone, her memory still lived on in you. Spencer made sure you knew that, always taking you to your mother’s favorite places, telling you stories about her, and you even managed to rope him into painting with you once.

The vendor smiled as she saw you and Spencer approaching, “Hiya! What can I get you two?”

You beamed up at her brightly, standing on your toes to scan the flavors. You hummed in thought, there were so many flavors. You stood flat on your feet once more, a look of determination in your eyes, “chocolate, you can’t go wrong with chocolate, it’s a classic.”

Both Spencer and the vendor laughed at your statement, the lady smiled at Spencer as she scooped your ice cream, “seems like you got yourself a handful.” She commented cheerily.

Spencer laughed, one of his hands reaching to pull out his wallet, “yeah, but it’s a lot easier when you have help.”

The vendor laughed lightly, handing you the cup of chocolate ice cream, equipped with a pastel pink spoon. “Is that the missus?” She questioned, her head nodding towards JJ, who was now standing off to the side of Spencer.

“O-oh, no, Spencer and I are just friends!” JJ clarified, her eyes darting between Spencer and the vendor, she knew where this conversation was heading, and if she knew, Spencer definitely knew.

The vendor laughed nervously, “oh my bad! I just assumed-I need to work on that.” She took Spencer’s money from his hand, turning slightly to count out his change.

“No, it’s fine. She’s, uh, been a really big help since my wife passed away.”

The vendor gasped, one of her hands coming up to cover her mouth in shock, “Oh, I’m so sorry! I had no clue! I have this horrible problem of impending into people's lives, and rambling, and my boss says I need to work on it. She’s not wrong, it gets really bad sometimes, like now, I have no clue what I’m saying-”

“It’s alright miss, you had no idea, it’s fine, really.” Spencer stated, his face covered in an awkward blush. Meanwhile you had devolved into a fit of giggles at the sight of the frazzled woman, your ice cream already half empty. But as quick as the giggles had come, they were gone, replaced by the somber reminiscence of your mother.

She hurriedly handed Spencer his change, “Once again, I’m so sorry, I hope you guys enjoy your day.”

Spencer nodded his head, grabbing your hand, and looking back to check that JJ was still with you, before you continued your walk down sixth street.

Despite the bright sun, and beautiful view, the mood had been slightly ruined. You were all uncharacteristically quiet, no mothering comment from JJ, no fun fact from Spencer, and no excited squeals at the street vendors from you.

You all knew it wasn’t the lady’s intention, she couldn’t have known. Your mother wasn’t necessarily a sensitive topic, but today, walking down sixth street, she was.

“Dad” you broke the silence, a pensive look on your face.

Spencer turned his head to you, his brows furrowed, “yes, baby?”

“Do you-do you miss mom?” You questioned.

Spencer halted, grabbing you gently by your shoulders to stop you, he crouched down slightly so he was eye-level with you, “of course, sweetheart, I loved your mother very much.”

You cringed lightly at his use of past tense, “okay” you sighed.

“Hey, you know I loved your mother, and you know I love you, right?” Spencer asked, a gentle tone in his voice.

“Mhm” you hummed quietly.

Spencer sighed lightly, looking at JJ over his shoulder, who just shrugged her shoulders lightly. She stepped forward, laying a hand on Spencer’s shoulder “I’m going to go to the bathroom, there’s not another one until we get to the park.”

Spencer nodded his head, turning his focus back to you he noticed your empty cup of ice cream. “Here, sweetheart, let’s throw that away.” He said taking the cup from your small hand.

You nodded your head, moving to sit on a nearby bench. From across the street you could see a small patch of wildflowers blowing in the breeze. They looked so picturesque, like they were ready to be photographed by a magazine, you couldn’t help but think how much JJ would enjoy them.

“I’m going to throw this away, I’ll be right back, okay?” Spencer asked.

You nodded your head once more, too focused on the flowers to respond. You had a tendency to get distracted, a trait you inherited from your mother. The trash can wasn’t far, but you thought you could go get the flowers in the time it took him to walk to the trash and back.

You hopped off the bench, a new pep in your step. You crossed the crosswalk, a few steps behind an elderly woman who got there before you, pushing the button to cross the street. The flowers weren’t far, and you could practically smell them. You rushed over to them, crouching down to get a better look at them. They were gorgeous, beautiful hues of yellow and pink, and a singular blue one that would compliment JJ’s eyes perfectly. You snatched them from the earth, bringing them up to your face to breathe in their fresh scent. You stood up, getting ready to head back across the street, but, unfortunately, the light turned green, and the cars resumed their motion. You tried your hardest to look in between them, to search for Spencer, you even tried waving, as if he could see you.

Spencer had arrived back from the trash can, he wasn’t even gone for a minute, okay that was a lie, it was a minute and three seconds, but still. His heart dropped, you were nowhere to be seen, his head whipped every which way, “Y/N? Y/N?”

A million statistics ran through his head, they usually calmed him, but frankly, they were doing the opposite. Had you wandered off, had you gotten hurt, or worse, had someone taken you?

JJ ran over at the sight of a panicked Spencer, “Spence what’s wrong, where did Y/N go?”

Spencer ran a hand through his long hair, “I-I don’t know. I was only gone for a minute, and when I came back she was gone!”

“Oh God” JJ gasped.

“There are approximately 1,435 reported kidnapping cases a year, and of those 205 are non-family abductions, the percentages are low, but she could've-JJ, I was only gone for a minute.” Spencer stuttered.

“Spencer, hey, it’s okay, Y/N is a smart girl. Yes, she’s a little spacey, but she probably just wandered off. We’ll find her.” JJ reassured, her usual bright smile now back on her face.

“I don’t know JJ, people don’t just run away.”

“Spencer, that’s the thing, Y/N isn’t a fully developed person, she’s still learning and growing, despite how intelligent she may be. She knows what to do Spence, know where would she go? The first thing she would do is try and find someone in law enforcement, where would that be?”

You had originally walked to the park to hopefully spot a police officer, but so far you hadn’t found anyone. Your father always told you, if you ever got separated, to find a trusted employee or law enforcer and tell them your name, where you live, where you were, who you were with etc. and they would be able to help you find him. And that’s what you had planned to do.

But now, standing at the park, a bouquet of wildflowers in your hand, and no one in sight, you were starting to lose hope. You knew you couldn’t let your emotions get the best of you, it wouldn’t be any use if you found a trusted adult and were a blubbering mess.

You tried to gauge who the best possible candidate was, if you couldn’t find a police officer, then who? The joggers wouldn’t stop, and the parents with their children were too caught up in their own bliss, but there was one lady. It was the woman you had seen earlier while crossing the street, perched on a bench by a small pond, a bag of bread beside her. How beautifully peculiar.

You walked up to her, watching as she broke off a piece of bread, tossing it into the water. Your gaze followed the bread curiously, all your questions answered as you watched a brown duck swim swiftly over to the bread, scooping it up in its beak.

“The ducks just love it when I bring them bread.” She stated.

You laughed lightly, almost forgetting what had brought you to this woman, “M-my name’s Y/N Reid, I lost my father and my aunt. I crossed the street for a moment to pick up these wildflowers.” You raised the flowers, watching as they swayed with the breeze. “Then when I tried to go back, the light turned green, and I couldn’t get over due to the cars. I looked for a police officer, but I couldn’t find one. You seem to be the only trustworthy person around here.”

The woman’s face broke into a wrinkly smile “nice to meet you, Y/N, not in great circumstances though. Do you want to wait with me to see if your father comes to look for you?”

You nodded your head, hopping up onto the bench with her, “did you know in Asian culture ducks are seen as a symbol of good fortune? Mandarin ducks are often given as marriage talismans as they symbolize faithfulness to your spouse, and love shared between each other. My dad told me that once.”

Spencer’s first idea was to look for you at the park, JJ was right, you knew what to do. The walk to the park was filled with haste, and JJ struggled to keep up with his long legs. “Spencer, we’re going to find her, and we’re not going to stop looking until we do.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Spencer muttered, his mind in overdrive.

The park was filled with serenity, from children playing, and birds chirping. Spencer’s eyes scanned the park wildly, searching for you. “Son of a bitch” he cursed, you were nowhere to be found.

“Spencer, look!” JJ said, pointing towards a woman sitting on a bench, with a little girl who looked quite a lot like you.

Spencer gasped, “Y/N! Y/N!” He ran over to the bench, JJ close behind him. He almost ran past it, but was quick enough to grab onto the back of the bench to halt himself.

The woman and the girl turned, and just by the way the girl turned her head he could tell it wasn’t you. “Goddam-”

“Dad?!” A voice shouted from behind him, and he turned around so fast you thought he would get whiplash. There you stood, hand in hand with a smiling woman, the other hand clutching onto a vase of flowers.

Spencer ran to you, scooping you up into his arms, splashing some of the water in the vase onto both of you. He sighed into your hair, “you worried me so much, Y/N.” He set you down on the ground gently, his eyes scanning you once again to make sure you were unharmed. He doubted the woman would do any harm, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

“I’m sorry dad. I saw these flowers across the street.” You held up the vase of flowers, “and I thought that Aunt JJ would love them. I thought I could make it back in time, but I didn’t. I remembered what you said, though, I came to the park looking for a police officer. I couldn’t find one, but I did find Mrs. Johnson-oh, dad, meet Mrs. Johnson.” You looked over your shoulder, your small hand gesturing towards the old woman. “She waited with me till you got here. She lives over there, in that pretty house.” You paused once again, turning to point towards a small blue house, with a little white picket fence. “She even gave me this vase to put my flowers in.” You held up the now half empty vase.

“Nice to meet you.” Spencer said, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“You daughter’s very smart for her age, and very sweet too.” Mrs. Johnson complimented.

You walked towards JJ while Spencer and Mrs. Johnson chatted, you could vaguely hear him thanking her, relief still flooding his voice.

“Aunt Jaje, I thought you would like these. The blue flower will really bring out your eyes. Only 8% of the world's population has blue eyes, that makes you special.” You held out the vase to her.

JJ held back tears in her eyes, half from relief, half from how thoughtful you were. “T-thank you.” She said, taking the vase from your hands, bringing it to her nose to breathe in the flower’s scent. “They’re beautiful.”

You grinned up at her, turning your head when a large hand was placed on your shoulder. Spencer crouched down so he was eye-level with you, “I understand that you wanted to get those flowers for JJ, but, please, ask me next time. You really had us worried, I don’t know what I would do if something had happened to you.” Spencer said gently.

“Of course, daddy.” You replied, reaching up slightly to wrap your little arms around his shoulders in a hug.

He wrapped his arms around you, once he had a good grip on you, he stood, adjusting you on his hip slightly. “I think we’re gonna take a break from sixth street for a while.”

“Awe, but I love it.” You said somberly.

“Well, I don’t really love when you go M.I.A '' one of his hands reached up, his long slender finger booping you on the nose.

You giggled as Spencer began to walk away from the park, JJ at his side. You turned to look over his shoulder, “bye, Mrs.Johnson!” you waved at the lady.

She laughed, waving back at you, before muttering to herself, “that girls in good hands.”

#spencer reid #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminalminds #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler

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amydancepants-peralta · 3 years

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Okay hi! Don’t mind me just jumping back onto my AU wagon with a Bodyguard!Jake fic inspired by The West Wing that absolutely nobody asked for but I couldn’t help but write ... 😎🚨 anyway it’s called let down your guard and you can find it on under the cut or on ao3!

let down your guard

chapter one: there’s so much that you just don’t see

There are a collection of nuclei in the temporal lobe of the brain known as the amygdala, that are best known for their role in sparking the fight or flight reaction in most people when met with emotions like fear. Amy had read about it once, in a medical journal that she’d found at Rosa’s house (it’s presence on her coffee table, to this day, remains unexplained). According to the article; once the amygdala sparks, your brain’s ability to retain memory increases, and in hindsight can make a patch of time feel as though it has stretched on forever.

As she stands in the world’s slowest elevator at Medstar Washington Hospital this evening, with her heart smashing against her ribcage and her toes tapping against the faded linoleum floor; Amy is certain that her amygdala has kicked into overdrive.

Panicking, her frantic mind keeps bouncing around between the urges to run like hell and stay until the bitter end, and it definitely isn’t like Amy because she’s never run away from a fight, but maybe there’s a part of her that already knows that what could happen next has the potential to change everything.

Her eyes remain glued to the squares inset along the top of the car, their white laminate long since turned a faded yellow; the number eleven scratched out almost to the point of non-existence. She counts, a slow progression in her head that tries it’s very best at blocking out the thoughts racing around - the thoughts that keep telling her that she might have just lost the greatest thing to happen to her before it could ever really happen - and she can’t bear to look at her watch right now, but she’s positive that three minutes pass before the dim light behind the number four decides to amble it’s way towards five.

“Shots were fired in a store on 14th Street,” was the message she’d received, a mere half an hour ago (also, approximately the time she’d gotten on this damn elevator). Boyle’s pale face, and a choked out number. “Room 9554.” The rest is muddled - she knows she started running; remembers hearing Terry call out to her departing figure, and she’s pretty sure her purse is somewhere back at the theatre lobby - but there was a force stronger than anything she can label that was pulling her to the hospital, and in that moment Amy had absolutely no intention of stopping.

The squares for six and seven remains mute yet eight comes to life, and the knots in her stomach begin to clench even tighter. There’s a mantra that’s been playing in the back of her mind - from the very moment she’d stepped into the lobby and saw Charles make a beeline in her direction - and it takes over any other rational thought as finally level nine lights up, and the doors to her metallic prison slide open. Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.

I don’t know what I’ll do, if Jake is not okay.

The sterility of the ward burns her nostrils and the clack of her heels sound vaguely like the rattling snare drums at the last inauguration, interrupting the otherwise calm environment of the floor as the numbered plaques beside each room begin to blur. She dodges past nurses, doctors, and patients alike; and she can tell that they recognise her face (which means there’s a very good chance that this will be in the paper tomorrow), but it doesn’t matter that they know her, it doesn’t matter if the press find out about this - nothing else matters if he is not okay - and then finally, FINALLY, the numbers 9544 are before her.

Her fingers feel limp, but somehow she manages to grip the doorknob and turn - pushing her weight against the wood as though somehow it is the reason she hasn’t been able to get here earlier - and then suddenly the only sound Amy hears is the frenzied heaving of her own breath.

The room is empty, save for a bed in the middle - stripped clean and returned to it’s regular scrutiny from the harsh fluorescent buzzing above. A clipboard cleared of any history hangs lax from its base, and on the very edge of the mattress sits a leather jacket; the same jacket that had once hung on the back of her apartment door … and the same jacket that Amy’s fingers had gripped the edge of a mere three hours before.

She feels her stomach drop to her feet, glued to position as her mind moves into overdrive, eyes trained solely on the scene before her as the realisation hits.

Jake was not okay. And nothing was ever going to be the same again.

Five months earlier …

“On to other news. We can confirm that there has been a surge in counterfeit notes across the nation, with several states reporting projections of significant economic loss.”

Amy pauses as the small crowd in front of her transform into a cacophony of sound, pen-clenched fingers and miniature recorders thrusting towards the ceiling in desperate attempts to get her attention and break their version of the story. Blinking, she gives them her best I’m not done yet look, and after a few beats the reporters in front of her fall silent.

“President Holt has already been in discussion with the Secret Service, and are confident that the lead they are running on will come to fruition.”

From the back, Matthews from The Sun raises his hand, and Amy gives a quick nod. “You said there were several states reporting loss. Do we have an estimation?”

“Presently, the calculations are upwards of 3 million dollars, which - ” she emphasises, as the sea of hands raise once again, “is why there are teams working around the clock to stop the fraudulent currency from getting into circulation. In the meantime, The White House has released an image of the forged notes,” nodding to her left, Amy waits for the screen beside her to light up, “and the differences are clearly distinguishable.”

The room falls quiet as the reporters all turn their attention to the image, and Amy watches as they all slowly turn back to her with varying expressions of confusion. Suppressing a sigh, she uses the remote in her hand to zoom in on the imitation of the offical seal, the same one that is on every U.S. dollar bill, and undoubtedly in the pocket or purse of every single person here. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t wish that Latin would finally wake up from its long nap (or it’s conquiescamus, as it were). “Pluribus. There are two Rs.” She waits a beat, and continues in a dry tone. “There should only be one.”

To her right, Ginns from The Examiner clears his throat; glancing up at Amy to ensure he has her attention before flipping open his notebook. The Chicago-born columnist was unashamed in his opinion - as were his loyal followers - and his coverage of Holt’s campaign had leant towards unfavourable. With a tight smile, Amy swallows the urge to scream at whatever was about to come next. “Yeah, so - with regards to the Secret Service. After his inauguration, President Holt elected a new head of the Presidential Detail, a .. ” pausing, Ginns refers to his notes, creasing his brow. “Rosa Dye-az.”

Pushing her tongue against the back of her teeth, Amy wills herself not to interrupt and correct Ginns’ pronunciation, waiting for some kind of sign of potential redemption. Instead, he leans forward and continues.

“Apart from what has already been published, her history and previous credentials appear to be incredibly difficult to correlate. Given her obvious reluctance to divulge anything to the American public, and the fact that this role has never been held by a female prior to today, what reassurance can we the people have that Miss Dye-az was the best choice?”

Feeling her back teeth begin to grind together, Amy takes a measured breath before fixing Ginns with a steely gaze. Questions such as these have been a common denominator since Holt was sworn in over a month ago, particularly due to choosing Olivia Crawford as his VP; and while expected, the overwhelmingly misogynistic responses were beginning to wear thin.

“I can assure you, Mr Ginns, that President Holt’s vetting process for all roles was incredibly thorough - and Ms Dee-az,” she pauses, raising a singular brow, “remained incredibly co-operative throughout. We cannot bow to the curiosities of the general public on every request for detail, or we’d never stop. After all, the public continues to let you write for one of D.C’s most prolific news journals without knowing the details of your Christmas Card list, and somehow the world continues to spin.”

Ginns’ responding eye roll is poorly concealed, and Amy’s fingernails begin to dig into the edge of her podium. “Furthermore, I would suggest that despite Ms Diaz having a uterus, the bar set by her predecessors will continue to ascend. One could even argue that the lack of … other certain parts of the human anatomy will only assist in keeping a clear head in the most intense of situations.”

The reporter shifts uncomfortably in his seat, blessedly silent in his rebuttal, and Amy directs the end of her statement towards the rest of the crowd. “President Holt and his administration are aware that a small percentage of the public lack confidence in the roles he has filled. Criticism is necessary, and welcome. But unmerited accusations regarding a person’s ability based entirely on their sex is where he draws the line.” Slamming the file in front of her closed, Amy takes a step back before leaning closer to the microphone, delivering her final line. “That concludes the presidential briefing for today. Thank you.”

Terry hovers by the doorway as Amy exits, his leather yoked suspenders proudly displaying the commemorative pin gifted to him upon being sworn in as the president’s Chief of Staff, and he cocks his head towards her as they move swiftly down the corridor towards Amy’s office. “Interesting briefing you held there, Santiago.”

“You mis-pronounced psychotic, Ter-bear,” interjects Gina as she passes them both, head already bowed down to her cellphone before either can respond.

Already feeling defensive, Amy shakes her head quickly, raising one hand to gesture at the room she’d just departed. “We’ve been fielding commentary like that since the early days of the campaign, Terry. At some point, we just need to point out the baselessness of their remarks, and remind them that there simply isn’t a place for it in modern society.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Terry shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong. Terry hates closed minded attitudes. As do the rest of the cabinet. I just find it fascinating to watch how close our new Press Secretary came to literally biting a reporter’s head off.”

“Ugh. I’m fairly certain it would just pop like a balloon. Full of hot air and not much else.”

Nodding, Terry points in the direction of Amy’s office. “You might be onto something there. Heads up, though - I saw Diaz making a beeline to your office just as you were wrapping things up.” He pauses, shoving his hands into his pockets while giving her the side-eye. “Terry wishes you luck.”

Smiling at an intern as they hand her an updated schedule, Amy casts a quick glance down the hallway and grimaces. “Well, at least she hasn’t gone straight to grinding her axe.”

“I didn’t see both hands, but let’s assume you’re right.”

Throwing Terry an exasperated glance, Amy bids him farewell before moving towards her office, deliberately taking on a confident stride as she squares her shoulders in preparation for confrontation.

With her jet black curly hair and the zero fucks aura surrounding her, most members of the team had learned on their own that Special Agent Rosa Diaz was not somebody to be trifled with. Not meeting until the last couple of months of Holt’s campaign, Amy had spent the first few weeks largely being ignored by Diaz - until one afternoon, when a particularly vocal protester tried to pull Amy in for a debate, only to be met by Rosa’s steely glare and the unspoken promise of worse to come. She’d muttered, on their way back to the car, that they needed to have each other backs; and over time their working relationship had grown into a something closer to friendship.

(A friend that occasionally intimidates you with their intensity, but a friend all the same.)

With her trademark leather jacket covering her like a second skin Rosa is easy to point out in the busy walkway, but it’s the two men standing with her that captures Amy’s attention as she draws near. One was tall with a distinctive profile; the other slightly shorter, and sporting a hairstyle that looked like it could survive a hurricane. Although the taller one wore shades, Amy could tell that both of them were casing their environment, taking in their surroundings with a stern exterior that gave away exactly who they were.

These men were Secret Service, and for some reason they were standing outside her office door.

Her curiosity overshadowing the possibility that she may need to eat a slice of humble pie, Amy thrusts the hand still holding the schedule towards the two men as she passes Rosa, giving them her best Suspicious Face.

“Who are those guys?”

“Good morning to you too, Santiago.” Rosa’s dark eyes follow Amy’s path around to her desk, tilting her chin upwards after a beat. “My uterus thanks you for it’s shout-out this morning.”

“Ugh, okay.” Returning her planner to it’s designated top-left-corner position, Amy feels her shoulders drop as she throws an apologetic look at the woman in front of her. “I know that wasn’t my best work. But the guy was being a jerk, and I was 100% done with the conversation.”

“No, really. It’s fine.” Rosa’s voice takes on no other inflection to demonstrate her approval, but Amy learned a long time ago not to read into her monotone. “My uterus is a bad-ass. Definitely tries to punch me from the inside out at least once a month.” She smirks, a sight familiar to only a select few, and raises one eyebrow. “Somehow, I still manage to keep the President and all his flunkies alive. It really is shocking.”

Without invitation, the mystery men have followed Amy into her office, hovering along the outskirts of the room while she checks her messages, listening with half an ear as Rosa continues to go into alarming detail on how she’d personally like to deal with reporters like Ginns. It’s as the taller of the two reaches out to investigate an award propped up on her well-stocked shelf that Amy finally looks up, dropping the slips of paper to the desk and throwing Rosa an exasperated look. “Seriously, who are these guys? And why are they in my office?”

“Oh, right. About that. Amy, this is Special Agent Peralta,” Rosa pauses, thrusting her thumb towards the taller guard in shades, “and this guy is Special Agent Boyle.” Clearing her throat, she fixes Amy with her typical Rosa’s Way Or The Highway look. “They’re going to be your new security detail.”

A grinning Agent Peralta throws a tiny wave in Amy’s direction, and she lets out a petulant huff, planting her hands on the empty section of her desk. “Rosa, we’ve talked about this. I’m a visible target. I go out there every other day and announce policies and updates and god knows what else. It’s inevitable that I end up with a few snarky emails every now and then. People need a face to complain to, and this guy’s obviously chosen me.”

“Sorry,” Rosa replies, in a tone that suggests that she’s not sorry at all. “President’s orders.”

Damn it. With her next refutation dying in her throat, Amy folds her arms over her chest, studying her friend’s expression carefully. There was a good chance that Rosa was just saying it was presidential orders, knowing that Amy would be unable to resist any directive that came from her superior. But there was equally enough chance that the request had come from higher up, and refusal of the service would most definitely land her in hot water.

In other words, Rosa had Amy exactly where she wanted her, and there was not a darn thing she could do about it.

“Just seems like a lot for a bunch of stupid emails,” Amy mutters, dropping down into her seat, defeated. With a furrowed brow, Agent Boyle looks over at Rosa; but before Amy can question it, Rosa perches herself along the edge of the couch.

“So, Peralta and Boyle will work on opposite shifts and shadow you on your day to day operations. Additional detail has already been arranged for your home address, and all correspondence will now be cleared through us.”

“I’m also going to need the contact information for any recent or previous relationships you may have had, ma’am,” pipes up Peralta from Amy’s left, breaking out into another grin when she looks over at him. “Gotta weed this creep out, and you’d be surprised how often they end up being much closer to home than expected."

Blinking, Amy turns back to Rosa, the extent of her security detail only now sinking in. “A constant shadow and surveillance on my apartment? Seriously, Rosa … this is all coming from Holt? Can’t I just change my email address or something?”

A silence falls quickly over her office, and Amy makes special effort this time to take note of the not-so-secret looks the two agents gave each other. A louder protest is bubbling up through her chest when Rosa stands, her sharply manicured fingers holding a document folder Amy hadn’t noticed until now, and walks towards her.

The heavy thud of Rosa’s booted footsteps come to a stop at the side of Amy’s desk and she places the file in front of her, leaning in slightly as the folder’s contents become clear.

Photographs. Stacks of photographs, all of Amy, and all from various parts of her very busy week. Her heart begins to climb its way up to the base of her throat as the images begin to blur, one shot after the other of an unaware woman as she lunches with friends, visits the gym, drives to her brother’s house and - oh god - even gets changed at home near what she’d always considered to be a relatively protective curtain.

Leaning in, Rosa’s voice drops to a whisper. “The boys haven’t seen those last ones, but they know they exist.” She straightens, returning to her regular volume. “All of these were on a USB that was delivered to us from an unconfirmed address, and arrived early this morning. Peralta and Boyle have been pulled in to oversee the operation, and I will monitor from afar. The detail starts from now, and ends once this Mr Anonymous is behind bars. Is everyone clear?”

Numb, Amy nods without really understanding, the cotton of her tailored blazer feeling inadequate underneath her fingernails as she pulls the two sides closer together. She feels foolish for disregarding the warning signs for so long, confused as to how out of all people, she is the one who’s become a target; terrified because if these photographs are anything to go by, she is being hunted … for god only knows what.

A knot begins to churn in her stomach, and there’s a very good chance that she’s about to be sick.

“Excuse me, Ms Diaz?” Ramirez, Terry’s secretary, pops his head around the doorframe, startling Amy out of her spiralling thoughts. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in the oval office.”

“Alright, I’ve gotta go, the Powers That Be have spoken.” Rosa mumbles, scooping up the photographs on Amy’s desk and holding onto the file with her vice-like grip. Noticing the look on Amy’s face, she stops short of her exit from the room, tipping her head towards the two men as they hover by the bookshelf. “Listen. I’ve put two of my best men on this case. Peralta especially, I’ve known since our days at the academy. They’re not going to rest until we’ve caught the bad guy, and neither will I. Got it?”

Amy gives her friend a tentative smile, taking her message to heart. If there was anybody that could shut this mess down, it was Rosa ‘I could kick your ass with my pinky finger’ Diaz.

With one final glance towards her two agents, Rosa swivels on her heel, leaving Amy’s office in silence. The sound of one of Amy’s favourite tchotchkes hits the floor, dropping out of Peralta’s fidgeting fingers, and he cringes. “Yikes. Sorry about that, it just looked like one that I -”

Jumping out from behind her desk, Amy snatches the item out of the agent’s hands, running the edge of her thumb along it’s familiar curves before carefully returning it to it’s original position. “Please don’t break my belongings, Peralta.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“If I may, Ms Santiago … what Special Agent Diaz told you was correct. Peralta and I are here to keep you out of harm’s way, and it’s only going to be a matter of time before we catch him in the act.” Standing to her right, Amy finds herself surprised at the gentleness of Boyle’s tone, and she eyes him curiously before nodding.

Leaning his weight against one of the lower bookshelves, Peralta slides his sunglasses off, face turning slightly more somber, and Amy blinks in surprise. “You have our word.” His eyes were surprisingly warm, a kind of chocolatey brown that seemed to draw Amy in, and her arms fall away from their defensively crossed position across her chest.

“Alright. Thank you. This is just … a lot.” Her stomach twists again, and even though this time it feels less like she’s about to be sick, Amy really doesn’t want to take any chances. “If I leave this office, you two are going to follow me, aren’t you?”

“Just around the perimeters of the hallway, Ms Santiago. And only Peralta - I’m going to stick around and see if I can trace where these emails are coming from.”

“Consider me your shadow, ma’am.” Jake grins, and Amy feels an odd mixture of irritation and anticipation run through her. “And, look. I can already tell what you’re thinking.” Pushing his weight off of the bookshelves, he gestures vaguely with his hands. “You’re thinking this is going to be all longing glances and secret earpiece conversations … me carrying you in my arms as I race you away from the danger, you running out of planes at tarmacs to give me one last kiss goodbye … you know, all the standard bodyguard stuff.”

Rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, Amy feels a knot of tension leave her shoulders, but she’s not quite ready to laugh yet. “Yes. You’re right. That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Knew it, nailed it. Well I’m sorry to disappoint you ma’am, but this stuff is nothing like the movies. It shouldn’t really be any more than a few weeks, just need to catch this weirdo out and let the law take care of the rest.” He pauses, glancing over at Agent Boyle before continuing. “Which … will be made all the more faster with your co-operation. Including the details of people who may have had closer access to you than others.”

Sighing, Amy presses the tip of her index finger against the middle of her brow, a nervous tick that has long since become habit. This guy really needed to stop calling her ma’am. “Fine. Teddy Wells was my last boyfriend, but we broke up several months ago. I highly doubt that he’s the one you’re looking for.”

“We really need to look into all avenues, Ms. Santiago,” Agent Boyle interjects, and for the first time Amy notices how the beige colour of his tie is almost a perfect match to his skin tone.

“Fine.” Leaning down, she scribbles Teddy’s phone number onto a new post-it, thrusting it in Agent Peralta’s direction. “See for yourself. Better yet, invite him out for a drink. He’s got some real interesting stories, especially about beer. One could almost say, he’s got ‘the cheers for the beers’, you know?”

(She knows that she’s setting Peralta up for a trap, all too familiar with endless nights listening to Tedford ‘Thrills for the Pils’ Wells. But there was much too much bravado seeping out of every pore of this guy, and he deserved to suffer - if only just a little.)

“Huh, a beer guy. Noice.”

Amy stifles her grin, tucking her pen back into the pocket of her blazer as she heads towards the doorway, ignoring the echo of Peralta’s footsteps behind hers. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen … I have a hundred or so meetings to attend.”

“Just one last thing, ma’am.” Agent Peralta interjects, and Amy turns in time to watch him drop one shoulder in an obvious attempt at Dramatic Effect.

The edge of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the ridiculous sunglasses that have inexplicably returned to his face despite the sunlight pouring in through the surrounding windows (she thinks, perhaps, entirely for the purpose of his next move) slide down his prominent nose. “No matter what happens, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

The urge to roll her eyes again is almost unbearable, but she is a professional if nothing else, and so Amy puts on her best smile and nods at the suited man in front of her.

“Won’t be a problem.”

#my writing #b99 au #peraltiago au #soz to those that aren't au fans #can't help but love them #more to come if you guys are keen

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microsuedemouse · 4 years

Text

man it has been a MINUTE since I made my own post about anything fandom-related on this website but @suzirya is blogging about The Old Guard and I haven’t seen anyone else talking about it really and I’ve got. some thoughts

I had literally never heard of this movie at all until a few nights ago when we were eating dinner in the living room and my dad pulled it up and said ‘hey I want to watch this’ and played the trailer for my brother and me. We were pretty much like yeah, sure, we all enjoy a good action flick, and aside from my other brother (who was occupied with D&D) it ended up being the whole family watching it. and I enjoyed it WAY more than I’d anticipated, especially for something I’d never heard about.

if you don’t know what I’m talking about: drop what you’re doing and go watch The Old Guard on Netflix. (it’s a Netflix original so yes it will be there.) it’s a very fun and good action film based on a series of graphic novels about a small group of immortals trying to do what’s right. there are many selling points but one of them is that it will be very good for your little gay soul, bc Charlize Theron stars (in a character with no explicitly-stated romances but lots of relationships that will make you Feel Things) and two of the other main characters are two men who met during the Crusades and are just amazingly in love with each other. And not in a vague way that the straights can interpret as Powerful Friendship. They are explicitly in love with each other and so devoted and ugh.

ANYWAY. putting the rest of my chattering under a cut bc spoilers and also I’m a wordy piece of shit

1 - early in this movie I was thinking about how glad I am that Charlize Theron has stepped into this role of like... cool female action star, but also, her characters are never super sexed up. almost any female characters I can think of in action movies, if they’re part of the action rather than victims/bystanders, are always made sexy. even when they’re Strong sexy, they’re still... a lot sometimes? I was thinking especially of some Angelina Jolie stuff, Scarlett Johanssen, etc. there are probably lots of exceptions to this that I just don’t know but still - we’ve had Theron in several roles like this recently, and appearance-wise she’s treated with the same respect as her male counterparts, which is so fucking cool and also such a fucking relief. we all love beautiful ladies, obviously, but it’s so SO good to see our female heroes just doing their jobs, without us ever being made aware of their sexuality.

and as the movie went on this was hitting me more and more, and I was also thinking it about... everyone? like. the other female lead, played by KiKi Layne, was arguably more feminine than Theron but not any more sexualised. even once she’s out of her army fatigues she’s dressed with practicality in mind, and again, we never have her female-ness pointed out to us. and I was so about every bit of that. both objectively and as a person whose relationship to female-ness and femininity is kind of weird, it’s such a good thing to see leading women whose gender and appearances and bodies aren’t being focussed on that way.

and as a sidebar to that, while I wouldn’t describe any of the prominent male characters as unattractive by any means, none of them were like... Marvel-actor hot. and I just, idk, especially in action/superhero movies, that’s refreshing to me. a lot of them looked like Regular Dudes in a way that I find very appealing.

2 - can we TALK about Joe and Nicky. holy shit. my brother and I kept leaning over to each other to be like ‘if anything happens to either of them I’ll riot.’ I MEAN.

we got a genuine, explicit, on-screen established romance between these men. it was not implied, it was not just how the actors played it in the hopes that people would catch on - it was right there. they hold each other to sleep, they kiss each other with such love, they talk to other characters about how much they adore each other. they met during the Crusades. they’ve been in love for centuries! and they’re so sweet, so devoted, so adoring! and they never have any arguments or tension to further the plot (one of my personal most-hated plot devices in any story with an established relationship). they just spend this movie loving each other, protecting each other and their weird little family, doing anything they can for each other. they’re taken prisoner and spend their time awake joking and making each other smile. and the one singular bit of casual homophobia they encounter on-screen is met with a declaration of love so heartfelt and intense that the guy who made the shitty comment literally doesn’t know what to say - which is a brief but extremely good scene in the movie, imo.

oh, also worth noting: this romance is biracial and interfaith (inasmuch as either of them may be men of faith after being alive for centuries). just to add to how good this is to see on-screen. all of this on top of them being IMMORTAL AND UNKILLABLE. NO GAYS BURIED HERE

2.5 - can I talk for a second about how goddamn much I love seeing non-hetero romance in genre fiction!!! I know it’s getting easier to find, but still. genre fiction is very much my domain and I love seeing queer romance there, especially when it’s simply an accepted fact and the characters’ queerness isn’t central to the story. narratives about queerness are good and important and serve a function but most of them aren’t really my thing, personally. a story that’s about all kinds of other things but also has queer characters there, being themselves, being in love, is so 1000% my shit.

3 - also? Charlize Theron’s character, Andy?? fascinating from a queer perspective. she doesn’t have any explicitly-stated romance with anyone, but her relationships with other characters are so compelling and so interesting. The backstory about her and another immortal, Quynh, very very distinctly gives you the impression that they were women in love. everything about Andy’s guilt and bitterness over not having been able to find/save Quynh feels so much like there was a romance there. it could have been platonic or familial - they were together, without anyone else, for centuries at least, and therefore obviously developed a very deep love - but the way Andy talks about Quynh it feels so much like there was something left unsaid, or unresolved.

also, her scene with the clerk in the pharmacy. oh my god. this woman clearly recognises that whatever is going on with Andy, something is wrong, and she offers her help, no questions asked. she takes her into the back room and patches up her wound. this scene has such an inherent intimacy because of the close quarters and the privacy and the act taking place, but... there’s also this really interesting connection happening between them, where they recognise something in one another but don’t state it. (personally, I couldn’t help wondering if the clerk was a domestic abuse survivor, maybe? but there are so many ways you could interpret her character from her behaviour and dialogue in that scene, and I’d love to see other people’s takes.)

and then on the other hand you have her relationship with Booker, who’s been with her the longest out of any of the living immortals. they’re incredible. their relationship is so, so interesting and well-depicted! they have such chemistry, that you can easily read as romantic or platonic. they’ve been together for so many hundreds of years and they work together, trust each other, with such a deep understanding and love and respect. and it never quite tips over into the romance you kind of think it will, which imo only makes it that much more compelling - there are so many directions you could take that dynamic.

4 - and then on the topic of Booker: I am SO into the way his betrayal was handled.

he did, undeniably, betray the others. there’s no argument on that fact. his motivations were understandable (and heartbreaking), even to Andy, though certainly not an excuse. so yes, they were furious with him. reasonably so! but... that didn’t actually break their relationships with him. they didn’t leave him behind in the lab, even if in some ways they might have wanted to. and in the ensuing battle, they were still able to work together and trust each other as they always have. the damage done to their larger relationship was put aside to be dealt with after all of this, as it should be. and even when they did deal with it, what they agreed on was just a century of exile from their group. given the lives they’re all living, that seems like such a mild sentence.

but to me, it makes so much sense. again, these people have lived for centuries, and there are so few of them. they need each other. the bonds they’ve formed over all this time together - the trust, the love, the sense of family - would not only be vital to both their survival and their sanity, but also incredibly difficult to truly break. what he did would seem unforgivable from an outside perspective, and even after that century passed I’m certain he’d have to earn back their trust and respect, but it makes absolute sense that they’d be willing to take him back one day.

god. GOD. I’m sure there’s more I could talk about but this is what I can think of right now and I’ve been typing for like forty minutes probably so I’m done for now but.

god.

this movie and its characters GOT ME, guys. I’m really in it. ugh UGH

#the old guard #Courtney talks

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lynn-does-stuff · 4 years

Text

Hanahaki

An Afterdeath Oneshot

—————

Hanahaki

Hana- flowers

Hakimasu- To throw up

A Japanese myth disease that claimed if a person were to hide their feelings towards someone for too long, flowers would begin to grow in their lungs. They would then throw up/ cough up the flowers, starting with only a few petals until it got to large amounts of full flowers. By the time it reaches full flowers there would be little time left until they would die. There was no cure, other than the victim feeling loved in a romantic way by their crush. If the victim expressed their feelings and the other declined, the process would instantly speed up and would die in minutes. The victim can also choose to have the flowers removed through surgery, though many choose to suffer through it, due to the fact that the removal of the flowers often caused them to lose all feelings towards their crush. Sometimes it would completely erase any memories about their crush all together, or even erase any ability to love again.

————

Reaper floated carelessly into the Save Screen, home of the infamous "immortal" skeleton. The resident of this empty space was supposed to die a long time ago, but had somehow escaped DEATH itself. And when Reaper went to the Save Screen personally to dispose of him, he was shocked to find the character didn't dust after making physical contact with him. Reaper had never met a being that didn't die by his touch, so he was genuinely surprised, and almost hopeful. Maybe he could finally have someone close to him that he could do normal things with, instead of simply standing to the side and looking awkward.

Ah yes.. Geno..

Geno was the resident of this empty space. When Reaper found he couldn't kill Geno, he immediately decided to try and warm up the the glitched skeleton. He then proceeded to get a smack on the face and a stern lecture about how you shouldn't try to befriend the person you were just trying to kill.

That's what Reaper liked so much about Geno. His Tsundere attitude, his pouting, and of course, his overly bossy tone. And they did become friends. Good friends even. But.. Reaper wanted more. He really wanted more. But there was no way he could flat out tell Geno. That would just make their friendship incredibly awkward, and possibly even ruin it. Better to just stick with the simple flirting and frequent compliments.

This had been going on for about nine months..

Reaper's eyes widened as he saw Geno sitting in his usual spot, the area of grass and flowers, and then grinned at the evil idea forming in his head. He floated up silently behind Geno and took a breath, before exclaiming in a loud voice. "Heeeeeya Geno!"

Geno whipped his head around, eye flare burning, as he smacked Reaper across the face. He then realized who it was and diminished his eye flare and menacing look and instead equipped a more annoyed face.

"Reaper you idiot! Don't sneak up on me like that! My soul is weak enough as it is, I don't need jump scares like that to give me a soul attack!"

Reaper simply rubbed his face and chuckled, though he felt a small pain in his chest. It was short and quick, so he waved it aside as side effects of floating for too long. He slowly touched the ground in front of Geno and grinned.

"Good to see you too beautiful."

Geno frowned. "Again with the flirting? Come on, it gets old after a while. And it's not funny either!" Geno huffed and turned away, causing Reaper to laugh.

Reaper walked next to Geno and sat down. His friend reluctantly followed and sat next to him as well. Reaper looked over at Geno, taking in all of his features. His rounder cheeks, the glitches that covered his eye, the extremely faint red tint that was always on his face, there was so much to look at, Reaper soon found himself lost in his eyes. Geno soon glanced over and made eye contact with Reaper, causing him to frown again. "It's rude to stare you know!"

Reaper blushed slightly and turned his head away. There was that pang again. This one seemed slightly worse however. And it only softened, it didn't completely go away.

Reaper frowned at the sudden pain, losing his usual carefree grin. Geno looked over and noticed this. "What, can't take criticism? Jeez, your ego is immense."

Reaper felt the pain suddenly grow as he winced, but it soon toned down again. He replaced his frown with his usual grin and winked as he looked over at Geno. "Oh, it's nothing. Just thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

Reaper was going to reply with a quick nothing, but he soon realized he could be flirty and possibly get his point across at the same time.

"You~"

Geno just got an angry look as he blushed slightly, before replying in a quite upset manner.

"Well stop thinking about me! It's weird! And dumb! Especially when there's so many other things to think about!"

Weird.

Dumb.

Geno thinks I'm weird and dumb..

Reaper suddenly burst out into a coughing fit. Geno scrambled away from him, yelling something along the lines of "Don't infect me with your stupid virus you weirdo". Reaper continued to cough until a singular golden petal fell from his mouth. His eyes widened as he quickly scrambled to grab it and shove it into his robe pocket. Geno hadn't seemed to notice.

"Are you very much done? I'd like to make sure I don't get the idiot virus."

Reaper's body suddenly went rigid as he slowly stood up. He coughed slightly before turning to Geno.

"Uh, sorry Geno, but I gotta go earlier today. My brother wanted help, and I've been putting off work for too long."

Geno looked surprised before going to his usual strict face. "Well, I don't remember inviting you, so you don't have to feel bad about leaving."

Reaper's chest felt like it was on fire.

He turned away and opened a portal to his AU, walking through, something he rarely does.

When he entered his room, he immediately sunk to the floor. He trembled slightly as his eye sockets widened.

"Oh god.. what am I gonna do?.."

————

It was about four days until Reaper visited Geno again, which was very out of character for his usual daily, sometimes even quick hourly visits. He casually floated into the Save Screen once more, though this time feeling slightly anxious. When he saw Geno sitting in the patch of flowers, he felt his soul flutter as he rushed to get closer. He was about to make the same entrance as the other day, but remembered how that went and decided to silently plop down next to Geno.

Geno was so lost in though that he didn't even realize Reaper arrived. But when he suddenly looked up and saw him sitting next to him, he yelped and jumped back a little. He then took on a confused yet strict face.

"Who are you and what have you done with Reaper?"

Reaper was a little confused by his statement. "I'm me?"

"No idiot! Reaper would've come here days ago, and proceeded to either scare me or flirt with me every time he arrived!"

Reaper was a bit taken aback by what he said, but simply grinned. "Well, what I did today scared ya, didn't it?"

Geno huffed and simply turned away, crossing his arms and muttering something along the lines of "stupid" and "no it didn't".

Reaper laughed but soon started choking and coughing once more. Again, Geno stepped away, but there was a slight flint of worry in his eyes.

"What's wrong asshole, something caught in you throat?"

Reaper continued his coughing fit for a while until three golden petals fell from his mouth. He quickly scooped them up and shoved them in his pocket, but too late. Geno noticed.

"Ew, flower petals? What were you doing, shoving those things up your throat?"

Reaper turned his head to Geno with a slightly panicked look in his eyes. "It's nothing."

"That wasn't the question dumbass."

"O-oh, right. Uhm.. yeah! I saw those flowers and thought it would be a good idea to eat some!"

Geno simply stared at Reaper with an unamused look before walking away. Reaper panicked, this is not going how he thought it would.

"Geno wait!" He called out, his voice sounding slightly weaker than before. He quickly stood up and followed behind Geno.

"I'm ignoring unintelligible beings who decide that shoving flowers up their throats is a perfect way to waste time at the moment, thank you."

Reaper continued to follow behind Geno, the pain in his chest increasing every second he was ignored.

Unloved..

Reaper suddenly stopped at his realization.

Geno doesn't love him. He never will. It's all simply a fantasy of hope and lies. Geno's made it quite obvious after all. How many times had he been called "dumbass", "idiot", "weirdo", "dickhead", and "asshole" in just the past month? It was obvious.

Reaper suddenly broke down into another fit of coughing, suddenly falling to his knees. He felt weak, incredibly weak. And the coughing wouldn't stop. Geno whipped his head around and rushed back to Reaper, now very worried for his friend.

"H-hey, are you good? Snap outta it Reaper!"

Geno started patting Reaper's back in an attempt to stop the coughing, but Reaper misunderstood it as more of Geno's slaps and coughed even more. It wasn't until a fistful of petals fell from his mouth that he stopped. Geno looked at Reaper with a cautious, yet judging look.

"Uh, that seems to be more than a few flowers shoved up your esophagus."

Reaper replied quickly in a dark tone, though his voice seemed somewhat strained. "N-no shit Sherlock."

Geno's eyes widened slightly. Reaper never talked like that to him. Now he knew something was up.

"What the hell is wrong with you Reaper?! You never act like this! What did you do?!"

Reaper just stared to the floor with empty eyes. He quickly spat out a few remaining flowers in his mouth and stood up. He kicked the petals aside and turned away. Geno watched as Reaper simply stood there for a few moments. Suddenly, Reaper seemed to look around frantically and stare at his hands. He kept bouncing up and down on his feet before eventually going on to full on jumping.

"Now what are you doing?" Geno gave him a questioning look. Reaper immediately stopped and whipped his head around, a panicked look plastered on his face.

"I can't float! I can't get off the ground!"

Geno was a little stricken before finding a way to get back at Reaper for all the teasing.

"Oh, well it looks like you'll have to walk like the rest of us mortals and deal with the inability to have god-like powers."

Reaper winced before bringing up his hand. Suddenly he seemed even more panicked. He waved his hand around, opened his eyes extremely wide like one does when their eye flares, and held out his hands like he was trying to grab something.

"I can't do anything!!"

Now Geno was worried. "What?.."

Reaper started yelling. "I can't summon my attacks, I can't summon my scythe, I can't activate my eye flare, I can't even teleport out of here!!"

Reaper suddenly broke down to the floor and stared at his hands. He spoke in a small, weak voice that seemed extremely strained. "I'm weak.. I'm powerless... I-I can't do anything..."

Geno suddenly rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Reaper. "H-hey, it's okay, it'll be fine!-"

"How could you still care..."

Geno suddenly sat up and stared at Reaper. "What do you mean?"

Reaper replied with a shaky, hesitant voice. "How could you still care for me... you've made it clear..."

"Stop the stupid mind games Reaper! Just tell me what's fucking wrong!"

"YOU HATE ME!"

Reaper began hacking up full flowers, chocking between breaths. The flowers continued to fall around them and in their laps as Reaper shook uncontrollably. "G-Gen-no-"

Geno backed away in horror at the scene. His eyes shrunk to small pinpricks as he took a shaky breath.

"W-what's happening to you R-Reaper?.."

Reaper chocked our words between coughs. "H-hana-ha-haki-!" Reaper coughed up another fistful of flowers.

Hanahaki... The name was familiar to Geno, but he couldn't seem to place it. "What the hell is Hanahaki?!"

Reaper's eyes went wide as the burning sensation returned in his chest, worse than ever. He knew.

He was out of time.

Reaper didn't want to do this, not like this, but he knew he had no choice. If he didn't, he would die.

"G-Geno!" Reaper choked out between flowers and coughs. "I-I l-love you!"

Geno's eyes went wide as blush dusted across his face. He loves me... Suddenly knowledge came flooding back to him. Hanahaki: The disease where people throw up flowers. The only cure is from the crush to show affection and show their love back.

His blush increased. Did he love Reaper?.. He enjoyed Reaper's company, and he hated it when he was feeling down and always wanted to make him feel better..

Geno was suddenly cut out of his thoughts when a shaky hand reached up towards his face. The words were small, shaky, and almost inaudible. "Please.."

Geno felt the pang in his chest. He gave in. He pushed away all doubts in his mind and pulled Reaper's face to his, closing the gap. He kissed him with all his might, allowing some magic to be forced in the kiss, truly expressing how much he cared. He wanted, no, he needed Reaper to know. He didn't care about the flowers, he just wanted to share this passionate moment.

When they finally pulled away after what seemed like eons, they stared into each other's eyes passionately, glimmering with love and happiness. Reaper stared in awe.

"Y-you.. you really.."

Geno smiled warmly at Reaper. "Yeah, I suppose you're not that much of a dork." Reaper shakily smiled with tears in his eyes before suddenly turning away and began coughing again. Geno panicked and gingerly wrapped his arms around Reaper.

"D-did it not work! I-I'm so sorry Reaper!!"

Reaper continued coughing, but they didn't seem so violent this time. He continued coughing until dead flowers fell from his mouth, and eventually the source of the disease itself- the dead plant. When the dead plant finally fell from his mouth, Reaper put a hand on his throat and looked up weakly with a smile.

"I'm cured.."

—————

Word Count: 2466

Eeeeeeeee I forgot about this thing so take my awful writing okay bye-

#lynn talks #lynn writes #afterdeath #geno x reaper #geno sans #reaper sans #hanahaki #hanahaki disease

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