#releasing this from the drafts. goodbye old friend

[thematicparallel]

when i say hole theory john silver i am also pertaining to his flared nostrils. #lukearnold #nostrilacting

[basicmyherowhore]

Reader didn’t know how she got in this situation , to go to her ex boyfriend wedding maybe it was the embarrassment being single or feeling spiteful that she decided to ask her ex boyfriend bully , to be her date and who knows maybe love will bloom in the weird situation that their in (Katsuki x reader angst with a fluffy ending maybe :)

I love this idea🥹🥹 Edit: This has been in my drafts for basically a year, I’m so sorry😭

When the invitation arrived in the mail you thought it must’ve been a mistake. Why would your ex invite you to his wedding? Was it to spite you? To rub it in how happy he was with his soon to be wife? To tell you one last time that he could do better than you?

No. Izuku was never the spiteful type, he’d never go out of his way to hurt anyone. And it’s not like the two of you ended on awful terms. Actually, it was you who ended the relationship. It wasn’t because he cheated on you, or treated you poorly. It was because you could tell it wasn’t the time for him to be in a relationship. He was too caught up in his work to be in love, no matter how much he said he loved you. His job as a hero would always come first. Of course, you understood that and that’s why you decided to let him go. The world needed him more than you did.

Both of you hurt for a long time after that. But it wasn’t a full year later before the tabloids began releasing headlines about Pro Hero Deku and Pro Hero Uravity being the next hero power couple. That really hurt. Somewhere in your heart you hoped that Izuku would come back to you. He would realize how much you mattered to him and would beg you to come back, promising to put you first for once.

Obviously that didn’t happen. You watched like every other member of society as their love for each other grew in the public eye. You knew why things were different for them. She was a hero too, she understood exactly what he was going through and wouldn’t blame him for being distant. She understood him in a way that you never could. And that’s what really hurt you.

So even though you knew of the relationship for the last two years, it still came as a major shock when you found the wedding invitation in your mail box. Because why would he invite you of all people to his special day?

The sight of it caused forgotten pain to surge inside of you. Your eyes stung as you tried to hold in the tears. Your heart ached and it felt like the air had been stolen from your lungs. Such an old wound reopened so quickly.

You allowed yourself a moment to grieve. To mourn the loss of a relationship that you’d officially never have again. This was your last goodbye to the love that once existed between Izuku and you. When that moment ended you slipped the invite back into the envelope it arrived in before tossing it into the junk drawer. You’d never embarrass yourself by attending such an event. Never.

Except, now all your friends are pressuring you to go. It’s very unfortunate that Izuku and you happen to share some of the same friends. You’d think they’d be more understanding about the whole thing, but apparently they think that this is the closure you need. Not that you’re hung up on the relationship still, that’s just what your friends think What do they know?

Mina is the person who wants you to go more than anyone. She thinks that you seeing Izuku happy will allow you to “finally let go”, even though you aren’t holding on to anything. When you tried to use the excuse that you didn’t have anyone to bring with you and you didn’t want to go alone, she told you to leave the date situation up to her. Two days later she set up a “double date” between you, her, her boyfriend Kirishima, and your mystery date.

When you arrived at the restaurant five minutes after the agreed upon time, you quickly find your friend and her boyfriend sitting in a secluded booth. They were facing you, the mystery dates back was towards you. Once you finally approach, pulling a polite smile on your face to greet the supposed stranger, you’re met with a vaguely familiar face.

Bakugo Katsuki. Izuku’s long time rival.

You’d only met him once or twice before. Neither time had you talked to him, he was always too busy arguing with Izuku to pay you any mind. But now his attention was focused on you and his crimson eyes seemed to burn holed through you. You shakily introduce yourself before asking Mina to come to the bathroom with you. She excuses herself before following behind you.

“Mina! That’s Bakugo, the guy who’s basically Izuku’s arch nemesis! Why would you think this is a good idea?” You whisper shout at her, mindful of any other people that might be in the bathroom.

“That’s exactly why this is a good idea! Who else to show that you’ve moved on than the person he dislikes most?” She smirks at you, proud of her own pettiness. “Also, you probably don’t know this but Bakugo used to date Uraraka before her and Midoriya got together. He needs this as much as you do.”

Her statement silenced you for a moment. Did Bakugo feel the same way that you did when his invitation arrived? He might be the only person in the world who knows exactly what you’re going through right now. Could this be a sign?

“Just give it a chance. If you can’t tolerate his big personality then we’ll try someone else.” She guides you out of the restroom and back towards the booth. “I have plenty of attractive friends that would make great arm candy.”

She basically shoved you into your seat next to Bakugo before sitting down next to her boyfriend. Mina sends you a sky wink before striking a conversation with Kirishima. You take a breath to calm yourself before slowly turning to Bakugo, only to find him watching you once more. You smile shyly at him, introducing yourself again.

“I know who you are. You’re that shitty loser’s ex.” He says plainly, eyeing you up and down. His heavy stare makes you feel kind of uncomfortable, you feel unsure of what to say. You send Mina a pleading glance over the table.

“Bakugo also needs a date to the wedding.” Mina says bluntly, transitioning the conversation in an unexpected way.

“I don’t need shit. I don’t even want to go to the stupid wedding. You two are the ones that want me to go.” The rise in his volume makes you flinch, shooting to the very edge of the booth to give him space.

“Okay, even if you don’t need it so much, it would be nice to support Uraraka as a fellow hero. It’s shows your maturity, you know?” Hearing Kirishima speak up surprises you, when you’re around he’s usually a man of little words.

“Whatever.” Bakugo’s rage shifts into a quiet one as he crosses his arms and slumps into his seat. He seems different from the last time you’d seen him. His fiery personality seems to be burned out, like a flame that has been doused with water. You can see the walls he’s built up over the years. It reminds you of yourself.

He doesn’t say much else for the duration of dinner and neither do you. The two of you sit next to each other in uncomfortable silence. You can see the disappointment in Mina’s eyes across the table. Kirishima pats her thigh comfortingly out of your sight. Secretly, he wanted Bakugo and you to hit it off just as much as she did.

When the time finally comes to leave, Mina pulls one last trick from her sleeve.

“Hey, Eij and I have to scoot. Bakugo, do you mind waiting with Y/N until her cab arrives? It’s late and you know bad things happen in the dark.” Bakugo rolls his eyes in response but agrees with a grunt. Mina swallows the squeal of hope she wants to let out. She hugs you goodbye, winking at you as she turns and begins walking away. You glare at her even though she can’t see it. Leave it to her to put you in an awkward situation.

“It’s shouldn’t be long. Maybe another 5 or so minutes.” You glance over at him, to find that he’s already looking at you. You look away quickly, feeling too intimidated to maintain eye contact. He only hums in response.

Once again the two of you stand in silence. Each minute that passes feels like an eternity. You regret not having your own car now more than ever. Damn you for wanting to avoid producing more carbon emissions.

Finally your cab pulls up and you’ve never felt more relieved. As you turn to politely say goodbye to Bakugo, you notice his outstretched hand. You stare at him confused, unsure if he wants a high five or a tip for waiting with you.

“Your phone, stupid. Give me your phone.” He provides you an answer, albeit a harsh one. Still confused, you reach to hand him your phone. “Unlock it.” He huffs with an annoyed tone. You do.

He takes your unlocked phone from you and taps a few buttons before typing something in. He hands it back to you after taking a moment to examine your phone case. It’s Allmight themed.

“I put in my number. I can tell you want to go to that wedding about as much as I do. But if they’re gonna force me to go, I’d rather go with someone who will be just as pissed off as I’ll be.” Bakugo finally explains as he helps you into the cab. He holds the door open, watching as your buckle the belt. “If you decide you want to go after all, text me. It’ll be nice to have the company.” He shuts the door, tapping on the roof of the car twice. The driver takes that as a signal to pull off, leaving you to stare at Bakugo as you get farther and farther apart. He watches the car too.

That was the last way you thought that day would end.

Now you sit at your dinning room table. To your left sits the invitation that you’ve just finally had the courage to dig out of the junk drawer. To your right sits your phone with Bakugo’s contact information pulled up. Your gaze bounces from one side to the other as your mind tries to think of what to make of all of this.

You didn’t even want to go to the wedding. You’d rather sit at home, watching movies to take your mind off of it. You’d order some takeout and bask on the couch for hours to drown out everything you’d be feeling. It would be peaceful. It would save you so much embarrassment and suffering.

But that would make you a coward. A scaredy-cat, too afraid to face the truth, the reality of your life. Everyone else is moving on. And you’re still exactly the same.

As you pick up the phone, you action are fueled by pure vindictiveness. You need to show people that you’re not a loser that’s still hung up on their ex. That you can and are doing bigger and better things.

You begin typing in the text box. You start typing- then stop. Start again then stop again, struggling to find the right words. Ultimately, you decide on:

Let’s do this.

\(•_•)/

Regret is pooling in your stomach as you stand outside waiting for Bakugo to pick you up. You have no idea what you were thinking when you sent that text, but you’d do anything to take it back now. It feels like one of those nightmares that you desperately want to wake up from, but can’t get yourself awake.

You’re in the process of opening up your phone to text Bakugo that you’ve suddenly fallen ill when a car pulls up in front of you. The window rolls down to reveal the very blonde you were about to text. Damn, there goes that plan.

He reaches across the passenger seat to open the door you, when it swings open you can see him better than before. A black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and black slacks with a belt adorn his body. You can’t help but stare in shock, you never noticed how attractive he was before. When he’s not glaring or screaming, Bakugo actually is very handsome.

“Are you gonna stand there all day or get in the car?” He yells, causing you jump as you snap back to reality. You spoke too soon. With a small huff you slide into the seat, making sure your dress was fully in the car before you shut the door. As you moved to buckle your seatbelt, you could feel eyes following your movements. Once your belt is clicked into place you look up and meet Bakugo’s gaze, a blank expression on his face. “Your dress looks nice on you.”

Was that a compliment? From Bakugo Katsuki?

“Thank you…” You respond after a moment, turning your head away from him to hide your stunned and slightly flustered face. He simply grunts in response, putting the car in drive and pulling off. The car ride was mostly silent, the only sounds being the low hum of the engine and quiet the chatter of the radio. Your gaze remains on the window at your side. Every once it a while it almost feels like his eyes momentarily drift to you, but you assume those feelings are wrong.

When the navigation system says the venue is only a couple meters away to the left, you can feel the ball of stress and anxiety tightening in your belly. As Bakugo parks the car you can almost feel your lunch coming back up. You swallow deeply in a last ditch attempt to keep it down. Though you desperately try to keep your nerves hidden, the man beside you could see right through you. He eyes you silently before unbuckling and opening his door.

Wordlessly, Bakugo exits the car, shuts his door, and makes his way to your side of the car. He then slowly reaches towards your door, as if not to startle you. He opens the door and extends an open hand towards you, his expression entirely neutral. There’s no anger, no scowl, just a blank face. And yet it feels more welcoming than you would’ve expected.

Again you gulp, unlatching your belt before placing your hand in his, allowing him to assist you out of his car. He shuts the door behind you before looping your arm through his own. You can’t help but be taken aback by his initiation and willingness towards contact.

“Let’s look the part, yeah?” Bakugo mutters to you lowly, eyes scanning around the parking lot where many others have already taken notice of you two. “I hate this kind of shit, but I ain’t gonna let any of these shit rags call me classless.”

You can’t contain the snort that slips out, your feelings momentarily forgotten when Bakugo makes you laugh. You try to cover your mouth to contain the ugly sound but it’s no use. The sound of your laughter makes a small smile cross his face, secretly happy to relieve some of your stress even if it’s just for a moment. He gives you time to let out your laughter while slowly guiding you towards the doors. By the time the two of you reach them you’ve gone silent, any laughter caught in your throat.

With a heart beating so loudly you can barely hear yourself think, you allow Bakugo to lead you into the building. You follow behind the others before you to look at a seating chart that displays where everyone was to sit. Bakugo has been placed at a table with Kirishima, Mina, Sero, and Denki. There was three open seats left for Sero, Kaminari, and Bakugo to bring their plus ones. You technically don’t have a seat since you didn’t have the courage to RSVP, so you walk arm and arm with Bakugo to the table where his friends are seated.

Mina is the first to see the two of you. Her eyes light up when she notices your arm wrapped around his. She excitedly taps on Kirishima, directing his attention towards the two of you. A large toothy grin spreads across his face before he stands to greet you both.

“BakuBro! Y/N! I’m glad you guys decided to come after all.” He calls cheerfully, clapping his longtime friend on his back and smiling kindly at you. You return the smile bashfully, waving at everyone else at the table as you slide into the open seat next to Mina.

“Shut up! I’d rather be anywhere else than here.” Bakugo barks at Kirishima, dropping into the seat next to you with little grace.

“Don’t lie, Bakugo. We know you’d never miss Midoriya’s special day.” Sero goads from across the table, poking the bear in a way you’d never attempt.

“Yeah, Bakugo. You can call him your rival all you want, but we know when he calls you come running.” Kaminari adds more fuel to the flames.

“Shut the fuck up! I’ll kill you both!” Your date growls, sparks popping from his hands. You cover your face with your hand, seriously doubting the choices you’ve made to get you to this point. Bakugo takes note of your distress and feels a small wave of guilt wash over him. He takes a deep breath in and out, then settles for glaring at the men across from him silently.

“Y/N, you look gorgeous in that dress.” Mina tries to strike up a new conversation, causing you to smile at her effort.

“Yeah you look great!” Kirishima chimes in to agree with his partner. He looks back at Bakugo before quirking a brow in thought before a big smile blooms on his face. “You guys are matching!”

Blood rushes to both of your faces when you look at each other and realize you unintentionally matched in all black. You guys really did look the part.

“Wow, I didn’t even notice that. Did you guys pick all black because both of your exes are getting married, so it’s like you’re mourning the official death of those relationships?” As the words leave Kaminari’s mouth, you feel an ugly feeling swirl in your stomach.

Is that what this looked like to others? Immense embarrassment washes over you. You begin to heavily consider excusing yourself from the table. You wanted to be somewhere else right now. All eyes turn to Kaminari, who’s looking at the rest of you cluelessly.

“Denki!” Mina hisses, wishing now more than ever she knew what was wrong with her friend. Even Sero shakes his head in disbelief of the sheer amount of social awareness his friend lacked.

“What? I’m just asking a question. They look like they’re attending a funeral rather than a wedding.” Kaminari attempts to defend himself, but only continues to dig himself into a deeper hole.

Bakugo agains starts sparking his quirk, seemingly ready to pounce at any moment. “You wanna talk about a funeral so bad, how about I get you ready for yours?” He growls, but before he can strike the other man, you raise your hand to stop him. Surprisingly, this effectively halts Bakugo.

Even though you’d much rather get up and find somewhere to hide until everyone forgot about you, you’re tired of hiding. It’s time to stand on business and face this head on. You take a breath before plastering a smile on your face, hoping that no one can see right through you.

“It’s actually a coincidence that Bakugo and I are wearing the same color. I guess we both just wanted to be as respectful as possible by avoiding the forbidden color. Black is the exact opposite of white so it makes sense right?” You can feel your heart beating in your throat, but you try to ignore the feeling. “I also just really happen to like the color black. It goes with everything.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Kaminari hums after a moment. “It’s still funny to see you guys matching. It makes y’all look like a real couple. If you’re finally over Midoriya, Y/N, how about you and me give it a try?” He asks suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows and winking at you.

Your face heats once again and all you can do is look away, wishing that you had a quirk that would make him be quiet. Bakugo on the other hand, reaches his long arm across the table to grab Kaminari by the collar of his shirt.

“You say one more goddamn thing to Y/N and I’ll blow you sky fucking high. Shut your stupid mouth, I don’t want to hear anymore dumb shit spill out.” Kaminari, who’s also a pro hero, gulps loudly before shaking his head and pulling as far away from Bakugo as he can. When your date lets him go, he trembles in his seat silently.

While everyone at the table is no stranger to Bakugo’s aggressive behavior and violent tendencies, everyone is a bit taken aback by how quick he was to defend you. You two were never particularly close in the past, so what’s changed in the small amount of time you’ve spent together.

“Y/N, I’m gonna grab a drink from the bar for Ei and I. Come with me.” Mina says as she stands, grabbing your hand to pull you from the table. You let her pull you from your seat, but you stop before she can lead you away.

“Do you want anything?” You turn to ask Bakugo.

“Just some water. I want to keep my shit together unlike these other losers.” He says, looking up at you from his seat. You nod and turn wordlessly back to Mina. You only make it a few feet away from the table before she grabs you and pulls you close.

“Girl! What the hell was that? I’ve never seen him defend a date like that before!” She whisper yells incredulously, her eyes wide with surprise.

“I don’t know. I guess he feels bad for me or something.” You shrug your shoulders, rubbing the spot on your arm where she grabbed you a bit too hard.

“No way, Bakugo doesn’t do pity. He rarely feels bad for someone else, I don’t think he has enough empathy for that. If he’s standing up for you like that, I think he must like you at least a little.”

Bakugo like you? The thought feels too foreign to even consider. There’s no way.

“I sincerely doubt it, but okay.” You decide to close off that conversation rather than continue to go back and forth with her. The two of you grab the drinks from the bar, then proceed back to the table. From the way people were scrambling to sit down, you had a feeling things would be starting soon.

You hand Bakugo his water wordlessly. He nods his head as a thank you before taking a sip. You wonder if his mouth feels as dry with nerves as yours does. You look down at the mixed drink Mina had chosen for you when you asked what you should get. Maybe you should’ve gotten a water like you date.

The room quiets down and the pending entrance of the groom is announced. Without a second thought you down the drink in one go, not even thinking about the others seeing. Suddenly, you didn’t care anymore.

Soft instrumental music fills the air and the double doors at then front of the room open. Out steps the man you once loved, dressed head to toe in white. Of course he’d do white. He was always a bit theatrical in that way.

You feel a pang in your chest as Izuku stands at the head of the room, looking happier than you've seen him in years. Uraraka is radiant as she steps down the aisle, her beautiful white dress flowing behind her. Their eyes only on each other, their smiles lighting up the room. Once she makes her way down the aisle you force yourself to smile along with the crowd, masking the ache in your heart.

Throughout the ceremony, you steal glances at Bakugo, who surprisingly seems to share your discomfort. He shifts in his seat, occasionally muttering something under his breath that you can't quite catch. His presence, though initially abrasive, has become oddly reassuring.

As the vows are exchanged and rings placed, you recall the moment Izuku told you there would come a day both of you would find your happy ending, just with other people. Those words, though painful then, now feel like a closure you didn't fully grasp until this moment. He had found his happy ending.

After the ceremony, during the reception, you find yourself standing alone near the bar. The married couple were glowing, filling the room with joy and cheer. Mina and Kirishima along with many others filled the dance floor, celebrating the newly formed union. You watch silently, taking sips of your drink every so often. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice when someone slipped off the dance floor and began to approach you.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come tonight.” You jump slightly when you hear the voice you were least expecting. Your eyes meet the green ones that you’d spent countless hours looking into in the past. The man of the hour, Izuku, is standing in front of you with a small smile on his face.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure either. But here I am.” You try to smile back, but it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped it would.

“I’m glad you did.”

“I don’t understand why though. I’ve been out of your life for years now, Izuku. You didn’t seem to care about me then.” You wish you could stop, but the pained words wouldn’t stop falling.

“Of course I care about you. I wanted all the important people from my life here tonight. Even if we weren’t meant to be, that doesn’t erase the impact we had on each others’ lives. You helped make me into the man I am today. And I can’t thank you enough for that.” You ache inside at this. He genuinely wanted you here because even if it’s just a little, you still mattered to him.

Words escape you. For a moment, all you can do is bite the inside of your cheek while you ponder what he said some more. Across the room Uraraka is laughing joyfully, dancing with friends and family. You watch as she enjoys her night.

“She’s beautiful in her dress. You’re a lucky guy.” It’s all you can think to say.

“I am. She’s everything to me.” You glanced over to see his eyes trained on her, a loving gaze following her every move. While similar to how he once looked at you, you realize his stare his different. Somehow, it’s so much more than when he was yours. He’s truly in love. You’re surprised when you feel his hand grasp yours gently. “Y/N, it wasn’t me for you. But I know someday you’ll have the right person. And you’ll be their everything.”

“Thank you for coming tonight.” He gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting go. It’s time for him and his bride to cut their cake. He smiles at you one more time before walking away. He doesn’t look back.

Once again you’re standing alone, a confused and murky mix of thoughts and feelings swirling inside of you. You weren’t expecting to talk to Izuku or for him to say what he said.

Moments later Bakugo appears beside you, holding a glass. It still looks to be water.

"You alright?" His voice startles you, but you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He sighs, looking out at the crowd that surrounds the bride and groom. The room watched as Izuku feeds his new wife a bite of cake, smudges of white frosting decorated their noses and lips. "I get it, you know. Seeing them like this—it's rough."

You meet his gaze, surprised by his empathy. "Yeah," is all you manage to say.

Bakugo shifts uncomfortably. "Listen, I know I'm not good at this kind of shit, but... if you need to get out of here, just say the word. I can take you home."

You hesitate, touched by his offer. "Thanks, Bakugo. I appreciate it."

He nods gruffly before stepping away, leaving you to your thoughts. You can’t help but think that maybe there's more to Bakugo than meets the eye—a depth you hadn't expected. A real person behind the persona.

Later, when the music slows and people begin to fade away from dance floor, Bakugo finds you again, this time extending his hand.

"Want to dance?" he asks, his tone surprisingly gentle.

You look at him, searching for any hint of malice or mockery, but find none. Just a genuine offer, from a man who rarely offers anything. There’s a sincerity in his eyes that you never thought you’d see.

You take his hand, and together you step onto the dance floor. As you and Bakugo dance, the music wraps around you like a comforting embrace. The atmosphere is charged with unspoken words, and finally, Bakugo breaks the silence.

"You know, I never expected tonight to go like this," he admits gruffly, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

You tilt your head, curious. "What do you mean?"

He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. "I didn't think I'd be the one comforting you at this damn wedding. If anything, I thought it'd be the other way around."

A small, sad smile tugs at your lips. "Life's funny that way, huh?"

"Yeah," he mutters, a rare vulnerability in his voice. "Guess it is."

There's a lull in the music, and you find yourself caught in his intense gaze. "Thanks, Bakugo. For being here with me tonight."

He shrugs, a gesture that speaks volumes. "Wasn't gonna let you face this shit alone."

Your heart warms at his unexpected sincerity. "I'm glad you're here."

He snorts softly, his hand tightening slightly around yours. "Yeah, well... I'm not great with this sentimental shit."

You chuckle softly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "I know. But I appreciate it anyway."

Bakugo's lips twitch into a half-smile, a rare sight that makes your heart skip a beat. "Alright, enough of that mushy shit. Don’t start thinking I’m gonna start being some nice softy wimp now."

You roll your eyes playfully. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As the song comes to an end, you realize that though tonight started rocky you’re glad that you came to the wedding. You actually feel some comfort and a little glimmer of hope. Hope that despite the past and the pain, there's a future where you and Bakugo might explore whatever this connection between you two is.

"Ready to get out of here?" he asks, his voice softer now.

You nod, feeling more at ease than you have all night. "Yeah. Let's go."

Hand in hand, you leave behind the echoes of Izuku's wedding, stepping into a new chapter—one where you're not alone, and where unexpected companionship just might lead to something more.

[world-of-fantasies]

"Hold Me Forever" : Chapter 1

Words: 3670 (I know it's long!)

Pairing: Finnick Odair x FemReader

Time: 75th Hunger Games (Catching Fire)

Warnings: weapons, kisses, basically any Hunger Games talk, you know.

Summary: You won the 68th Hunger Games at age 15. Now, seven years later, you are being thrown back in, this time with your boyfriend, Finnick Odair. How will you two balance your relationship with the trials of the Games?

Note: I've had this draft of Finnick x Reader for a while now, and as I get more confident in sharing my writing, I decided I would finally start posting it. I know this first chapter is quite long, but it's all the set up for the readers games, so if you want, stick with it! Eventually, I'll probably, hopefully continue to release the rest of the story, so bear with me! Hope you enjoy!

*Also, I don't own most of these characters! Some I created, but mostly they are from the good old Hunger Games series.

Series Masterlist...

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Pre-Games: District 4 

My hair softly blew in the wind, my lips tasted salty from the sea air, and soft sand sifted through my toes. I took a deep breath and smiled at the scene before my eyes softly closed, and my mind shifted to the Games. 

*** 

68th Games Flashback 

My breath slightly caught in my throat as I looked over the sea of people before the stage. My name had just been chosen out of all the other females in District 4 to represent the District in the 68th Hunger Games. I was 15. Although I wanted to begin crying on the spot, I knew that the tributes from here were part of the Career group, and therefore, I needed to act strong and excited for this opportunity. Swallowing my sob, I flit my eyes up from the ground and put on a mischievous smile. 

“Our District 4 tributes for this year’s 68th Hunger Games!” our escort, Mariana, cheerfully exclaimed, and as my District partner, also my best friend, Corey, and I held hands and raised them into the air, the crowd cheered loudly and with passion for us.

We smiled and dropped our hands before heading back to meet our family and friends. I stayed as strong as I could while saying goodbye to them, but as soon as they left, I let out a big breath, and a tear was wiped from my cheek. Eventually, we found ourselves on the train with our mentors, Finnick Odair and Mags Flanagan. They were to co-mentor us, as Mags didn’t talk, and it gave Finnick the chance to continue his new mentoring skills. It was impossible for me not to think him attractive, but as he was a couple of years older, all I could do was sneak glances occasionally. 

Training had gone as expected, Corey and I learning alongside the other Careers, mastering the weapons scattered around the training center. Unlike the other Careers, though, we had been told by our mentors not to overlook the survival stations as they would come in handy more often than a weapon. Occasionally, a scoff was released from another in the group, but we ignored it and went on our way. As far as weapons, Corey ended very skilled with a sword and as usual a trident, though not quite at Finnick’s level, while I improved at all types of knives plus improving at a bow and spear. 

The Career group that year was a good one for sure. District 1 had Sly (M) and Jewel (F), the former scoring a 10 in his assessment while Jewel scored an 8, much to her disappointment. District 2 consisted of Blaze (M) and Artemis (F), Blaze scoring a 10 as well and Artemis a 9. Then there was Corey and I who both scored respectable 9’s. Jewel was a bit of a drama queen and annoying, but there was always one like that. 

When we rose into the arena, I was met with a welcome surprise. The Cornucopia was centered in the circle of tributes as per usual, but surrounding the podiums was a body of water, far enough across that we’d have to swim a bit and couldn’t just jump over. When the gong sounded, most ran towards the sculpture, some running away, and we Careers got to work. Being more sensible than most other Careers, I tried to stay away from killing as much as I could but had to stab someone when they came at me with their knife pointed at my head. 

For the most part, we Careers went about the Games the same as every year. We traveled around hunting down the other tributes and defending our camp and each other when attacked. After a while, though, Corey and I worried that the rest of the group would begin to turn on us as District 4 seemed to be the odd ones out, and one night we snuck off on our own. It appeared our decision had been a good one, as the group had begun to fight each other just the next day, Jewel and Blaze the only ones left alive. 

Corey and my plan had gone well until one day we were attacked by Bran, the male tribute from 9, and Ivy, the female from 7. It was a rough fight, as Ivy and I went back and forth in who had the advantage before, eventually I knocked Ivy’s axe out of her hand, kicked her to the ground, and pierced my spear through her stomach. Her cannon sounded, but I was met with a scream from behind me. Whipping my head around, I was met with Brian on top of Corey, a knife to my partner's throat, and without thinking, I ran at the boy. 

Bam! I slammed myself into the other attacker, knocking him off Corey. He looked shocked momentarily before I yelled, “Get your trident!” while I grabbed my spear. 

Corey quickly scrambled to his feet while Bran did the same, and once they were both up, Bran stood facing us, knife at the ready. 

“I’m not leaving till at least one of you is dead,” he growled lunging a bit. 

“Gonna be difficult if you’re the dead one,” Corey smirked. 

Then the fighting resumed, us two against the one, and held our advantage for a bit. Suddenly, Bran brought his elbow up and knocked it into my head so hard that I felt dizzy and stumbled over. My vision blurred from the impact, and I couldn’t get up, but it was good enough to make out Bran sending his knife through Corey’s stomach, the latter gasping and crumpling to the ground. 

“No!” I screamed and my anger brought me to my feet, my body lunging at Bran and sending my spear through his head, killing him instantly. 

The next few moments consisted of me holding Corey in my arms and lap with him motivating me to keep pushing and trying to get home, for him, for our families, for our mentors, for the District, and myself. I nodded, tears falling down my face and before I knew it, another cannon sounded. I spent the rest of that night grieving, but the next day I held my head up high and continued to try. I would try and win. 

After a few days had passed, I heard a cannon, and it immediately appeared in the sky. That meant there were only two left, and those two were me and Blaze. It felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Blaze was one of the best in the arena, and certainly better than I. I had to try, though. 

“Attention to the remaining tributes! Congratulations! You are the final two!” Claudius Templesmith announced, his voice echoing throughout the arena. “Now, if you look down at your right forearm, you’ll notice a small blue light.” 

I dropped my gaze to my right arm and, sure enough, a light glowed from inside the appendage. 

“That is your tracker. If you don’t make it back to the Cornucopia in five minutes, it will self-destruct. I wish you all the luck in the world and may the odds be ever in your favor.” 

A loud boom sounded, and I knew that the five minutes had started. My legs took off, running as fast as I possibly could. They burned, but I didn’t care, I’d rather that than a blown-up arm. 

“Two minutes,” Claudius said. 

I continued to run and eventually, I could see the large structure ahead of me. Suddenly, Claudius began to count down from 10. I panicked, and seeing the ring of water approaching, I pushed harder and dove into it. When I was back up on land, I ran a bit more to be safe as the countdown ended. 

“Ahh!!” 

It sounded like Blaze hadn’t made it in time and his tracker self-destructed, but he wasn’t dead as there was no cannon. Instead, he stumbled into the other end of the clearing and made it across the water, right forearm blown off and dripping blood while he limped towards me. 

“So, down to you and me. The District 4 girl, to me, the best,” Blaze smirked at me. “Did you manage to kill Corey? How’d you buck up the courage to do that to your little boyfriend, huh?” 

Anger boiled inside me. How dare he think I killed my best friend, and he wasn’t my boyfriend by any means. 

“What’s wrong? You couldn’t handle seeing his bloodied body after you killed him? Hm?” 

It all got too much, and I charged. He seemed surprised at first as this didn’t seem like me, but his taunting about Corey drew the line. 

“Don’t you dare say anything about Corey! He was my best friend! I would’ve killed myself if I killed him and he’s the only reason I’m still here! I’m still fighting to avenge him!” I yelled as we fought. 

Unfortunately, for the District 2 boy, he couldn’t fight as well with his stub of an arm but he still somehow managed to wrap it around my neck when I tried to punch him. He squeezed it and I felt the movement of air stop. I gasped and tried to take a deep breath but to no avail. 

“This is the end, (y/n),” he growled, holding a knife dangerously close to my stomach. 

“No,” I whispered. 

“What?” he questioned. 

“No, this is the end, for you,” I choked out, secretly grabbing a knife from my belt and stabbing him from behind. 

“Why,” he gasped as he fell to the ground. 

“I’m sorry, I really am,” I gasped kneeling next to him tears beginning to fall. “I did it for Corey. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s the Hunger Games. Someone had to win, and that’s not me,” he whispered before a loud boom was heard. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Claudius’ voice sounded. “I am pleased to present the victor of the 68th Hunger Games, (y/n) (y/l/n)!” 

I let out a sigh of relief before my face dropped, realizing what I had done to achieve this title. The bloodied bodies of all the former tributes were then surrounding me. Blaze, Corey, Ivy, Bran, the boy I had killed in the beginning, and all we had killed in the Career group. 

“You’re alive because we’re dead. You killed us,” they all chanted except for Corey. 

“I should’ve lived a nice life back in 4, (y/n). Not you. But now I’m dead, all because of you,” Corey growled. 

“No!” I screamed and sank to the ground, knees to my chest, sobbing. 

I continued to sob not even realizing when the hovercraft lifted me and brought me back to the Capitol. Aboard the hovercraft, I was placed in a makeshift hospital room and was given some drugs that put me to sleep. When I woke up back in the Capitol hospital, Mags was sitting in my room and immediately came over to the bedside when she saw my eyes open, gesturing a nurse away from the room, probably to tell people I was awake. 

“Mags,” I softly cried burying my head in her chest as she held me close and hugged me. 

After a few moments, we heard the door open, and instead of a nurse standing there, it was Finnick looking a bit hurried and worried. When he saw that I was indeed awake, a look of relief crossed his face, and he came over to my bed, replacing Mags’s place, wrapping his muscular arms around me comfortably. 

“Good job,” he whispered in my ear. 

Before I could say anything about how I only won because everyone else had died he cut me off. 

“I know it hurts. Everyone else dying just so you can live. Listen to me, though, the Capitol loved it. Completely ate it up. To keep yourself and those you love safe, you need to act strong. It’s going to be difficult, but please, you need to try.” 

We pulled apart, and I looked into his sea-green eyes. They were completely serious and full of worry again. I nodded and wiped the tears from my face. In my Victor interview, I did exactly what Finnick had explained, putting on a brave, sassy, and happy face with a fake smile. I responded with jokes and the audience loved me before they cheered even louder while the crown was placed upon my head. As soon as I left the stage, I slammed backward into a wall and covered my ears as all the voices of the other tributes flooded my senses. Finnick showed up and hid me away from the view of any cameras or Capitol citizens, comforting me in a way no one had done before. 

Eventually, I was forced to go on the victory tour, something I was very reluctant to do, but in the end, it wasn’t a negotiation. I was dressed up head to toe in expensive clothing, pushed onto a stage in every District with notecards to spew words about how grateful I was to the Capitol for my experiences after the Games and the rest of my life. I wanted to vomit hearing the words come out of my mouth. 

By the very last one before the Capitol itself, I had crumpled to the floor as soon as the big doors closed behind me. Again, Finnick hid me away and comforted me. Unfortunately, he also told me some upsetting information about what would probably happen in the Capitol after the party. He told me all about how his body was sold to Capitol citizens to continue his work for the President. I couldn’t say anything and just threw myself into his arms both in sympathy for what he had gone through and in fear of it happening to me. 

Just as we had predicted, at the end of the party, some of Snow’s guards had pulled me away from everyone else and placed me in a room with just the President himself. Not wanting anything to happen to my family I accepted with a forced smile and went on my way. I told Finnick that night resulting in another hug, this time in sympathy for me. Luckily for me, through the years, I was not put through nearly as much as some other tributes. 

Over the next couple of years, Finnick and my relationship began to change. I slowly formed major feelings for him, his beach hair, green eyes, and charming smile. I loved it all. It was during the 71st Games, when Johanna won, that our relationship changed for the better. We had taken on the mentoring together that year, with him mostly helping the male out more while I helped the female. When both of them died very early, I lost it and blamed their deaths heavily on myself. As usual, he calmed me down, but in a very different way from the usual. As I bawled and went on and on about how it was all my fault, he took my face in his hands and pressed his lips on mine. 

To say I was shocked was an understatement. I stopped breathing for a moment before my lips matched his rhythm, and I kissed back. We pulled apart and laughed a little at our previous action before he calmed me down in his usual way and explained how he had liked me the past few years, only now building up the courage to kiss me while I was spiraling. From then on, our relationship was one of the best, and he always made me happy. 

*** 

End of Flashback 

My eyes fluttered open as I felt a pair of lips place down on the top of my head and a body sit down next to mine. I turned my head and was met with my boyfriend’s face. 

“Hey,” he smiled. 

“Hey,” I smiled back, and we pecked each other on the lips before pulling apart and I shifted so I was lying in his lap. 

“Were you thinking about your Games again, Angel?” he asked playing with a piece of my hair, using my nickname, and always knowing what I was thinking. 

“Unfortunately. I can’t help it with the Quell coming up,” I responded, tracing little circles on his knee. 

“I know, I get it. I’ve been thinking about mine too. But it’s okay, we’re here right now. Together. No matter what happens, I’ll always be there for you.” 

“Thanks, I’ll be there for you too,” I smiled softly. 

For a while more, we sat there, in the presence of each other and completely in love. Eventually, we made our way back to our houses that stood directly across from each other. 

“Do you want to stay over to watch the Quell announcement?” Finnick asked me as we stood between our two houses. 

“I would love to, but I think I should be there with the family,” I smiled, pushing away some hair that had fallen across his eyes. 

“Sounds good,” he smiled and kissed me on the forehead once before moving down to my lips. 

We both smiled into the kiss and held onto the other’s hand as long as we could as we parted towards our respective abodes. 

That night, my mother, older brother, and I gathered in the living room after dinner to watch President Snow announce what the 75th Hunger Games and the 3rd Quarter Quell would be this year, and what catch it would be. We all sat on our couch, the nerves felt through all of us. Suddenly, the screen flickered to life, and Snow was standing at a podium, microphone in front of his face. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the 75th year of the Hunger Games. It was written in the charter of the Games that every 25 years, there would be a Quarter Quell, to keep fresh for each new generation, the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol. Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance.  

On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every District was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it. On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every District was required to send twice as many tributes. 

Now, on the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the third Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each District.” 

My heart sank. The man continued to talk, but I couldn’t hear any of it. All I could hear was the thumping of blood in my ears, my mom wailed out, and my brother choked back a sob. The only female tributes in District 4 were me, Annie, and Mags. There was no way that I could let either of them go in. Annie was still so broken, though I probably was as well, more than I thought, and although she was a year older, she seemed like a small girl at the same time. She was my best friend. And Mags, absolutely not. She didn’t deserve to go back in, no one did, but especially her. She was like a grandmother to me. Thinking on the other side, Finnick was one of four male tributes still alive. I could only hope he wasn’t chosen or volunteered. 

Oh, Finnick. I had to go to him. I quickly got up and mumbled out that I was sorry and had to go find Finnick to my mom and brother before running out of the house and closing the door. When I turned around, I saw Finnick doing the same across the way, and after we locked eyes, both filled with tears, we ran to each other. We met in the middle of Victor’s Village and wrapped our arms around each other, crying, and in absolute fear.  

Eventually, we were able to pull apart from each other to look each other in the face. 

“Finn, you know I can’t let Annie or Mags go in. You know I would never forgive myself,” I quickly said before he could stop it. 

“(y/n)…” he started before I cut him off with a kiss. 

When we pulled apart, he looked me in the eyes and realized how serious I was. If I wasn’t chosen, I would most certainly be volunteering for either the red-haired girl or my grandmother figure. 

“I understand, I feel like I’m obliged to go in over the others too,” he explained. 

“Finn, no, please no.” 

“(y/n), I have to. Plus, if you go in, I don’t trust any of them to look after you,” he joked, trying to make the situation a bit lighter. 

I took a deep breath, taking in the information before complying and said, “Okay. If that’s how it needs to be. You and me.” 

“You and me,” he replied. 

By the time I walked back to my house, I had accepted my fate just a bit, though I was still very scared and shocked. As soon as I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me, my mom and brother were walking towards me. 

“Don’t you dare do it, (y/n),” my brother cried. “You can’t go in there.” 

“Come on, Sean,” I begged. “I can’t let Annie or Mags go in there. If you were in my situation, I know you’d do the same thing.” 

Instead of arguing more, he gave a very slight nod and hugged me. My mom joined the hug, teary-eyed, and we stood there for what seemed like forever. I probably wouldn’t get this ever again, or at least for a very long time. I would be going back into the games. 

************************************************************************

Next...

[loustyleshtommo]

Which songs Taylor has written do you think could be about Louis?

My god, SOOOOOO MANY. There are songs that reference Louis like a bait (tolerate it: took this dagger in me and remove it. Like Louis’s tattoo. hoax: my twisted knife like Louis wrote about in 1D’s Love You Goodbye) Songs like kindred spirits of Louis’s Habit: Come so far from Princess Park (Champagne Problem: This dorm was once a madhouse, Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me: You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. also the black dog: old habits died screaming in connection to Louis’s copy of a copy of a copy: I can hear you howling til your lungs hurt. Then there are songs about LouisandHarry as a package deal.

Lover: Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince (written to Louis from Harry’s POV), it’s nice to have a friend (oh look at the gays-in-blue wedding in you need to calm down mv. I wonder if this song was written for that particular ceremony. Leeds tent, mario cart/fifa video games, pass me a note on couple tattoos, like)

Fearless (Taylor’s Version From the Vault): That’s When (I know the OG was written way before Taylor and Louis ever met, but she said she revised the lyrics and significantly tweaked the meaning of this song, because her own perspective on needing space and time has changed. Do you protect each other’s solitude? And it’s like the perfect answer to Louis’s Always You.)

RED (From the Vault): track 28 run (ft. Ed Sheeran) #twinning: 1D’s FOUR Ready to Run

reputation: dancing with our hands tied #twinning: 1D’s Midnight Memories Little White Lie

folklore: peace, hoax

evermore: willow (a message to her Coming Out team “wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark”/“every bait and switch was a work of arts”) Coney Island aka duet from the other side of Out of the Woods where they didn’t make it. So I guess it’s not really about LouisandHarry but more like a comparison between Larry and swiftgron. Because Louis & Harry always, always put each other on the centerfold of their songs.

1989: Out of the Woods (written from Louis’s POV, special shoutout to my favorite line the rest of the world was black and white but we were in screaming colors), I Know Places (written from Taylor’s POV first then applied Harry’s POV (the rewinding tape sound is very much an I think I’ve seen this film before and I didn’t like the ending re:swiftgron sunken ship “something happened when everybody finds out”) then she tried to change the ending from Peter losing Wendy aka Taylor losing Diana by switching POV at the very end, just like Harry/1D did in Something Great, to Louis’s POV aka the new Peter) but it wouldn’t been fun if i could’ve been the 1.

TTPD: Track 28 Peter, But Daddy I Love Him

Midnight: Question…? (Started with “I remember” from Out of the Woods manipulated into male pitch. Sounded like Taylor was dealing with being almost out of the closet, so close but so far with the whole thing came crashing down. And wondering how did Louis & Harry deal with almost getting to come out, only to be shoved so much deeper into the closet. How did they make it through TOGETHER pass all that bullshit AGAIN?)

This one is purely my highest hope that it was written for LouisandHarry (given how Taylor usually released a song about two to three years after she first drafted it) and also applied to TaylorandKarlie now

1989: You Are In Love

[natsbaby]

Grief

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: different people goes through grief differently and you’re not an exception from this

Warning: mentions of death of major character, sad thoughts from the major character, crying

A/N: im sorry if this doesn’t make sense compared to my past stories, wanted to try something new and had this concept in mind when i heard this song that made me feel really nostalgic-sad 🥹 i’m still drafting the actual story for my royal AU but the general concept is already there so hopefully i’ll release it soon so for now, hope you guys like this one!!! 💖💖💖💖

When you first experienced your first ever “death experience” was when your dog of 10 years died. You loved him with your whole being as he was your best friend and did everything with him. When he died, you were 10 years old who has a vague idea of the concept but never truly experienced it until one day you came home from school and he wasn’t there to greet you normally. Your parents sat you down, explaining what happened as well as they believed you could handle. They explained it through a children’s book that talked about how one has to talk to others to go through the mourning process of a loss, but everyone’s different so it could differ. It also stated that one would feel like something’s missing, and admittedly you didn’t feel that so, it was a (pleasant? maybe to your parents so they wouldn’t have to worry about your innocence) surprise when you handled it really well, not a tear rolling down your face, though your parents were wondering if it ever truly hit you that your best friend was gone. You went to school the next day as if nothing happened at home.

Your next “death experience” was your uncle who you were relatively close with but not as much as your dog’s death 4 years prior. You went to the wake one day after your parents dressed you up in all black and told you how he died from a devastating car crash. You were surrounded by family members who came from far and wide to say goodbye to your uncle one last time, he was the brother of your father. They believed your family was close with him due to his relationship with your father so they would come up to your family, extending their grievances in which you replied with “oh thank you, he was a good man”. It was a safe thing to say, you realized that after the 7th (maybe, you lost count) crying aunt came and hugged you as if you’re the one crying and they’re the ones comforting you. By the time you and your parents left the wake to go home, you couldn’t help but notice the slight gaping feeling in your chest. It was the first time you felt this feeling, but shrugged it off thinking it was the effects from being in a room of mourning people for a few hours.

The death of your father, which was a more recent “death experience” you felt, was something that almost turned your world stop. You were a daddy’s girl, so his death kind of affected you differently. You were in your early 20s when this happened and you remembered it like it was yesterday. You were told of his passing while you were walking to your next class in University through the phone. You stopped walking in the middle of the hallway when your mother uttered the words, before breaking down over the phone in grief. You remember cooing softly at your mother over the phone, trying your best to comfort her when she eventually pulled herself together so you could head to class. The same gaping feeling you felt in your uncle’s wake was there, a bit more obvious than before. You thought it was irritating that the feeling was there when you had finals to deal with, so you pushed it away as you go through your finals and eventually through the actual wake. All you did was push that empty feeling away, forcing yourself to not think about it until it became unconscious. That was your experience so far with grief, but you didn’t realize things would be different when it was the love of your life’s turn to leave this world.

“Nat’s been compromised, we’re still trying to find her body but it’s possible she’s gone. We’re sorry, Y/N”

You stare back at the message on your phone by an unknown number, most likely a SHIELD agent Fury asked to let you know since your information’s on Nat’s emergency information in case of an unlikely scenario.

Nat promised you that she would return to you after this whole saving the world thing was taken care of so that the two of you could finally have a life together without the paranoia on Nat’s end. She asked you to stay at the safe house while waiting for you, even allowed you to convert it into whatever you want to keep your mind of things. You’ve been through grief before, knowing how it can affect others differently but you didn’t expect what happened next.

The first thing you thought of was how this must be a joke, she’s Natasha Romanoff after all. The woman who went to space for God’s sake to save the world and survived the snap that killed off 50% of the population. This must be some cruel joke, right?

You start to chuckle as you put your phone down, looking out of the window as you walk up to it. You start to look around to try and find Nat walking up to the safe house but nothing.

“Nat’s probably on the way home now, limping with some gash wound or something that i’d have to patch up” you think as an unconscious chuckle ruptures out of your throat, shaking your head at the thought. But then a voice you haven’t heard since your father’s wake enters your mind.

But.. what if she is dead? It says back to you.

A cold shudder runs down your spine as you realized that you’d never receive that message unless it was real.. and it was in that moment you realized that you lost the love of your life. It was like someone opened a dam and something uncharacteristically of you overcame. You started to cry.

Thick, heavy drops of tears start to flow out of your eyes and down your face, the words “Nat’s gone” bouncing off the walls of your mind starts to seep down into your heart, the weight of the world suddenly on your shoulders causing you to fall onto your knees, your hands on the floor as your main support from completely crumbling down.

Sobs starts to break through your throat as tears flows faster down, the darkness seeping onto your heart starts to fill up as years of grief from past loved ones starts to bottle up as well but all you could think was how you’d never wake up besides her ever again, how you’d one day forget the sound of her voice or the smell that screams-

You’re gonna forget her.

You’re gonna forget who she is and how she played a vital role in your life. The sudden drowning-feeling of guilt overcomes your senses as your heart sunk at the thought of forgetting the love of your life. You struggle to breathe as you try to calm yourself down but to no avail, you’ve never cried this hard in your life despite the experience. An animalistic scream breaks through, a form of release you’ve never heard yourself done in your decades of existing in this world.

How will you live on? another voice speaks in your mind and the feeling of dread swallows you whole in that one second.

Oh god you’re gonna have to start living without her, walk through door frames where she once went through and speak to people as if she stands besides you, coaxing you to part from the party and spend time with her. You’re never gonna come home one day and be enveloped in the sense of security she brings into your shared apartment, something that only she could do. The thought of having to live without her from this day onwards just sends another bolt of pain on your already cracked heart, causing it to officially break that no one could ever fix, only she could fix but she’s not here to do so anymore.

After what seems like forever, you finally do calm down. Heavy breathing fills the room as you note how dark the room has become, you probably have been crying for hours without realizing it. You slowly get up, but the shakiness of your knees caused you to fall back onto your butt. You didn’t have the energy to get up from all the crying so you just lean back against the wall as you bring your knees to your chest, hugging yourself into a tight ball as you nuzzle your face into yourself. The moon shines through the window, and onto the bed where your phone has been sitting this entire time. You’re not sure how you could walk through this lifetime without the woman that changed your life forever, how you could remember the woman far longer than you’ve known her without forgetting the little things that became routine for the both of you.

You knew in the back of your mind that Nat would prefer you to move on, not necessarily forget but to at least hold up your own now that she’s gone and you knew that one day you’d be able to remember the good and not the bad. For now, all you know is this new feeling of numbness that you’ve never felt before as you mourn over your passed beloved. The empty feeling that once occupied your life for her, now shattered into so small of pieces that might never get back together as perfectly as it once was. You believe this is the feeling everyone feels when someone close to them passes, something you should have felt the moment your dog passed at childhood or when your father passed at your early adulthood.

What you didn’t realize was while you were wallowing in pain, a message came through stating that Natasha Romanoff has officially been declared dead, and another message stating i love you, i’m sorry.

[s0ulm8s]

boys like you (1.0)

✿ summary : alone and left in a mansion with nothing but your canvases and the dust slowly collecting on the window sills - a commission and a call from a childhood friend completely changes your life.

✿ genre : ot7 x f!reader, poly au, hybrid au, soulmate au, deer!seokjin, black panther!yoongi, great dane!hoseok, wolf!namjoon, calico cat!jimin, tiger!taehyung, bunny!jungkook

✿ warnings : mentions of death, maybe some mentions of assault, some fluff, reader is described as small (i.e smaller than jimin), slight age gap (reader is younger than jungkook)

✿ word count : 2.2K

✿ author’s note : i am inexperienced in hybrid aus, smut, and series so pls bare with me (not proofread yet)

✿ series masterlist! | 2.0

making yourself buckle down and work on the piece in front of you had proven to be more of a task than you had originally anticipated. the wide expanse of blank canvas you had stretched yourself 3 weeks ago, mocked you from the the sun room. it was only four days before you had to deliver your piece that you had really forced yourself to pick up a paint brush and do something useful.

the endless days spent alone in the vast building you now called home was doing a number on your psyche. the sheer loneliness seemed to eat away at not only your sanity but aided to your artist’s block - it was truly a gruesome cycle. locked away in an beautiful estate that you never asked for.

not only that, but working from home and having an all but nonexistent social life in a country you only permanently moved to a year prior was a fate worse than you had imagined.

you huffed, finally setting your small brush down on the easel, stepping back to assess your final draft. despite being so unmotivated and plum out of ideas, you were still proud of what you created - you had promised yourself long ago that you’d never sell a piece you abhorred, and you’d remained true to that promise thus far.

a blaring ring ripped you out of your critical trance trained on the landscape in front of you, startling you as your heartbeat quickened in pace.

“hello?” you answered, soft voice flowing through the other end as you anticipated the response from the unknown caller.

“yah! y/n! is that you?” the voice that responded was loud and excited, the baritone of it something you could never forget. a staple soundtrack from the summers you spent with your father in south korea.

“mingi? how’d you get my number?” you asked, a genuine smile flooding your face at the sound of his familiar laugh on the other end. 

of course, the two of you had stayed in brief contact since meeting as children. but as you grew, you saw less of each other. three years ago he and his boyfriend, yunho, had successfully started their own rehabilitation and adoption center for hybrids. the first year was hard, but the business quickly gained popularity and as the creator - he’d been exceptionally busy since her permanent move to south korea. they had two permanent doctors on staff, kim hongjoong and park seonghwa, along with a 24 hour staff. the workers were really exceptional, but you had only ever met their core group when the business first started. which included: choi san, jung wooyoung, choi jongho, kang yeosang, the two doctors, and of course the two owners.

“you were commissioned by a friend of mine! which is actually why i wanted to reach out.” he answered happily as your breathing evened and heartbeat finally settled.

“it’s good to hear from you, really. what can i do for you?” you asked sweetly, and mingi only briefly thought about teasing you for your soft tone and giving nature.

“would you be able to come to the adoption wing today? i’m working here all day as we’ve some new hybrids ready to find a new home. maybe in about an hour? you could join me on my rounds and we could talk. i’d like to see you, anyways. i’ve missed you.” mingi spoke professionally, but his admission made tears prick at your eyes. he almost sounded like the sixteen year old boy who had stolen your first kiss when visiting your father that summer and the memory of when things were simpler stung in your chest. your cheeks flushed. mingi smiled at your silence, knowing he had flustered his best childhood friend. you narrowed your eyes briefly, as he had tried to convince you many times in the past to adopt a hybrid of your own - but you had declined, not entirely convinced that you could provide an exceptional life for another being. because even though your knowledge on hybrids wasn't nearly as advanced as mingi’s, you still knew the basics. they weren't just animals, they were human. and there was no guarantee there. there never was with humans. you hesitate.

“y-yes. i can come by, i’ve just got to swing by and deliver my painting beforehand.” you answered as you both agreed on the meeting the time. “oh, and mingi? i’ve missed you, too.” you said genuinely as he broke into a toothy smile. it had been ages since he’d seen you, and though he knew he could blame it on his work - he didn’t know how to face you after the death of your father. he couldn’t bring himself to be there for you, to see you so broken, and he had blamed himself for that everyday. it was a relief to hear you say it. you had always been so forgiving, sometimes to a fault.

after bidding your goodbyes to the tall boy on the other side of the phone, you quickly changed clothes into something not completely ruined by the muted pigments of your paint, loaded up in your small suv, and you were off.

the delivery of your piece went smoothly, no heckling or disapproving gazes from the wealthy couple, which made your trip to TWILIGHT that much faster. you pushed open the double doors connected to the building in the right wing, clearly labeled ADOPTION. 

the smell of roses and lavender was strong in the reception area, the scent was welcoming and calming as you walked up to the front desk. 

“y/n!” the dark haired boy behind the computer called, finally rolling away from behind the screen. kang yeosang. “it’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed, eyes scanning your face as he made his way around the counter and pulled you into a soft embrace.

“likewise, yeo! it’s been a while hasn't it?” you ask rhetorically as you stare up at his daunting height.

“mmm” he hummed with a nod, releasing you. “i'll let mingi know you’re here.” he called, returning to his place behind the sleek desk, paging mingi, and then proceeding to catch up with you.

the small conversation didn’t last long before a pair of heavy footsteps drug your gaze to the wide staircase, mingi barreling down them.

you braced yourself as the giant scooped you up into a bone crushing embrace, spinning your small frame around in a circle as he let out a happy laugh. your arms snaked around the man’s neck to secure your place and return the hug.

you giggled happily as mingi finally set you down in your original place, looking down at you excitedly. had he gotten taller? impossible. maybe you had shrunk?

after an exchange of excited greetings, mingi gestured to his clipboard before finally asking, “you ready?”

you nodded softly and followed close behind as he guided you down the halls of the adoption center. he gave you the rundown of their center, showing you the wide expanse of spotless rooms sealed in by plexiglass to show the hybrids ready to be rescued. he explained that most hybrids were separated by predator, prey, species, breed, etc. but many were grouped together with their respective packs. the rooms were quite lavish, but not very homey. but what could you expect from an adoption clinic? the point was to find homes.

you passed many show exhibits, watching intently at the small dogs or tall humans sitting in the rooms patiently, playing with one another or napping quietly. you cooed at a few.

“so i asked to see you because i’d love to have your art displayed in our business.” he propositioned, leading you into an empty room as the automatic doors opened and shut behind you. you nodded, heart lurching a bit as you recalled your artist’s block. you shook the thought away as you observed the room. it was large, littered with scattered pieces of nice furniture and random toys. “ideally, i’d love to have your pieces throughout the whole establishment but this is my main concern.” he finished, gesturing to the empty space on the large wall, the one you’re faced with when first entering.

“are you wanting a mural?” you ask, voice now stable and a bit louder. 

“i'd like the piece to cover the majority of the wall, but i’d rather have it on canvas if that’s doable. in case it needs to be moved.” he explained as you nodded, taking in rough measurements of the space as mingi explained his vision for the space - effectively helping you circulate a few ideas on what you could create. you accepted his offer as he discussed payment and supplies with you, adding in an extra cost at the large measurement of the canvas you’d need custom made.

the air in the room grew a bit thick at the sound of a small beep, alerting the two of you to another door opening. your skin was now a bit hot and you suddenly became very aware of your surroundings. your fingers tingled a bit. usually a foreign feeling such as the one you were experiencing would send you into a panic, but it didn’t. if anything you felt quite calm as you looked on inquisitively at the distant thump coming toward the two of you.

“ah, it’s look like some of our hybrids are finished with their check ups.” mingi announced as you nodded lazily. he turned to you. “we usually send them into the lounge area for about an hour after routine check ups. helps them calm down.”

suddenly, you could pay no mind to mingi’s words as a black bunny rounded the corner, back foot slapping the tile exceptionally hard every so often as you smiled down at the creature happily. it stopped in it’s tracks as it’s gaze landed upon you, rearing up on it’s back legs, and tilting it’s head innocently as it examined you. 

you knelt down to greet him, the bunny immediately approaching you and sniffing your hand before accepting you and nuzzling into you closer. mingi was taken aback as he observed the usually reserved and nervous rabbit.

“hello.” you cooed, stroking the bunny effortlessly, careful to avoid his ears and tail, briefly recalling how sensitive they could be. “what’s your name?” you asked as mingi coughed.

“this is jeongguk, he’s one of our younger hyrbrids. the youngest in his pack.” he told you as you picked the bunny up and set him into your small lap. mingi almost gasped at the interaction between you and the rabbit as you pet him happily.

your trance was interrupted at the light purr and brush of a small calico next to you. you instinctively reach out to pet him, as he rubbed into your hand. “and who might you be?”

“this is jimin, the two are in a pack.” mingi attempted to explain, trying to understand the absence of jimin’s usually protective behavior and unable to tell you the full story before you asked him something he was not expecting.

“and they’re ready to be adopted?” you asked softly, not even looking up at mingi as he stuttered. the idea of adopting a hybrid didn’t seem so far-fetched now at how taken you were with the two animals in your lap. you could handle the bunny and cat, without a doubt.

“y-yes but we only adopt out entire packs together and -”

“of course, i wouldn’t dream of separating them. is there anyway i could meet them properly, as soon as i possible i think -” you interrupt. starting to gush a bit, voice hushed and excitable.

mingi cut you off, “no, y/n. you aren’t listening. they aren’t just a pack of two.” he sighed, as your gaze finally met his. “in fact they aren’t just bunny and calico, they’re pack also includes that of a wolf, black panther, deer, great dane, and tiger... their pack has been hard to adopt out as it’s so rare for such a large mix of predators and prey... but they found each other and experienced a lot together... it was only inevitable. and we can’t separate them, we refuse to. and they won’t leave one another.” he finally finished explaining as your expression fell. you let out a breath. seven hybrids. all male. and three apex predators, at that. the thought of suddenly thrusting seven knew faces - seven new men - into your home was intimidating to say the least.

you looked down at the two animals in your lap, the bunny almost looked cresfallen. gauging your reaction as his big brown eyes stared at you expectantly. as if he knew you’d reject him. mingi continued rambling on about how many adopters had expressed interest in at least one of the pack but were never willing to bring in all seven. it hurt your heart as you watched on the bunny and calico.

the estate your father had left you was empty, though. begging to be occupied. you had more than enough room and were blessed with an untouched inheritance. maybe this is what you should use it for. you had always felt too guilty to spend it. but nothing seemed more right, which was a shocking realization to someone who never thought they’d adobt a hybrid.

“could i meet them? the seven of them? i’d at least want to give them a chance... truthfully, i dont think i can leave them behind.” you admitted softly, the bunny and cat both perked up, ears raised and twitching.

“of course. i can arrange a meeting and speak with them tonight... i’ll gather their files for you to take home tonight. can you make it back in again tomorrow?” mingi asked after a deafening pause of hesitation, mouth hanging agape before coming back into reality.

“i’ll be here.”

[impaladolan]

Home Alone - Grayson Dolan

summary: after a long week of work, y/n needs some sort of relaxation and relief. although, her outlook on relieving her frustrations isn’t what grayson had in mind...

warnings: tid bit fluffy, swearing, vibrator use, & smut

a/n: been in my unfinished drafts for a bit..

"Are you sure you don't want to tag along, baby?" Grayson longingly questioned, his brows crinkled and his lips almost forming a pout.

"I haven't been able to do laundry all week. God knows it won't get done unless I do it now." Y/N chuckles, balancing a full basket of freshly dried clothes on her hip, watching her lover wrap his fist around the front door's handle.

Every other weekend, at the Dolan residences, the two brothers, and sometimes their wives, would gather with some of their friends and watch their favorite football teams. And later on, they'd play board games or watch some movies. Normally, Y/N would be the one begging Grayson to hurry up and get ready to attend the biweekly event, except this time.

Y/N has different plans...

It had been a brutal week at work, her boss was currently taking out her "divorce emotions" on her employees and Y/N was getting the rougher end of it. She was relieved when it was finally the weekend and she could stress clean, calm her nerves in some sort of self efficient way and relax after a tough couple days.

She hadn't even had the thought of a sexual release, until she had dreamt multiple naughty scenarios just last night during her deep slumber. She couldn't exactly pinpoint what all she had dreamed, but she remembers waking up with a dripping arousal and a sore ache at her very center. And though her husband was laid right next to her, perfectly capable of satisfying her womanly needs, she decided using other resources would be a better fit.

Don't get her wrong, she loves being pleasured by the only man who knows exactly how to, but she felt embarrassed. She didn't want to come across as a sex-crazed women to Grayson, even though it would never make a difference to him.

They're married, for goodness sake.

"I can stay back and help out. We could even have our own little movie night if you wanted," He began, releasing his hand from the door and taking a few steps toward Y/N, whose lips turned into a cheesy smile as he drew closer to her.

"Just you and me," He took the basket filled with clothes from her hip and set it on the floor, intertwining his large hands with her smaller ones, eliciting a short laugh from Y/N. He brought her closer to his frontside, creating a ballroom dance-like formation and began shuffling around with her in his arms. Like an old married couple, they slowly danced around the room, him twirling her in his grasp while Y/N admirably gazed upon him.

Her cheeks were rosy with admiration, finding his little act of affection adorable. "You get easily distracted, huh?" Y/N grinned, resting her chin happily on his shoulder, his minuscule beard hairs tickling certain parts of her neck.

"Well, you looked too pretty over here by yourself," He softly explained against her ear. "And I wanted to dance around a room with a beautiful woman like you. So, I am." He lowered his hands beneath her and slew her into a romantic dip, planting a sweet kiss upon her lips. She returned one back, feeling her heart grow two sizes larger, much like the Grinch movie portrays, if anything.

"Grayson, I know how much you enjoy football, especially with the boys," She was only making excuses, but he had tempted her to just cuddle on the couch all day and watch plethoras of movies and munch on various snacks. But the low rattle in the depths her core was motioning her in a different way, and she just couldn't survive the rest of the day without fixing her little problem.

"Hmm, you're right. But when I get back, we're ordering take out and watching movies. Got it?" He chuckles, bringing the both of them back up into a standing position.

"M'hm, be safe." Y/N smiles, planting another kiss on her lover's lips before leaving his warmth. She waved goodbye to him as he left their abode, sweetly grinning as she went back to finishing up the laundry before the real reason she was staying home, would begin.

Though the couple's intimate relations seemed innocent and loving, they each had a different side to them, specifically in the bedroom.

The two never shied away from new experiences and would most certainly dabble into different areas of the "sex world," if you will. They, of course, had their preferences and different kinks, but Y/N seemed to be more open and freeing for that sort of stuff.

For the different occasions that they felt a bit more lustful and yearning for one another, they kept a locked trunk of knickknacks in their closet. You see, that's the one Grayson knows about, but Y/N keeps a smaller one, filled to the brim with all of her own toys, in a section of her closet that he never really pays attention to. If he had any idea that she kept self-pleasuring items for her own uses, he'd be absolutely ballistic.

Thankfully, he doesn't...

The moment Y/N threw the last bits of dirty laundry left, into the washer, she practically sprinted to their shared bedroom. After rummaging through the trunk filled with "accessories," she found a nice, pretty pink vibrator to do the trick, as well as a black silk blindfold to shield her own eyes. She was already rid of her clothes and sprawled across the wide bed in an instance, tying the piece of cloth over her eyes. 

Though, unbeknownst to Y/N, Grayson was already on his way back home. As soon as he had pulled into his brother's driveway, they had called to cancel— a certain emergency about something Grayson didn't really pay attention to listen to. He was thrilled that he didn't have to leave Y/N at home, all by herself to do chores all day. And luckily, their houses weren't too far apart from each other, so Grayson was back home within fifteen minutes of leaving it.

He didn't feel the need to text Y/N, she was probably busy anyway and possibly wouldn't respond. He figured she would hear the garage door open and expect that he was already home.

Little does he know...

As soon as he was parked and out of his vehicle, Grayson was trudging down stairs to the laundry room, in search of Y/N. He was surprised that she wasn't there, but he figured she might just be folding on the couch, trying to get ahead on one of the TV series the two were drawn into.

Grayson chuckles as he makes his way back upstairs, though his brows curtly furrow, his ears almost perking at the muffled sounds coming from the hallway.

Their shared room, to be precise.

With a pondering look upon his face, he kicks off his shoes and makes his way towards his bedroom, quietly twisting the door handle and pushing it inward. He opens the door wide enough to secretly look inside, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness that enveloped the entire expanse. The noises he had heard only seconds ago were more prominent, and his eyes had fallen on the object creating the aroused sounds;

Y/N.

She was laid out on their bed, legs wide open and shaking while her hands were constantly pressuring a fucking sex toy against her soaked pussy. Grayson froze, pure anger washing over him and turning his face a turbulent shade of red, washing away his pleasant mood. He almost stormed in there, ready to rip the stupid machine away from her hands and show her what a real orgasm feels like.

But he somehow contained himself, and instead, watched the scene play out in front of his very own eyes, vexation spilling from his entire countenance.

Y/N didn't hear the garage door open and close, or even the beep of Grayson's truck when he locked it.  She hadn't even heard his feet stomping up and down the stairs, or his lingering chuckles. She was so caught up in how she was feeling.

The artificial vibrations that buzzed upon her core made the world around her so euphoric and heavenly. She'd brush the toy upon her clit, forcing her entire body shake with deep pleasure and a soft moan to emit from her mouth. It felt so nice, and she was so close to the brink of releasing.

She was already feeling better, and naughty. If Grayson were to find her this way, masturbating  freely in the open and satisfying herself, she would never live to see another day. But she didn't care at this point, she just wanted to finally cum.

And she was extremely close.

Her hips began to buckle, while her backside rose from the bed and her free hand twisted at the sheets beneath her. "Mm- just a little more—" Her entire core was pulsating, so fucking close to just letting go.

So close..

"Don't fucking cum yet, slut." Grayson's voice boomed throughout the room, making Y/N's movements freeze in terror and shock. Before she could think of some sort of explanation or reasoning as to what she's doing, her blindfold is ripped from her eyes, while the vibrator that was once nuzzled up on her pussy, was taken away as well. Now, she felt so empty and wanting, edged to an almost release.

"Jesus- You're fucking dripping, for fucksake." His tone was harsh, and Y/N felt like crying. She held onto her tears as she watched him examine the drenched vibrator, still buzzing in his hands. Out of the loss of contact, she began to whine, squeezing her thighs together to create at least a little bit of friction.

"Grayson, please—" She began to huff, but her shuttering voice was interrupted by the aggravated man pacing in front of her.

"I don't think I fucking asked you to talk, did I?" He glared at her, though just the sight of Y/N's exposed body made him shudder with a tinge of want.

Against his wishes, Y/N continued her whines, her breathing still ragged and finally her own hand traveling down to her soaked heat. She didn't care if she'd be in more trouble, she just needed to unravel the knot inside her, whether she'd pay for that mistake later or if not.

She didn't get far, because Grayson caught her wrist before it made it all the way down to her center, and brought it up to the headboard. He wrapped a leather strip around both of her wrists, mumbling incoherent spews of anger, doing the same with her ankles against the bedposts.

"I-I, I thought you were gonna watch football.." She began, but a low growl sounded from Grayson, and the blindfold was placed back over her eyes, while a different type of cloth was shoved in her mouth. Y/N feels the numbing slap across her thigh before hearing the connection's sound, an exasperated scream muffling out of her filled mouth.

"I'd stop talking if I were you. Unless you want to be choked by Daddy’s fucking cock, darling." His voice rattled her insides, and she dared not to make another sound, already dug far too deep in a hole anyway. "Get ready princess, m'gonna edge the fuck out of you. Maybe then, you'll remember to ask me for permission to use your fucking toys." His voice soon faded from her ears as a higher vibration than before was nudged right up against her swollen clit, making her figure convulse in imploding pleasure.

It took an entire hour for Grayson to edge Y/N twelve fucking times. She was a mess, sweat droplets dotting her hairline while her pussy remained in slippery shambles. He didn't say a word, and Y/N held her tongue from shouting profanities after the several losses of contact. She hadn't came yet, but if she didn't soon— she would find a way to get out of her restraints and finish off what she had started herself.

It had been several minutes since Grayson had pulled her to the brink of an orgasm, and she was starting to think that he'd never come back. She had heard the sound of a zipper earlier, and she couldn't tell if he was doing something to ease his own pain while she laid there, so high strung and breathless. She was about to call out his name, but the warmth of his tongue wrapped around her bundle of nerves and she let out an exasperated sigh, pulling on the cuffs tied around her wrists.

He slipped his tongue in skillful motions, his hands pushing up underneath her thighs as he lapped up her liquids. Y/N was so sensitive to touch, anything that remotely stroked her could heighten her arousal and make her lust for more.

Within seconds, her hips were shaking and her back arched above the mattress, her toes curling under the pressure. And his voice finally sang the heavenly words she had been waiting for the entire time;

"Cum, princess."

Y/N released all over his lips, a high-pitched scream sounding from her mouth as she finally unravels, her legs bucking against their restraints. She spits out the cloth from her mouth and heavily breathes, murmuring praises to the man between her legs.

"I'm sorry, Grayson."

a/n: did this completely suck? i haven’t really written in third person in awhile, so i need honest opinions..

[oftenderweapons]

Sooo, about the ask thing. First off all congratulations I love you and your writing 💜 you seem like such a nice, intelligent and funny person. But was thinking what if namjoon comes home drunk and guilty about something he did and vixen comforts him. Love u💋

Title: Drunk (&) In Love

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Genre: crack, fluff, (also, vaguely allusive)

Rating: 18+ cause THESE TWO ARE A MESS FOR EACH OTHER

Synopsis: apparently Namjoon's stag party went a bit too wild. Mostly since he was drinking guilt away. What could that possibly be about?

Trigger warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, horny!drunk Joon, he clumsily tries to seduce his fianceé in front of yoonjintae (second-hand embarrassment), stressing over vows, mentions of kinky letters, they discuss future and the fear of marrying young and pretty much out of the blue and they be mentioning the idea of having kids. Also, watch Vixen being the caregiver.

Author's note: Thanking the sweetheart @ironicarmy !!! I love exchanging WIPs and Beta reading! It was so fun and I AM LOVING YOUR WIP SO HARD IM GONNA EXPLODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! can't wait for it to be out so I can fangirl in public LOLOLOL; also thanking @dopesportsoperatorzonk for this request! (I got your feminism ask, I promise I'm almost done, I wanted to have a quite thorough view before replying and I'm still thinking about some stuff, but it'll be readdy super soon!!!)

Here's my masterlist, btw, and enjoy 💜✨

You weren't supposed to wait up for him, but it was like your sixth sense was telling you to do precisely that. And your premonition turned especially accurate once you were met with the sorry sight of Namjoon hanging off Taehyung's and Seokjin's body, grinning as he saw you appear at the door, head to toe smitten, only to turn to his friends with a sneer as he realised you were wearing his favourite silk robe. The deep crimson colour seemed to spark the colour of your hair on fire, and make the lineaments of your face sharper, older, with a kind of allure he still couldn't understand. “Little fox,” he said, going grabby hands while his arms were still around his friends' shoulders.

You tried to keep your expression stern as you looked at the two men literally holding him up. “What is this? Didn't I tell you to bring him home whole and safe?”

Taehyung lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Is this your idea of safe, Seokjin? I expected better.”

“You know him. He did this to himself.” Yoongi spoke neutrally from behind the three.

“Yoongi. Him being a fucking grizzly doesn't mean he can hold his liquor. Bring him in,” you said, freeing the entryway for the triplet coming in, Yoongi in tow.

“We should have brought him to the dorms,” he muttered.

“Dorms?!? Aneeyo…” Namjoon babbled, shaking his head, falling with his ass on the sofa. “No babylove in dorms,” he said with a hiccup. “Hello, little one,” he purred, grabbing your hips and trying to pull you towards him.

You blushed and slapped at his wrists. “I'll deal with you later—”

“Feisty brat,” he spoke sultrily, making Yoongi shake his head while Seokjin and Taehyung snickered before being chastised by your scolding stare.

“How come he's drunk off his ass and the three of you are perfectly okay?”

“He's the one getting married,” Taehyung replied, matter of factly. “And yes, he was the one who swallowed a bottle of hard liquor without even flinching.”

You glance at Namjoon with a scornful expression.

He did some very drunk, very clumsy attempt at a wink that made you inhale as you desperately looked for a crumb of patient left.

“You'd better go home, before I smack you all on the head,” you said, shooing them off.

“You'd have to reach it first,” Taehyung muttered, making Seokjin giggle, Yoongi rubbing his face at the verbal violence that was about to come.

“Kim Taehyung. I may not be tall enough for your royal head, but your girlfriend is my best friend. I won't say much more because I'm sure your friends aren't interested in your ass getting bruised.”

Yoongi smiled smugly at that one.

“Hell yeah…” Namjoon chuckled from the sofa, one hand reaching for the back of your thigh.

“No. Not now.”

“Later then?” He asked with puppy eyes before they turned into a very tipsy version of his intense dragon glance. “You’re so sexy when you’re mean,” he rumbled, a hand reaching for your thigh underneath the robe.

“Kim Namjoon, if you don’t stop I will unwife you in this instant.” Still, the other three men in the room were a mess of embarrassed coughing and teasing snorts. “You can all go home right now,” you said with a curt tone.

“You’re not gonna be able to take him to bed by yourself.” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow as he spoke calmly.

“Mh, Vixen, take me to bed, please,” Namjoon murmured as he tried to seduce you, just as you looked at him and replied, “No need to take him to bed. He’s sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

“See? I told you she found out! She has a sixth sense for this stuff! She can sense it! She can smell fear! I told you!!!” Namjoon babbled, grabbing your wrist. “Little fox...” he cooed, making a fool of himself.

“Go home. All of you. Now.”

Taehyung was the first to leave without even saying goodbye. He knew he would pay for it. Seokjin was the next, saying bye to Namjoon very briefly before bowing to you — just slightly. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, goodnight,” he apologised, making his way out.

“Yoongi?”

He rubbed his neck. “I’m sorry. Really. I— I didn’t do my job.”

You shook your head. “This is a mess I’ll have to deal with.”

“You know you’ll kind of have to deal with him for the rest of your life, right?” Yoongi looked at Namjoon, head in his hands, fingers tugging at it nervously.

You followed his gaze, meeting Namjoon in the poorest of states. “I know. He’s my business now. Go.”

Yoongi left without much resistance after that, the door of your apartment finally shutting for good.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon said, staring up at you as you stood before him. “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

You placed your hands on his cheeks. “What happened, Joonie bear?”

He shook his head, lip going wobbly. “I’m so sorry!” he babbled again, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“Oh, no, baby…” you managed to whisper before he dove for your lap, burying his face there. “What happened, love?”

He shook his head.

“Nothing’s gonna change the fact that I love you, big bear.” You caressed his hair as his voice confessed, half-muffled against your tummy.

“I sneaked a look at the dress.” You could hear his words coming out from a pout.

“Joonie—”

“Please don’t unwife me!” He cried out, his voice way too high pitched. “I don’t want to sleep alone ever.” He hugged your legs and held you closer. “I want to sleep next to you until I die.” He got even more emotional as he went on. “I want you to always pet my hair and tell me you’re proud of me and cook for me and be my sweetheart and my babylove and my little fox forever, even when we’re old and I get bald.”

You smiled and invited him to let go of your legs before sitting down, your legs slightly parted laying across the sofa. “Come here, big bear,” you said, patting your stomach. He did as he was told, laying his head below your chest and stretching his long body all over the seat. He struggled a little, his sense of balance temporarily worse than usual. “Soon I’ll be lawfully your bride. Forever. We’re almost there, honey. Just a week.”

He nodded.

“And then I’ll be your little fox until I’m nothing but ashes. And then some,” you reassured him, petting his lovely head, digging your fingers into the knots in his upper back.

“Writing the vows was so difficult.”

“I know baby,” you kept rubbing at his trapezoi until he released a relieved grunt. “I know that must have been really stressful for you.”

“I had to rewrite them sixteen times. Sixteen!” His hand absentmindedly reached your thigh and started rubbing small circles there. “Everytime, they were too long, or too cliché, or something I just couldn’t read in public because you know our letters.”

“I know our letters,” you confirmed, thinking about his messy handwriting on cheap paper, and entire sheets of words that he sent you everytime something important happened, everytime he had to travel for his job, everytime he just needed to make love to you on a deeper level. And then, thinking of your replies, always heartfelt, emotional, with fine calligraphy on expensive ivory sheets often marred with rough spots where a tear fell — most of the time because of joy and gratitude and obliterating, overwhelming love. “Will you read to me the other sixteen versions too, once we’re alone?”

He nodded. “I’ll read them all. I’ll write new ones every day. Small, simple, absolutely mundane. Stuff like, ‘I’ll do the dishes tonight’, or ‘Let’s go out for dinner’, or ‘I wanna grow old with you’ or ‘I don’t wanna watch that porn tonight, let’s just stare into each other’s eyes while naked and have the best tantric sex ever performed’.”

You chuckled and placed your hand atop of his. “I like the last one.”

“But I couldn’t say it in front of your parents, therefore I couldn’t write it in our vows.” He scoffed and shook his head before planting it between your breasts, nosing at the lapels of the robe until he could kiss your naked skin.

“I might have written something along those lines in one of my drafts.” Having this conversation with Namjoon while he was halfway drunk off his ass was extremely entertaining; however, you felt sad at the possibility of him not remembering this moment.

“What else did you write in that draft?” He closed his eyes, waiting for your soft voice to calm him down.

You smiled and slightly teared up at the thought, his chin propped on your chest, one of his thumbs reaching out to dry up a tear. “I wrote that I hope I get to make you smile every day and see that insanely cute and sexy dimple of yours every morning after you wake up. And I want to be the only one listening to your deep bedroom voice waking me up. And I want to listen to you as you talk to our children. I wanna hear all the stories, and watch your smile shine on their faces.”

Namjoon hid his face against your chest, feeling tears roll down his cheeks.

“I want them to have your eyes. I want to see your complete wonder as they learn about the world, as you teach them about the world in that grand and beautiful way you see it.” You sniffled and he cupped your face, kissing your lips so slowly, the heavy tang of liquor barely tainting the moment.

“I want to walk by your side, until we’re too tired to walk and watch time pass by, without worries, without haste. I don’t care where we’re walking because you were the place I was destined to be.”

Namjoon couldn’t explain tenderness or love or devotion or faith as deep as the ones he felt for you. He probably wasn’t skilled or trained enough.

“I know we’re young. I know this is more of a bet than an actual marriage. I’ve seen people who have been together for years part ways so easily and I don’t even know why you said yes to me. Sometimes I doubt I’m deserving and I see in how many ways I’m lacking and I ask myself, 'why the hell did she say yes to me?' ” He snickered sarcastically. “I wouldn’t have said yes to myself.”

You shook your head and kissed his brow.

“But I’ve been with other people and you have too and… I don’t know, sometimes I feel like this will take a lot of effort but then I hear you laugh, I hear you calling my name and I know, I can feel that that’s what it is supposed to sound like.”

You smiled at him, fixing your position so he could lay on you without worrying about smashing your body.

“I’m so confused and so grateful for this. It’s like… Suddenly winning the lottery. One minute you’re just a person and next you realise you’re going to be a husband. And you don’t know what’s going to happen to you, how your life is going to change, but with you I’m not scared.” He chuckled. “Well, I am. But you make me braver than my fears. And I know I could lose you any day. I could fuck up, or we could just drift apart or something. But any moment spent with you is bigger. It’s better and brighter.”

By now you were a teary mess, face drenched in tears, his arms around your torso as he held onto you. “My soul has found a home in you and I will cherish it. I’ll take care of that home. I’ll make sure nothing damages it. I’ll help you work on it if you want to change it. I will make more room when our family gets bigger. I will fix it when I can. I’ll stay by your side when I’m not skilled enough to heal you. To fix you.” He sniffled, voice hollow and weak as he spoke through a lump in his throat. “And I’ll leave if you ever ask me to.”

You shook your head and hugged him, letting him sob in your arms. “I hope I never lose you.”

“Don’t be a silly bear,” you comforted him, lulling him, holding him close to your heart. “I’ll be your bride. Your spouse. Your wife.” You kissed his head. “And your home. Your relief. Your dirty, secret affair. Your devoted companion too. Your goddess and your toy. I’ll be your friend. And the mother of your children, when we want to.”

God, if he wanted to… But first, he needed to enjoy having you all to himself for a couple more years. Just to make sure you hadn’t been both bold and immature and absolutely stupid about getting married almost two years after meeting for the first time.

“So I’m not getting unwifed for sneaking a peek at the dress?”

You shook your head. “It looks completely different once worn.”

“Really?” His expression exploded with euphoria.

You smiled. “Really.”

His drunken grin was back. “So I’m gonna sleep on the bed right?”

You acted as if you were even thinking about it. “You’re really drunk.”

“I’m soberer now.”

“And you embarrassed me in front of your friends,” you reminded him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Not my fault my wifey’s so hot,” he said with a slightly more accomplished wink.

“Not your wifey yet,” you reminded him.

He tutted. “Just a matter of days.” He kissed your sweet spot, on the side of your neck. “It’s only a technicality.”

You looked at him suspiciously. “A technicality, you say?”

He nodded and held you tighter.

“This technicality could still leave you at the altar, waiting,” you teased.

“Come on, I want to sleep next to you.” He kissed your cheek. “On our bed.” He kissed you again. “Where we’ll be making so many babies.”

“Stop right there, mister.” You placed a finger against his plush lips before you shook your head no. “No babies for a few years. I want you all mine, hubby.”

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against your chest bone. “Okay, fine, but I just meant hypothetically. You know, for practice.”

“Yeah, I think I could use some practice. I want to be perfect at it.”

He smiled and kissed your nose. If only she knew how perfect she is, he thought, haphazardly sitting up and waiting for you to help him on his feet, the whole discourse sobering him up enough that he managed to sit on the bench in the bathroom as you washed his face and brushed his teeth, as you undressed him and helped him in the shower, undressing and joining him, his body too tired and unstable to initiate anything fancy.

And then you towelled him up, rubbing body lotion on his always-too-dry legs before helping him in his boxers.

And through the process, he understood how it was that you loved him so much anytime he got you ready for bed. He should let you do this more often. Especially when he wasn’t exhausted or drunk, so he could properly enjoy being cuddled and fondled and babied.

What he didn’t expect was for it to feel so comfortable when you slid up against his back on the bed, spooning his ridiculously large body with your smaller one. “Sleep tight, big bear,” you said before kissing his nape. “Eight more sleeps and we’ll be married.”

He smiled. “Goodnight, little fox.” And with that, he caught your hand in his and fell asleep.

[sunnysviolin]

currently having so many thoughts about aubrey getting sick of her moms mess one day and packing her bunny into her carrier and just leaving... she drifts about friends houses for a while before basil braves up to ask if she's okay :(( she's all out of energy + too stubborn to go home so she doesn't bother arguing and lets him take her to see polly (sorry me again with aubrey ramblings pls tell me to shush if you dont vibe w it)

Wow....I love this so much so I’m gonna combine it with that ask I got the other day and noodle on this a bit. Hope you don’t mind me taking your idea and running nonnie!!!

This got really long and kind of intense, so I’m putting it under a Read More. There’s also gonna be way more ahead!! This AU has caught me. But y’all Serious warning for emotional child abuse and neglect. Aubrey’s mother is decidedly not a good person, and their relationship is very damaged. Read only if you know you mentally can handle it, and no shame in skipping this. This part of it is heavy.  TW: Child abuse and neglect. TW: Alcoholism TW: Running Away TW: Homelessness

In the end it’s the rain that does it. The rain, the drafts in their weary old house, and the bucket that sits in the corner of her room next to her half broken laundry basket

On the last night Aubrey spends in her mother’s house the rain is coming down in freezing icy sheets. It’s bitterly cold, and she is weary. 

The summer of her 16th year has come and gone, and they are firm into the grip of September. It was a summer that had changed everything in her life. A summer where she found her way back to her chosen family, while becoming more isolated than ever from her real family. She had spent almost every hour out of the house- riding scooters with her gang, reconnecting with Basil, finding her way back into Kel’s loyal heart, letting her walls down around Hero, even discovering a hidden strength within her to forgive Sunny.  

It was the best summer of her life, even beating out the perfect summers spent in her childhood with Mari. In those days Aubrey had been naive. She didn’t know what she had, she just assumed she would always have it. This summer she had seen every experience for what it was- a gift. 

Fall coming had been difficult. Really almost nothing had changed, except it had. 

Hero had gone back to college, promising to visit at every chance he could. Aubrey had pushed down the spike of jaded denial that had risen up inside her at his words, and put her arm around Kel who was misty eyed saying goodbye to his brother. 

Sunny had spent most days in Faraway at either Kel or Basil’s house over the summer, but now he only came on weekends. He had started school again, a new school where no one knew his name or his face. He didn’t say much about it, but he hadn’t stopped going yet, so Aubrey considered it progress.

Kel and Basil had stuck close to her, and she was thankful for it. Aubrey knew now that nothing would ever separate the five of them again, but there was still the irrational fear inside of her that they would all leave her sooner or later. Her gang must’ve seen something too, because they had been awkwardly affectionate in a way that both irritated and comforted her.

But her mother....

Her mother had changed too. 

By sixteen Aubrey knew her mothers rhythms like the back of her hand. She knew the cycles that played out. Her mother would circle through various moods- cleaning, ignoring, depressing, drinking, regretting, promising, and then cleaning again. 

The regularity of it all had numbed her to the terrible conditions of her childhood home, and Aubrey spent most of her time out of the house anyway. (She had never been so grateful for nine hours at school, four hours after school goofing off in a big group, and the usual invitation to dinner with Polly or Kel’s mother. Aubrey usually only went home to sleep these days)

But her mother had added and taken away from her cycle. There was a new cycle now, and it was impossible to deal with. 

Ignoring, Depressing, Drinking, Angry, Regretting. Rinse and Repeat. 

Angry was new. Angry was (terrifying)....Angry was new. 

Aubrey had never tried to disrupt her mother’s cycle before, but Angry was enough to get her to try. She would clean the house top to bottom, putting in an effort she had never put in before to make things nice. She had thrown away bottles, cleaned dishes, cooked food, on and on all in an effort to change what she knew was coming. It still came. Her mother still wailed like a banshee, shrieking and hollering loud enough neighbors had called. 

The calls were the worst part. The low humiliation that sat in her stomach as she assured these people who didn’t really care that everything was fine, all while her mother continued to scream in the background. 

With Angry, Regretting was also different too. Aubrey, never one to take things lying down, screamed back until angry tears burst from her eyes. She would break down and sob in front of her mother, her walls finally ripped apart brick by brick by the woman who was supposed to love her most. 

Then her mom would hold her tight and promise things would be different. Regretting had mixed with Promising, and as much as Aubrey wanted to shove away the confusing affection, she couldn’t bring herself to. 

Screaming at each other was the only time that Aubrey’s mother looked at her. Curled in her mother’s arms weeping was the only time that her mother had a kind word. Aubrey couldn’t resist what she always craved, and some sick twisted part of her even longed for the point where her mother would snap and start yelling, just because she knew the release of emotions was soon to follow. 

That last night in her house was one of those nights. Her mother was yelling, too incoherent for Aubrey to even make out the words, but the tone said everything. Her mother had lost it over the dishes in the sink piling up. Aubrey had done them this morning, yet somehow she came home to a sink full of chipped dirty dishes. Those dishes felt like an ironic symbol of her life. No matter how many times she wiped it away. The dishes would be dirty the second she turned around. 

Aubrey was already in tears, her fists bunched at her sides and her teeth grinding down against each other. Soon enough it would be time for her to start yelling back, and the cycle would go on and on and on. The dishes would never be clean. 

Aubrey didn’t want it to go on. Not even her mother holding her was worth how torn apart her heart was becoming. She fled upstairs, slamming the door to attic and locking it tight. It didn’t matter anyway. By this point of drinking, her mother could barely stand, let alone climb a ladder. 

The rain was slamming against her windows, a steady drip already starting in the bucket in her room. It was freezing cold, and goosebumps rose on her bare arms. Maribelle was sitting in her pen, her nose twitching as she watched her Aubrey. Aubrey brushed at her damp cheeks and picked her bunny up, snuggling the tiny white creature close to her chest. 

Maribelle was too cold. Her mother hadn’t paid the heating bill again. The rain was too loud, and the wind sneaking in wrapped Aubrey in a tight grip. Aubrey sat on the edge of the bed and rocked her bun, trying in vain to warm them both up. A single thought ran through her head over and over

This wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t worth the love she craved from a woman who couldn’t give it. This wasn’t worth her pride at keeping things together. This wasn’t worth trying to fix over and over with no results. 

The rain began to slow to a quieter drizzle. Her mother was silent below. In the cold wet of her tiny attic room, Aubrey decided. 

No. This really just...wasn’t worth it. 

Aubrey slipped onto her knees, keeping Maribelle close as she pulled her backpack towards her and began to empty it out. She kept only her English textbook and her history notes. Everything else she could get a spare of. in her bag went two spare shirts and one pair of jeans. She packed in underwear and socks into the smaller front pouch. Aubrey stood and pulled the false bottom out of her desk drawer, taking the cash and the pack of cigarettes she had pinched off her mom and throwing them in as well. 

Finally there were the pictures. The frame of her photo of her and Kim had to be abandoned, but the actual picture was placed carefully inside her backpack. She had never been more happy to have her tiny carrier for Maribelle. The bunny happily hopped inside and burrowed deep in the soft downy blanket Aubrey put inside for her. 

It was depressingly easy to pack up her important things. Shockingly simple to write a note to her mother (I’m leaving. I’m not coming back. Two short sentences and that was it) It hadn’t even been hard to sneak out. After the hour or so it took to gather the rest of her necessities from the house and steal whatever money was in her mother’s purse, said woman had passed out on the couch in an alcoholic haze. 

Aubrey locked the door and stared at the silver key gleaming in her palm. She had only her backpack, a messenger bag, and her tiny bunny carrier. Her whole life fit into two bags. Aubrey left her key on the doorstep. 

She wouldn’t need it anymore. 

The rain had let up, but a harsh breeze whipped around her as she walked, pushing Aubrey to move faster. She took the sidewalks she had taken since she was little, letting her feet move as her mind went blank. Before she knew it she was standing on another street, one more familiar to her than her own. 

Aubrey spared a long look at Kel’s hosue. The lights were on inside, bathing their front yard in a warm golden glow. She stared at it for a moment, considering, and then the chill became too great. 

Aubrey bypassed Kel’s house and quietly snuck into the backyard of Sunny’s old home. The elderly couple that owned the house now was sure to be asleep. Kel said that they were quiet and almost never noticed anything going on. Perfect. 

Aubrey knew exactly where she was going. It was still standing. Faded and beaten down, probably rickety too, but it would be safe for her and her Belle. 

Besides only four other people even knew this treehouse existed. No one would ever find her here. 

[fbdo-ohyeaaaaah]

first off, your tumblr is dah bomb - please know that you're carrying the ferris fandom on your back. the thought you put into your posts is incredible <3 I'd love to see an in depth sloane analysis post, especially considering how much of a fan favourite she is despite her little known background / childhood / future goals. do you have any hc's towards her home life and where you could see her post fbdo? or hc's for her in general? possibly including her zodiac, love language and fears - just desperate for any form of peterson content. would also be interesting to see someone explore the possible neurodivergency presented in the film, i don't know if this is me projecting but all three seem possibly nd and i love that!

thank you!!! thats very sweet of you to say and as always it gets to me when i see people enjoying my blog. honestly at this point im not trying to curate a fandom im just trying to have fun with this movie lol, but its nice you think that. oh and im so happy youre a sloane fan and do want people to delve deeper with her character, and i should be doing more of that too, but for now i can link you with a few posts on my blog i think you'll enjoy! mostly from my friend zoe who was like so passionate about the movie and sloane's character and making fbdo headcanons, she was an absolute talent at that seriously i love her posts to death (if ur wondering where you can find them theyre at her old blog @fbdo1986 , she's cooled down on making stuff for the movie recently but i know it still holds a special place in her heart. she currently runs a great 60/70s centered blog at @petecochrans)

a post full of great sloane headcanons

a great post centered on sloane and cameron's disability headcanons

couple of sloane headcanons from a love ask game

a few sloane headcanons from when i participated in that same love ask game

also if you want more canonical sloane content the perfect place to get it from is the original draft of the fbdo screenplay, which im sure were filmed because apparently the original cut of the movie is two and a half hours long so hopefully by some miracle that cut will someday be released. but for now youve got the script, which has SO many good sloane parts in it building up her character, that i wish at least some of was kept in the final product. honestly the script is a mixed bag for me, cause it has some unecessary and awkward bits im glad were cut out, but then there are bits that i really enjoyed that develop sloane's and even ferris' characters more, but on the other hand cameron's character is developed less than in the final movie, and the trio doesnt seem as tight-knit in the script despite the additional dialogue. then there were a few moments that were needlessly innappropriate and crude (and problematic cause as much as i dont like using that word for how much its been saturated in its use recently its like. accurate here, and reflects some of the movie's problems.) . someday i'll delve into my opinion of it in an essay/post thing but i dont have time or energy for that right now lol, so if you want read the script for yourself and see what you think.

as for the neurodivergency, ive been tempted to talk about it even though im not sure if im neurodivergent, but while ive been suspecting for a while i am i dont think im enough of an authority to talk about it (especially if im not diagnosed). i have seen a stray post here and there of nds headcanoning sloane and cameron as autistic, and ferris as having adhd, which from what i know fits pretty well. you could even say fer has a makeshift stim toy, the rabbit's foot he keeps in his pocket. it's shown he's rubbing it when he's at the bottom of the taxi and nervous about his dad seeing him (he even hands it to cameron for comfort), he's swinging it on its chain when talking to sloane and cameron after the parade while waiting for the car, and again he's shown rubbing it when he's saying goodbye to sloane toward the end.

anyway thank you so much for the ask, hope the answer is satisying enough :)

[traitorousheroes]

and she greeted the End as an old friend

(Hannibal/The Magnus Archives Crossover. I've had this sitting in my drafts for over a year, and its technically finished, although originally it was going to be part of a series.)

Case #0170723

Statement of Abigail Hobbs, regarding her fathers and her subsequent deaths at their hands. Statement given directly by subject on July 23rd, 2017 to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins...

The London streets were cold in the early morning, very different from the warmth of Italy. In a way they reminded her of Lithuania, of the dungeons beneath the old Lecter estate. The moth that Will had left was still beautiful, even as the skin sloughed off and spiders spun their webs in the empty eye sockets. There had been echoes of death that clung to the very stones of that place, but nothing that was unique, except for the fact of who it had affected. Those that it was continuing to affect.

Abigail pulled at the braid that covered her missing ear as she walked up to the Magnus Institute. Pressing her hand against the door, the feeling of being Known overcame her. The Eye focused on her as she stepped through and into the foyer, and she could feel that it wanted what she had come here to give. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Unlike her own patron, the Eye was unused to waiting.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the main desk.

The woman who sat behind it looked up at her in surprise. Her name tag read Rosie, which seemed to fit the woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with Elias Bouchard?”

“I’m not sure that Mr. Bouchard has any openings in his schedule for the next week,” Rosie said, flipping through a planner. “If you’d like, there looks to be an appointment open in a fortnight-”

The phone on her desk rang. Rosie gave her a small smile and held up a finger as she picked up the receiver. Abigail could hear the sound of a male voice on the other end, though what he was saying was indistinct. Rosie looked back up at her, confusion on her face as she listened to whatever the man on the line was saying.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard,” she said. “I’ll let her know.” Rosie put the phone receiver to her shoulder and turned her smile back to Abigail. “Mr. Bouchard says that he has an appointment open at around noon. In return, he asks if you would be willing to give a statement to the Archives.”

“Of course.”

Rosie relayed her acceptance to him, giving a perfunctory goodbye and hanging up the phone. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you down to the Archives.”

Abigail nodded. Rosie turned and walked further into the building, her heels clicking against the stone floor; Abigail’s own shoes, a pair of comfortable flats, made no sound in comparison. They walked past a set of large wooden doors, above which sat a plaque that read Artifact Storage, before coming to a set of stairs that led down. At the basement landing there was only one door, which sat innocuously against the left hand wall. The plaque above it was similar to the one upstairs, but read Archives instead. It also appeared to be damaged with what appeared to be some sort of fire suppressant caked on the upper right hand corner.

Rosie opened the door, revealing a surprisingly large room with two chairs on the wall next to the door. Four desks sat in the middle of the room, each one stacked with paper and knick knacks. On the far left hand side of the room there were offices, one of which had a plaque next to it stating Archivist. A piece of paper was taped over the name holder below it, with the name Jonathon Sims printed on it. There were another two offices beside it, though neither of them had any designations. The door to the furthest one was cracked open slightly, letting her see what appeared to be a cot wedged against the wall. A small kitchenette sat against the back wall, the sink filled with what looked like used mugs.

“You can wait here if you’d like,” Rosie said, gesturing to a chair. “Would you like a coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” Abigail replied, taking the seat. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you need anything before they arrive, I’ll be at the front desk.”

Abigail nodded, letting her smile drop as the woman left. She let out a deep breath, all the air leaving her body in a deathly rattle. The air in the room was silent as the grave, not even the spider spinning its web in the corner making a sound to disturb it. She could feel the cold as it overtook her limbs like an old friend embracing her, her sight disappearing behind clouds of milky white. The echoes of death that lingered in the Archives were tantalizing in their amount. There was the faint tang of Corruption to them, a hive mind bound to flesh screaming out in unison as their lives were snuffed out.

“I think she’s dead.”

“Christ, not again.”

Abigail drew herself back from the deaths of the Flesh Hive, a curl of satisfaction settling itself in her chest. A faint whirring caught her ear as she acclimated back to her body, the sound like the VCR from her childhood. She blinked, clearing away the clouds that had settled over her corneas. One of the men who had been talking yelped, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the floor as he stumbled away. Abigail rolled her neck and stretched her fingers, chasing the torpor away.

As she focused on the two men in front of her she smiled. The one who yelped was braced against a desk, his eyes locked on her. The other had drawn a knife, the edge pointed at her chest. It was obvious that he had never used one before, not only for the slight tremor that transferred from his hand to the blade. Abigail took a deep breath, feeling her lungs reinflate with a wheeze.

“If you wanted to kill someone, you need to point the blade a bit lower,” she told the one with the knife. She raised her hand slowly and wrapped it around his own. He flinched at her touch, but didn’t resist as she pulled him closer and set the knife right below her sternum. “Press in and pull down to disembowel them. If you want them to suffer,” she said, dragging his knife down lower to her abdomen, “you can cut across and perforate their intestines and let them bleed out.”

“Let go,” he said, trying in vain to pull his hand from her grip.

Abigail didn’t, pulling it up so that the edge of the knife rested against the scarf that wrapped around her neck. “Of course, you can also cut the throat. It’s a bit harder than they make it look in the movies, but your victim is aware the entire time they choke on their own blood. Though the blood loss makes the pain feel almost non-existent. It’s almost peaceful.”

“Please,” the larger, terrified man said, “let him go.”

“Of course,” Abigail agreed, releasing the hand that held the knife. The man stepped away, the knife clattering to the floor between them. He rubbed at the skin she had touched, as if doing so would erase the feeling of it.

“Are you okay Tim?”

“Fine,” Tim spat. “Just dandy in fact. There’s only something else that wants to kill us here, Martin. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Abigail said.

They both looked at her sceptically. She sighed, bending over and picking up the knife from the floor. Both men flinched as she did so, but neither made any movement to get closer to her. It was a passable knife, though the edge was a bit dull when she tested it against the tip of her finger. Folding it back, she stood and held it out to Tim, whose gaze had turned wary. She waved it, and he reached out and took it like a snake striking at prey.

“What are you doing here then?” Martin asked. “How’d you even get in here?”

“Rosie let me in. I’m here to make a statement for the Archivist.”

“You’re here to make a statement,” Tim said, his tone disbelieving.

“I need to give it to the Archivist,” Abigail said. “It’s very important that I do it now.”

“Well, Jon isn’t here right now,” Martin told her. “We could set you up with some pen and paper if you’d like-”

Whatever he was offering was cut off as a man stormed into the Archives, almost running into Tim. He looked between the three of them, his eyes cataloging the two men before looking at her. Abigail felt a tingle of power spread over her skin as the Archivist focused on her with the full weight of the Eye.

“What are you?” the Archivist asked, a thread of power snapping out at her.

“Someone who came to give a statement,” she said, neatly sidestepping what he intended her to answer with another truth.

The Archivist grimaced, accepting what she said while still knowing that what she said wasn’t what he wanted. His shoulders slumped as he let go of what little power he had mustered against her. He rubbed at his eyes with a scarred hand before letting out an annoyed breath. He stalked over to the office marked as his, leaving the door open behind him. Abigail looked at the other two, who seemed unsure of what they should do. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her remaining ear, she went to the Archivist’s door.

“May I come in?”

“If you want to give a statement, yes,” he said shortly. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sure you can find the way out.”

“I’m sure,” Abigail said, passing through the threshold and shutting the door behind her. There was a click-whirr as the tape recorder on the Archivist’s desk turned on. She raised an eyebrow which he returned drolly. “I hope you don’t mind me ambushing you here, Archivist.”

“As long as you aren’t here to kill me, I’m sure we will get along fine. And it’s Jon, please. And you are?”

“Abigail Hobbs. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”

“At least one of us is happy about this. You said you’re here to give a statement?”

“Yes.”

“What about?” Jon asked. For all that his tone implied disinterest, there was a hunger behind his eyes.

“My deaths,” she said simply. “Should I just start, or...”

Jon nodded, his posture straightening as he looked her directly in the eyes. Abigail met them directly, letting the Eye in. She took a deep breath, letting the memories flow out.

“I knew from a young age that my dad was different. He wasn’t too different, not in any way that would make anyone suspicious. He worked a blue collar job, but a lot of people in my town did. It paid well enough, and we were happy. Or, at least, I was.

“My dad never really let me out of his sight. I just thought he was overprotective, especially when I hit my teenage years. It wasn’t until I caught him sitting outside my junior prom that I thought it was weird. He played it off, saying that he was worried about someone spiking the punch. Which, I mean, someone did, but that’s part of the high school experience. But it was soon after that when he got super weird.

“I wasn’t a fan of hunting, but my dad was really into it. He always bagged his allotment during deer season, which meant that we had enough venison for the winter. I think throughout my childhood I ate more deer meat than hamburgers. But that year he took me with him during deer season. He said it was important that I learned how to hunt. He had this weird look in his eye when he said it. Like he was sizing me up like one of his bucks. So I went with him and bagged one. I didn't like it, and I don’t think he liked the idea that I didn’t like it. I thought it was just the fact that he wanted to share it with me.

“After that, he never took me back to his hunting cabin. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it, because it honestly creeped me out. Mom had put her foot down on the amount of antlers and hunting trophies in the house, but the cabin was absolutely stuffed with them. The upstairs was full of antlers and hooves. I thought he would have sold some of them to collectors or hobbyists, but I don’t think he ever did. I don’t think he thought that would be honoring them.

“That was a big thing with him. He used every part of a deer. You would think there would be some kind of waste, but he was very careful to limit that. It's probably what stopped him from being caught for as long as it did.

“I guess you don’t really pay attention to a lot of American news over here. Which is fair, since I never really paid attention to what happened over here. Plus, there are a lot of serial killers in the States. And I’ve met more than most people. Including my father.

“Like I said, my father was really overprotective. The therapists I talked to, afterwards, said that it wasn’t my fault what happened. That he was just sick in the head and that it manifested in him hunting girls who looked like me and eating them. And they were mostly right. Only they didn’t know that he used me to pick them out. He was a good hunter, you see. And a good hunter knows how to stalk his prey, how to use bait to get them where he wants them. I was his bait. And I knew it.

“I wasn’t scared of him. I don’t think any of the therapists understood that. Even after everything, I never was afraid of him. It wasn’t even fear of what he did when he was hunting. Because the only thing I wanted to do was survive. I wanted to live past whatever happened. If that meant helping him choose his prey, I would do it. In his own way, I think he thought I was close to him, close to the Hunt that drove him. He didn't realize that I was already marked for something else.

“From what I’ve learned about the Hunt, my father wasn’t fully under its influence. Certainly not enough to become something... more. I think that’s why one of the Web’s agents decided to press. I think he was curious to see what happened. He called our house, and when I picked up the phone he asked to speak to my dad.

“He told me afterwards what he said to my dad. That the F.B.I. was onto him, that they were coming for him. But my dad just hung up the phone and continued cooking breakfast. My mom didn’t notice anything different, which I guess is a small kindness. When we heard the car pull up outside he grabbed her and put the knife to her neck. He walked her to the front door, slit her throat, and tossed her onto the front porch. She bled out not knowing why it was happening.

“I should have run the moment I saw him grab my mom. But I couldn’t. I was so afraid, but it wasn’t because of him. Even when he came back, the knife in his hand wet with my mother’s blood, I wasn’t afraid of him. He whispered how sorry he was in my ear, that he loved me, and I still wasn’t afraid of him. It wasn’t until the man from the F.B.I. rushed into the kitchen and my dad slit my throat that I realized what I was afraid of.

“It was the same reason why I had picked out the girls for him to kill. I didn’t want to die. The man from the F.B.I. killed my dad, and still the only thing I could think of as I choked on my own blood was that I didn't want to die like this.

“I did though. For less than a minute on the operating table, my heart stopped. It was enough for the thing that had marked me to deepen it's hold, but not enough for it to claim me completely. That came later. Instead I was dragged into the Web’s games.

“His name was Hannibal Lecter, and he became my father. If it’s a manipulation of the Web for me to think so, I don’t really care. He did do that, of course. It’s in the nature of those who weave. But he cared for me, cocooned me in safety, for a given value of the word. Of course, I was simply a pawn in a game to get him what he really wanted.

“The F.B.I. agent who killed my dad was like me, marked. But the one who held claim on him had more of an influence. I think he would have happily gone through the rest of his life being a conduit and repository of fear if Hannibal hadn’t caught him in his machinations. The Web is always interested in what the Eye does, after all.

“Will didn’t know what Hannibal was. Anything of what he was, really. Remember how I said I’d met more serial killers than most? Hannibal was one as well, and fairly prolific. The Web’s influence helped, letting him make horrific displays that fed it and let him express himself. That same influence let him blind Will to the fact. Not that he needed to do much, other than let Will’s brain cook itself. I’m not sure when he decided to let him live, but I played a part in what came next.

“Hannibal took my ear with my permission. Or, at least, as much permission as the Web needs. We faked my death and framed Will for it. Then he left me to my own devices in a house by the sea. He told me that when the time was right, I would come back and meet him and Will. That we would leave and go somewhere far away to be a family.

“It was a lie, of course. A pretty lie, but a lie nonetheless. Or maybe it wasn’t. I’ll have to ask Hannibal when I see him again.

“It always comes down to choices. And Will chose to stand against Hannibal. He saw the manipulations, the cocoon that Hannibal had put him in, and chose not to become what he wanted. It made him angry. You probably think that monsters can’t get angry, but they were human once. And under everything, they still are. It just depends on how much they want to acknowledge it.

“I asked Hannibal how he would kill me once. He said he would slit my throat like my father had. And he did. He severed me from his web; the same hands that had saved my life, ending it. And I felt the same fear. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.

“Will tried to save me, but Hannibal had gutted him. The last thing I saw was myself reflected in his eyes. And my life Ended.

“I don’t remember making my choice. Of giving myself over to the power that had claimed me. I know that I made the choice. And so I woke up in a body bag, my own blood caked across my face and clothes, breath rattling in lungs that did not need it.

“I’m still not sure how I got out of the morgue without someone screaming about a dead girl returning to life. There wasn’t ever any news coverage about someone stealing my body from the morgue. I do know that the grave that bears my name is empty; they held a closed casket funeral to hide the fact that they don’t know what happened to my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Hannibal took it. I hope no one ever asks him about it. I want to surprise him.

“That’s part of the reason I came here. He’s up to his games again, from what I’ve seen, and he’s dragged Will back into it as well. So I wanted to leave them a message. I’ll be on the Silver Coast, waiting for them. For as long as it may be until we see each other again.”

Jon blinked, his eyes losing the manic need that had filled them during her statement. Abigail watched as he seemed to sink into himself, a pall of weariness weighing down his limbs. Despite it there was a brightness to his complexion, as if he had just spent the day lazing in the sun.

“Statement ends,” he said. The tape recorder clicked off, leaving their breathing as the only sound in the room.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re of the End, then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not what I would have expected,” Jon said.

Abigail shrugged. “We can’t all be grim reapers and shambling corpses. Do you need anything else for the statement?”

“No, I think you’ve given us enough details. Not that it would be easy to follow up on, considering.”

“Kind of hard to explain talking to a dead girl?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked with the dead. You seem more at peace than some of the others.”

“I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“Yes, I imagine so. Do you need help finding your way out?”

“I actually need to go speak with Mr. Bouchard. Could you direct me to his office?”

“Um, yes,” Jon said. He looked perturbed at her question, but she imagined he wanted her out of his domain as soon as possible. “Up the stairs, past Artifact Storage, then take the stairs to your left and it will be on the second landing. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll leave you be, then.”

Abigail stood up from her chair and opened the door. Four sets of eyes looked up as she left the office, with Martin getting up from his desk as she walked past. She heard him say something to Jon as she exited the Archives. Unlike when she had entered, the doors to Artifact Storage were open, with what looked like a few people examining pieces on long tables. Following the instructions Jon had given her, she went up two flights of stairs. As she began to walk across to the door marked Head of the Magnus Institute, it opened.

“Ms. Hobbs,” Mr. Bouchard said. “Please, come in. I do believe we have matters to discuss.”

[randomfandomimagine]

Love’s Worth Running To. Chapter 2: Catch Up

Pairing: Barry Allen x Stephanie Williams (OC)

Fandom: Justice League / DCEU

.

⬅ PREVIOUS CHAPTER • CHAPTER INDEX • NEXT CHAPTER ➡

AO3

A/N: A few disclaimers about the series. One: this is a first draft and some little things may change, and also forgive any typos as I will be editing the series more during the second draft. Secondly, I’m not a hardcore DC fan so I might get some things about the characters wrong, bear with me with that.

Anyway, here’s chapter two, I hope you like it! Things are starting to really set into motion and after this chapter they get a little crazy, even more so than at the end of this one. 

Remember to give this some love, please reblog and leave feedback! It would make my week! 🙏💜

His feet rhythmically drag along the ground, shuffling as he sways and snaps his fingers. The music loudly plays in his earphones, drowning out the sound of the elevator as it comes to a halt. He can’t hear the soft murmur of voices as the Justice League chats in the Batcave, reunited there one more day. The dark room feels brighter as he walks further into it and the team comes into his field of vision.

“Clap along if you feel…” Barry nods his head along to the song and points to Victor. “Like happiness is the truth”

Victor stares at him, frowning in confusion. He makes to lift his hands and clap, but ultimately doesn’t. He only glances at Diana, who chuckles at Barry’s good mood.

Bruce calmly makes a gesture, asking for Barry to remove his earphones. When he does, letting them fall and hang off his shirt’s neckline, he grins.

“Good morning!” He cheerfully says, but the group doesn’t reply. “What?”

After a brief pause and a few glances, it is Bruce who speaks up.

“Who’s the girl?”

“What girl?”

“You’re singing...” Arthur eyes the boy. “And dancing”

“So? Can’t I just be happy in this beautiful day?”

“There’s definitely a girl” His friend insists. “Spit it out”

Barry pouts and looks at each of them. The way they fondly stare at him fluster him a little, but he doesn’t really mind talking about her. In fact, it feels like a good thing to share his excitement with his friends.

“Her name’s Steph” Barry sighs with a dreamy sigh, but hurriedly corrects himself when he sees their even fonder expressions. “I-It’s nothing like that, though”

“What is it like then?” Diana asks, grinning in amusement.

“We’re old friends, but we haven’t seen each other in… like… more than ten years” Barry takes deep breath, overwhelmed by that rush again as he remembers the moment he spotted Stephanie Williams. “It was so cool to see her again”

“Why did you grow apart?” Clark wonders, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did your lives go different ways?”

“Not exactly…” Barry suddenly grows bleak, overcome with frantic memories.

That dreadful day in which all happened and he never saw her again. He didn’t even get to say goodbye, and all the things left unsaid still burn intensely inside him. Knowing that is all part of the past now and he will se her soon, he forces to forget about it.

Knowing the other noticed his brief change of demeanor, he claps his hands and changes the subject.

“But anyway! What are we doing today? Anything new?”

“Maybe” Bruce responds, even if he sends a quick look at the rest with the corner of his eye. “There have been some strange things happening around”

“Like what?”

“Glitches and minor crimes” Victor projects an image on the air, of a map of the surveilled cities with some red spots on them that mark the occurrences. “They’re all over the cities”

“Something bad?” Barry frowns, his eyes scanning the map.

“Nothing big, but we want to keep an eye out” Clark nods. “Just in case”

“Should we check it out?” The boy asks him, earning another nod from him.

“It won’t hurt” Bruce adds to, tapping the table in anticipation.

“Let’s suit up then” Barry speeds off, always bearing Stephanie in mind despite it all.

And so the Justice League prepares to exit the Batcave on a small routine mission.

_

When she looks at the clock, it’s already past 3pm. Stephanie clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and rushes to gather her things. She doesn’t want to be late.

“Bye, Ben!” Stephanie is almost at the door when he replies.

“Where are you going?” Ben does a double take, not believing his eyes when he looks at the clock. “You’re not staying late?”

“Do I…?” She mutters hesitantly. “Do I have to?”

“No, no” He fondly chuckles. “It’s just odd, do you have anything else to do?”

“Actually…” Stephanie can’t help but to grin, even if eager butterflies release in her stomach once more. To hide her thrill, she looks down and plays with her hands. “I’m meeting an old friend and… I’m honestly really excited to see him again”

“Oh, that explains it” Ben warmly grins. “Well, have fun!”

“Thanks!” Stephanie grins, bearing that wide genuine smile she showed the other day.

As he watches his coworker run off like a child on an adventure, Ben’s smile slowly fades as her previous presence now leaves room for a cold empty absence. A tiny pang of jealousy prickles the back of his neck.

_

Lazy clouds cover the sun, attempting to shadow its light. They threaten to flood the sky in darkness more and more with each passing second. Still, the day feels brighter than most. At least to Stephanie.

She rhythmically hits her nails against the glass surface of the table. Her eyes are directed to the door one more. Where is he? A heavy weight has settled in her chest. She chews on her fingernails. What if he doesn’t show up?

Soon enough, Barry comes barging in, out of breath and looking disheveled. He’s late, but he’s there. The girl stands up and takes a deep breath of relief.

“Hi” She greets him, earning an apologetic smile from him.

“I’m so sorry, Steph” He hurries to the table, nervously combing his hair with his fingers. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had”

“It’s okay” Despite his lateness, he notices, she’s smiling. Barry awkwardly chuckles as they both stand there.

Stephanie bites her lip, wondering how to act around him. Time has cooled their once close and nonchalant relationship, but she is determined to warm up to it again. Although they have known each other since they were little, they feel like strangers at the same time. They don’t know the other anymore, but they’re adamant on changing that. Besides, she still feels as comfortable with him as before, like not a day as gone by.

“Well, hi” Barry opens his arms, going on for a hug, just at the same time that Stephanie is leaning close to him in order to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Noticing this, they awkwardly pull away between embarrassed chuckles. In the end, and after a few more seconds of stuttering and fidgeting, Barry finally holds his hand out. Stephanie smiles and shakes it.

Happily plopping down on the chair, he sighs and stares at her. When she sits down in front of him, her fingers absently trace across the edge of the table that separates them. The tension looms above their heads until he breaks it with his cheerful energy.

“Stephanie Williams” Barry says in awe, fondly tilting his head and peering at her.

“Barry Allen” She reciprocates, smiling as the name of her beloved friend fills her lips.

“So talk to me, Steph, um…” He puckers his lips in a thoughtful gesture. “How’s your day going?”

“Good, it’s good so far…” She nods, not knowing what else to say. “And yours?”

“Great! A bit frantic, but… good” He bites his lips, awkwardly lingering as well. “Good...”

“Tell me!” Barry starts. “What have you been doing? I haven’t since you since...”

“Since we moved to Metropolis...”

“Well, yeah... I never really found out why that happened”

“My parents insisted on leaving Central City” Stephanie gravely nods, averting her eyes. “They said what happened with your mom was affecting me too much”

Barry quiets, watching her with a frown. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t find the right words to express the extent and variety of his current feelings.

“I’m so sorry…” He drags his hand across the table, reaching out to pat hers as it now rests on the surface of the table. However, and after a second of hesitation, Barry decides not to touch her. “I had no idea…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Barry. You were having a hard time already”

“Yeah, but…”

“It’s okay, I just… I hated seeing you suffer like that”

The two lock gazes, and an unnamed emotion shines in both their eyes. Like a wave has washed out all the deeply buried memories, a weight settles on their shoulders. One that they had been carrying since childhood and they had nearly forgotten about. Now it has returned, just like that. In only a second.

Trying to brush it off, Stephanie smiles. Like the gesture makes him happy, he grins too.

“So how is your dad?” She asks in a friendly tone. Barry’s smile slowly fades, only to be replaced with a melancholic frown. Stephanie is hit with realization. “Oh, so he’s still… I’m so sorry, Barry… I thought…”

It had been years since that terrible thing happened, and knowing of his innocence Stephanie hoped the situation would have changed by now. She’s unfortunately wrong. The girl groans in frustration, mentally scolding herself for not having thought about that possibility before speaking. Barry shakes his head and mindlessly waves his hand in the air. He smiles again, although this time it’s obviously a facade.

“It’s okay” Barry says, but he can’t hide the sad hint to his expression. “I go see him almost every day”

“Is he doing okay?” She cautiously asks, knowing how hard the situation must be for the two of them.

“For the most part, yeah…” His crestfallen look breaks her heart, and so Stephanie wrecks her head to find a more light-headed subject to talk about.

“O-Order” She rushes to say, holding her hand up in the air to catch the waitress attention. “We should order something to drink”

Barry chuckles at her attempt, nodding his head in silent agreement. When the waiter arrives, it’s the girl that speaks for the both of them.

“Um, yeah, hi” She looks up at the blond waiter. “I’ll have a coffee and he’ll have a chocolate milkshake”

“I’m not a child anymore, Steph” He playfully rolls his eyes. “I can order my own chocolate milkshake”

Stephanie laughs out loud, surprised by his retort. Barry fondly grins at her reaction.

_

Their shared chocolate milkshake has nearly run out. The cream at the top has melted as the liquid reaches the bottom of the container. Their identical pink frosted sprinkled donuts are half eaten, left forgotten in their small plates for the time being.

“Oh, hey!” Barry utters, changing the subject from his criminal justice major. “Did you get your own lab yet?”

Barry lets go of his red and white straw once he’s done sipping while Stephanie absently plays with hers.

“No…” She pouts a little, soon recovering part of her usual spark. “But I’m an intern at STAR Labs”

“That’s great!” He gulps, nearly chocking on the milkshake. “That brings you a step closer!”

“Yeah, I guess… I’m just so impatient to get there”

“You’ll get there” He carelessly waves his hand in the air. “I’ve got no doubts about it”

Stephanie smiles, feeling that once familiar warmth spread through her. There’s that unconditional support he showed her years ago. They haven’t talked in so long, but his unwavering faith on her hasn’t shifted.

A silence establishes after, although the frequency and intensity of them has lessened over the course of the afternoon. She picks up tiny pieces of the donut with her fingers and puts them in her mouth. Barry, meanwhile, absently nibbles on his donut, letting his eyes wander around the quaint establishment, before he boldly pipes up again.

“Are you seeing someone?” Stephanie chokes on the crumbs on her mouth at Barry’s question.

“What?” She coughs, sipping the last of the milkshake to shove the crumbs down.

“Sorry, I…” He chuckles, trying to conceal his amusement. “I was just wondering…”

Stephanie chuckles too, more surprised by the question than offended that he’s so obviously trying not to laugh at her.

“Well?” He says, bearing a playful tone that she had dearly missed. “Answer the question, Steph!”

“Actually… no” She shrugs a little, embarrassed to admit it. “It’s been a bit hard to connect with people”

“How so?” Barry turns serious once more, frowning as he intently listens.

“I don’t know… I’m just trying to pick up where I left off and…”

Stephanie leaves the sentence hanging in the air, but she doesn’t need to complete it. Barry nods. He understands what she means, even in a way that she can’t imagine.

“Well, you’re in luck, miss Williams” He says in a silly voice. “Because I am here to save the day”

“My hero” Stephanie replies, placing a hand on her chest in feigned bewilderment.

They both smile at each other, lingering on their reciprocated gazes. The spark between them has been rekindled, and they can feel it softly beating in their hearts.

_

It is with great sadness that they must say goodbye. They can’t stay there forever, as much as they’d like to. Still, it’s a bit easier to say farewell knowing they have each other’s numbers now and will meet again soon. They get up from the chairs slowly, putting the moment off as much as they possibly can.

Barry takes the jacket for her, holding it in the air to make it easier for Stephanie to put it on. She smiles, endeared by the chivalrous gesture, and shoves her arms on the sleeves.

“Thank you” Stephanie says as he also holds the door open for her.

The air outside is slightly chilly, and the clouds have darkened in the sky, perhaps announcing a storm. Reeling in the rush that still lingers from the lovely soiree with Barry, Stephanie looks up, unfazed by the gray clouds gathering before the sun. When she peers down again, she catches Barry’s eye.

“Barry” She laughs. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You did change” He replies with a frown, although it’s not exactly a sad one.

“How have I changed?”

“I don’t know… there’s something about you”

“Wisdom and maturity?”

“Maybe…” Barry smiles, hiding his actual thoughts. Ever since they were reunited, he has noticed a certain tint of sadness hanging over Stephanie. He doesn’t dwell too much on it, though, because it’s been slowly fading away as the afternoon advances.

“What about you? You’re not so shy anymore”

“Oh, I’m still shy” The shadow that had darkened his expression disappears, replaced with his usual affable expression. “I just hide it better”

“Are you sure you’re not just shy but you’re too embarrassed to admit it?”

“I’m pretty sure” Barry is replying, grinning as he sees her smiling. “I’m...”

He then trails off, never finishing his sentence. Something’s wrong, he can feel it. His eyes are directed to the traffic light not far from them. The lights aren’t changing, stuck on green. On every traffic light. His instinct kicks in before his brain can comprehend what his body is doing.

“Barry, what’s…” Stephanie his cut off by his urgent movement. Before she can wrap her head around what is happening, the entire street has developed in havoc.

Car horns loudly honking hurt her ears, and soon she sees why. Losing a sense of order because of the unexplained glitching of the traffic lights, all vehicles are crashing into each other. Fortunately, an imposing figure is halting their movement before the damage can be too big. A car has impacted close to them, however, and while doing so knocking a street light that heavily falls their direction.

While this developed, Barry has urgently taken hold of her. When she becomes aware of his closeness, Stephanie is pressed against his chest as he protectively moves her out of the way. Her heart is wildly racing as her senses overload.

The both of them are falling to the ground, with Barry losing balance in his desperate need to protect Stephanie. He still manages to turn and break her fall, tightly squeezing her with his arms to be shielded against his chest. His back takes the hit as he heavily falls to the ground with Stephanie safely landing on top of himself. Unaccustomed to the chaos, she is screaming and protecting her head with her arms in a panic, pressing herself against Barry and hiding her face on his shoulder as he still holds on to her.

“Steph!” He immediately calls, keeping one arm locked around her and using his free hand to press it against her cheek, urging her to look at him. “Steph, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She peers up in a daze, somehow finding comfort in his eyes despite it all. Despite the concern in them. Despite the chaos that engulfs their surroundings. In spite of it all, Barry’s still there with her. The thought calms her and she manages to take a deep breath. It helps settle the panicked pants that shook her being.

Stephanie wants to speak up, but she has momentarily lost the ability to speak. All she can do at that moment is catch her breath while she lays there on top of him, arms pressed against his chest as it quickly moves up and down with the same urgency as hers does. Barry’s hands are protectively pressed against the small of her back. Their faces are so close that their noses nearly touch. This closeness brings a flushed blush to their cheeks that can luckily be excused by the frantic situation.

“I-I’m okay” She finally replies, even with a shaky voice. “And you?”

“I’m fine” He absently says, immense relieved even if distracted.

Barry then lies on his side and carefully pushes her off him. The two of them still hold on to each other as they scramble to their feet. As they glance around, they see the disaster that the street has turned into.

A flying figure covers the sun for a split second while the clouds slowly float away in the sky. Stephanie gasps when she looks up and sees him, recognizing the cape and the strong silhouette of the hero that saved the day.

“Superman…” She utters, pointing up and gathering Barry’s attention there too.

“Oh, no” He mumbles under his breath, starting to understand what has happened.

Stephanie is too becoming aware of what happened, although in a different manner. She glances around, seeing the fallen street light that could have crushed them, the numerous cars that have crashed into each other and the traffic lights still stuck on green. How could Barry react so quickly if she barely had the time to notice any of it?

“Barry, what…” Stephanie swallows, trying to put some order into her messy thoughts. “How… Why…”

He isn’t listening to her incoherent babbling. Barry is still looking up, although his gaze is fixed on the roof of a building. A dark figure looms there, and his heart skips a beat in realization. Barry checks his phone, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he reads the screen. He has three missed called and ten texts.

“I gotta go” Barry stumbles over his words, suddenly even more frantic that during their near death experience. “I-I hate to leave like this, but I’m really late, I’m supposed to be somewhere else”

“Y-Yeah” Stephanie tries to recover from the shock and confusion. “Okay…”

“Can you walk home, are you okay?”

“I think so”

“Are you sure”

“Yeah”

“Steph?”

She stares at him, finding her lost concentration when she locks eyes with him. His worry seems to lessen when she manages to finally focus her gaze. Showing him that gesture that warms his heart, Steph nods and reassuringly smiles at him. He heaves a sigh in relief.

“Take care, okay?” He mumbles, in a sudden urgent hug. “I’ll call you soon”

“Okay” Stephanie clings on to him, lingering in the embrace and treasuring it for just a moment longer. As she does, she takes the breath she has needed so badly during those long minutes in which she couldn’t breathe.

When he pulls away, she has to hold back a groan of complaint. Her warmly smiles and waves goodbye at her. She does too. Then, Barry briskly walks away, urgently holding on to his phone.

Stephanie watches him in fascination, her eyes fixed on his back as he distances himself from her. There had been a new look on his face, an expression of mature determination and somber commitment. She had never seen anything like that. Barry has changed, and she doesn’t know in which way exactly. Stephanie is left with thousand of questions buzzing in her brain as she walks home in a daze.

Tag list: @scared-to-be-lonely345 // Ask to be added to be notified when I post for this series!! ​

[pikapals16]

Just When It Gets Better, It Gets Worse (not finished)

tw: non-con, abuse, self-harm, sensory overload/panic attack, suicide attempt (these were planned tw's so not all of them are in this draft, but just to be safe)

A summer day spent at the mall with her visiting family should've been fun. It probably would've, excluding her past and her parents' denial that anything of any sort happened.

This isn't the case if you couldn't tell.

Kat's family was walking through the mall center when a group of people catches her eye. It's not like this group came together, they're all gathered up and definitely staring at something. Normally Kat would just walk on pass, but the sound of distress convinces them to sneak into the crowd.

After scooting to a place where she can observe, they see the subject of curiosity is a girl, about her age, and who's clearly in a sort of panic attack. Her hands are clamped and pulling at her hair, her body rocking back and forth.

The girl in pink watches as someone tries to approach her before someone else yelling back.

"Don't get close! She's probably one of those weirdos with autism." Kat pushes down their anger at the offhand comment. This girl doesn't deserve that, she's already in distress. Kat looks around for anyone the girl could've come with, as it is very unlikely that she'd have come alone

She sees two men, mid to late fourties, frantically looking around for something, which puts them as the most likely possibility. They consider going up to them to inform them of the situation, but she figures they already know, explaining the distressed look on the their faces (and assuming that they are who this girl arrived with).

Kat digs inside of her bag, looking for something that might help ground the panicking girl. Nothing that'd be remotely helpful, and she never brings their stress ball or fidget cube with their parents around. Something about disbelief in non-physical diseases, but she'd rather not risk it.

What they do take out though, is one of those toy rings with googly eyes. To be frank, Kat isn't sure why she has the old toy in her bag, but perhaps it will help the girl calm down? It's not like they have anything else to use.

Slowly, Kat slips closer to the girl, choosing to ignore any comments made, and sits in front of her, making sure to maintain distance to not make her feel uncomfortable.

Admittedly, they haven't been in a situation even remotely similar, but they've read some articles that give her an idea of what to do. The rest, she's just winging it.

Slipping the ring onto her finger, Kat raises their hand.

"Hi, I'm Mr. Goggles." Kat opens and closes her hand to imply that it's the one speaking. As it does, Kat can see the girl look up in curiosity. They guess that it seems to be working. "What's your name?"

Kat cringes a bit, this girl is probably a college student, she doesn't need to be dumbed down.

"C-Cathy." Cathy's eyes seem to light up at the character. Although her hands haven't moved from their position, they've stopped pulling, and her rocking looks like it's slowing down. Kat smiles at her, hoping she recognizes it.

She takes the ring off of her finger, and holds it out in their palm, offering it to her.

"You can have it." They say just loud enough for Cathy to hear. The latter looks at her in confusion. Why would the pretty girl be giving this to her of all people? She doesn't even know her. "It's okay, really."

At this point, Cathy's hand have since released from her head as she contemplates this. Hesitantly, she reaches out, causing Kat to scoot forward so she can hand it to her.

Cathy curiously spins and shakes the toy before putting the ring on her finger, like the pretty girl had. She opens and closes her hand, and her heart seems to flutter--at both the shaking sound of the googly eyes, and the little character that appears on her hand.

Kat smiles when they hear quiet coos coming from Cathy's mouth. What she did seemed to work, and she's calmed down.

Speaking of which, they should probably go and find their parents before she gets punished. Again. Yet, there's something that draws her towards this...stranger. She can rule out love, as she identifies as demisexual, but they're tempted to stay here in their little bubble.

Without any outside influence, just them-

"Oh my god, thank you." The two middle-aged men briskly walk over, one of them kneeling to communicate with Cathy through what looks to be sign language, and the other turning his attention to Kat.

Feelings and memories are shoved down into the archives of Kat's mind. She doesn't need or want to remember, and this guy shouldn’t have to worry over another panic attack.

”Thank you so much for calming her down. My husband and I really appreciate it. Not many people have enough patience to deal with our daughter’s autism.” The thought of these two men being married and raising a child calms some of Kat’s nerves, but just some.

”You’re welcome. Does she go to school here?” Kat curses at themself for asking that, but surprisingly the question isn’t taken a wrong way.

“No, we’re just visiting friends.” The other husband mentions as he helps Cathy up. “But thank you for being so kind. It’s rare that people listen.” Oh. Kat would know that firsthand. The countless times it’s happened.

“Yes, for sure.” Is what she settles with. They don’t need to know. “I should get going though. Wish you all the best!” With the goodbye, Kat runs off to find their family, praying they didn’t notice her absence.

But of course, they did, and while she’s being scolded at, Kat lets her thoughts take over for a bit. It’s not like it’d end any differently. It’s always the same punishment and Kat hates it each time.

They’ve felt nothing for the past couple of years but today just seemed to be different. An unlikely meeting, yet Cathy seemed to have an effect on them. And they only met for a couple of minutes if anything.

They don’t know why she’s putting so much thought into this.

What are the odds of them meeting again anyway?

-

Kat walks up to their meeting spot for lunch. She doesn’t have friends, acquaintances really, but they eat with them to trick themselves into thinking they are her friends. That she’s not completely alone. To distract herself from other things.

Right before they sit, Kat sees someone else, seated by themselves. People walk past without so much as a second glance, and Kat can’t take their eyes of them. They have brown curly hair, and they’re wearing a blue hoodie, which in itself is a bit odd for August.

Kat fiddles with their pink crop top. She sees herself in this mystery person. The emptiness and loneliness. Perhaps if they help the other, maybe they’ll feel less damaged as well.

”Do any of you recognize them?” Most of them don’t, but someone claims to have seen her in their creative writing class, and another claims that she has ASD. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

The girl in pink sees the strange looks from their lunch mates, but like she’s done before, it goes ignored.

"Hi." The girl on the bench looks up at the new voice. "Can I eat lunch with you?" The brunette scoots over and pats the empty space for her to sit. As Kat sits down, the other can't seem to take her eyes off her. She's pretty.....and someone she hasn't gotten the chance to thank yet.

Quickly the girl in blue digs through her bag, looking for a certain item that a certain someone had given her on a certain summer day at the mall. She shakes the rings back and forth to get the pretty girl's attention.

"Oh. Wait." Kat takes a better look at the girl she's sitting next to. No wonder she felt familiar. "We met over the summer. Cathy, right?" Cathy nods, smile growing on her face. "Well, I never told you my name, so I guess I'll do that now. Hi, I'm Kat. She/they pronouns."

"She/her." Cathy points to herself as she speaks, to make sure that Kat didn't think that Cathy didn't support their pronouns. "And thank you." Kat tilts their head in confusion. "For Mr. Goggles and helping me during my meltdown. You kinda saw me at my worst."

"Oh um, it's nothing." Lie. "Hold on, I thought you were just visiting?" ..Not a complete lie, she put some pieces together.

"My dad got a job here and my pop didn't want to be more than an hour away from me because....you know." Cathy realizes she's been stimming, but doesn't stop her actions, rather glancing at Kat to see her reaction. Nothing. Kat's eyes never leave Cathy's, well really her head since the latter isn't a fan of direct eye contact.

And that's another thing. Kat doesn't force eye contact like the other's experienced so many times before. Cathy's met very few people who are similar, and she holds them all close to her heart.

"Yeah."

The two talk for a little longer before departing for their separate classes. 'Two' honestly refers to Kat leading the conversation and Cathy commenting when prompted, but neither really care. They make sure to exchange numbers, but little did they know how much they would end up depending on each other.

-

She was minding her own business, honest. Cathy was never one to go into crowded places alone, for obvious reasons, but this is the easiest and closest place for her to meet with her new friend.

The ever so increasing volume of the area starts to bother the blue girl, so she takes out her headphones, blocking out most of the noise. She checks her watch again. Kat’s still not here?

Her initial thought is that Kat blew her off, but they’ve made it very clear that she’d never do something like that, not without explanation. To steer her thoughts away from becoming too overwhelming, Cathy plays with her fidget cube inside her pocket.

It’s never completely gone, but Cathy’s certainly learned how to handle her ASD better. Or at least, so that she can prevent any public outbreaks.

Unlike some people who just haven’t grown up from high school behavior yet. This particular guy thinks it's funny to copy her very subtle stimming. Just your typical jackass.

"Dude stop, she hasn't done anything to you." And that, would be the arrival of her friend. Kat turns to Cathy, tilting their head in the direction of her dorm, and the pair starts walking away. "He didn't make you uncomfortable, did he?"

Cathy shakes her head, and the two walk in silence. The silence isn't all that bad or foreign, but rather a comfort to the two. Of course, until the unsuspected thunder. Seriously, they don't know why they bother listening to the weather reports at this point.

In instinct, Cathy takes off her jacket and wraps it around Kat before pulling the both of them into the dorms.

"Cathy, you can stop running, we're inside now." Cathy doesn't stop. She doesn't want anyone else to see what she's done. No one's seen it. Not even her parents. She keeps her same pace until she's navigated the halls to Kat's dorm.

Only then does she let go.

And she immediately regrets it.

"Cathy...." Without the long sleeves as a cover, Cathy's scars are exposed. Even as she tries to hide it with her hands, they're still visible. She does nothing except curl in on herself, soft noises coming from her mouth. Kat does nothing except open the door, trying their best not to stare so hard.

Thank goodness her roommate is out of town, that would've made for some awkward conversation. Kat and Cathy walk in, the latter with a brisk pace, the former with a moment of hesitation.

"You did that yourself, didn't you?"

-

and that's where i gave up, basically, where i was going with this was that cathy opens up about the self-harm, then kat opens up about her trauma yea, they're friends! cathy is a year older than kat, so she graduates and although they still talk, it's not as often as kat would like. long story short, kat starts to feel lonely and depressed again, and they feel so disconnected from the world that she kills herself by overdose. little does she know that cathy and her friends were just on their way to surprise them, but see kat just in time for it to happen. cathy runs up, and begs kat to stay with her (the others are calling an ambulance) and kat's like "shit no, wait, you're here" then black out.

whether or not kat survives is up to interpretation! or....would've been hehe. idk, i'm kinda rambling now, but yea here's an abandoned oneshot

[pinencurls]

Kiss In The Kitchen

hiii okay so I have a couple one shots hidden away in drafts that I’m not 100% in love with but i enjoyed writing at the time so I thought I might as well share them :)  Here’s the first...

You couldn’t be prouder of Fine Line and all you want to do is support and congratulate him, even if it means ignoring the insecurities one song strikes in you. 

4k Words 

At first, you listened to it (almost) alone, Harry's large headphones covering your ears as his new album played for you - you'd heard bits and pieces of it over the last year but never every song in it's finalised form. The second time you listened to the album you quickly adored was at its release party; a contrast setting to the quiet of the Saturday sun sneaking into your bedroom with Harry's earnest gaze set on you as you spoil yourself in his words - you could almost forget the album was written entirely about the woman Harry devoted all his love to before you'd met, it felt so private between the two of you. You'd visited the studio several times, lending your own advice when Harry met droughts of no inspiration and begged for your musical experience; You'd been in several small bands in your formative years, playing bass or drums, but had paused that particular pastime to focus on the reality of your career - writing took time in this industry, supporting yourself whilst avoiding the well of tabloid work was tricky, so far you'd managed to find little nuggets of gold in genuine, thought-provoking magazines and had begun to make a name for yourself, something you'd doubted possible in the harder of times.

You'd chosen to keep your lyrical advice to yourself when Harry called to you for help, however. You knew who this album was about, it was clear it wasn't you and that was fine. You didn't expect Harry to dedicate a whole album about you after 11 months together, all of which dating after he began writing it.

In private, sat on your bed and grinning up at him as his music played to you and you only - you were proud. You'd accepted the difficulties that might come with listening to your partner's rawest emotions for a past lover and had come to the conclusion that you'd appreciate his work simply because of how much he'd put into it and how well it'd all come together.

That was easy in private. It's slightly harder to remind yourself to separate the songs playing loudly all around you in the busy L.A club from all the not so hidden meanings behind them. Everyone Harry had met within the last few years of his solo career and long before that had come to celebrate with him. Busting bodies filled the large room, many already taking advantage of the bar. Almost everyone found themselves, slightly slurring, by Harry's side at one point of the night to tell him how beautiful Fine Line was, and the topics of each song didn't seem to go unnoticed either.

As you made your own rounds, you overheard the loud discussions about the mix of provocative, solemn and affectionate themes. Some of the group were apparently too drunk to see Harry's current girlfriend standing by as they cheered on his yearning and passion for his previous one.

It only got worse with press. You were still unbelievably proud of course, but Harry had to do a lot of press. Each interviewer cut straight to the elephant in the album. Camille was discussed, if not named by Harry, at length. You adored hearing Harry speak about his own personal growth and becoming comfortable in himself - but for every question about identity and fashion, came three about the clear sexual undertones and soulmate ideologies.

You were rational in your discomfort. You listened to Adore You and your other stand out favourites when you wrote, you understood and trusted that Harry had moved on, you'd been together for almost a year and he's told you weeks before then when you were just new friends that he knew he was ready again after months of working on himself.

You just couldn't deal with one song.

Breaking up and having sex you could deal with, you could enjoy the final work. They were normal things that people went through and wrote about. But the first sign of love? The sweet, endearing start of a relationship that he was so clearly ardent about - as if his feeling were a lot fresher than you'd imagine for a relationship that started and ended months ago.

Sunflower Vol.6 was beautiful, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't just see it objectively. You felt it so concentrated, and it hurt like fucking hell.

- - -

"Do we have any mango?" Harry calls from the kitchen, the click of the fridge opening quietly behind him. "Never mind found it!"

You smile at his domestic charm as you work on you most recent piece; it's been taking up a lot of time, creeping into your weekend which hadn't gone unnoticed by Harry as he had returned from the morning run you usually went on as a couple. A few moments later, after the loud whirring of the blender stopped, a pinky-orange smoothie is placed beside you and kiss pressed to the side of your head.

"When're you gon'a be done?" He murmurs against your ear, curls flopping down onto your own.

He's just finished his last week of press, ending with Howard Stern who seemed eager to remind Harry, constantly, of all the women he could have. You weren't particularly public yet so you couldn't really blame him for assuming Harry would be starting a new relationship soon. It just added to the frustration you'd been careful not to disclose over the long period of promo for the album.

"I wanna finish this today so we're both free after we fly back, I'jus need a little time alone, yeah?" A low grumble and a "yeah" was the only response he gave and he removes himself to the other side of the big living room to lay down on the sofa and slurp his breakfast.

Your deadline is Monday but tomorrow morning you're flying back to London and driving up to Holmes Chapel to spend time with Harry's family before he was away on tour for months so you were eager to be free from work.

Hours tick by, you're stuck in the spiral of the final edit. There were a few words that you couldn't quite tweak how you wanted them, as always. You got up to make lunch.

As you pass through the living room you expect to see Harry's body sprawled across the sofa napping, but only a bundle of throw blankets lay where he had been. His journal sits abandoned on the side table, propped open by a loose pen. You can see the scribbling of new song ideas and the beginnings of a poem, smiling to yourself you walk through to the kitchen - still no Harry.

Humming to yourself you open the fridge door, moving your hips slightly as you retrieve all the ingredients of a sandwich for you and Harry. Domestic moments like these were hard to come by in the midst of album releases and pre-tour prep, but you're looking forwards to the month ahead of you. No doubt you'll need some alone time after a week at his mother's house so you're being careful not to take any assignments for the rest of the month to make room for as many simple moments like this as possible once you're back in your London home.

Over the rustle of the bread packet and the crunch the lettuce made as you slice it, you can hear Harry's voice approaching from down the hall.

"Well thanks, mate-yeah..yeah we've gotta get drinks sometime it's been too long." He has the smile on his face that tells you it was another old friend calling to congratulate him on his album, probably a fellow musician from the early days.

Harry makes his way to your side, watching as you layer food into your sandwiches and steals a shred of lettuce. You can hear the other voice now - a clear English drawl you recognise as Ed. You've met a couple times and he's one of the most genuine men you've met, you much prefer him over some of the industry people Harry has to mingle with.

"Oh, dude and the mushrooms!" You giggle as you hear Ed laugh down the line at Harry. "I can't say I didn't guess something was up."

"Thanks, man - like what?" Harry chuckles back, sneaking more sandwich scraps as you slice a knife through them and dish them up.

"Um, the whole end of sunflower - are you really gonna do that live?" At the mention of the song, you feel your shoulders tense slightly. You're really trying to be a good girlfriend and support Harry - but that song just hits different, you trust Harry's love but you can't help but wonder if he has any feelings left over for Camille...

"If I have to!" Harry continues to joke, not noticing your discomfort or at least not mentioning it."Look, Ed, I gotta go but it was great talking to you"...

Harry's voice drones into the background as you take your plate and make your way back to your laptop, huffing as you're reminded of your own frustrations with yourself; he told you months ago that he's moved on, why can't you just believe him?

You can hear a quiet goodbye from Harry as he sets his phone down on the sofa and sits across from you at the table. Your laptop is still acting as a barrier between the two of you. You type at the keys, trying to look busy as you write and rewrite the same line over and over, sighing - you save and close the file and set your laptop aside.

"Not going how you want?" Harry asks.

"No, it is just...there's a bit I can't get to work. I just want to get this over with already." Harry thinks about what you've said for a moment before getting up and leaving the room - he comes back a moment later, setting a glass of water bedside your lunch and kissing your temple.

"Take a break love, you've been working all week you deserve it." He hums against your hair. "And thank you for lunch."

He's so sweet and chipper, smiling at you as he takes his plate out to the kitchen and returns to perch across the table from you, hand wavering over his journal as you finish your lunch.

He worries about you a lot. Normally over you working too much and not taking time for yourself or the amount of pressure, you put on yourself being overwhelming. It was in his nature to worry you remind yourself, you're trying hard to push past the hurt you can't quite let go of and the last thing you'd ever want was for him to feel bad about what he'd written so you'd managed to keep it under wraps. There was no need for him to be suspicious.

- - -

Your alarm goes off at 5am. Your flight is in 3 hours.

"Turn it off." You grumble, burying your head deeper into your pillow. The mattress dips underneath you when Harry turns, the duvet shifts as he slips his hand under and wraps his arms around you. "S'too early."

"I know." You love how Harry's voice sounds in the morning - rough with a soft edge. It's one of the first things you fell in love with; the extra degree or two the morning adds to his embrace, he's always quick to loop his arms around your middle if they've come undone in the night. His untamed and often tangled curls bristle against the back of your neck and there'll be a few moments of warm even breaths against your ear before he bounces up. He's very much a morning person.

"I'm getting in the shower y/n, I'll be out in a sec - get up yeah?" You mumble a slightly coherent response as he leaves the room, a towel draped over his bare shoulder.

Following a few moments of deliberation, you sit up. Unplugging your phone from where it lay on your bedside table, you check your notifications. Sure you'll be up in time, you open twitter.

Unsurprisingly, nothing much is happening. You scroll through a few messages from the day before until you come across a video of Harry being interviewed, he's wearing the thick red cardigan he recently bought so it must've been from this week.

You click play to see him smiling tiredly at the interviewer - you remember this day, you'd stayed up later than planned watching old toy story reruns then he'd been running around frantically getting ready the next morning. You lazily watch him answer a few frequently repeated questions until he's asked about the stages of romantic relationships that inspired certain songs. You expect the usual questions about songs like Adore You and Watermelon Sugar but instead, the interviewer takes a turn and seemingly voices all the concerns floating around your head;

"And one of my personal favourites: Sunflower vol.6, really captures the first realisation of love in a relationship, what lead you to write that song in particular, did you write from experience?"

"Thank you, yeah..I think that first really overpowering part of a relationship when two people are just starting to have these intimate, lovestruck moments together stuck with me and I-" You turn your phone off sharply. Your mind is spiralling with insecurities enough on its own without Harry himself describing how he first felt about his ex-girlfriend.

You sit against the headboard, mulling over the topic that has clouded your mind the past few days. You don't hear the shower turn off down the hall as you let out an angry grumble - it feels so shit and mean of you to be this way and you just want the clarity you had before this all happened.

"What's wrong love?" You look up to see Harry standing at the end of the bed. His hair is dripping onto his shoulders and he's wrapped a light pink towel around his waist loosely, concern contoured his face as he peers down at your huddled form.

"Jus' tired." You crawl forwards to climb out of bed, kissing Harry's cheek lightly as he stood unconvinced before heading to your wardrobe. "Honestly, I'm good."

"Okay..what's the time?"

"Uhhum-" You mutter as you riffle through a pile of sweaters. "5.30ish I think..check my phone"

You slip on a comfy pair of jeans and socks before you walk into the hall on your way to make you both coffee, there's a long pause from the bedroom before Harry calls down to you - 5.42am.

- - -

By the time the plane takes off, you're almost asleep again.

- - -

It's 7pm LA time when you step out the taxi delivering you home to your London house. It's almost 2 am here so despite your lack of tiredness you shuffle through the door behind Harry.

All your heavy luggage is left in the entryway as you climb the stairs up to your bedroom, eager to be done with jet lag and normal again by the morning.

You've made the mistake of sleeping the first 3 hours of the flight and now find yourself wide awake under the soft covers of you and Harry's bed. He always falls asleep as soon as he hits the pillow, and with how quiet he's been all day you assume he's already tired. Between your early napping and him being engrossed in the book he was currently reading - there hadn't been much conversation between you on the flight over. As you snuggle further into the covers you realise things have been a little different these past few days, maybe being so caught up in your own head with work and worries of your own you haven't noticed but there's definitely been a...distance. You're just not sure which of it is creating it.

The next morning you wake to the radio playing from a few rooms away. Sitting up you look around the room; your suitcases are still downstairs by the look of it and Harry's side of the bed has been slept in and now deserted.

"Harry?" You call out. There's some kind of foggy sadness seeping around you as you hear no reply. Maybe you're just tired but you feel you might start sobbing any minute - it's a desperate feeling that you're not quite sure how to quench.

"Harry.." You call again as you climb out the bed, slipping a large jumper on over your head, pulling the braids you'd plaited for the flight that had come undone and frizzy with sleep, over your shoulders. "Love?"

There's still no response and you're now on the final step of the long staircase. You walk quickly through the house towards a quiet humming you can just about make out. You must have gathered speed in your anxious mission to find Harry because as you enter the kitchen you slam hard into the doorway as you reach out to balance yourself.

The movement in his peripheral makes Harry turn his head, slipping the bulky headphones off his ears and slipping his phone into his pocket. He'd previously been slumped against the kitchen counter, lost in thought as he skimmed through his phone, forgetting the kettle as it boiled beside him.

"Love- oh, careful." He chuckles slightly before he takes in your expression. You must have started crying by now because he rushes quickly towards you. "Woah- woah what's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?"

The arm that had taken the full brunt of the doorway was now being carefully examined by Harry as his eyes scan you, searching for any harm. His hand comes to wipe at the few glossy tears on your cheek before he gently asks his question again.

"No I-I was calling for you..." You reply, equally confused as him by the whole situation.

"I didn't hear you love I'm sorry, what happened?" He's placed your arm back by your side now although his hands lingers around yours.

"...Nothing."

"Y/n, please just tell me. What's wrong?" He persists.

"No, I mean - nothing happened I just..." You mumble, how were you supposed to explain that when you woke up you felt terrifyingly alone and just needed to find him...to remind yourself that everything you'd let conspire in your head wasn't really happening.

"Y/n, I know something's up..the last week has been really busy I know but if something's wrong please just tell me, okay?" You think about it for a second before blurting out-

"Would you tell me if you still loved her?"

This doesn't seem to be at he was expecting, or you for that matter. The situation was uncomfortable - hearing your boyfriend sing about how intensely he loved Camille and how badly losing her broke him, but it was just music. You don't realise until you ask him the awkward question, just how much it had been bothering, or scaring you.

"What?"

"I just mean...Okay shit I don't mean that at all I'm just tired and I woke up and you weren't there and I just needed to find you I-"

"Is this what's been upsetting you?" His words aren't spoken forcefully, more...sadly. "T-this is what the phone call and the yesterday morning and...oh God the whole fucking flight! That's what you were thinking?"

"What phone call, what do you mean?" You don't know if he's angry at you or not, his hands are in his hair and he's got the mad look in his eyes that tells you he's either about to shout or cry.

"With Ed. As soon as he mentioned the album you left the room and, and! Yesterday, you were angry about something and then I checked the time and your phone opened on some video about the album and come on...you can't say everything was okay on the flight...we barely talked...we've barely talked at all this week." You're decided that the crying is a lot worse than the shouting. There's something cathartic that comes from shouting back at someone who's just as angry as you - but crying back at someone who's just as confused and upset? It makes you feel all twisted and uncomfortable.

"No..no Harry that's not it-"

"Y/n don't lie I-"

"It's not. I love your album and I'm so, so proud of you, and of everything you did to make it and I understand the importance of your relationship with Camille," Harry's huffing now, his fingers are tangled further in his hair and he's leaned up against the door frame close opposite you. "-This album is all about that time in your life and that's fine...Harry I love it, honestly, the album isn't anything to do with anything-"

"You just asked me if I still loved her!" He exclaims, staring wide-eyed back at you. "I don't give a shit about the album right now, you can hate it, okay? That's okay? But you asked me if I still love her...Y/n look at me."

Your eyes, tightly fixed on the kitchen tiles, tilt up to see his face. His eyes are red and splotchy and his hands reach out to hold you as he speaks again.

"I don't love her, I haven't in a long, long time. I had the ideas for all the songs about her before I even met you, you okay..you're the person I love and...I thought you knew that?" He sighs, hesitant before he starts again. "I thought you trusted me."

There's another pause between you as you mull your next thoughts over.

"I do."

He shakes his head, teary and angry.

"No you don't, if you did you wouldn't have asked-"

"It's just that fucking song!" You snap, you take a sharp breath in and swallow the lump in your throat - "I know that you don't love her, I know it but, when I listen to you sing - and talk, telling people about this wonderful honeymoon romance that even after years you remember so vividly and, and that means so much to you,I..."

"Track 9?" Harry questions, seemingly understanding everything you've just rambled. "Sun- oh baby no it's not..."

"I'm sorry I...It's a great song I just, whenever I hear it I'm reminded of how much you must have felt for her and, and remembered all this time to write about...what?" Harry's smiling now, he seems to be relived for some reason. His eyes are brighter, clearing slightly and he chuckles slightly.

"It's all my fault, I'm so sorry lovie I should have told you.." He scrambles. "I, I was embarrassed when I wrote it because we'd only just started dating and then you heard it a couple weeks later and it was too soon to tell you and then I just...didn't. I thought maybe you'd figured it out."

"What do you mean?"

"It's about...us."

"You told me you didn't write any about me though..."

"No, I said I hadn't written any you were going to see anytime soon...and that was, awhile ago." He smiles slightly, squeezing your hand in his. "There's another one about you actually too,"

"Harry you, you wrote it about us.." Harry hums a confirmation, bowing his head to press a kiss to your cheek. "I thought...what else did you write!"

Harry laughs now, catching your lips with his as you both feel each other relax - the tension and discomfort seeping away as you realise the reality of everything you'd worried yourself over in the last week.

You pull away, one hand on his chest and the other fiddling with the curls at the back of his head.

"Seriously what else did you write-"

"I'm not telling." He beams, leaning down against the firm push you send to his chest.

"I swear if you wrote a song about our sex life I-"

"Shhhh!" He presses a mocking finger to your lips to quiet you. "We better be going, don't wanna be late."

With that, he leaves the kitchen, you can hear his heavy steps rushing up the stairs and soon the house is quiet and the air around you is settled again.

There's a subtle hum of the shower upstairs that intrudes but nonetheless, the clarity's back.

[mrcoltkaneko]

daybreak (rod)

a/n: i am very... meh about this one, but when i heard that RODAW was happening, i had to throw something up for my favorite boy. it’s written in the second person because... i just vibed with it???? LMAO idk. as always, your comments / likes / reblogs are very much appreciated. i apologize for any typos in advance, i think i wrote this in like 4-5 hours so it is a very raw draft. i might go back and edit it at some point, but for now, please enjoy! 

pairings: Colt x MC angst

summary: So much for wanting to die, for choking yourself with smoke and willpower and here he is, doing it all by himself, five-and-a-half feet away.

rating: PG-13

content warning: cancer, infidelity.

length: 2172 words

tags: i am constantly amazed at the amount of quality content that comes out related to ROD. i’ve fallen out of the choices fandom but ROD still holds a special place in my heart and i’m so excited that it’s the same for a lot of other people as well! @rodappreciationweek ! 

All great love stories begin with a once upon a time, but you think that yours must have begun with an and they lived happily ever after, because with him, you are always drowning in a sea of now, now, now that exists only in a dream.

You smoke cigarettes now. It’s something of a habit, picked up in college after drunken nights out in the dead of a winter, desperate for the quick pinch of sobriety and a flicker of warmth — even now, you remember how much the smoke and tar had made you cough. Now, the nicotine, it tastes sweet on your lips.

You wonder when you’d become so jaded.

Even jarring images of blackened lungs can’t scare you now, not when you'd seen with your soul the images of your own heart, bloodied and bruised to shit. Not when you've seen her father waste away in that bed, antiseptic stinging your nose, your eyes. A year after he’d retired. There’d been plans, big ones for him to buy a home up near Olympia, fix it up himself. He’d bought tickets to Italy. You’d always thought he’d go out in a bang, a furious firework in the sky commemorating his heroism. None of seeing him die in that damned hospital was heroic.

You bring the cigarette up to your lips and inhale, holding your breath. Her gaze focuses on the skyline ahead, gripping the rust-streaked railing in front, the Hudson reflecting ink black, save for the moon’s milky touch rippling ribbons of white on the water. Only when you feel your chest constrict and vision blur that you open your mouth and let the cancer flow out. Hunched over the barrier, you begins coughing and fuck, does it feel good. It’s like being eighteen again, taking that first puff of that cigarette, feeling the smoke’s heat sear your throat in a line of fire.

“You all right?”

You glance up. You already has a bitter retort locked and loaded, about how you’s fucking goddamn fine, that you doesn’t need his help, that there’s pepper spray in your purse that you wouldn’t hesitate using and —

( “Ellie?” )

And your breath stops.

So much for wanting to die, for choking yourself with smoke and willpower and here he is, doing it all by himself, five-and-a-half feet away. You drop the cigarette, three-quarters done, and it’s no wonder that you are breathless because you drowns in him once again, like something familiar creeping up your airways, a release .

“Colt.” You take a step forward, hesitant. You watch his face, in as much disbelief as yours. He’s wearing the same jacket from all those years ago, and you want to laugh, to straighten the lapels and plant a kiss on his cheek and then cry from the youer impossibility of seeing him again, but seven years is too much time. You scrape the toe of your boot against the cobblestone, never daring to look at his face. “How - how are you?”

“I’m good. Didn’t know you were in New York.”

“I am.” You pause, wondering if you should say any more. “I work - I work at a publishing company. I edit books.”

“That’s cool. Good for you, El.”

A pause enters the conversation. For a moment, all you can hear are the distant hum of cars, the white noise of city life. And all you want to do is cry, but not for the same reasons as before, but how stilted their conversations are, how much you do not say that you wanted to for the longest time. Like, I’m sorry, I wish I’d stayed, I wish I hadn’t thrown you out. Like, I’ve missed you, you complete me, I love you.

“Are you in New York too?”

“Nah. Just here to visit my girlfriend’s parents. They live up in Queens.”

Oh.

You want to ask. You want to know her name, her job, what she’s like. You want to know whether the girlfriend has met his mother, whether she knows about his father and Ximena and Toby and Logan, whether she knows about you. In bitterness, you’re reminded of your own boyfriend, the one you’d fought with earlier over a carton of milk — and then it dawns on you that there is a space of seven years that you have been gone, torn from Colt’s life that you don’t know about, and you swallow. The pause is no longer a pause, but a thick hesitation sitting in between you and him, and you struggle to breathe against his presence.

“Listen, Ellie —”

“No. It’s fine — it’s fine, I mean, it’s been seven years, right? You’re allowed to have a girlfriend and a life, and I have a life now, and we’re all fine, really —”

“Hey! Christ, slow down; I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go for a walk. My girlfriend, she’s out with some friends and I was just killing some time anyways.”

You know you shouldn’t. That the time away had been her time to heal, to process their goodbye from all those years ago, and yet — you’ve never been good at holding him at an arm’s distance, even when he’d been three thousand miles away.

So you say yes.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

You’re positive that this is all a fever dream, that there’s no way that Colt is beside you, that you’re laughing with him again, that it’s always when you least expect it that you’re thrown back into the waters again, unsure of where it’d started, and yet, not caring in the slightest.

The stars, you’ve never noticed them in the city. Not with all the light pollution circling high above the clouds, but with him, you’re positive that the stars shine for him, bouncing off the tips of his cheekbones, the tip of his nose. Two in the morning and you’ve never felt held more than this exact moment, not in so long. You don’t know if it’s the warmth of the alcohol or the orbit of his presence, but you're rosy-cheeked, desperate to find his physical touch next.

Leave it to him to jolt you out of your fantasy.

“How’s that boyfriend of yours, huh?”

You swallow. The 40s you’ve both bought in a dingy corner store like nineteen-year olds with fake IDs lie in the paper bags at their feet and the magnified haze of reality swings at your head. Drunk, and yet, too aware of your drunkenness, you squint at him, challenging him with a brashness only marked by the alcohol.

“What’s it to you, anyways?” Cross, you pick up the bottle, taking a swig of the drink.

Colt shrugs. “Curious. I’ve seen your pics with him.”

“You’ve been stalking me,” you reply, smirking.

Shaking his head, he chuckles. “And you can never answer the questions without being a smart-ass, can you?”

“It’s none of your business.” You pull your knees closer, hugging your legs to your chest. “Anyways, you haven’t said a word about your mystery girlfriend,” you challenge. It’s not like you want to hear about her, but the prospect of telling Colt all about your significant other brings a rock to your stomach.

You meet his eyes. Dark, stormy, you think you see a phantom of a frown, emotion betraying his usual aloof demeanor. But as soon as it crosses his face, it flies off into the distance, and he shrugs. “You always do this, Ellie — act like that I’m out to get you, comment on your life choices —”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I the one that couldn’t handle my fucking anger whenever things didn’t go right, because if I remember correctly, that was you.” You bolt up, an accusatory finger thrown his way, and he matches your movement, drenched in passion.

“You’re going to bring that up? Because if we’re going to rehash our goddamn relationship right here, I’d be happy to list all of the things you did that were fucking frustrating to deal with.”

“Oh my gosh, yes. Please do that, I’m begging you,” she snaps back, sarcastic. Hesitating, you turn back to him, fire burning in your eyes. “Actually. Let’s do it. Say it. I dare you. Because if I remember correctly, it was me that left. Not you.”

Silence blankets the two of you, and his face hardens back up, body returning to the slack swagger he’d always carried so easily in his chest. Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he crouches back down, eyes aimed towards the water. “Whatever,” he snorts, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He’d always been so nonchalant. Still is, and it’s what you’ve loved about him, the way he could tell you so much more with his eyes than his words. You’d loved Logan too, but he’d always been brash, the brushstrokes of his love painted in broad, simple marks. And yet Colt — the intricacies of his emotions have always been a puzzle that you’d been adamant to unscramble. How the flicker in the corners of his eyelids could mean that he’s upset, or the twitch in the corner of his mouth, deepening a shred of a dimple gave away his happiness. Even now, the ghosts of those imprints remain etched onto his face, and you can tell he longs for something more, a what if still lingering on their tongues.

And like always, you fall into his lips.

It’s a mistake.

And yet — a glorious, beautiful, irrevocable mistake, even more when you feel his lips press against yours. He’s missed me too, you think, and you wonder why he is the only person that has only made you feel like the world is yours. You are drunk, sitting on concrete by the muddy river and yet you want to savor the moment forever, inscribe it into your skin as a tattoo.

When you part, your teeth taste like sin and your hands are drenched in the blood of your guilt, but you’d risk it all to do it again.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

One more joy ride on his Cavalieri Novanta, you understand why you loved ( love ) him. Freedom has always come at a price for you, perpetually out of your reach but with him? He makes it easy to be in freefall, and as your hands wrap around his waist, you’re not afraid to hit the ground.

Coney Island is a hellmouth, but at 4AM, the silence is cathartic. You’ve never been to the beach without the buzz of crowds closing in on you, and yet, there is something distinctly wistful about the abandoned park. Still, quiet, with only the creak of the boards underneath your feet, the ocean is there, and yet — you only see Colt. If the Pacific had been an expanse of hope and new horizons, you think that the Atlantic is a deluge of melancholy. There is no room for your sorrows when you’ve finally been let out of your self-inflicted cage. He finds a place in the sand, and you follow along, head on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me.” And yet, his lips are in your hair, whispering. You think you feel him trace an I still love you with his lips, but you can’t be sure.

“I was drunk.” You still are. You can’t think straight. When you’re with him, all you see is him.

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“Since when have you cared about whether something’s right or not?” It shocks you to the core, more than you expect. It’s not him. This is not the Colt you know.

“You don’t want this. You don’t want me.”

“What - no. Of course I want you. I want you, Colt Kaneko.” You know you do. You’d leave everything behind, run far away with him until your feet bled. Frantic, you find his face, search for that shred of longing you’d become so familiarized with. You don’t find it. “Run away with me. You don’t - we can go back. We can go back.” Desperately, you think that if you say it enough, you could make it a truth.

“You know, Ellie.” Colt swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. For once, you cannot read the emotion in his face, and it terrifies you. Seven years is too much time lost, and you think about all of the things you’ve missed.

You do know. Leaving him once, you know. That your longing and love for him has always relied on being apart, that two burning hot fires only created a larger fire that threatened to ruin everything else in its path.

“We would’ve burned each other up, El.” He’s closer now, only a breath away. A finger on your cheek, your hand snakes up and holds his hand, memorizing his touch. His thumb swipes away a tear that you didn’t even know had fallen.

He leans in this time.

A first kiss against the Californian sunset, the last rolled into a New York sunrise, you wonder if you’ll ever look at daybreak the same way again.

[unsettledink]

Back in the days of LJ, I used to try and do a post at the end of each year, looking back primarily at fandom and fic. I fell out of the habit when everything moved to tumblr, and then it seemed like I didn’t have anything to say since I wasn’t writing or really participating any. 

But I always liked the idea of it, because I love to be overly reflective on stuff. And talk about my fic. Any excuse! I shuffled around some of the topics I used back then and added a few I’ve seen around that I liked. It got… long, because I TALK, so I split into two sections. 

*

Your main fandom of the year? 

    Marvel (MCU) for sure. Primarily with characters from Spider-Man and Iron Man movies.

Your favorite film watched this year?

    The Old Guard - I saw a couple trailers and everything about it looked like catnip. ‘It’s probably going to be so dumb, but I don’t even care,’ I thought. And then it was so good. It was so much fun and so much smarter than I expected and I loved each and every character and it just made me happy in so many ways.

Your favorite book read this year?

    Red, White, and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston - I read it twice this year actually. It’s so… cute isn’t the right world. Sweet and hopeful and soft and comforting and intense. I liked every single character which is pretty rare. I cried during the sad parts and then again at the happy ending, like straight up sobbed - both times. I already want to read it again.

Your favorite tv show watched this year?

    Schitt’s Creek - I started it on a whim and because a lot of people had said it was good. The episodes were short so it wasn’t a huge time investment. The first season was a little rough, but there were enough funny moments that I hung on, and then… I kept getting fonder and fonder of these idiots as they grew. And THEN… it kept not disappointing me? 

     You grow to expect certain scripts, twists, jokes, especially in queer story lines. To wait for the bad thing to happen, because it always does. Instead, Schitt’s Creek kept going, ‘hey, here’s the set up for that! Guess what? We’re not doing it. Here’s the happy version instead.’ The relief of having that happen again and again - the last season I’ve watched (I’m sort of saving 6) I cried a bunch but it was always because I was happy. 

Your favorite album or song to listen to this year?

    1896 - I’ve been waiting for the new Steam Powered Giraffe album so eagerly for aaaaaages. Finally getting recordings of Zero’s songs! Lying Awake remains my favorite off the album, with Eat Your Heart and Bad Days on the Horizon high up there as well. I’m loving what Zero brings to the band.

Your best new fandom discovery of the year?

    I don’t know if I really did discover that much? I stuck pretty closely to old fandoms and the ones I picked up in 2019. Maybe Zodiac? It was definitely inspiring, and I want to write and read more in it. 

    Maybe the couple discords I joined? I still really dislike discord and am not on there much, and mostly lurk when I am, but having somewhere vaguely like the comms I remember makes me feel a little less isolated. It’s the potential, that maybe if I said something I might make a friend, or someone might actually want to hear what I say. 

Your biggest fandom disappointment of the year?

    The Watch - I mean, I knew it was going to be a disaster with every word said during pre production. I wasn’t ever going to be happy with it. And then it came out and was even worse and uglier and … disrespectful not just of the source material but of actual people connected to Terry. I’m beyond disappointed that this is what we got, and it’s probably going to be a long time before we get anything else. 

    Devil All the Time was terrible, but I didn’t have especially high hopes. It still didn’t manage to meet them. Yikes.

The most missed of your old fandoms?

    Maybe MASH? Someone I follow started talking about it and I was reminded all over again of the wonderful fics in that fandom. I went looking and a lot are gone (still on my computer, lol, but not online), but rereading was such a trip. A slightly depressing trip, but still. 

The fandom you haven't tried yet, but want to?

    Hmm. I’ve kind of not had the energy to invest in other fandoms at the moment? When The Witcher was having it’s big moment back in January, I had a feeling I might enjoy it enough to fall headfirst into the fandom, so I avoided watching it. Ikr? I don’t have the time or the energy to actively seek anything out. 

Your biggest fan anticipations for the New Year?

    SO EXCITED about Winter’s Orbit. I mean, the third Spider-Man movie for sure, with worry. The second Venom movie, ugh yes. I have tentative hopes for Jungle Cruise? Jumanji was stellar and I always enjoy Dwayne. I have both hope and dread for the new Suicide Squad - I did love Birds of Prey, so if it’s along those lines, yay. The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard because it should be some fun garbage, my favorite kind. I don’t know how I feel about Dune, but, uh, I’m anticipating it. It seems highly unlikely it will actually happen, but The Wheel of Time TV series. 

I want to be excited about Black Widow but it’s hard. It’s not the story I’ve been wanting to see, and I’m angry about Natasha not getting a movie until she’s dead.

You know. If any of it is released for real.

The Good: 

I moved to a better place. I got a better paying, better benefits, better environment job that lets me work from home. The house acquired 3-7 more cats depending on the month. I was able to get some serious problems on my car fixed. I have insurance and was able to start on some health stuff. No one I know got sick or died. I wrote a LOT.

The Bad: 

Aside from the obvious? Depression hitting extra hard during the winter. Having to put two kittens to sleep. Have my car be hit three times in our parking lot. Being driven INSANE by one of the cats for months while the vets were all closed. Kidney stone. Dealing with several health problems. Stalling for months on Gotcha.

The Indifferent: 

Not leaving the house often or easily. Enjoying a new fandom but not doing great at making connections (still real awkward, bud). Raising kittens and saying goodbye. Need new tires. Reading a lot of fic but not a lot of books. Having more pay but more expenses as well (wth insurance??). 

*

2020 fic stats

Number of stories: 39

Number of fandoms: 6? Or 2, if you cluster the others under mcu

Total number of words: 152049

Average word count per story: 4kish

Longest fic: Causality (18k, P/Q)

Shortest fic: Can’t, Won’t (1k, P/Q)

Most comments received: Sieche (49, T/P)

Fandom you wrote the most of: MCU Spider-Man - I only wrote TWO fics that didn’t feature that fandom, wow. And one of those was still MCU.

Fandom you wrote the least of: Zodiac (1!)

Events you participated in: Marvel Trumps Hate, Kinktober, IornspidersGeorg Exchange, Starker Festivals Exchange, MCU Secret Santa, Spiderio Big Bang

*

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

    SO MUCH MORE OMG. I mean, even just counting posted stuff! (I probably wrote a solid 300k of Gotcha this year.) I did not expect or plan on doing Kinktober, so that’s a whole 31 fics right there. I also wasn’t planning on doing any exchanges - I have a History - but then I did three? And beyond that, I did not expect for everything to get so LONG.

Topic you wrote that you would never have predicted in January:

    Tony/Quentin. Goddammit @the-me09 They were like hey, they could be interesting! And while I agreed, I had no ideas for them. THEN they had to go and write Just Bodies That Collide and next thing I know, I’ve got ten fics featuring them and two-six series focused on them or Peter/Quentin/Tony. What the fuck. 

Leitmotif of the year:

    Vulnerability, I think. I had a bunch of things typed up and they all circle back to vulnerability in the end; sex, being seen, being wanted, sharing trauma, asking for help, trying something new. Offering a soft spot in the hopes it won’t be hurt. 

Favorite character to write about: 

    Tony Stark, for sure. There are just a bunch of slightly different takes, and a lot of canon to work with (kind of frustrating too though). And I’m a sucker for emotionally damaged snarky traumatized characters that are viewed poorly both in universe and out. 

Favorite kind of fic to write:

    This year? Fluff and smut combined. Maybe that’s not the right term really. I keep looking for and writing, even in the angstiest fics, for those soft moments. Sure, maybe it’s a super smutty kink scene, but I want the affection to be obvious. Maybe everyone is consumed by guilt, but I want it to be based in caring too much. Maybe there’s no real love, just sex and even that’s messed up, but I want to find that tiny bit of fondness. 

    And I want happy endings. Or endings that look like they’re going to be happy, at least, even if there’s all the angst first. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone this year? Who AM I? 

Biggest disappointment:

    Not finishing the rough draft of Gotcha. I was making such good progress in 2019, from August to December. Even after the move, I basically finished part 6 in January. I fumbled around and fussed with 1 a lot, but that had already been given one draft, really, and I got through half of 4 before I slowed to a stop. I’ve barely gotten anything accomplished on it since June. Bits and pieces here and there, but nothing significant, not like I was doing. I can excuse October, due to 80k invested in Kinktober (yikes!), but aside from that… I’m sad. I’ll finish it eventually, but I really thought I could have the first draft done in a year. I’m sitting at about 480k out of what I’m almost certain will be 700k. 

Biggest surprise:

    Kinktober! It was kind of spur of the moment, decided just a week in advance. I’ve tried month long or even like, 20-25 day long challenges and I don’t think I’ve ever completed one. I thought there was a good chance I’d do so again, so I gave myself a little help and made my own list of prompts, things I knew I liked and hadn’t done much of yet. And it worked? I actually completed it, what the hell? Despite spending five days travelling near the end! Despite falling behind in getting ahead and writing a bunch of stories the day they were to be posted! Despite apparently forgetting how to do short form! 

    I, uh, could have done without the spawning of eleven series or sequels or continuations jfc WHY SELF.

Something you learned this year:

    Ideas breed ideas. I swear to god, the second I sit down to think through a current idea, I wake up the next morning with three more. 

    Words need to be restocked. I need to consume new - not rereads, not fic - content every so often to refresh my word bank. It is astonishing how quickly writing goes again after I’ve done so.

    I can write so much more than I thought I could. I can do so much more than I thought I could. Yes, I can complete challenges without dropping out early. Yes, I can do exchanges and not regret it. Yes, I can write more than 100k, more than 200k, more and more - and I can write 10k+ easily too. Though I wouldn’t mind if I could once again write less than 10k without feeling like I’ve cut off in the middle. 

    My time is shrinking, and if I want to write as much, I’m going to have to make the time. I can’t rely on three days off a week, on seven hours of uninterrupted overnight shifts, on hyper focused writing binges that leave everything else around me on fire. 

Most memorable comment: 

    So, so many! I can’t pick one. I’ve been really lucky to get a bunch of really detailed, enthusiastic, analyzing comments across all different fics. One of the types that always sticks with me are the ones like ‘I didn’t think/know I liked this ship/kink/twist, but fuck, apparently I do? You made me, what the hell?’. 

What, if anything, are you going to try to do differently in your writing in the new year?

So with writing Gotcha but not posting until it’s done, my view of what I’ve written vs anyone else’s is extremely skewed. I’m sitting here thinking, hey I’m 400k in and got another 10k done today, so much writing! While anyone looking at my AO3 account (for most of the year) is like, you’re averaging three months between fics :(

    All that to say I want to try and get something posted more frequently while I’m working on Gotcha.

    Also, writing for kinktober was really interesting - pushing myself to write every single day, often for that day’s post, forced me to get back into shorter form fic. Which used to be all I did? But it was surprisingly hard to just stop and not write more. So I’d like to challenge myself to write more fics under 10k at least. Maybe even under 5k though that might be asking a lot lol. I might get there with the many continuations of those fics I’d like to do. Does that count?

Goals:

   I want to hit 365 fics. :) I’m only 32 away!

    Aside from writing - 

    I’ve really enjoyed the reading record sideblog I started this year. I’ve let it lapse a little the past month or so, but I’d like to keep it going strong. 

    I’d like to leave a lot more comments. I want to get better about allowing imperfection - I want to write The Best Comment, but in the end? Probably 90% of fic writers are going to be happier with a comment expressing enjoyment in any way over no comment at all. 

And not just on fics, but on general posts as well. It’s hard not to feel… weird and stupid and invasive and rude leaving any sort of comment on someone’s post if I don’t know them at least a little. I have godawful rejection sensitive dysphoria and a lot of interactions that ended poorly; I’m really not good at people. But as dumb as it feels to say those things, I know I am thrilled and warmed and happier when there’s a reblog with tags or a note or a comment or an ask or just, any small interaction that shows someone out there notices and cares, at least a little. There’s no reason I can’t at least try to offer that to other people. 

    I’d like to make/run a couple challenges of my own, later in the year. I’m still figuring out what I want to do and what I could do. I’m really interested in doing something that’s not focused on creators, but the readers; some sort of comment or rec challenge maybe.

    I want to find a cheerleader for Gotcha. I’m struggling to keep up my motivation to write it when it’s already in my head, where I can ‘read’ it any time. There’s a line between depending too much on external validation and trying to generate all your validation yourself, and I’m getting to a point where I think I need to ask for help (gasp! The hardest thing EVER). 

*

(Part Two: Pick Some Fics)