#// i keep rereading this shit and getting a headache laughing

[fenghuane-a]

i was going to do SOMETHING for the past few hours but instead i keep getting distracted by random things. case in point: the MEGA ULTRA BEAM ATTACK in some jttw inspired [adapted?] dc comic series that’s currently sending me into hysterics. “oh theyre all working together to fight some big baddie! :D” and then red son’s parents get beam attacked and die instantly and i cANNOT STOP. LAUGHING.

just the mental image alone like. you got the whole gang there. erlang, nezha, the demon family, your titular main cast, and then they just get vaporized by this evil guy’s big spooky laser, and then he LEAVES. okay, story’s over, everyone go home, bye, sorry everyone you know and love (???) is dead lol. this isnt even that objectively funny, im sure its written to be tragic but all i saw was a two paragraph synopsis of it and that was enough to get me WHEEZING.

i don’t know anything about dc comics At All, nor do i care to find out, just as an outsider looking in this is really fucking funny.

[holylulusworld]

Gun for hire (1)

Summary: You’re his next target. Nothing else. Right?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader

Warnings: hiring a killer, Lloyd being Lloyd, being followed, sunshine reader

Gun for hire (Prologue)

Gun for hire masterlist

Lloyd curses himself once again.

He still didn’t get his money. His newest client is an annoying piece of shit. And on top of the pile of shit, this assignment turned into, the exotic beard wax he wanted to order was sold out.

In other words. Lloyd Hansen is fucking livid. 

This doesn’t keep him from following his latest target around town.

So far you went to work, bought a muffin on your way to the library, and talked to the librarian for half an hour.

Lloyd yawns, bored beyond belief. He never followed such a boring person. Most of the people he killed were criminals, or at least interesting. You’re just…too nice.

You made it your mission to visit the elderly librarian every day after work to make sure she gets her extra portion of sugar – hence the muffin you bought. Plus, you try to make her feel needed by asking questions about books you already read.

He’s close to calling it a day when a man walks past you and the librarian. The man bumps into your side and has the guts to yell at you.

Lloyd pokes his head around the shelf he is hiding behind to watch you smile at the man. He can’t believe that you smile at a man yelling at you not moments ago.

“Crazy,” he concludes but decides to watch you for a little longer. Assignment or not, he’s got nothing better to do today.

“Sir,” you carefully pat the man’s arm while you speak to him in a low, but soft tone. “Your day must have been hard.” You batt your eyelashes, and smile again. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so rude, right?” 

The man suddenly smiles and apologizes repeatedly. The man’s whole demeanor changed so suddenly Lloyd could not believe his eyes.

“Drugs maybe…or a hidden gun?” Lloyd wonders. No man ever changed their opinion so fast without being under the influence of drugs, or in danger. “That woman must be the devil in disguise or something. She must be more dangerous than I first thought.”

“Come on, do something more exciting,” Lloyd grunts as your daily routine drives him up the walls. He looks at his notes again and sighs deeply. 

He rereads his notes and tries to find new information.

“Work. Buying something sweet for Grace, the elderly librarian. Talking to said librarian for half an hour. Going home. Watching TV.”

This is not how imagined his Friday night would look like. He wanted to spend it at his favorite strip club, a pretty girl’s mouth wrapped around his dick.

“She’s so…” he rubs his tired eyes, “boring. I can’t believe someone wants to kill her.” Lloyd ignores the kink in his neck and his burning eyes, or the fact that he’s watching you giggle at something your elderly neighbor said. “I hate her so much.” 

He could just end your life or call it a day, but he keeps on watching you smile and giggle. “She’s a fucking ray of sunshine. What the fuck!”

Lloyd shakes his head. Today someone spilled coffee all over your pretty sundress. Your boss yelled at you. And you lost your phone.

Nothing seems to ruin your mood. You are still laughing and joking with your neighbor.

“I should just go over there and kill them both. Less headache for me – a house and a car for my client,” Lloyd is tempted to get his gun and silencer out to shoot you and your neighbor. “Maybe later. I need to unlock her phone first…”

Lloyd rolls his eyes while scrolling through your phone. There are mostly pictures of bees, flowers, and cake on your phone. No interesting or naughty stuff. 

“This woman can’t be real. She buys sweets for the librarian; cooks soup for her sick neighbor and has a fucking insect hotel on her veranda. She’s crazy…this must be it.” 

He nods to himself. “I need to find out more about her. Maybe some files are password-protected. I know she’s hiding shit from me.”

“Boss, it’s two weeks,” one of Lloyd’s men dares to say. “He didn’t pay.” The man clears his throat. “The woman is still alive too. What is your plan?”

“I need to find out more about her,” Lloyd grunts. He doesn’t need one of his bootlickers to sniff around and find out Lloyd is following you because he’s fascinated and a little grossed out by your bubbly personality.

Your friendliness is hard to stomach, and he wants to find at least one thing you try to hide before he kills you.

“Boss, he didn’t pay,” the man insists. “We don’t work for free. That’s rule number—” A gunshot ends the man’s life. 

“Rule number four is to never doubt me and my decisions,” Lloyd sneers at the dead man on the ground. He snaps his fingers at one of the others. “Clean this up. I got a job to do.”

“Boss…” the man nods and goes to work.

“And bring me her boyfriend. He broke our contract and didn’t pay me a single buck. I want to know why he believes he can fuck with Lloyd fucking Hansen.”

“What are you doing at my house?” You take a step back. A stranger is standing in your living room, a gun with a silencer aimed at your head. “Oh…Tommie.” You shake your head and sigh. “He’s such an unhappy man.”

Lloyd cocks a brow at your reaction. You don’t scream or beg. Instead, you are concerned about your ex-boyfriend.

“He doesn’t have the money to pay me back for the house and car,” you conclude and nod to yourself. “But he has the money to pay you?”

You take a step toward Lloyd, taking him by surprise. He backpaddles and aims his gun back at you.

“You don’t look like a guy he found on the street and paid him twenty bucks. You look like a…” You tilt your head to look the man in front of you up and down, “professional.”

“Sorry, but you got to go…” He murmurs, wondering a little about his words. It’s the first time he said more to a target than hello and goodbye.

“Uh-okay,” you wring your hands. “I just ordered takeout. Can I eat it before you kill me?” You cock a brow. “You know, the whole last meal thing and stuff. I got dessert too. Please don’t let me die hungry.”

Lloyd is stunned. No target ever accepted their fate without fighting back. Most of them at least begged and pleaded or offered more money.

“You can have some dessert too,” you softly say. “I guess in your line of business you don’t often get invited.” You giggle. “You know, because you kill all of your clients.”

“I don’t kill my clients,” he sighs. “Fine, have your last meal. You are giving me a fucking headache, sunshine.”

“Aw, that’s a cute nickname,” you point out. “Do you call your girlfriend that too?” You ask while walking past Lloyd. “I’m going to eat now. Please don’t shoot me before I finish my meal.”

“Just shut up,” he grunts and follows you inside the kitchen. “Why are you not screaming or throwing a tantrum?”

You shrug. “We all must die one day. Right?” Watching Lloyd, you smile. “Please don’t shoot me in the face. Someone must identify me, and I don’t want them to see me like that.”

“You always think about others first.” 

He watches you prepare two plates of food. You watch him watching you. He cocks a brow, believing you will try to trick him. “It’s not poisoned. I’ll eat it too.”

“Do you want to sort things out first?”

“I got everything sorted out,” you smile. “I’m just worried about my neighbor and the stray cat I feed. They are both old and need help.”

Lloyd shakes his head. “You must be crazy thinking about others while a stranger threatens to kill you.”

“I thought you wanted to kill me, not just threaten me,” you round the counter to place a plate close to him. “I didn’t take you for someone making empty promises.” You run your fingertips over the hand holding the gun and smile. “Right. Mr.…?”

“Lloyd,” he says and drops his eyes to your finger running over his hand. “Are you flirting with me?”

You look him straight in the eyes and smile. “Why would I flirt with my executioner?”

Gun for hire (2)

Tags in reblog.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

hii!! yeah i wanted to make sure that you were accepting new prompts first and it just popped into my head after reading your latest prompt answers 😭♥️

so!! i read your crubbles drunk shenanigans fic where it ends with jack and harding which just. opened my mind. had to pause and reread and Imagine. not actually 100% sure you actually mean they had a thing going on but if you do!!!! i would like to prompt this for them:

jack and hardings unnamed Subtle Thing being very very subtle and very very unknown until the other boys clock it in like. wait. wait no what. you two??? is that—are you????? and cant even say shit about it bc its harding and for the amount of shit they give jack, they think no one deserves the man except now they find out that one person is harding?? so their brain is not catching up like at all and have no idea how to proceed.

and hey if its not a jack/harding thing i would loveeee to read more on jack trying to coral these dumbasses shoved into his hands by his number one headache.

thank you 😊♥️♥️

Okay, so I also surprised myself but I DEFINITELY meant for them to have a thing.

I'm still noodling on how exactly it all happens, so this is more headcanon than fic.

Jack doesn't often light Harding's cigars, but it's definitely something that happens. No one thinks a thing about it until someone with just the right amount of booze in their system goes, "Hey, did Jack ever light a COs smoke before?" And there's a long moment of silence as everyone thinks it over, and then there's a variety of responses: Some snickering. Some smiling. Bucky lets out a screech like a hungry bird then just collapses onto the table laughing until he cries.

Harding's friendly with everyone. From Jack all the way down. Even the ground crews feel comfortable joking with him a little. He's just that kind of warm CO. But with Jack, there's some very subtle differences. He doesn't thump Jack on the back like he does the other men. He pats lightly. His hand lingers for a moment. The jokes seem more about making Jack laugh unwillingly (Jack hates puns, but Harding's got a new one every goddamn day) than sharing a laugh like colleagues.

Neither of them ever has a hair out of place. So there's no figuring out via mussed up hair. But occasionally there's something like a rash on Jack's neck that Ken realizes one day is actually a mustache burn because he just got his own from Rosie the night before. And Ken just stands very still for a moment as he figures out literally the only person Jack might allow that close.

Crosby knows. He's the only one who ever caught them in a moment. They weren't petting or anything, but a CO does not sit on the edge of an Air Exec's desk and pour him a drink while rubbing a shoulder. Crosby doesn't try to play dumb. He knows he's bad at it. He just goes, "Well, okay. Congrats and all that. I've got weather concerns to discuss." And the thing is, Crosby is an overthinker, but he can also keep a secret like a champ. No one hears shit from him.

When the weather gets cold, there's a lot of sitting in front of the fire, just the two of them, sharing a good drink and some quiet conversation. From the outside, it doesn't look different from a hundred other friendships on base. But it is definitely more than a friendship.

Couple other bits that I really like:

Word starts circulating that Helen Harding, noted crush of half the base, isn't ACTUALLY Harding's daughter but pretending. This is true, but if it comes out it actually is, the most annoying pilots will make a move Helen would prefer to avoid. Jack and Harding are the only ones on base who know she's lying. Helen because she asked Harding if he minded, and Jack because she told him after she realized he was crushing bad but wouldn't dare try anything when the Colonel's daughter, who is nearly his same age, is right there. Jack makes sure to rip a single pilot to shreds the first time he overhears the rumor that Helen isn't the Colonel's daughter, makes sure he's seen and heard being appalled that his men would try and find a way around an obvious truth like Helen being Harding's daughter.

Harding DOES have a daughter named Helen. She's four. She lives in the States with some family or other (haven't figured that one out yet). Jack meets her after the war. She's seven and cute as a button. Her dad's career military, so she barely clocks that Jack is meant to be more than "Uncle Jack" for awhile. It's actually pretty funny when it all comes together in her little brain.

[childeaether]

venus.

cw: 18+ only, xiao/f!reader, law school au, enemies to lovers, rough sex, dumbification, degradation

wc: 2.5k

it was getting late. well, it got late about two hours ago. now midnight was approaching at an annoyingly fast rate. you were exhausted, xiao was irritable, and the report was nowhere near done. it was a miracle that no one had come by to lock up the study room for the night.

“this case doesn’t make any sense,” you griped, typing aggressively on your laptop. xiao sighed.

“you’ve said that three times in the last thirty minutes. i get it,” he said flatly. you shot him a look. your professor had to be some kind of sadist. you and xiao had hated each other since the first day of class. rarely did a lecture go by without the two of you arguing- whether it was about law or the color of the sky.

“read this,” you said, turning your laptop towards him. his eyes narrowed as he read over the report, which you’d rewritten twice now. he shook his head as he approached the end.

“your reasoning doesn’t make any sense. you’re just mentioning another case to make the holes in your argument look smaller,” he said. “and the fuck does the implied powers have to do with anything?”

you snatched your laptop back. “at least i’m putting ideas out there. you’ve been rereading it for, like, forty five minutes.”

he rolled his eyes. “right. why analyze the case to further understand it when you could just spew bullshit and pray something is right?”

you groaned in frustration. “this case is at least a century old. you’re not supposed to ‘further understand it.’ the whole point of the assignment is torture us mentally.”

“the whole point of the assignment is to challenge us,” he shot back, “something you will have to get used to if you want a fucking law career.”

you slammed your laptop shut. “i get it, you think i’m stupid-”

“i don’t think you’re stupid, i think you’re fucking lazy.”

you snorted, but there was no humor in it. “i’m lazy, but you haven’t written shit. got it.”

he stood. “listen, i’m sorry that you weren’t paired with your little boyfriend, but-”

“my little boyfriend?” you said, incredulous. “what are you even talking about?” you got to your feet, too. the two of you were ticking time bombs, trapped in each other’s space. as always.

“that ginger you sit next to. don’t act like i’m wrong,” he snapped, “you two are so fucking obvious.”

you laughed in disbelief. “jesus christ, you are such an asshole. his name is childe. you’ve known him an entire semester-”

xiao cut you off, “you’re unbearable around him. that stupid high pitched giggle you do? it gives me a fucking headache-”

“laughing at his jokes means i’m fucking him?” you didn’t even realize that you’d raised your voice.

“you dumb yourself down for him,” xiao said. “it’s infuriating. you can have anyone you want, why do you settle for that moron?”

“i’m not settling for him,” you hissed, “i don’t even talk to him outside of class! and so what if i fucking was? god forbid someone likes me, right? just because you hate me doesn’t mean the rest of the world does.”

something in his eyes changed. you suddenly realized how close your faces were. you must’ve gotten closer as your tempers escalated.

“you are stupid,” he said, softly. before your rage took hold, he continued, “i.. don’t hate you.”

you scoffed. “yeah, right,” you said, starting to back away. his hand caught your shoulder, gentle but firm. the earth stopped turning. he’d never looked at you like this before. like you were more than a nuisance. much more.

it clicked. oh.

“what did you mean by.. what you said a second ago?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “that i.. can ‘have anyone i want?’” your heart was beating fast, and it wasn’t caused by rage, this time.

for a moment, xiao looked vulnerable. “we don’t have to talk about this,” he whispered. “i know that we argue a lot, and i know that i can be a dick, but- i don’t hate you. i don’t.”

your heart was caught in your throat. “how do you feel about me?” you breathed.

his cheeks reddened. he clearly wasn’t used to being emotionally vulnerable, especially in front of you. “it’s complicated,” he said. “it’s not necessarily how i feel about you, but how you make me feel.”

a small smile creeped onto your lips. “well.. what are you involuntarily feeling?”

your smile seemed to relax him, if only slightly. he sighed. “i’ve been asking myself the same question for months. i mean, you always annoyed me- especially in the beginning. but, as time went on, i don’t know.. i started noticing little things.

“like the look in your eye when you’re winning an argument. or the one when you’re losing. how you bite your lip when you’re focused on something..” he trailed off. he looked up, finally meeting your eyes.

“like i said, it’s complicated,” he murmured. “but whatever i was feeling was.. warm. pleasant, even if i didn’t want it to be. then, you started hanging out with that childe guy, and these feelings went from warm to… hot. like a, a burning sensation, in my chest.”

just thinking about it seemed to frustrate him. “he made you laugh. you didn’t look at him like you wanted to kill him. i mean, you liked him. and i couldn’t stand it, because-”

he cut himself off, trying to muster up the courage to say whatever was about to come next. “i couldn’t stand that you would never see me the way you saw him.” his breathing was shaky. it made your heart ache.

your faces were so close.

“it drives me insane,” he continued. “you drive me insane. and i just want to-”

you cut him off, capturing his lips in a desperate, long-awaited kiss. he jumped at first, shocked, but melted into it before too long. his hands found themselves on your hips, gripping them firmly. pulling you closer to him. you tangled your fingers in his hair, relishing in the deep groan that escapes him when you tug on the strands.

he bit your lip as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. you whined and gasped for breath. you brought a hand to his cheek, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. his fingers dug into your waist.

“you’re not fucking childe?” he said. god, his eyes.

you shook your head.

“good.”

just like that, he was on you again. the kiss was rougher this time, hotter. teeth nipped at lips, tongues prodded at one another, hands made their way up your shirt. xiao pulled away briefly to remove it. he pushed you up against the desk as his lips chased yours once again. you had no objections, dizzy with lust.

he shoved a thigh between your legs and you moaned as he pressed it against you.

“god, look at you,” he whispered, his teeth against your neck. he moved his thigh, and you couldn’t stop your hips from grinding against it. there was an almost sinister look in his eye. it was sadistic, but adoring. your heart was fluttering in your chest.

“aw, baby,” he cooed, “i’ve hardly touched you. do you really need it that bad?” that condescending tone did something to you. a familiar fog was starting to form in your head. “i guess i should’ve seen this coming. smart girls like you love to be turned into dumb sluts in bed, right?”

a shiver ran down your spine. before you could respond, he moved his ground his thigh against you. an embarrassingly high pitched noise escaped your throat. “yeah, that’s what i thought,” xiao teased, sinking his teeth into your collarbone. your nails dug into his shoulder.

suddenly, he pulled away. you whined pitifully at the loss of contact, but the disappointment didn’t last long. your heart skipped a beat as you realized xiao had pulled away to take off his belt. that fog was getting hard to ignore.

he noticed you staring. “bend over the desk,” he commanded, “and hike up your skirt for me.”

as if your panties weren’t soaked enough before.

nervously, you bent yourself over the desk and pulled your skirt up, exposing the silk panties you had on underneath. they were genuinely comfortable. xiao picked a good day to confess.

you heard him inhale sharply behind you, taking you in. “fuck,” he whispered, running a hand up your thigh. you couldn’t help but squirm. “you’re already so wet i can see it through your panties. does it turn you on when i tell you what to do?”

two fingers traced the outline of your pussy over your panties. “or maybe it was the ‘dumb slut’ part, hmm?”

you moaned helplessly, wriggling your hips. “xiao, please,” you begged, “hurry up, i- i want it.”

“be patient,” he replied. you felt lips press against your inner thigh. your skin felt like it was on fire, his lips burning a trail everywhere they touched. you whimpered and squirmed, desperate.

“please, just- fucking get on with it,” you cried. your cunt was aching. you’d imagined xiao fucking you on shameful, lonely nights. especially on days like this, when the two of you had been at each other’s throats. and now it was here. real.

“god, please-”

“shut the fuck up, slut, or i’ll rip these panties off and gag you with them,” he growled. the fog won. you felt yourself melt into the desk, into submission. your hips stilled, and you bit your lip to keep from whining. every second that passed felt like a lifetime.

finally, he pulled your panties down, exposing your dripping sex. you gasped at the sensation of cold air against you. it only made you feel hotter.

he ran his middle and index finger up and down your folds, maddeningly slow. god, it was hard to keep quiet. you could hardly think about anything but xiao, xiao’s fingers, xiao’s dick.

you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning out loud when his fingers began to circle your clit. they were slow and gentle; you needed them to be more.

“you’re so beautiful,” xiao whispered. you hung on to his every word. “i want to take my time with you, and i promise i will, later.. but right now, i can’t help myself.” he took your wrists into one hand, holding them behind your back. he leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued, “i’m going to fuck you senseless.”

you cried out as he plunged two fingers inside you, thrusting in and out roughly. it was a relief, but it wasn’t enough. you tried to grind your hips onto his fingers to no avail. “and you’re going to take what i give you, aren’t you, baby?” he said, kissing a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear.

“because you’re my good, stupid slut.” he added a third finger and curled them inside you, finally hitting the sweet spot he’d been searching for. you let out a low moan at the sensation. “you think you’re so smart, but look at you. trying to fuck yourself on my fingers. if i’d known this is all it takes to shut you up, i would’ve done this a long time ago.”

you mumbled out a pathetic, incoherent moan. you couldn’t even argue with him, you were so desperate.

“it’s okay, pretty girl,” he whispered. “i’ve got you. i’ll give you what you want. you just have to ask.”

you knew what that meant. “please,” you begged, “please- fuck me, xiao! i want it so bad, i’m so..” you trailed off, trying to hang on to your train of thought as he twisted his fingers inside you. your sentence became a string of incoherent please’s.

luckily for you, xiao was nearing the limit of his control. “good girl,” he said. you heard shuffling behind you as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock pressing against the entrance to your cunt. his grip on your wrists tightened. “take a deep breath, baby.”

he thrust his hips forward and finally, he was inside you. it stung at first, but you adjusted quickly. when he felt you relax, he pulled your wrists toward him, using them as leverage to better fuck into you.

“oh, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” you moaned, relishing in the feeling of him brushing against your g-spot. every thrust had you seeing stars.

“fuck, you feel so good,” xiao hissed, picking up the pace. he pressed kisses down your spine. “so pretty, such a good girl. you like being fucked rough like this, baby? is this what you needed?”

you let out another string of whimpers, nodding desperately. “it’s so good,” you slurred, “i’m close.”

he released your wrists to grab your forearm, pulling you up, against his chest. this angle was somehow better than the last, directly targeting that sweet spot he’d only been brushing before. “oh, yes! right there!” you cried.

xiao let out a growl, fucking you harder than before. “that’s right, you stupid slut. fucking take it,” he snarled, biting into your neck. “you wanna cum?”

you nodded feverishly, no longer bothering to quiet the little noises he forced out of you with each thrust. “yes, god, please,” you begged, tears beginning to form in your eyes.

he suddenly pulled out and flipped you onto your back, thrusting inside you again without missing a beat. you grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to stay grounded. “tell me what you are,” he said, hardly louder than a whisper.

your cheeks were burning. you knew what he meant. in any other circumstance, you would’ve fought him on it, or at least tried to. but you’d never had dick this good in your life. you weren’t about to disobey him.

a thumb hovered above your clit. “tell me what you are,” he repeated, his gaze unwavering. you couldn’t resist him if you tried.

“i’m a dumb slut!” you cried, tears running freely now. he brought his thumb down, rubbing in time with his quick, rough thrusts. your eyes rolled back as you came, cunt clenching down desperately, legs shaking around his waist.

xiao was quick to follow, cumming inside you with a low, gravelly groan as he pulled your hips against him. you whined at the feeling.

as he came down, he pressed his lips to yours again, much gentler than he had earlier. you kissed him back, slowly gathering your bearings.

when you pull away, he peppers your cheeks with light kisses. “you were so good,” he whispered, “so good for me.” you hummed happily, capturing his lips once more.

he pulled out of you, much to your dismay. before you could demand another round, you were hit with a sudden realization. “oh, fuck,” you said, frantically pulling your shirt over your head.

his eyes widened and he put a hand on your arm. “what is it? what’s wrong?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. it was a cute look on him.

“the fucking case report,” you grumbled.

he grinned and gently tugged you back to his chest. “don’t worry. i can fix your half in, like, thirty minutes.”

you shot him an annoyed but amused look. “you’re an asshole,” you said. he pressed a kiss to your nose.

“you love it,” he replied.

and you did.

[st0rmyskies]

*looking at the WIP list*

Among Us my beloved!!!

In all honesty I have reread this fic like 7 times. I feel like there aren't many spooky/psychological horror LU fics out there so I cherish every single one and Among Us is one of my favorites, I have been eagerly awaiting the next chapter :)! No pressure tho! Even if you decided not to finish it what youve given us already is AMAZING

The slow predatory chase scene in the last chapter is so intense and spooky i loved the visuals of wild running in these darks halls with just the brief light from the sparks of imposter-time's weapon fucking slamming on the stone around him aksksjd so horrifying!! Love that shit

I had to mentally rewrite the ending for this story because the first one was just too sad for me to continue with. But yes, I will be returning to Among Us before the end of this year!

Twilight’s head was screaming in pain when he awoke. He opened his eyes slowly, wincing as even the low firelight in the room made his headache flare violently. The pain of turning his head to the side was stunning; he must have taken an awful hit.

When the deafening throb finally subsided a bit, he could vaguely make out some sounds down the hallway: slamming, shouting, laughing. It was then that he realized he was alone, that both Champion and the Old Man had left him. Two pairs of fresh, bloody footprints lead out toward the hall.

But wait, wasn’t the Old Man…

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and Twilight needed to get up. But rolling onto his side made the entire world lurch uncomfortably, and standing up wasn’t an option. When he tried to move his legs Twilight found that they weren’t cooperating, and his arms felt weak and tingly. So Twilight dragged himself across the floor on his elbows, keeping his head tucked and his eyes shut tightly, until he made it to his pack. He hurriedly spilled its contents onto the floor, clumsily pawing through them in a panic. Where is it, where is it...

“Oh, Rancher…”

The sound of Time’s voice made frigid dread pool in Twilight’s stomach as something in him screamed, It’s not him!! Not him! Run!!! The spike of adrenaline made it hurt much less now as Twilight turned slowly toward the doorway where Time loomed.

Their leader looked positively wretched. The leather of his boots was dark and damp with blood. The edge of the Biggoron Sword was scuffed where it had been lodged in the wall. Blood oozed through the seams of his cuirass in a slow and steady trickle that dripped from the edge of his chain mail. It leaked from the corner of his mouth as he laughed at the look on Twilight’s face.

“You look like you’ve seen someone come back from the dead!”

[derekmorganscrocs]

Galentines Gone Wrong

Pairing: Wendell Bray x Reader, Valentine’s Special.

Word Count: 2,623

Summary: Y/n Booth is an FBI agent who works under her brother Seeley Booth and is also partnered with the Jeffersonian. Valentines rolls around and Cam, Daisy, and Y/n are all painfully single. Brennen and Angela join in and the group decides it’s girls night, get absolutely smashed, cause major chaos and get arrested for disturbing the peace. When their counterparts show up to bail them out, girls night turns to date night... or whatever this is.

Edit, March 11th: I hate the end of this. I reread it and it’s lowkey trash, but I’m going to keep it up because people seem to be enjoying it. Just a disclaimer that this is not my best work.

Notes: Tbh I second guessed this yesterday, hence the late post. I want to clarify that Wendell IS NOT preying on a drunk girl, and there was no drunk hookup. This is definitely not my favourite thing I’ve written and I was so out of ideas for the ending, but fck it, I have a migraine and feel like the personification of death. ALSO I WOULD NEVER USE GALENTINES IRL IK ITS LAME BUT I SIMPLY DO NOT CARE. HOLDIDAY SPIRIT BABES. Anyway, on with the show.

It’s been a long night. Fun, but long. You wake up against Daisy’s side, stretching lazily, and still partially drunkenly. As you sit up, you recall the events that led to your current seat in a drunk tank.

The five of you ended up in a biker bar, huge leather-clad and big bearded dudes all over the damn place. Despite being big scary bikers, they were chill and actually bought half of your drinks. Then you and Daisy got a little too close to an attractive younger biker, and his girlfriend was not having it. So an argument turned full on brawl caused the lot of you to bail out of the bar and trek back into town.

Only you were real rowdy, laughing and singing, a little to loudly for anyone’s liking. And got the cops called on you. And got thrown in a dunk tank. Unfortunately “you can’t arrest me, I am the law” doesn’t work if you’re drunk. The cops weren’t a fan of your badge, either.

You’re torn from your thoughts at the sound of voices down the hall, and you stumble over the the bars of the cell, holding onto them for balance. A half-hour nap didn’t do much to sober you up. The voices get closer, and your friends and brother walk in. Wendell’s the first one you notice, your eyes immediately darting to him. He’s wearing a hot ass black jacket, jeans and a white T-shirt, and you stare at him for a lot longer than you should.

“Hey, BJ. Never thought I’d see you on the other side of the bars.” Hodgins laughs at your expression of annoyance, and lets the cop they’re with open the cell door. He walks over to grab Angela, and you scoff.

“I told you to stop calling me BJ. I know you mean Booth Junior, but other people might think something else,” you mutter, much less than impressed at the innuendo tied to the nickname.

Your brother and Sweets go collect Brennan and Daisy, and Cam stands up on her own. She’s the most level-headed of all of you, and she’s completely sobered up now. Wendell walks to your side, your brother is too occupied with his (much less coordinated than you are) wife. Wendell puts an arm around you, and you gladly lean into him, hands settling on his chest.

“You’ll never guess what we did,” you giggle drunkenly against Wendell’s chest, overcome with the giddiness of a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Apparently you guys disturbed a lot of peace.” Wendell has somewhat of an impressed/concerned/entertained smirk on his face. He looks down at you, massively interested in the story as to how you got here. Not that he’ll hear it anytime soon.

“How’d you know?!” You look up at him with surprise written all over your face, a gasp escaping your lips, and it takes a lot for him not to burst out laughing.

“The sheriff told me. Let’s take you home, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, much more sullenly than five seconds ago.

Wendell keeps an arm around you, more than a little worried that you’re gonna fall over, and takes you to his car. You get in the front seat, smacking his hand away as he tries to help with your seatbelt. After successfully buckling the seatbelt, you glance back at him with a smirk.

“You know if you wanted to get on top of me all you had to do was ask.”

Wendell nearly chokes and dies at what you’re insinuating. He’s also not sure if this is the tequila talking or if it’s you talking. Composing himself quickly, he lets out a chuckle, saying something along the lines of ‘okay then,’ and closes the door for you. He walks around the front of the car, making his way to the driver’s seat. Hodgins drives by, Angela and Cam in the car with him, and waves as he heads home.

Seeley pulls up beside Wendell, looking at him sternly. Daisy and Brennen are singing in the back seat, and Wendell can see Sweets in the front seat, holding back laughter. It’s a funny sight really, the usually stoic Dr. Brennen and overly excitable Daisy, swaying together in the back seat singing an off-key rendition of piano man. Seeley makes a face at a certain piercing high note that comes from Dr. Brennan, before turning to Wendell.

“Listen man, I appreciate it. If we didn’t live on the opposite side of town, I’d take her home.” Seeley leans out the window slightly, looking at Wendell.

“It’s no problem, really.” Wendell smiles, giving your brother a small wave as he turns to get in his car. “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

“Wait! Not that I think you will, but don’t try anything. Alright?”

“Course not, man. Don’t worry, I got this. Head home, I’ll text you when I get Y/n home.” Wendell knows your brother means no harm, obviously, yet can’t help but think about why he’d even think to say that to him.

When he gets back in the car, seeing you sleeping soundly in the passenger seat, curled up and leaning against the window, his worries melt away and he smiles. He turns the car on and lowers the radio volume before driving off.

Tonight summarizes the two of you pretty well, actually. Y/n, the chaotic do-good-er badass, and Wendell, the (sometimes also chaotic) best friend, who always has your back. Sometimes it pains him that you only see him as that, a best friend, but he’s okay with just being that. A friend. Because it means he gets to see you happy. Little does he know, you wouldn’t have gotten so sauced tonight if you weren’t drinking away the thoughts of his lips on yours, his skin pressed against yours as the night turns to morning, the idea of a spark that doesn’t exist. The day of love sucks.

And for some reason, neither of you can see that you’re crazy about each other. Maybe it’s because you’re afraid to ruin what you have, or maybe it’s because you’re both just oblivious, but it doesn’t make a huge difference. Nothing seems to be happening.

Wendell is occupied with a lot of thoughts as he drives to your place. His mind bounces all over the place. He thinks about how you met, when you first walked into the Jeffersonian covered in dirt and sweat (in a cute way... even though he thinks anything is cute on you) after a chase in the desert, just to see your brother and make sure he was okay. He also thinks about the time he literally ran into you and the two of you fell down the platform stairs. The alarms went off, and everyone stared at the pair of you tangled up on the floor. Needless to say it took a while to live that one down. He thinks about every time he’s seen you laugh, and the few that he’s seen you cry. Not that you really even cried, you just couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. You don’t exactly do emotions, not out in the open at least.

He thinks about every reason he’s so smitten with you. You’re courageous, selfless, you protect your friends and family, you’re cutthroat and ferocious, yet simultaneously the sweetest person he’s ever met. You care about every detail of his day when you ask how he’s doing, and you can tell when the slightest thing is off with him, or anyone else at the lab, except for noticing his flaming crush on you. And as he thinks about all the little things, he realizes it can’t stay bottled up forever. He has to tell you.

Before long, you’re home. The two and a half hour drive have Wendell a lot of time to think, yet somehow it also feels like he’s had no time at all. The time has also started your trail toward sobriety, and you can at least think coherently. Wendell wakes you, and when you wake up, your hand goes to your head.

“Good god. Did I get hit by a bus?” Your words are still slightly jumbled together, but you’re getting back to business as usual, and that’s good enough.

“There she is,” he singsongs playfully, glad to see your usual demeanour starting to return. You unbuckle your seatbelt, groaning when you go to move. Wendell offers you a hand, and you take it.

Helping you up, he puts an arm around your waist again. You stumble slightly, and when he catches you, you fall against him, leaning against his chest. He ends up just scooping you up off the ground and carrying you inside, placing you on the couch. You’re mostly in good shape, just awful clumsy and distracted due to your headache. Wendell heads into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and some crackers.

“How you doing?” He sits by your thigh, putting an arm on the back of the couch and looking over at you. You cover your face with your hands, laughing gently.

“Ugh, please tell me I didn’t actually make the worst sex implication joke ever.”

“Um...”

“Oh shit. This is embarrassing.” You sit up, still a little tipsy, but not as messed up as you were at the police station. Maybe if things go off you can play it off as Valentine’s tequila. “Fuck it. I’m just gonna go for it. Tonight was fun or whatever, but I really wanted to spend it with you.”

“We could’ve done that. We can hang out this weekend if you want.”

“No, no. You really are a blonde.” You laugh, nudging his shoulder with your fist. Suddenly nervous, you start to ramble. “Not that that’s bad, because you’re definitely pretty. You’re a cute blonde, and you do have really nice arms, they’re really toned, and you know, at the garage you wear these tight shirts and sometimes I just stare and I worry you see, but-“

“Y/n! You’re getting off track here.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, laughing at your rambles. “Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.”

“I like you a lot.” The words are out of your mouth before he’s even finished his sentence. “Like I have feelings for you?” It comes out like a question, but it’s meant as more of a fearful statement.

“Wait, really?” His eyes widen and his smile falls. At first you think he’s about to run for the hills, but when a small smile appears on his face you’re not so sure.

“Ah, shit, I shouldn’t have said anything,” you curse, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. That’s fuckin embarrassing.

“No, I like you, too. A lot.” Wendell takes your hand, and you lay against his side as he keeps talking. “We can talk more, when you’re sober. But I do like you. And I think that if we decided that this weekend’s hangout was more ‘ice skating in the park’ instead of ‘trying to kill each other at the rink’, I’d be more than okay with that. I’d like that a lot, actually.” He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, and he glances down at you, fingers grazing your cheek as he contemplates if it would be weird to cup your face with his hand and run his thumb over your cheek.

“Really?” You look up at him with an adorable awestruck expression, and he nearly bursts out laughing.

“Yeah, really.” A smile stays glued to his face, and he shifts slightly, which causes you to sit up. “Now, you should probably go to bed, so that you’re not completely useless tomorrow.”

Wendell plants a small kiss on the top of your head, before standing and scooping you up, bringing you to your room. He drops you gently on your bed, and you let out a small giggle as you bounce slightly with the impact. You banish him from your room so that you can change, and not really paying attention, grab a black hoodie and shorts out of your closet. When you open the door again, he’s just leaning against the wall outside.

“Sorry, I didn’t know where you wanted me to set up- is that my hoodie? I’ve been looking for that!”

“Huh?” You look down at the sweater, seeing the small Jeffersonian logo on the left side of the chest, and the initials on the sleeve. “Oh, I guess it is.” You remember when he gave it to you, he couldn’t stand the idea of you remaining in your blood soaked T-shirt, the grey had become a sticky maroon, too much so to be comfortable. “You can have it back-“

“No, you keep it.” He steps closer, lifting your chin so that you look at him, and brushing a stray hair out of your face. His voice drops, becoming softer and breathy. “It’s much cuter on you anyway,” he murmurs, making you blush profusely, a little laugh escaping your lips.

The two of you fall silent, each staring at the other’s lips. A hum comes from the furnace, causing you both to startle slightly, and it ends the moment. You glance back at Wendell again, before sitting on your bed. He tilts his head at you, mildly confused as to what you’re doing.

“Where did you want me to sleep?”

“Wherever you want. There’s blankets and a few pillows in the closet.”

He thanks you and walks out, and you breathe in deeply, not realizing how shallow your breathing had become. Your mind is racing, and so is your heart. This is simultaneously about the best and worst Valentine’s you’ve ever had. As you mull over the events of tonight, you slide under the blankets, laying back and staring at the ceiling. The shuffling in your living room comes to a stop, and you can hear Wendell coming back to your room. He stops in the doorway.

“Came back to say goodnight,” he says softly, making your heart melt.

“You mind staying for a while?” You sit up, looking at him. He glances over his shoulder at you, a perplexed expression plastered on his face. “What?! I’ve had a rough night,” you say, pretending to be offended. He makes his way over, laying on your bed, on top of the blankets. You roll over and face him, looking up at him lazily. “Goodnight, Wendell.”

You drift off to sleep fairly quickly, but not before you subconsciously lay your head on his chest. He’s terrified at first, frozen in place and afraid to breathe, but after a few minutes he collects himself and calms down. You sleep soundly, curled up beside Wendell. He’s warm and he smells good, and he’s pretty comfortable. By the morning, the two of you are completely intertwined, tangled in blankets and each others’ arms.

The two of you grab a greasy breakfast (and some Advil) and spend the day together, actually talking about what happened the night before. Most of the day is spent at your place, you and Wendell lounging around on your couch as you binge watch your favourite series and try to overcome your hangover.

The next days and weeks fly by, you and Wendell getting closer and closer. The pair of you go on a few dates before things are made official, Wendell going as far as taking you on a walk in the snow and officially asking you out by the outdoor rink. He even reserved ice time so the two of you could skate around like idiots and pass a puck around.

And eventually, when people start to see you’re together, and ask about your story, you have to tell them he bailed you out of jail after Galantine’s gone wrong.

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

The Revived - Chapter 20: Some Light Reading

This is chapter 20 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur

Word count: 4,137

Cw: A lot of pain, inflicting pain, tensions between characters, food/eating

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

It was not an entirely pleasant experience to wake up, lying on the floor with his leg in a strange elevated position. In fact, he wouldn’t have been entirely convinced he’d woken up at all, if it wasn’t for the wave of pain bursting through his head. It was pounding, and his vision was blurry enough for him to almost believe he was sitting on a chair, blindfolded again.

There was no one around to punch him though. Just a huge empty bunker, and a smell of scattered paper. He didn’t have the slightest clue what time it was, or for how long he’d slept. As he squinted at his surroundings, there wasn’t the slightest hint of natural light. Just the torches above him.

There was silence.

“Ghostbur?” he said, his voice hushed.

“Oh! You’re awake! Good morning.” The ghost’s words were quick, though tinted with relief. There was something exhausted about them too, however. Wilbur got up from the floor, crawling back to the chair. He sat down on it, getting a better view of the room. “How are you feeling?”

Wilbur cracked his neck, stretching his arms. “Wonderful,” he said.

“Actually?”

Wilbur tensed up, closing his eyes momentarily. He took a deep breath. “No. Not really.”

There was a sigh from Ghostbur, but it wasn’t one of annoyance. It was rather melancholic. Relieved, perhaps. “Yeah… Me neither.”

While the words weren’t exactly good news, Wilbur’s lips curved up just slightly. Perhaps it was just the honesty. There was something silent and intimate about the words, breaking through the silence. The mutual pain. Not that that was too comforting in the long run. “Shit, my head hurts,” he noted, not necessarily to anyone but the empty room, placing a hand on his forehead.

“Mhm...” Ghostbur said, and everything indicated he was feeling it too.

They sat there in a less uncomfortable silence, Wilbur’s limbs heavy, as he looked at his bandaged leg. The regeneration potion had helped quite a bit, he realized as he tried to move it, but he still doubted he’d be able to stand on it confidently. He noticed some dryness leftover from a few tears right underneath his eye. He froze. “Ghostbur?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you… If I cry, do you feel it?” It was a risky and perhaps vulnerable question. The mention of the tears only seemed to make his head pound more. For a moment he was almost thankful everything was far too blurry for him to think properly.

“I don’t know.” Ghostbur said, with far more nonchalance than what was probably deserved, “My face often burns anyway.” He paused, as if he only just then realized what he was saying, “I mean, that’s okay though! It doesn’t feel so bad when it’s on the face anymore.”

The words sent an unwelcome shiver down Wilbur’s spine. He went quiet for a few breaths, unsure what to say. I’m sorry, he felt he should say, but it didn’t taste familiar enough. I can help you, he considered, but he realized it was yet another empty promise. Thank you, he wanted to say, but it was far too vague, and far too broad, and he wasn’t thanking Ghostbur for feeling pain. None of it sat right with him. He shook his head. “Is there anything you wanna do?” he asked instead. 

Ghostbur let out a breath. “What can we do?”

And wasn’t that an excellent question? Wilbur closed his eyes.

“Should we… Should we find someone?” Ghostbur asked.

Wilbur looked at his leg. He looked to the books, filled to the brim with information. He looked at the food readily available to him. He bit his lip. “I… I don’t think it’d be safe while my leg is still healing.”

“Oh, right, right,” Ghostbur said, sounding mildly disappointed, but it wasn’t too noticeable.

“There are some books we could read,” Wilbur tried, feeling as if it was a bit of a weak offer.

“I like books,” Ghostbur said, and Wilbur wasn’t sure if it was entirely sincere or not. Then, the tone turned softer. As if a pleasant memory passed by. “I used to write books.”

“Really?” Wilbur asked, tilting his head.

“I had a library! I wrote things down, and I read all the history books I could find. Tried to organize it all,” Ghostbur explained, sounding a little more excited at each word.

As Ghostbur spoke about it, Wilbur found some faint memories in the back of his mind. Organizing books, and writing down new information. Searching for something. “Did you like history?” Wilbur asked, and for an absurd moment he felt like an actor, asking someone if they enjoyed their latest movie. He huffed at the thought.

“I did. I tried to figure out what you did when you were alive. Everyone looked at me in different ways, and I-” he trailed off for a moment, “I don’t know, but I did enjoy reading.”

“I wonder if there is anything you wrote in here,” Wilbur mused, trying to ignore his own curiosity. 

“I don’t think so. Most of them were destroyed when-” He abruptly stopped talking, the last syllable sounding strained.

“When what?”

“My head hurts,” Ghostbur simply replied.

Wilbur slowly nodded, not quite sure what to make of the lack of an answer. “So… To pass the time, how about we read some books here? We can find some information about the revival too, and try to figure out how to get you- how to free you, in the process,” he looked at a different spot in the air, realizing there was nowhere to make eye contact with the ghost. “How does that sound?”

“Okay!” Ghostbur said, “That sounds good.”

He could finally get started on the work. It was something Wilbur was itching to do. He was itching to occupy his hands and his mind with something. His mind was still simultaneously going at thousands of miles a second, and carrying thousands of pounds with each thought. He needed something tangible. Something he could keep in his grasp.

At first, he grabbed the nearest book on the shelf. Quite a big one titled “Governments and Communities of History”. He almost dropped it as he held it in one hand, but he shakily moved it over to the table.

“Governments and Communities of History,” he told Ghostbur. He flipped inside and into the table of contents. He skimmed most of it. It started with the beginning of everything and continued to list political parties that he vaguely recognized. He flipped towards the end, hoping to find the knowledge he missed over the months he was gone. His eyes lingered onto “Eggpire” as he flipped to the corresponding page. 

He cleared his throat, “Ready, Ghostie?”

“Yep!”

“This section is about the Eggpire. ‘The Eggpire is an alliance between BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, Punz, Ponk, Hannahxxrose, and Skeppy.’ Huh, I don’t really know most of them. ‘The alliance was formed on January 14, 2021 between the founders, Bad, Ant, Punz and CaptainPuffy. However Puffy is the only founder to leave. She joined Anti-Eggpire (also known as Pro-Omelette) due to a disagreement in views.’” Wilbur chuckled as his head throbbed in response, “The second name is way better.”

Ghostbur made a sound of agreement. Just as Wilbur was about to read again, he had a realization, “I think this is the same Puffy from the flower shop, but I’m not sure.”

“I think so.” Ghostbur paused. “I mean, I can’t imagine a lot of people are named Puffy.” 

Wilbur nodded, “Good point.” He took a breath before continuing, “The keystone of the alliance is the crimson red egg located in Badboyhalo’s statue room. The Egg is meant to be a source of chaos and a way to subdue the rest of the server. Despite the Eggpire being formed as a military coalition by Bad with Ant, Puffy, and Punz, most members of the Eggpire have joined due to being corrupted by the Egg.” 

Wilbur cringed, “Are they that bad at commanding that they couldn’t genuinely recruit people? Wait- where did the egg even come from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there was a big red chicken that laid the red egg?”

Wilbur exhaled out of his nose to resemble a laugh, “These guys are fucking losers, who else tried to resemble me while I was gone?” 

He flipped to the beginning of the book as Ghostbur chided him, “Language.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but his headache seemed to worsen from the action, “Pardon my French, I speak it like a bitch.” Wilbur smirked to himself as he heard Ghostbur’s upset noises.

His eyes glossed the table of contents, as he barely focused on the words. He exhaled sharply as his mind settled on L’Sandberg? No- that couldn’t be right. It was L’Manberg and it was long gone. 

He flipped to the page to verify it, before seeing the text that he mumbled out loud, “L'Sandberg (formerly L'Puffyberg and L'Puffberg) is a nation created by BadBoyHalo weeks after the end of the Eggpire.” It oddly reminded him of himself. Starting L’Manberg then creating Pogtopia because it was taken away. L’Sandberg was even named in an odd reference to L’Manberg, perhaps he would have to check the place out.

He was about to read the next part as he reread the previous lines. A strange familiarity ran through his mind. “I’ve heard of this Badboyhalo guy, but there’s no way he’s the same dude that would create a nation along with a cult-y alliance.” The only person he could picture as he read the name was a demon that dressed in red and black. He saw him bumbling around the streets with a blue man with shining skin. 

While they’d had small conversations before, he wasn’t even a hundred percent sure about his name. Part of him wanted to call him SaintsofGames, which he assumed might’ve been his actual name, or perhaps an older title.

He tried to imagine the friendly demon who cooked muffins on Saturdays being a general, but all he got out of return was the throb in his head to increase. “Have you ever heard of Badboyhalo?”

Ghostbur thought for a moment, “Yeah, I think Tommy mentioned him once? I don’t really remember all the details though.”

Wilbur hummed, “He seems neat.”

“Wilby?”

Wilbur looked up from the book and into thin air, “Yeah?”

Ghostbur whined out, “My head hurts.”

Wilbur nodded, but winced as it somehow worsened the headache. “Mine as well.” 

“Do we got any… I don’t know what it’s called but it’s sweet drink.”

At Ghostbur’s words, Wilbur’s stomach growled. “I don’t know, but I’m gonna see if I can find something to eat.” Wilbur faintly chuckled, “That’s probably why I’ve got this killer headache.”

Ghostbur made a small hum of agreement as Wilbur awkwardly realized that he would have to walk to get food. He moved from the chair, hissing in pain as positioned himself to stand on his uninjured leg. He slightly toppled from the unbalance, but didn’t have too many problems staying steady. 

“Alright, I’m gonna warn you now that it might hurt.”

Ghostbur’s voice was laced with panic, “Wait, what are you doing now?”

“Don’t worry too much. I’m just walking around in the bunker,” Wilbur reassured. “My leg still hurts so I might fall or something.” 

Ghostbur sounded displeased, “Okay, just make sure to be careful.”

“I will.” His eyes searched the room for possible food. He smiled as he remembered the carrots and melons growing downstairs. That smile quickly faded when he thought about the idea of stairs.

He hopped over to the general direction of the stairs, occasionally stopping to maintain his balance once again. At the final step he nearly stumbled, but caught himself just in time by grasping at the nearest wall. He was reminded of the exhaustion that followed his trip to Phil’s house when he’d just returned. It seemed like ages ago by now. He tried not to let the thought linger.

His leg ached slightly as he limped along to the crops. He licked his lips, as he looked at the melons that only served to remind him of his hunger much more. It occurred to him that it had been a while since he last ate. In fact, he had no clue exactly how long it had been at this point, the amount of sleep he’d gotten remaining a mystery to him. Instead of dwelling on that, he reached down at a melon, carving it into several pieces. He didn’t do a particularly great job at it, but it hardly mattered. 

He saw himself down on the nearest chair, eating each piece at an impressive pace. The sweet taste seemed to get to his entire body, working almost as many wonders as a potion would.

For a strange moment, Wilbur wondered if the water in the watermelon would cause any harm to the ghost. He couldn’t hear any screams nor pleas, which was fortunate. Being able to consume anything at all was most certainly a plus. To be fair, if the water there was enough, saliva likely would too, and that was a can of worms that Wilbur didn’t have the brain power to consider even the hypothetical of.

Once Wilbur had devoured the entire melon, he felt just a little more at ease. He felt less dizzy, and his body and mind seemed more connected than before.

While the throbbing in his head had ended, he noticed the pain in his leg. He closed his eyes for a small moment as he tried to think of a solution. He did all the medical treatment he really could at this stage. He fiddled with the rind of one of the melons before he realized he could make a potion of instant health.

Attempting to start a drug empire turned out to be helpful after all. 

He ran through the materials he needed in his head. Netherwart, blaze power, and a glistening melon. He stood up but his vision swarmed with black spots for a few moments. His stable leg shook as he leaned against the wall. It stopped seconds later, but he was filled with exhaustion that told him to forget about the potion.

Yet, he hopped to a chest near the farm. It wasn’t far away, but the action by itself seemed laborious. He shuffled through it, but found nothing of use. He hopped over to the stairs, quickly grabbing two nether warts from the farm before he started going up.

It was a long process, but he eventually made it up the stairs. He took a shaky breath as Ghostbur chimed in, “We’re still in the bunker right?”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, back up the stairs.”

“So are we doing more reading?” A slight boredom filled Ghostbur’s voice, but Wilbur couldn’t tell if it just arrived or if it had been there for the whole day.

Wilbur hopped to Tubbo’s chest before leaning against the wall once more. “Makin’ potions.”

Ghostbur softly gasped, “Oh, I’ve never done that before! I saw Phil and Techie doing it once though.”

“Sounds neat,” Wilbur responded, half-paying attention while looking through the chest. He pushed around some of the items in there before finding three blaze rods with a few stacks of cobblestone shuffled around. He spotted the crafting table next to the chest and he quickly melded the items together into a brewing stand. He held the brewing stand normally as he put the spare blaze rods in his coat pocket. 

He closed the chest and opened the one next to it. Twenty iron ore, random concrete blocks, and miscellaneous mob drops. He was about to close it when he saw a yellow shine under some rotten flesh. Wilbur let out an exhale of relief, “We’ve got all the stuff we need.”

Ghostbur excitedly clapped, “How do you make potions?”

Wilbur put the brewing stand down on the crafting table. “Well, you start with oh fu- n! Fun, fun, yes.” He didn’t know why he censored the swear in front of Ghostbur, but it somehow felt better than letting out a curse. “I forgot the glass bottles.”

“That doesn’t sound very fun.”

Wilbur let out a dry chuckle, “You’re right.” Wilbur thought for a moment, “There might be some in the chest next to that cauldron.” His eyes ran over the cauldron that he didn’t even know was filled or not. He pursed his lips. His uninjured leg was shaking slightly, but he didn’t exactly have another option. Well- he could always suffer. Yet that would mean the suffering of Ghostbur as well. 

He didn’t exactly care about the ghost, but he generally preferred not hearing his pleas. He quickly hopped over to the cauldron, only to collapse at the wall behind it. He closed his eyes tightly, wishing to any possible deity out there that there was water in the iron container. 

He swung his hand inside the cauldron, not daring to look inside, as if the water would disappear if he did. He felt water about half-way into the swing as he smiled. However, the instant he did that, he heard a cry of agony in his mind that instantly made him open his eyes and recoil, immediately taking his hand out of the water. “Ghostbur what’s-” Ghostbur’s previous words ran through his mind quicker than he could even process them.

It- Water burns me. I’m sorry I just didn’t expect it.

As regret plagued his mind, Ghostbur’s whimpers followed alongside them. The whimpers that reminded him of his agreement with the ghost.

W-warn me next time?

Sure.

Although he hadn’t intended to hurt Ghostbur, guilt overtook him. “Ghostbur, I-” forgot about the really important thing that hurts you if I forget! I just don’t care about you at all!

The familiar cynicism made him externally cringe. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I- I know. It- it hurts, Wil.”

Wilbur somberly nodded, “I know, I can’t do anything about it right now.” Wilbur hated how pathetic his words sounded.

Ghostbur’s typical pleas filled his mind before the pattern was interrupted, “C- could you dry it off?” It took a second for Wilbur to realize what the ghost was saying with the sobs intertwined in the shaky words. But as soon as he deciphered it, he immediately took his hand to his pants, rubbing it to make sure most of the water was off.

It didn’t take long for all of the water to be gone as he hesitantly spoke, “How does it feel now?”

“Better than before.”

Wilbur weakly pulled his body up against the wall. He opened the chest next to him to find it was full of glass bottles. He grabbed three of them out as he closed the chest and put the brewing stand on top. He tried to fill the bottles up in the cauldron, but found that his usual method involved dunking his whole hand into the water. 

He attempted to just tip the bottle so more water would enter, but upon pulling the glass bottle back up, he sighed. He knew from his early days that you needed a certain amount of water in order for the potion to properly work. Too much water made the solution diluted, causing the effect to be much more muted than it should be. Too little water made your body feel off the rest of the day, assuming the potion even works in the first place.

“Ghostbur?” He felt an odd pressure on his chest as he imagined the ghost’s whispers from before.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve… I’ve gotta dunk my hand in water again.” He could feel the ghost recoil.

“Alright,” Ghostbur took a shaky breath. “Make it quick if you can.”

“I will.” Wilbur exhaled slowly himself. Although it wouldn’t hurt Wilbur, he felt a sense of unease as he quickly dipped his hand in the water. A muffled groan echoed in his mind. He looked towards the other empty bottles in his hand as he slightly frowned.

“Ghostie, I won’t make you do anything, but I’ve gotta ask you something.” Wilbur didn’t wait for a response as he continued, “The pain you felt was from me filling up one bottle. I could just brew with this bottle and drink the potion.” Wilbur momentarily closed his eyes as the words on his tongue tasted bitter to him, “Or I can fill up the other two bottles in case of emergencies. I won’t pressure you for either option but-”

“Wilbur, I know I should choose the extra two bottles.”

Wilbur cringed at the truth. “I mean- you don’t really have to choose that option. We could just start brewing if you’d like.”

Ghostbur sighed, “I can take it.”

Wilbur despised the words, but he responded, “Alright, my hand is going in.” He quickly filled both of the bottles, trying to ignore the muffled scream that ringed in his mind.

He forced himself to block it out as he turned back to the brewing stand, filling it with the three full bottles as Ghostbur’s noises died down. He rubbed his hand on his pants before taking the nether wart he had and putting it in at the top. Only silence greeted his ears as he remembered he needed some blaze powder to power the machine overall. 

He crushed the blaze rod with ease, putting it in as the rest of the process seemed automated to him. He barely processed his movements as he soon watched as the mixture turned into a bright red, He took the glass bottle away from the stand, as he swirled the liquid around, watching it carefully. It was almost hypnotic. He held the bottle to his lips and took a deep breath. “I… I’m going to drink a health potion for my leg.” He bit his lip, “It might hurt a bit.”

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, his voice sounded a little quiet, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Wilbur nodded even if the ghost couldn’t see him, and took a large sip from the bottle. He kept drinking, not removing the bottle from his lips. His throat was burning at the sensation. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the pain spread through his body, as if the headache from before had decided to pound in his leg instead of his head. His blood felt as if it had momentarily been replaced by the burning potion, removing his attention from anything but it. He tried to breathe his way through it, each breath coming through as a quick hiss.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, before the pain transitioned into a comforting warmth. He opened his eyes again, trying to step down on his leg. The pain had decreased significantly. He let out a relieved breath, and gave an accomplished smile. “It’s much easier to walk now,” he said.

“Is your leg better?” Ghostbur asked hopefully, “Are you going to leave the bunker soon?”

Wilbur frowned. He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “The leg could still use some time to heal and…” he looked at the bookshelves above, “There might still be some information we can use here.”

“Right.” Ghostbur said, suddenly sounding determined, “That makes sense.”

Wilbur tried to chuckle, though it came out so silently and breathlessly, that it was hardly a noise at all. He took a step on his much more useful leg, feeling relieved as he could walk more or less without limping. He walked to some chests he hadn’t looked at yet, and rummaged through them. If he was planning on staying in the bunker for longer, it would be optimal to know what supplies he had available to him. He was reminded of his exile, before Pogtopia was built, as he and Tommy assessed their remaining supplies, to figure out what they had to work with. His heart became just a little heavier at the thought, and he decided to put the thought away, for as long as he could.

Among the most noteworthy items he found was a clock at the bottom of one of the chests. It looked old, as if someone had forgotten they’d put it there in the first place. Wilbur picked it up, inspecting each side of it. The hands of the clock moved ahead each second, making a rhythmic little ‘tick’ at each step. The sound was comforting to him somehow, ringing through the silence of the solitary bunker.

It read 5am.

It took Wilbur a few moments to figure out if the clock was functional and accurate, though he eventually concluded that it was highly probable. He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, nor for how long, but at least this would let him keep track of the now. Slowly, he walked up the stairs again, much more successfully this time.

As he reached the bookshelves, he stopped, staring at the nearest empty wall. There was a faint ticking from the clock in his hands, and he felt as if he was staring into nothingness. Staring at a silent wall. A half-bent nail was firmly placed on it. Gently, Wilbur placed the clock on it, until it was hanging there safely. He sat down on the chair, and allowed his eyes to close, as he centered his mind. He had a goal in mind, and as soon as possible, a plan would be shaped from the muddled thoughts.

It was time to get to work.

[king-finnigan]

5 times Geralt failed to ask Jaskier out and 1 time he somehow managed

I.

Yen calls him immediately after he’s sent her the text. “What’s going on? You said it was an emergency?” She sounds slightly worried, and Geralt realizes that ‘Need help. Emergency.’ does sound like something to be worried about.

“I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

She lets out a long-suffering sigh, and he could swear he hears a ‘fucking finally’ muttered away from the receiver. “Cool, sure. So what do you need my help for?”

“Asking him out.”

She laughs softly. “Seriously? You’re a grown-ass man, surely you can ask someone out, right? You’ve done it before.”

He keeps quiet, and blesses all his lucky stars that she isn’t here to see shame rise red to his cheeks.

“Wait-“ He hears her let out a startled laugh. “You’ve never asked someone out before?”

His silence is confirmation enough.

“How the fuck did you manage to go your entire life without asking someone out?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Whatever. Alright, so, here’s what you gotta do-“

---

He’s waiting outside the doors of the cinema, bouncing on his heels a bit. Jaskier’s always a bit late – fashionably late, as Jaskier himself calls it – which is fine under any other circumstances, but the movie won’t wait for them, so it sets Geralt’s nerves on fire.

Finally, Jaskier shows up. With Triss and Sabrina in tow. To what was supposed to be a date.

“Hi!” Jaskier greets him brightly. “Hope it’s alright that I brought Triss and Sabrina. A movie is just much more fun when there are more people, you know? Hope you don’t mind?”

Geralt smiles tightly, and shakes his head. Later, after the movie, he rereads the text he sent Jaskier a few days earlier, and realizes he maybe didn’t really make it clear that he intended it as a date. Great. Something to remember for next time. Though he’s not gonna ask Jaskier on a movie date again. Firstly because Jaskier apparently likes it better when it’s not just the two of them, and also because they stumbled into their seats ten minutes late, and he doesn’t think he’s gonna survive that kind of embarrassment again.

 II.

Okay, so clearly Yennefer’s plan didn’t work out. Maybe he should ask someone else.

It takes a while before Eskel picks up, but Geralt immediately relaxes when he hears his brother’s voice. “Yeah?”

“I wanna ask Jaskier out. I need your advice.”

Eskel breathes out something that sounds suspiciously like ‘finally’. It’s quiet for a while, as Geralt gives his brother time to think.

“Flowers,” Eskel eventually says. “Jaskier likes flowers, right? He seems like a flower kinda guy. So give him flowers.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says.

“By the way, can I borrow your drill? I’m making a shed and mine broke.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, thanks. Bye.” Eskel hangs up, and Geralt drops his phone on his bed, thoughts mulling over how best to handle this.

---

He shuffles from one foot to another as he waits for Jaskier to open the door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet of different types of orange flowers. It had caught his eye at the florist, because of its obnoxious colours, and he figured Jaskier would love it.

Finally, the door opens. And immediately slams shut again, Jaskier’s high-pitched shriek muffled from behind the wood. “Fucking shit!”

Geralt frowns, and knocks on the door. “Jaskier? Are you alright?”

A muffled sneeze, followed by: “No! I’m allergic to flowers.” Another three sneezes, in quick succession. “Very.”

Great. Just his fucking luck. “Uh… r-right,” he stammers. “I’ll- I’ll throw them away, then.”

He apologizes for it later, and Jaskier tells him not to worry about it, though he’s hardly able to string the sentence together through several sneezes and wet sniffles, eyes red and swollen.

 III.

Okay, so no movie date, and definitely no flowers. Maybe he should call someone else. He considers calling Lambert for a second, but he knows that would probably be the worst idea of his life – Lambert would either laugh in his face and hang up, or he would suggest something ridiculous like a bungee-jumping proposal or some shit like that.

Instead, he calls his dad. He’s always been able to rely on Vesemir for advice, so he supposes this time won’t be any different.

“What’s wrong?” his dad asks as soon as he picks up the phone.

Geralt frowns. “Nothing. I’m calling for advice.”

It’s quiet for a while. Then: “Alright, but disposing of a body is a lot harder than you think it is. Just take that into consideration before you go through with it. So first you gotta-”

“What? No, I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

Silence. “Oh. Who?”

“Jaskier. You met him last Christmas. Brown hair, blue eyes.”

“That loud-mouth that kept following you at the party?”

“Yes.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and Geralt could swear he hears a muffled ‘thank the gods’, as if Vesemir is holding his hand over the receiver. “Try flowers.”

“Already tried that. Nearly killed him because he’s allergic.”

“Hmm. Take him to a nice restaurant.”

Geralt nods, and he realizes embarrassingly late that Vesemir can’t see him. “Alright. Thank you. But, what you said about disposing of a body, what-“ The line clicks. Vesemir’s hung up.

---

“Hey, there’s this new restaurant, a few blocks away. Di Mare, I think it’s called. Wanna go there, maybe next Saturday?”

Jaskier snorts at him, incredulous expression on his face. “That place? No thanks, way too fancy for me. What do you take me for, a rich person?”

“Jaskier, you’re literally royalty.”

“Nah,” Jaskier continues, ignoring him, “let’s just order take-out. Have a little movie night.”

Geralt nods, hope shining in his chest. “Yeah, sure.”

Jaskier grins at him, pulling his phone out. “Cool! I’ll text Yen and Triss, let them know. Been a while since we all hung out together.” Oh, fucking brilliant.

 IV.

“Triss? I need your help.”

“Sure, what can I do?”

“I wanna ask Jaskier out.”

“Oh, yeah, Yen told me about that. So I figure you still haven’t managed?”

“Clearly.” He doesn’t mention the fact that so far, she’s come between his plans twice. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, and she’s obviously not doing it on purpose.

It’s quiet for a while. “Uh… Flowers are a big no-no, he’s allergic to those.”

“Figured that out by now.”

“The hard way?”

“The hard way.”

“Yikes. Hmm. Restaurant?”

“No.”

“Fuck, then I’m fresh outta ideas, chief. Wait, no. There’s this new coffeeshop just around the corner. Jask loves coffee, no way you can go wrong with this one.” Geralt highly doubts it, but thanks her anyways and hangs up.

---

The barista makes heart-eyes at Jaskier the entire time they’re ordering, and when they go to sit down, Jaskier turns his cup and finds the guy’s phone number written on the side. He immediately pulls out his phone and sends the barista a text. Geralt tries and fails not to sulk.

 V.

“Hey.”

He blinks, then frowns at his five year-old neighbour who’s blocking the exit of the apartment building, looking up at him with a glint in her eyes that she always gets when she’s about to drop snowballs through people’s mailboxes.

“… Hi.”

“Heard you were trying to ask your boyfriend out,” Ciri says.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And how’d you know that?”

“Gran-gran says the walls are thin and you talk loud when you’re on the phone.”

“… Okay.”

It’s quiet for a while, her gaze intent on him the entire time, and he starts to feel uncomfortable, shuffling on his feet. Sure, the effect may be mollified by the fact that she’s missing her front teeth, but she’s still very unnerving.

“… Ciri, can I leave n-“

“You should ask him out.”

“That’s why I’m trying t-“

“Just ask.”

“Ciri-“

“Give him alcohol. Grown-ups like alcohol. Then ask.”

He sighs. “If I promise to do that, can you please let me pass so I can go to work?”

She holds up her hand, pinkie finger extended. “Pinkie promise.”

He hooks his little finger through hers. “Pinkie promise. Now can I please go?”

She nods solemnly, and steps to the side. He’s halfway down the stairs when she calls out to him: “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

He looks back, sees her staring at him, face blank and grave, and he turns back, getting out of there as fast as he can. What the fuck?

---

Geralt’s walking to Jaskier’s door, two cups of coffee in his hands. Sure, the giving-Jaskier-alcohol part of Ciri’s plan wasn’t the greatest, but he couldn’t deny that simply asking Jaskier on a date might be effective and solid, because it’s so simple.

Except, just his luck, as he walks to Jaskier’s door, Jaskier barges out of his apartment, and smashes into Geralt, coffee spilling over both of them.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jaskier exclaims, throwing his hands in the arms exasperatingly. He sighs, his foul mood evident on his face. “Guys and coffee seems to be a deadly combination for me, lately.”

“I guess it didn’t work out with the barista, then?” He somehow manages to keep his hope out of his voice.

Jaskier sighs and shakes his head, fishing a paper tissue out of his backpack to wipe at the front of his shirt. “Yeah, no. Total hipster, and he couldn’t stop talking about himself. Like, yada-yada-yada, you like old music, we get it, now can we please talk about me?” He sighs, seems to give up on saving his shirt. “Guess I’ll have to go back inside to get a new one,” he mutters. “Anyways, why are you here? Is there something going on?”

Geralt swallows, shakes his head. “No, just wanted to bring you some coffee. Sorry about uh…” he waves his hand a bit “that. Gotta go.”

He rushes out of there, ignoring Jaskier’s inquiring “Geralt?” behind him.

 + I

“So you’ve finally turned to me for council,” Lambert says in lieu of greeting when he answers the phone.

Geralt sighs.

“I want to hear you say it, Ger-Ger. I’ll help you but I need to hear you say it.”

“Don’t call me Ger-Ger.”

“Say it.”

He sighs again, a headache starting to form behind his eyes. “Fine. I need your help.”

He can practically hear Lambert’s self-satisfied smirk. “Lucky for you, I’ve got just the idea…”

For some reason, Geralt doesn’t exactly feel lucky.

---

The first pebble he throws misses its target, and he cringes as it nearly hits Jaskier’s downstairs neighbor’s window. He tries again. This time it hits its mark, but there’s no sign of life from Jaskier’s apartment. He tries again. No response. And again. No response. He throws three pebbles against the window in quick succession.

Finally, a light turns on and Jaskier opens the window, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Geralt? It’s one in the morning, what-“

He looks down at his phone, frantically searching for the song that Lambert recommended- fucking Lambert. He never should’ve agreed to this, and he’s going to kill his brother once this is over. Finally, he finds the right song. It’s the same one as in that one movie Lambert told him about where this guy held a boombox over his head or some shit – ‘something Jaskier will have definitely watched’, his brother had reassured him. Finally, he finds the right song, and holds his phone over his head, volume as loud as possible, and-

“WANT A BREAK FROM THE ADS?-”

Geralt closes his eyes in horror as the ad continues playing, several lights turning on in the windows of the apartment building. Jaskier on the other hand, is- gone.

Geralt frowns, turns the ad off, and looks at Jaskier’s window, painfully empty. Suddenly, the door to the building opens, and Jaskier comes staggering out, wheezing and clutching his stomach as he makes his way towards Geralt.

“That-“ he says between giggles “that was the funniest and most adorable shit I’ve ever seen.” He hiccups, starts laughing uncontrollably again. “What…?”

“Lambert’s idea.”

Jaskier laughs again, desperately holding on to Geralt’s shoulder as to not keel over. “Of- of course it’s his idea, oh gods-“ He hiccups, finally calming down a bit. “Isn’t this from that one movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it a romantic movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you trying to ask me out, Geralt?”

“… Yeah.”

Jaskier smiles softly. “I accept. But please- next time, you can just ask. There’s no need to go through all this trouble.”

Geralt resists the urge to smack his palm against his face. “Alright, I’ll remember that for next time.”

Jaskier looks back, sees multiple lights on in the windows, sees some neighbors frowning down at them angrily. “Better wrap this up or they’re gonna call the cops on us.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss against Geralt’s cheek. “Goodnight, Geralt.” He turns around and makes his way back to the apartment complex.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

[commanderserwin]

can u do a blind date imagine with Erwin or Levi?

❯ characters. erwin smith x reader

❯ notes. i chose to do this with erwin b/c it’s missing him hours, so i hope that is okay! thank you so much! i hope you like it! (◕ ◡ ◕)

blind date.

It was done over a drunken agreement. Drunk— tons of alcohol, slurry speech, hazy thought process that when the idea popped out, Erwin was too busy nursing the throbbing headache and easily agreed to what Hange said over the glasses of alcohol. It was a wise choice at the time because all he needed was a quieter time and away from the persistent pushing of Hange over a date.

It gave him the chills, the closed throat, the dried mouth because the day is going by behind him from the ways the sunlight ticked to let him know that the time is coming. He has a date that he agreed to and he regrets agreeing to it. Erwin tried to bury the idea of that date deep down, with the notion of rereading every report, picking it up again, and doing it all over again— just to pass time and make it seem like he lost track of time. But, he can't keep reading the same damned sentence or else, he would go crazy because by the nth time he has reread it, he has already got it memorized.

Erwin looked up at the door, breathing in relief because somebody has come to knock on his door to get his boredom away from him. Still, his hope dropped to the floor because it was Hange who came for him.

"Are you ready for the date?"

Hange smiled the widest but it all dropped in a second when Erwin looked down at his papers, tapping on it.

"As you can see, I am busy," Erwin smiled sympathetically, the corners of lips going down while Hange only cocked their head to the side.

"Nobody has entered your office in hours, what must you be so busy with?"

Erwin pursed his lips, tapping his foot nervously, caught in the middle to continue his lie or to just hope that if he looks away, Hange will go away— but Hange came to stay.

"It's a date! Mingle with others!"

"I'm the Commander of Survey Corps," Erwin boomed, his chest tightening at how unfazed Hange is before him that his voice went a little quieter, "I have plans to remedy, strategies to think of, and whole branch of soldiers to keep an eye on. I am busy. I don't have time to mingle with others."

Erwin tapped his fingers on the table, clearing his throat every now and then as the waitress passes by his table with a smile. He has shook his head numerous times, looking at the door for a specific someone to come and enter based on Hange's descriptions. He tapped his fingers endlessly, practicing his words in his mind over of what to say. He doesn't know why, but it's making him breathe a little harder over the thought of going on a date with someone he doesn't even know.

Now, he's started to think that his clothes were a little shabby for the picked restaurant— and he has no idea on why he has chosen to wear an old white long sleeves, "Excuse me?"

The waitress walked by, tapping on the tray as she smiled, "Ready to order?"

"No, no," Erwin shook his head, pushing his chair from the table, "Is there a bathroom I could use? Maybe keep this table reserved?"

"Of course," she nodded, pointing to the back door, "Bathroom's at the back."

He hurriedly went his way to the back, muttering some nonsense to himself until he has reached the door. He knocked on the door, hoping for the quick sense of a hideout-- away from the stares and the heavy feeling that someone is relying or is waiting for him, but he just couldn't.

"Occupied!"

Erwin nibbled on his lip, nodding more to himself than to lamely acknowledge the person behind the door as he waited for his chance to hide. He fought himself to not look back at his table, and when he failed to do so, Erwin let out the biggest sigh once he saw that nobody new was there and nobody took his table. The person from the bathroom still hasn’t gone yet, so he settled on the wall in front of the door, crossing his arms as he tapped his foot in wonder and hurry. Erwin sighed again, loudly, looking down.

"Was I that long in that long in the bathroom?”

The tall blonde man almost leaped off of the wall, shaking his hands while you watch his mouth close and open in an attempt to calm the fake scowl on your face. You just got out of a five minute pep-talk for this date, and you would have stayed in longer in the bathroom if it wasn’t for him. But because of him, you have unleashed a new found source of strength and worry to actually just face the date Hange has set up for you.

What has he like? Hange basically told you that, ‘He’s tall, and blonde. Thick eyebrows, blue eyes, tall. Can’t miss him.”

And a check on everything as you assessed the man before you. A furrow has started between your brows as you fiddled with your fingers, heart beating so fast that you almost croaked out. But he quickly caught up on it— like Hange’s voice echoing in his ears, he calmly pointed at you, a gentle smile forming on his face.

“Are you...”

Erwin counted the things Hange has told him to look for his date— and he’s checking every little box that perfectly described you.

“Are you?” You asked, peeping behind his shoulder to get a glimpse of the restaurant. “Do you know Hange?”

“I know Hange,” he answered, adjusting his collar. He tried to smile but he knows it’s all turning into shit while you furrowed your brows deeper. He exhaled loudly, “Erwin-,”

“Smith,” you continued, offering a hand. His calloused hand shook yours— leaving the feeling of warmth on your hand while he genuinely smiled. “Commander?”

Commander.

Erwin couldn’t fight the smile now on his lips while you suppressed yours in a failed attempt, as he nodded. “Survey Corps.”

“Right,” you murmured, looking up at him. Your hands started to feel clammy just by looking at him, and your breath hitched when he asked the question. The question you had hoped not to be asked when seen by your date by the bathroom. Were you hiding? Were you churning up a plan to swiftly leave?

“Were you hiding from me?” Erwin asked lowly, bending down slightly while you nibbled on your lower lip.

But you cocked your head to the side, tapping on his shoulder, “Should I ask you the same thing?”

“So, you were hiding!”

“I was weighing out my choices of staying or leaving,” you explained, moving to lean beside him against the wall, and away from the people. “I couldn’t help it! It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date.”

“I was going to use the bathroom,” Erwin said slowly, as if trying not to catch him hear the lie in his own words— but you only shook your head in response. “To fix my shirt... this is still all new to me.”

“Hange told me that you might not even come,” you explained, watching Erwin and the pink tinge on his cheeks blossomed gently, “Am I right then?”

“If we are being honest...”

Erwin was nervous to look at you, but it lifted right off of him when you laughed at his face, nodding at him while you pointed at yourself, “That makes the both of us then.”

Erwin bit on his lip, looking down fondly, “If you must know, I’m quite thankful that I did come here.”

“Me too,” You looked up, meeting his blue eyes— and he held that stare for a few seconds before looking away, giving you some time to straighten yourself up or else you would be drowning in his eyes, right there and then.

Erwin sighed shakily, looking back at you as he pointed to table. “Let me take you to dinner.”

“I thought you were going to use the bathroom?” You mumbled, wiping down at the creases of your clothes as Erwin looked back at the door. “Your shirt?”

“It’s fine,” Erwin said, already walking back to table but he stopped when you called out to him.

“No, wait!” You padded towards him, hands clammy as Erwin raised his brow while you pointed at his collar. His hands immediately found his collar, ready to fix whatever it was but your hands were faster than his. “Missed a button right there, Erwin.”

It was the sudden spark of the brushing of your fingers that made him blush softly, feeling the heat rise from his chest to his ears while he smiled to himself because he noticed the slight tinge on your cheeks, the nervous fingers that were on his shirt, and the new found confidence while Erwin whispered softly, “Shall we do this more often?”

[eventyrstuff]

So I started reading Manhwas after Kdramas, and I wanted to make a list as well.

I absolutely love Isekai themed Manhwas - specially historical, time travel and villainess themed. Most of them are based on a web novel but I could not find the novels per se so I read them as Manhwa at Manganelo Site

So here goes the list, I will input few at a time as I am rereading them again.

Warning: Unedited. I’m sorry if I mispell or has grammar lapses. Unabashed fangirling at times.  ALSO SPOILERS. IMMA GIVE OUT A FEW.

Inso's Law - Ongoing (Chapters: 81)

What made me read it: I found the earphone scene in Instagram and I instantly fell in love with Chunyoung. I mean I have this weakness with Black Haired characters. When I read the plot, I knew my tween heart will absolutely love this. The Main Character (Dan-I) woke up to a romance novel/parallel world where in she was friends with these very popular kids (I still can't believe they were 14 at the start). She did not want to be center of attention or to have any relations with the Female Lead and her reverse harem, but come on no one can resist those guys and their pretty faces and weird colored hair. The storyline may be a bit overused but my teenage self is very happy. 10/10

Is it visually pretty: YES. Everyone is pretty. This manhwa is also memeworthy. May not be as aesthetically pleasing as WMMAP but still 10/10

How much do I love the characters: I love Dan-I's internal monologue but hate how she sees herself as just the minor character, everyone adores her! Yeoryoung is the best friend you'll absolutely adore. Ju-In is adorbs. Chunyoung is LOVE. I love Jiho and Eunhyung too but Chunyoung is my ML. Ruda and Yeodan though *swoon* Other side characters are awesome too, but too much characters makes me forget a lot of em. Haha 10/10

Favorite part of the story: I LOVE their friendship so eveytime they show how much Dan-I is important too, all those text messages (especially Ju-In's HAHAHAHA text), Chunyoung is my fave so everytime he is in it I mean damn him and his beautiful hair, enchanting eyes and that smile *faints*, everytime Dan-I state one of every web novel laws, everytime Dan-I breaks the fourth wall and say how bullshit the story is hahahaha

Am I going to reread it again: Yes will do again and again

How do I describe thee: This was my first Manhwa! I'm a sucker for high school setting kind of stories. I really like it, makes me nostalgic of times I spent reading stories back in high school. I admit I was one of those teenagers who fell for the trope of being normal then every guy suddenly likes you *reverse harem for the win* but seriously this manhwa is one of my personal fave for being close to my tween heart. I really thought Dan-I was on a parallel world rather than a web novel as she did not got isekai'd to another person, she's still herself and it's still her family - it was like fanfiction of her own life. I like all characters eventhough, yes it's bullshit to have those kinds of friends (come on! A chaebol, a model in one group of friends in a normal highschool?) It's typical, it' cliche I know but their friendship is really #goals. When I first read this I was really cheering on Chunyoung to be ML, but when I read spoilers that Jiho will be the ML I thought whaaaat I shipped Jiho with Yeoryeoung. Then when I reread it I did saw how subtle his love was and it's really cute. I was really focused on Chunyoung since he has a lot of screen time showing off his affections but Jiho did too on the littlest of things you will see. Well, I'll wait for his time to shine. I just hope Dan-I finally notice them. And I want to know how she will be explaining to them her situation and how everything will be resolved - will she be going back to reality? *that's gonna suck* Also can I have Yeodan instead? Thanks. 10/10

Who Made Me A Princess - Ongoing (Chapters: 81)

What made me read it: I keep seeing screenshots of Athy's various expressions on the comments in manhwas so I searched for it. The plot is interesting, and as mentioned I absolutely love Isekai theme. But this is not romance (mostly), the story focuses on the dynamics of a father and daughter relationship. The main character was reborn as a character on a novel she was reading, Athanasia - the princess who was executed by her father. Knowing what will happen to her when she turns 18, she plans on saving herself. She changes the course of the story in order to survive. 10/10

Is it visually pretty: YES. JESUS CHRIST HAVE YOU SEEN DADDY CLAUDE. INSANE VISUALS. I mean the way the artist drew everything is pleasing to my eye. BUT ALL CHARACTERS ARE HOT. 100/10

How much do I love the characters: ONE MUST PROTECT ATHY FOREVER. Daddy Claude breaks my heart. LILY AND FELIX ARE THE CAPTAINS OF MY SHIP. Lucas is love. Can't help falling in love with Ijekiel/Ezekiel. I adore Jennette. DIANA AND LP'S ATHANASIA ARE DEAD BUT THEY DESERVE BETTER. Anastacius you evil motherfucker, I like you too. 100/10

Favorite part of the story: Every Athy expression. Tea time with Daddy Claude and Felix. When Lily is overprotective. Athy's debutante ball. All the boat scenes are gold. Everytime Claude shows how much he adores Athy even when he's supposed to hate her. When he picks her up and when he shows emotions. When Claude and Felix bickers. When Lucas teases Athy. Best boi Ijekiel/Ezekiel when he shows how much he likes Athy. Adorable Jennette and how she yearns for family.

Am I going to reread it again: Yes and No. Probably up to Chapter 45, I don't think my heart can take after that. Maybe when the manhwa is finished.

How do I describe thee: I AM EMOTIONALLY EXHAUSTED. When I first read this I stopped at Chapter 38,  I read another Manhwa and actually forgot about it but decided to reread again after. I thought this will be a funny, heartwarming story of how a daughter earns her father's love. OH BOY GET READY FOR FEELINGS. I love Athy so much, she just wanted to survive the story, but she was loved, she was finally happy. Claude was like fuck feelings but can't help but adore Athy. I love their relationship so much. It physically pained me after Claude loses his memory - BRING BACK THE FUNNY CHAPTERS. I cannot read that scene in Claude's birthday ever again without bawling. I like Jennette, I really do, but I hate how everytime Claude has headaches (especially when with Athy) he calls for Jennette. It hurts me the way it hurts Athy like I was the one being betrayed. I hate how what's happened to LP Athanasia might still happen ro present Athanasia and it will def break me. I hate Anastacius for being an evil bastard that he is but I hope his growing love for Jennette will be his redemption. This was the first time I did not care for the romance or love triangles (Lucas and Ezekiel/Ijekiel are still precious bbys). Still 1000/10 will recommend even if it's not yet finished. I just want everyone to have a happy ending. Also for my LilyxFelix ship to sail. Thanks. If you have spoilers, gimme.

The Reason Why Raeliana Ended Up At The Duke's Mansion - Ongoing (Chapters: 133)

What made me read it: It was on one of the recommended list and it caught my eye due to the title like pfft how very specific. It's Isekai so I know I'll love it. The Main Character got pushed (literally) into a novel wherein she got the role of Raeliana - a minor character whose death is the catalyst for the story to start. And of course our MC will not follow through the storyline and make her own destiny and survive. She ended up asking for the duke's (Noah, my love) help and became his fiancee, thus starting a butterfly effect for this manhwa's awesome story and twists. 100/10

Is it visually pretty: Definitely, everyone is absolutely pretty and the art is great. Not as insane as WMMAP but I got a lot of meme material. 10/10

How much do I love the characters: Raeliana is def one of top female lead for me, she's bad ass and not as dense as others. Noah, my love, is perfect. Even his brother that I could not remember his name because it's hard to spell. Naomi though is hilarious. Raeliana's family especially her mother. JUSTIN. GRANDPAAAA. SIR ADAM - NUFF SAID. No to Beabitch though but that says something for being villain. 100/10

Favorite part of the story: Chapter 130 hehehehe. Everytime Raeliana is BAMF who saves herself, everytime Noah flirts with her, Sir Adam and his aloofness and chibi self, the emperor's 40% playing pranks, Naomi and the emperor's bickering - which by the way ship it, when Noah confessed, when Raeliana confessed my heart could not take it, ALL THE TWISTS

Am I going to reread it again: YESSSS 100%

How do I describe thee: One of the God-Tier level Manhwa, I read because of Isekai I stayed because of the twist of that Isekai which is freaking mindblowing. Raeliana sets the standard for Female Leads, damn girl needs no man to save her shit. I LOVE HER. I LOVE THIS MANHWA SO MUCH. Noah is just perfect for her like it was really *winks* destined for them to be together. I JUST LOVE EVERYTHING. I love everyone, except that bitch. Also this was a first for me to have the MC admitting they were isekai'd to a novel and realizing her feelings and his feelings and accepting it and I just asdfghjkldfdfse 10000/10 READ THIS AND FALL IN LOVE WITH SIR ADAM WITH ME.

Living As The Tyrant's Older Sister - Ongoing (Chapters: 73)

What made me read it: The meme (you know the one - K.O), if you haven't noticed yet I am a collector of Isekai Manhwa. But this one def made me laugh at all chapters. We have your Main Character being thrown into a web novel (a novel her sister wrote btw) where she play as the Emperor's older sister - Alicia. She knows how the story goes (same old same old where she will eventually die) because she was her sister's consultant regarding the storyline and now regretting how she suggested to change the male lead. As always she devised a plan to stay as a minor character and survive but ended up sleeping with the main lead - Ares. 10/10

Is it visually pretty: Not a masterpiece but definitely meme material, all the screenshots I have stored are all memes from this manhwa 8/10

How much do I love the characters: Alicia is hilarious badmouthing bamf, very pretty very memeworthy. Ares could work on his personality a bit more but when they are together they're comical. Her brother is a typical tsundere and a fanboy. Lancelot is your typical nice guy. THAT BUTLER THOUGH BEST WINGMAN. 9/10

Favorite part of the story: Every meme hahahaha just read it this manhwa is the embodiment of a meme

Am I going to reread it again: Yes whenever I need a laugh ahhahaha

How do I describe thee: I AM WHEEZING. This truly is a comedic manhwa. You can't take it seriously because of the way it was drawn. If you really want a laugh this one's perfect. At times it is cringy when it exag a bit of their reactions but still 100% you will laugh. Not perfect but story is good, I like how it's still given a thought. But read it for the memes you won't regret it. 9/10

Survive as the Hero's Wife - Ongoing (Chapters: 79)

What made me read it: It's on the recommended list and someone mentioned that the art is *immaculate* and it is. IT REALLY IS. Well here comes another Isekai manhwa where the MC is pulled inside a novel where her character will be killed. But this time she was a minor villain character and the Male Lead's wife! 10/10 who are we kidding, I love em all.

Is it visually pretty: this manhwa is a work of art, it is *chefs kiss* visual explosion. Everyone is insanely hot, even the villains. The background, the characters - their hair and wardrobe is truly 1000000/10

How much do I love the characters: I really did fell in love with Canaria and Cesar. Best soft couple. Their luscious hair though so pretty. Noah best boi. Best team of suspicious knights - Miller, Raya, Jax and Ethan are loves. Best friend Ricardo. Even best butler Oscar. 100/10

Favorite part of the story: The visual explosion. Chos. When Canaria is being supportive waifu and Cesar is being an innocent best boy, they are just very soft and loving and I love their scenes so much, that popularity vote in the consort's palace ahhahaha, Jax and his misunderstanding, Ethan everytime he eats (all the time), Cesar's blushing face, everytime we are introduced to a new character because we know they are going to be gorgeous as hell.

Am I going to reread it again: MOST DEF ITS VERY PLEASING TO THE EYE

How do I describe thee: BEAUTIFUL. GORGEOUS. ENCHANTING. Boy, the visual is absolute masterpiece, Canaria's hair alone (love all her hairstyles) and her clothes, I want all of em. Cesar is the embodiment of a perfect male lead - soft boi. Best boi. Pretty boi. I love how he loves Canaria and how they truly support each other since being married at freaking 12 years old. This type of love please.  1000/10 Also, I am a lot curious about that Oscar,I think he is related to the emperor and the lady ghost in Noah's story - a lovechild? *gasps*. Also-Also if you will be reading this at Manganelo, translation at Chapter 76+ is a bit off but still grateful for the translators for what they give

Up next: It’s villain themed time (The villainess lives twice, beware of the villainess the villainess reverses the hour etc)

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: None

A/N:  Enter Marcus Pike, stage right

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer​ , @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse​ , @the-feckless-wonder​ , @pascalisthepunkest​ , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501​ , @fioccodineveautunnale​  , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ , @lilkermit14​ , @tortles   [please message me to be added or subtracted]

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]

Part 6 – Step Forward, Step Back, Find Your Partner Quick

Helen tried her best to console a distraught Rosemary as Officer Garcia spoke to several of his colleagues in the hallway.  Her screams had startled the director, who was already on edge due to the break-in and if the circumstances had been different, the look of surprise and horror on the officer’s face would have reduced Helen to peals of laughter.  But all the situation did was add worry to her shoulders.

For nearly two hours, the officers questioned Rosemary about the break-in, about the missing piece, and they kept asking if the museum had any enemies. As much as she wanted to say Fred Breyers out of pure spite, Rosemary kept her mouth shut – sure some people weren’t always pleased with some of their program or exhibit topics, but nothing that would result in the theft of an artifact or the physical beating of a staff member.  The two women were exhausted by the time the three cops left the building.  Rosemary laid on the couch in her office, a wet cloth over her eyes as the lingering headache from the attack ramped up under this new stress.

“Rose, are you going to be okay?”  Helen’s voice was soft, but unable to keep the worried tone at bay.

“I honestly don’t know.  That statue was the only thing missing.  I don’t know if I’m upset because I promised Robert we’d care for it or mad as hell that accepting that ugly ass hunk of bronze led to all of this and possibly hurt the museum’s reputation.”  She sighed heavily, the now cool cloth doing little to help her.  She slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the sofa’s edge.

“I wouldn’t worry about our reputation.  I’m already working with Marquetta on a press release to get ahead of the game.  Louis over at the Caller always does right by us, I’ll give him the scoop first and he’ll spin it in our favor.”  Helen leaned back.  “I’ll also call major donors today to inform them of the situation.”

“I’m sorry, Helen.  I never thought this would have happened!”  The younger woman groaned heavily as she tried to stand, but the director held out her hand to keep her from getting up.  The body stilled.

“Did Francois’ report show anything differently than what Robert had given you?”  Before Robert’s health worsened, Rosemary contacted an old friend of hers to appraise the piece as Helen wanted a second opinion for the insurance company.  The in-depth discussion about the findings with Helen was moved back first by Robert’s death and then the attack.  “Are we still looking at the same value?”

“I reread it the day before the attack to prep for the meeting that never obviously happened, and he seems to agree with the assessment Robert gave us. The statue was processed into the collections several months ago and I put in Robert’s information, but never got around to putting in Francois’ report.”

“Well, so long as the original value was imputed into the report, it’ll give us something for the insurance company.”

“Are we going to report it lost?  What if they recover it?”

“Rose, I don’t mean to sound mean, but I doubt these officers are going to find the piece.  Whoever has it is probably long gone by now.”  Helen glanced over at her.  “Unless a miracle happens.”

“Well good thing I believe in manifestation and miracles.”  For the first time in what seemed like a long while, Rosemary smiled as her old humor began to shine through.  The director smiled back, unable to let the infectious comment not affect her.

“We’ll see.”

---***---

Two Weeks Later

“Pike!  Get in here!” Carmichael’s voice carried through the small cluster of offices their department occupied.  “Pike!”

“I’m coming!  Damn, give me a second!”  Pike grumbled as he scurried from his office and across to hers.  She wasn’t a loud person, so the excited shout she gave had everyone around her curious.  As Pike entered the room, he could see his partner standing behind her desk, doing a little hop-dance.  He raised an eyebrow.

“You need to look at this!”  She pointed at the computer, her smile so big it nearly took over her face. He stopped because she was giggling, Carmichael never giggled.  Whatever this was, it had to been good.  Pike came around the desk and bent down to see what she was looking at and when his eyes landed on the screen, his eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped.

“This is one of them, isn’t it?”  Carmichael asked, her voice quivering in excitement.  He ran out of the office to the command center for the cold cases, his presence startling his crew.  He looked over at the evidence board and ripped off a picture hanging in the middle before rifling through one of the boxes to find the corresponding file. He ran back to the office.

The picture in his hand was faded with time, that grainy look of age that pictures older pictures were taking on, but despite those flaws, the sculpture in the photo matched the one in the new alert in the NSAF database.  The Cornucopia had always been breathtaking.

And it’s been missing since 1993.

The agents glanced over the dossier, reviewing the piece to try and discover how this priceless Russian artifact made its way to what looks like a small museum in Western Michigan.  Neither had reviewed the original case file closely and both felt their jaws dropping as they read further and further into its history:

A rare example of the early Ukrainian Avant Garde art movement, The Cornucopia was created by Artem Chumak, a well-known artist from Odessa. Commissioned by the then-governor of the country as a gift to Czar Nicolas II in 1907, the piece was designed to showcase the entirety of the Ukraine in a single moment.  Because the country was known for its agriculture, Chumak chose to use the image of the cornucopia as his inspiration.

The piece is made of bronze and inlaid with the following precious gemstones:

               Siberian diamond

               Ural sapphire

               Ural ruby

               Ural jade

               Russian emerald

               Russian opal

               Ukrainian pearl

Upon the fall of the Russian empire in 1917, Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna Romanov took the piece along with several others from the royal art collection when she fled Russia.  She remained owner of the piece until 1920, when she sold it to the Grand Duke of Luxembourg.

In turn, the Grand Duke loaned the piece to the National Museum of History and Art and it remained with the museum until the outbreak of World War II. The ducal family took the piece back, along with several others to protect the collection from the advancement of the Nazis.

Unfortunately, the move did little good and much of the museum’s collection, including the pieces stored in the ducal family home, were taken by the Nazis, with intention of destroying them as part of the Germanization of the annexed country.

The pieces remained missing until 1949, when a team from the Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives program (a.k.a. the Monument Men), recovered the stolen collections in a cellar in Hamburg and returned them to their respective homes.  The Cornucopia was returned to the museum and was on display until the ducal family attempted to sell the piece in 1965.  The sale failed and the family remained owners until the piece was loaned to the Luxembourg-American Cultural Museum in the U.S. in 1992.

In 1993, the piece was stolen from the museum and reported to the FBI’s Art Theft Squad days later.  The piece has yet to be recovered despite the best attempts of the team.

Pike looked at Carmichael and they grinned at each other.  While it being reported as missing didn’t mean that they had found it, it did mean that this cold case was heating up.

“Do you think we found our key?”  He didn’t want to sound hopeful, but he had to admit he was optimistic that they were much closer to solving this case.  The evidence they had been sifting through meticulously was painting a picture, but like a jigsaw puzzle, they were still missing pieces that brought it all together.

“I think we have.”  Carmichael replied.  They grinned at each other.

“Whose turn is it to go and do the interview?”  

“Mine, but could you do it?  Marty is out of town on business this week and I can’t leave Dinah alone.”  She rarely asked to trade like this, but Pike held up his hands in understanding.  They smiled, grateful they were partnered up, their work relationship had always been a smooth one.

“Sure, what could possibly happen in Michigan?”

They laughed as they started to walk to the command center.

---***---

Rosemary and Banana walked into the house, both exhausted from the day, the museum’s annual fall field trip event a cacophony of noise and excitement. The program had been exactly what Rosemary needed – something that distracted her from everything that had happened over the last month.  Her stomach hurt all day from her laughter as young kids swarmed the museum in their Halloween costumes.

As she hung up her coat, she caught something out of the corner of her eye on the kitchen table.  Walking over, Rosemary immediately recognized Fern’s loopy handwriting.

Hey sweetie, probate hasn’t cleared yet, but I heard word it should within the month.  Not to jinx it, but welcome to Saugatuck – its’ about time!  I’m also including some keys to Robert’s safety deposit boxes for safekeeping.  You can’t open them until the probate has cleared, so don’t get ahead of yourself! Love you, ae-in.  Always.  -F

“Oh, thank god.”  She huffed as she opened the bulky envelope, dumping out various keys and paperwork, including the deed to the house and the store.  She had an underlying fear that something would happen, and Robert’s wishes would have been overturned and she would get nothing.  “Looks like we’re here for the time being, Baba!”

Rosemary read through the papers and picked up her phone to call Fern. For the next hour, the two women chatted about the changes, what she needed to do to register ownership with the state, and more.  After they said their good-byes, Rosemary pulled her jacket on and patted Banana on the head as she left the house.  It was dark now, but she knew the path through the cemetery and trudged up the hill towards Robert’s grave with no problem.

“You know, I’m certain you chose this spot for some reason or another, but I think it’s to punish me for not getting enough exercise.”  She groused at the polished granite, wondering how she made this walk as often as she did, and it still robbed her of her breath. She was out of shape.  

Robert’s cheeky grin beamed from the porcelain cameo embedded into the stone.  She had never seen anything like it, but he had told her it was common among Eastern European communities.  He described how they used this horribly unflattering photo for his aunt Ionna’s cameo and that he vowed he’d choose his own rather than leave it to his relatives to decide.

She sat down on the damp ground and settle in.  She was still visiting the cemetery daily and while she didn’t cry as much as she had in the beginning, her throat always felt painful after she left.  Wrapping the coat around her tightly she sighed.

“You missed our field trip day.  I know you loved volunteering for it and the kids who remembered you from last year asked where you were.”  She smiled. “I told them you were attending as a ghost and that they couldn’t see you.  I think they believed me.

“I don’t know what strings you pulled up on that cloud of yours, but Fern thinks the probate will clear next month.  I’m glad, this whole process has been a pain and thank you for not making me go through it.  I’d give up and just die if Fern weren’t in charge.  My landlord was mad I’m breaking my lease, but I know you’re excited, you always hated that place.”  She sighed as a wave of sadness washed over her.

“I miss you.”  Her voice crackled with tears.  “I miss you so much, Robert!  I hate that you’re gone.  I hate that! I hate this!  And I failed you!  They still haven’t found the statue and I contacted the FBI and I haven’t heard anything, and I don’t know what to do!”

She cried harder, her ribs hurting as if the pain she experienced weeks ago was still fresh.  She gripped her sides as she continued to sob.   She was tired and everything that had happen in the month and a half since Robert died was catching up with her.  Rosemary sat in the cold evening for hours and let her sadness out.  When she finally left, the exhaustion she felt forced her straight to bed when she arrived at the house.  In a bit of mercy, she slept a dreamless sleep for once.

---***---

“Good morning.”  The deep voice caused Marquetta to turn from the display case she was working on.  A tall man with brown hair and a kind smile stood at the front desk.  She watched as Bob ambled over to welcome him.  She couldn’t hear their conversation after that, but she kept a subtle watch on the interaction as the two men talked.  The stranger smiled again and walked past her towards the stairs and she watched up trudge up each step until he was out of sight.

“You aren’t being very subtle.”  Bob’s voice sounded behind her and Marquetta jumped at the noise.  She felt herself grow hot, grateful her dark skin hid the blush rushing across her cheeks.  She turned to look at Bob, who was grinning at her.

“Who was that?”  She tried to keep her voice steady.

“Some FBI agent wanting to talk to Rosemary.”

“FBI?”  Marquette frowned before her eyebrows shot up.  “FBI!  Oh my god! They’re here!”

“Don’t shout.  It’s rude.”

“No, Bob!  Rosemary reported that statue that got stolen to the FBI!  That means they know about it!  They’re here for that!”

“Does that mean they’ll find the men who hurt her?”  He sounded hopeful at the idea.  Even if he thought her manners were lacking, Bob was deeply upset that Rosemary had been hurt the way she had been.  If this young agent can help find her attackers, he was all for it.

“I bet they do if they find the statue.”  The two stopped talking when Rosemary and Banana entered the building. She looked up and felt awkward when she realized they were staring at her.

“Um, is something wrong?”  She sounded unsure of herself and Bob got angry, realizing that these men didn’t just rob the museum of this ugly statue, it robbed Rosemary of her self-assurance.

“Never, Rose.  There is an agent from the FBI in your office.  Marquetta says you contacted them.”  She startled, not believing that her reporting the stolen item would bring them to her front door.  They were just a small history museum in Michigan, not the Detroit Institute of Art or the Smithsonian.  She figured she’d get an email or a call, but never a real agent.

“They’re here?  Really?” Her eyes lit up when Bob nodded. She started to laugh because she didn’t know what else to do.  Marquetta walked over to hug her and the physical contact help to ground her.

“He’s good looking, too.”  Marquetta whispered in her ear.  Rosemary pulled back at the comment. “Like really good looking.  His butt is cute.”

The two women giggled at the comment and hugged again.  Picking up the leash she dropped, the curator and her furry companion went towards the stairs, hope beginning to bubble in her chest. Maybe she hadn’t failed Robert after all, she thought.  When she reached the third floor, she stopped to catch her breath before walking down to her office.

When she stepped into the doorway, she saw him standing there, looking at her walls.  She couldn’t see his face, but everything about his presence radiated kindness – something she hadn’t expected from an FBI agent.  When he turned to look at her as she cleared her throat, his face lit up in a smile and she couldn’t help but smile back.  For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.

“I’m Special Agent Marcus Pike.”  He held out his hand to her.  She took it with her customary firm grip.

“I’m Rosemary Carter.  Welcome to Fort Jamison.”

[emotional-blender]

Hi Shan 🥺 I hope you feel better eventually. Just looked at your master list and rereading some nurse Calum stuff and I wanted to know, when’s the last time he got sick and couldn’t go to work? What was he like? 😥

hi anon!1 thank you so much, i really appreciate that and this ask for helping bring me out of my own mind for a few minutes. also, oops, i wrote about the first time he had to call in sick but i think the last time was probably sometime last fall before the pandemic; pr there is the possibility he got covid and sat isolated at home, fighting it off with fluids and rest and beating on his own chest with cipped hands to loosen up the fluids/laying prone (on his stomach) tp try amd aid the speed of his own recovery. he 100% would have went back to work when he was better, because he's stubborn, but would have considered moving out or rooming with a coworker to protect you (because nurse!cal is protective as hell and even more stubbown).

***

the first time calum, as a nurse, was ever sick enough to not go in, he fought it. on the first of three night shifts he showed up to the nurses station when he usually does and the lights of the unit seem a little brighter than usual. he's sure the caffiene in the iced coffee, and in the exta hot one he has in his hands will fix him up; and the tylenol he'd thrown back in the car. he's gone about a year out of nursing school without having to call in sick but he knows it happens to everyone. he wondered, briefly, before his shift if he should have called in, if they could find anyone on such short notice to come in on time. maybe they'd find someone to get there before mdinight. he pushes through the dull throb at the back of his head. it doesn't get any better as the hours go on and when ten pm and his break time hits, the three hours he's been there feel more like seven.

"feel like fuckin shit," he remarks as he sits in th ebreak room, cracking open a can of canada dry and pouring it over some ice chips he grabbed from the kitchen on his way off floor. he doesn't normally take any formal breaks on a night shift - there's usually enough down time to sit in the nursing station and eat his dinner while he charts the evenings activities and does a check of medication orders for the morning. the night shift is a different kind of busy than the day shift. administraton isn't around and occasionally a nurse from the unit over shows up to ask for advice on something that's more medical and urgent than they feel comfortable handling. calum's been that person, wandering to the next unit when his was too busy for someone to give his decision making a double check. it's busy, but it's not like the day shift. there's usually time to sit, and if there isn't, then there wasn't enough time for him to take a break anyway.

the tiny blonde woman sitting in the break room with him gives him aquick once over and tilts her head sideways yet.

"think you can stick it out?" she asks, before her eyes glance up to the clock on the wall. it's been a calm night. qyuet, but no one would ever dare say the Q word. ever. calum's departure midshift, at 10pm would turn her calm quiet night into a busy one.

"yeah, for sure," he answers quickly qith a laugh. honestly, the thought of going home hadn't even crossed his mind. not seriously. in truth, he can hear a professor from nursing school in the back of his mind.

"drug up calum, it's friday," she had said to him at 9am on a friday when his nise was stuffed and his sinuses were blocked, his brown skin tinged pink and a little swollen from the inflammation. when the words came from her mouth that's exactly what he was doing, downing a couple day time cold and flu capsules with a gatorade form hydration. even nursing school, before it was a job, didn't allow for sick days. missed labs meant make up labs on the weekend and extra assignments to prove he'd really learned the material. it was better to just show up. at work, it was better to just show up; unless he was actively hurling, or in any state that kept him from wandering too far from a toilet.

he'd finish his shift with a couple more tylenol and a distinct lack of food ingested because something didn't feel... right. he masked before going into every room, explaining to one woman who was adamant that she wasn't sick enough that he needed to worry, that it was her he was protecting and not himself.

it was five am when the queasyness hit him, when the headache seemed amplify ten fold. as much as he tried to muscle his way through it, deny the fact that, despite the constant hand washing and the way his hands cracked a little from the sanitizing, he had managed to catch something.

"you back tonight?" the blonde woman from the break room asked him as the shift wrapped up, a small crowd of tired looking nurses waiting inthe nursing station for slightly less tired day shift nurses to show up.

"no, i already called steph," he shook his head, lips turning down as he gave her a dramatic pout. "i haven't used any sick days though, so," he shrugged a moment later. in truth, he was still so fascinated by the fact that he was working just as hard as he had been in school, only now he was getting paid for it. somehow that made it easier to fight through any ailments. he was young still; the fatigue hadn't quite hit him the way it'd hit lorraine, a fifty something year old woman with a bad back, who always jumped at the opportunity for paid time off when the amount of patients on the floor was too low for all the hands present.

it was a breath of relief he felt as he left the hospital and got into his car, driving himself back to the small apartment you shared with him because you were still saving for a downpayment on a house. he stuffed his scrubs into the laundry hamper as soon as it was in view, his  naked body wandering into the bathroom.

it was a saturday morning. the wake up you expected was a freshly showered calum sliding into bed with you, not the sounds of him wretching in the next room over. your movements were sleepy, padding your way to the kitchen and putting some ice cubes from the fridge in a glass and pouring some apple juice over them. you grabbed a sleeve of crackers, going back to your bedroom and leaving them on his nightstand before  you went to gently push the bathroom door open.

"you doin okay?" you asked, eyes cast upward at the ceiling because he never wanted you to see him at his weakpoints.

"yep," he answered quick, sitting back on the floor and looking at you. you couldn't help but let your eyes fall to where he was sitting, the look in them softening at the sight.

"i'm gonna get you a cloth, okay?" you told him, even though your words hung in mid air as if you were asking permission. you didn't want for a response before disappearing to the tiny hall closet and grabbing a couple of facecloths, running them under the cold tap water before handing him one and setting the dry one on the counter where he could reach.

"put some apple juice and crackers by the bed," you let him know, giving him a small smile. he nods up at you and you can see the way his face screws up, clenching your eyes shut as he turns away from you, facing the toilet again, gripping it as he wretches one more time.

you don't hang around and watch, closing the door behind you and letting him have privacy while you go to the bedroom to get dressed, you make the bed, turning down his side of it. you scoop duke up into your arms and put his leash on him, finally bringing him down to the small patch of gradd near your building so he can do what he needs to. apartment life is weird, he's trained well enough to go into the bathroom and do waht he needs to in the tub overnight, it's easy enough to turn the shower on and wipe down every morning before you get in, flushing any turds he may have left. in fact, you almost perfer it to having to pick up poo from the grass and bring it to the trash, but the bathroom in your apartment is occupied. you have a feeling it will be for awhile.

"cal?" you ask as you come back into the bedroom. hes laying on his back, still naked but showered, staring at the ceiling and concentrating on rbeathing. his answer is a groan, a simple noise to let you know he heard you.

"gonna go to the store," you let him know. he nods his head a little and you let yourself look at him, just to make sure he's okay before you diappear from back to the door of the apartment, grabbing your keys this time and leaving.

he's wretching again when you come back an hour later, stomach filled with some fast food breakfast because you don't want to cook and make the whole apartment smell like anything that's upsetting to his stomach. you wince at the sound and set your bags down on the kitchen counters, rifling through them for the medicine you went out for.

"hey, cal. i don't know if you can keep it down, but i got some dramammine," you meet him back in the bedroom and he looks at you like you're an angel.

"thank fuck," he mumbles, and you hamd him te box and a fresh bottle of tylenol. he's a little shakey as he pops them in his mouth, sipping carefully with the apple juice you'd left before. he gets up to wretch one more time and then... he sleeps. he sleeps and sleeps and you check on him after a couple of hours, feeling his forehead while he snores and press a kiss to his forehead.

"hey," his voice is raspier than usual and you know it's from the sheer amount of throwing up  he's done today.

"hey, you," you let your hand move to smooth back over his hair. "how you feelin?"

"like shit," he's honest and groans before turning his head to bury his face into his pillow. "fuckin felt it last night before work but i was a stubborn asshole," he explains and you can't help but shake your head, a breath of laughter leaving you.

"i don't know how that's different than normal but okay," you let the words out with a tiny smirk and he glares at you, but not seriously.

"you want some broth?" you ask, raising your eyebrows. "maybe a shower. i made clean sheets so if you shower i can get rid of these ones and they won't be all sweaty and gross,"

he nods his head and slowly pushes himself up, going slow, looking around the room before he moves for the medicine you brought him this morning. it's almist dinner time now, and they've undoubtedly worn off. he takes more before, still carefully sipping before he gets up and lets his arms wrap around your middle, back curling as he lets himself press his face into your neck. there's nothing to do but let your arms wrap around his sweaty body, rubbing over his back.

"thank you," he mumbles, before moving and pressing his lips to your cheek, refusing to kiss you right out on the lips even though he just rubbed his germs all over you; even though he knows he's been shedding whatever this is for days now; that if you're not already feeling it, maybe you will tomorrow.

"i got you," you nod, letting him go as he moves away, watching him as he leaves the room and moving to strip the bed so you can put those clean sheets on.

taglsit: @calumscalm @notinthesameguey  @treatallwithkindness @burstintocolor  @babyoria @lukeisbaby @zhangyixingxing1  @creampiecashton @myfavfanficsever

[kyvir]

Sincerely Yours

Sarada loves her job, and lost an opportunity because the President gave it to his son, Boruto. Why did Boruto take it? Because he heard there was a feisty manager on the team. Watch them fight, argue, tease, flirt, “accidentally” fall in love, and deny it to the bitter end.

Rating: M Pairing: BoruSara

Collaboration with @kairi-chan!

Chapter Three

previous | next

Sarada woke up with a massive headache. Blinking her eyes open, she struggled to get up and realized she was back in her room. How… did she get back in her room? Trying to recall was making her headache worse, so she stopped that immediately. A quick look at her clock told her it was time to get up and get ready for work. 

Work. Fuck. Did she really have to? 

She groaned but pushed herself to get in the shower, and tried her best to get her back in shape. Despite it only being Wednesday, Sarada decided to dress down a bit, but still looking professional. She opted for black pants and a white button-down shirt, and low heels today. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and applied little makeup. Maybe today, she’ll go get coffee first before even entering the office. 

As she entered Ninbucks, the baristas greeted her cheerfully and did her best to smile. She ordered a bigger cup this time and an extra shot of espresso. 

“Ooh,” The barista commented. “Long day?” 

Sarada chuckled. “You have no idea. I don’t even remember what happened last night.” 

The barista laughed. “Then that means it was great.” 

“Surely,” Sarada smirked. She would have to ask Inojin what happened. If he was already there. It was only 9:23 am. Still early. 

Sarada collected her coffee and made her way into their office and to her desk. The two weren’t there yet. The previous night must have been wilder than she expected. But what caught her attention was that she already had an email sent that morning from Boruto, and the lights in his office were already on. 

Did he… get there before she did? What the hell. 

Taking a seat and looking at the papers on her desk, Sarada tried to ignore the emails Boruto sent in, but another came in, this time, on their office chat platform. 

Shikadai: You in the office already?

Sarada lifted her brow and replied. 

Sarada: Yes, I am. Why? 

Shikadai: Damn, you clean up fast. You were dead before nine, you know? Lol. 

Sarada: I know I got drunk, okay? Ugh. Who brought me home?

Shikadai: Boruto carried you to Chocho’s car. You guys left around ten. Too early. You can’t drink as much as you used to!

Sarada growled. She was out cold, and her boss had to carry her? This was insane. 

Sarada: No, he didn’t. I wasn’t that drunk. I could walk just fine. 

Shikadai then sent her a photo, it was blurry but clear enough for Sarada to see that Boruto was carrying her in the parking lot, following Chocho. 

Shikadai: Inojin rode with you two. He can tell you what happened. 

Sarada’s cheeks burned. Oh my fucking god. This was not happening. This. Was. Not. Happening. 

Reaching for her coffee, Sarada downed half of its contents in one go and reread the messages. Nope. they were still holding the same contents. 

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. How embarrassing! She had to apologize. This was his first week of work and he had already seen her drunk and had to carry her! 

Quickly, she opened the email from Boruto. It was nothing urgent, he was just asking for a follow up on the numbers he requested the day before, with some extra instructions added. She found it weird, she never had to make a report like that before. But still… Quickly, she sent an email to Wasabi to ask for the details and then closed her laptop. 

Did she have to go to his office now? She was still so embarrassed. Well… better now when the two weren’t there yet, right? 

Sarada stood and then walked towards his office. She noticed someone had just scampered out of it, looking a little distressed and… scared. That was… odd. Anyway, she still knocked on his door. 

“What is it?” He asked. 

Sarada wanted to jump away from the door, but opened it anyway, taking a peek inside. “Good morning… it’s me.” 

Boruto was sitting at his desk, glaring at his computer with half-lidded eyes and pouty lips. After a few seconds, he looked over at her and grunted, “Mornin’.”

For a moment, his grouchy greeting made her want to sass him, but seeing that he had dark circles under his eyes, she bit her lip and stopped herself. She came here to apologize, not ruin his day. 

“I just wanted to… thank you for last night. And also apologize.” Her eyes looked everywhere except for his face. She noticed he had put up some new things in his office. A new map was placed on the wall behind him, a pencil holder with a peculiar, sunflower pen, and a few picture frames. One caught her eye in particular. 

It was a photo of him in his graduation toga, with his arms wrapped around a girl with long black hair and blue eyes. 

Did he have a girlfriend? Sarada looked at the sunflower pen, and found it was the only thing “girly” enough in his office. It was from her. It had to be. 

Her hands clenched by her sides and her eyebrows twitched. Well. Isn’t that typical? He’s already taken. How this guy was taken, she wouldn’t know. Sure, he was handsome and had a really really cute smile but come on. This was his first job! What, was that girl still studying or something? 

Oh my god.

What if he’s into younger girls?

Sarada quickly took a look at the frame again, the girl was more than a foot shorter than him, and not wearing a toga, too. 

Fuck. Confirmed it. She was younger. Definitely younger. Oh my god. 

That’s just… disgusting. Liking younger girls! Sarada gritted her teeth. But she looked to only be a few years younger… definitely in the legal range. 

Why was she even getting so worked up about this? It’s not like she cared who he dated, right? Sarada huffed and crossed her arms across her chest before looking at him, her eyes were hard, and she had forgotten why she was even here in the first place. 

“Can I go now?” She huffed again. 

“Jeez, what’s with the sudden attitude?” Boruto grumbled, lips poking out in a more profound pout. “I thought you were sorry and thanking me and all that?”

Sarada looked at him and felt her jaw slack by the tiniest bit. The way he was pouting made him look like such a baby. He looked so… cute. Sarada felt her cheeks fill with heat and recalled what exactly her business was doing here.

“Umm yeah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I… didn’t know what was going on anymore. I totally blacked out.” Shit. Why did he have to keep looking at her like that? He was too cute, and she forgot why she was fuming in the first place. 

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” His voice was lower than usual and he was speaking so quietly as if raising his voice would be too much for him to handle. “Did you get that report for me?”

Sarada replied, “Yes. I requested the numbers but haven’t gotten them yet. Is it okay to submit it after lunch?” 

“Yeah,” Boruto muttered and then sighed loudly in comparison to every word he spoke. “Whenever. I don’t care.”

Her lips pursed and she studied his face. He looked tired and drained. Did he not sleep right last night? After all of those shots, she would have thought he would sleep like a baby. Unless… “Are you… hungover?” 

“I’m sorry?” Boruto looked at her, brows raised and eyes narrowed. 

Whoops. Looks like she poked a nerve. “Sorry, you’re just not as… happy as usual. If you’ve got a headache, I’ve got some aspirin in my bag.” 

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m happy.” He scowled. 

That scowl seriously convinced her otherwise, though. “Of course,” she giggled. “My bad. I’ll go get your report ready.” 

“Wait.” Boruto groaned. “The aspirin?”

Sarada looked over her shoulder with a warm smile on her face. “I’ll bring it right over.” 

With that, she left his office and walked back to her desk, rummaging through her bag and pulled out two pieces of aspirin. She then went to the pantry to get a glass and filled it with water, too. Right before she brought it over, she went back to her desk to get a post-it and scribbled a note on it. She stuck it on the glass and then went to his office. Sarada placed the pills and glass down without a word and left, not wanting to be around when he read the note. 

“Have some ramen for lunch, it helps. :)” 

.

.

.

As soon as Sarada got to the desk, she plugged on her earphones and got to work. There were a number of promotions that were left hanging and she needed to wrap them up to get Boruto’s approval for the budget before sending it over to finance. After sending a few emails to settle things, she printed out the papers for his signature and then left them on a pile by her left. 

Inojin was out on field duty today, doing a product shoot for their new ramen line, and Chocho was out meeting suppliers and agencies. She was getting texts from them, asking for quick decisions and approvals for the content they were going to sign off on. This, on top of finishing the report Boruto wanted. Even if the latter wasn’t urgent—or so he claimed—she wanted to have it done first, so she could have fewer worries as she scrolled through the proposals that Chocho and Inojin quickly sent over. 

To say it was overwhelming was an understatement. She didn’t even realize she skipped lunch, as she went through the report and told Inojin to wait and talk to her the following day before approving another product shoot and the concept he wanted to go with. Chocho was fighting him for another idea, and Sarada really didn’t want to play referee right now. It was so much easier when they all reported to the director, as he had to make all the important decisions and defend it to the board if they ever made a mistake. 

But now… it was all on Sarada.

The promotions with bigger reach, of course, needed the director’s approval. As well as designs for billboards and commercial times and prices. But social media content, as well as their online campaigns? Trivial things that the director shouldn’t be worrying about. Product shoots and point of sales designs? Nu uh. It was now on Sarada’s turf and being the perfectionist she was, didn’t make things easier for her to decide. 

At one point, she told the two to prepare some slides to justify their own ideas and present them to her after lunch the next day. The two complained, naturally. When did they ever need to convince Sarada? Well, now they did. She was their boss and responsible for them and the brand. 

She only tore her gaze away from her screen when Namida came by her desk. “Hey, Sarada,” She grinned. “Here are the numbers you wanted. Oh, and I added your Job Orders there. Apparently, they need approval from the director to proceed.” 

“What?” Sarada asked, completely at a shock. “The previous one didn’t need to!” 

“Yeah but…” Namida shifted her gaze away. “We found that some numbers didn’t add up last time. And well… we just want to make sure this time around instead of digging up for things.” She looked back at her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry…” 

She sighed and removed her glasses. “No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’ll have them approved. Just… give me a sec.” 

Namida held up her hands. “It’s okay, you can give them to me at four. I won’t be leaving until later. I’ll have them processed ASAP so you can get your money.” 

Sarada smiled tiredly at her. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it!” Namida grinned before leaving her desk. 

These reimbursements were meals with suppliers, as well as some trivial approvals like gas and Uber rides. They all happened more than a month ago and she was irritated that they had only brought it up now. Well… there was no point in waiting. 

She looked at the clock and realized it was already well passed two, and she hadn’t even eaten yet. “Shit.” Debating whether she should eat first or go to Boruto’s office to have a million things signed took her a good minute. But gave up and decided to have it approved and over with. Her report wasn’t even ready yet… 

Oh well. He said it wasn’t urgent. 

She gathered up all the papers and walked to Boruto’s office, knocking before opening the door to take a peek inside. “Sir?” 

Boruto looked from his computer to her, looking a little more alert than he did earlier. “Come in.”

She walked in and held a pile of papers in her hands. “I need these for your approval.” 

“Alright.” He grumbled before muttering a string of unintelligible curses. 

She pretended not to hear them and handed the papers over, waiting for him to look through them for a while before asking, “would you want me to come back? One is for the billboard, the other for a commercial and the next two are campaigns for the new line.”

“Yeah, just give me an hour,” Boruto told her as he studied the papers on his desk. 

“Okay…” Sarada left his office and plopped back on her desk. She looked at her inbox, and there were more emails. A quick alt-tab and her report was only halfway done. 

“Later…” she muttered to herself and went through her purse to get her phone and wallet, making a quick run to Ninbucks for a sandwich. Perhaps some iced coffee, too. She deserved it. The day was going by way too fast, and she needed to get more work done. 

After ordering, she took a seat and scrolled through her phone. Replying to her father, asking how her day was going and if she was still going to stay at their house for the weekend. Sarada replied quickly and asked him to ask her mom which cake she wanted for her to bring. As she got her order from the counter, she sat back down and found he already replied. 

“The chocolate one with strawberries,” Sasuke replied. 

Sarada giggled. “Which one? The one with white cream or black?” 

She watched the three dots jump around a few times before getting a response. 

“The one you always get…” 

“I get mama both.” 

“Just one.” He replied instantly. 

“Then white or black?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Sarada laughed and replied that she would ask her mother instead. Sasuke thanked her and she finished up her sandwich. Checking her watch, she had only been gone for fifteen minutes. Not bad. Sarada picked up her things and sipped on her coffee, feeling so much better that she finally had something in her tummy, and the coffee was an added, yet welcome, bonus. 

Their area was still empty, Chocho and Inojin probably didn’t want to go back to the office anymore. It was getting pretty late, anyway. She shrugged it off and got back to her computer, ready to face her emails again. 

After a few emails sent, she went back to the report, and started fixing the numbers up, formatting and color-coding the cells and tabs, making it all the more readable. Sarada prided herself with organized and functional files, and the finance team often asked her why she didn’t opt to become an accountant instead. 

Numbers were good, but she loved being in marketing more. Besides, she still got to crunch some numbers, but also got to write and be around some art-related things. It was cool. And she did it well. 

Finally finishing the report, she typed up a quick email to Boruto, explaining how the file worked, what the colors meant, and which tab he can find the information he needed on. 

Hi Boruto, 

Attached is the monthly sales report. If you have any questions, I’m at your disposal. 

Warm regards, 

Sarada 

Finally. She could breathe again. The big tasks she set for her day were done, and it was only three-thirty. Maybe she could go home early today, get some groceries done and curl up to watch Ninflix. 

Maybe. 

The idea of resting got her excited but remembered she had to text her mother about which cake she wanted her to bring for the weekend. As she was engrossed in her texting she didn’t realize someone was standing in front of her desk. 

“Taking it easy?” Boruto asked and then dropped the stack of papers on her desk. 

Sarada gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin and dropped her phone on her desk as the papers landed. She looked up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind. Her brows furrowed more to see her boss grinning from ear to ear. 

“Hardly,” she replied, barely containing the anger in her voice. She took a quick look at the papers, all signed with some post-its on it for extra instructions. “Did you see my report, too?” 

“I was just finishing up when you sent it, I’m heading back to read it over now.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “While you get back to your texting.” Boruto snorted and looked annoyingly smug as he walked off, going back to his office. 

Sarada glared after him and stuck out her tongue when he wasn’t looking. “I will go back to texting,” she muttered under her breath. “One that you disturbed!!!” She gritted her teeth and typed quickly, finished her text to her mother followed by, “MAMA I HATE HIIIIM” with angry and crying emojis after. 

She put her phone down and took some deep breaths to calm down, and it wasn’t long until she received another text from her papa. 

“Tell me to come and I will.” 

Sarada giggled. Her mama was quick to forward that message. She replied she was fine and she’ll tell them all about it on Saturday instead. 

She tossed her phone back in her bag and went back to her emails, cleaning them out and making sure to flag those that needed a reply the following day. Opening her drawer, she pulled out more post-it’s and started writing tasks on different colored ones and stuck them on her table, arranging them according to urgency. 

It was already five-thirty, and still no email from Boruto about her report. Just a little more and she could call it a day, hoping that he wouldn’t bother sending her another task or a follow up for anything else. 

After she arranged her desk and cleaned up, right before she could turn her laptop off, she got an email from Boruto. Sarada groaned and read it. 

Hi Sarada, 

Thanks for sending the report. The numbers are looking good, keep this up and we will hit the target in no time.

Make sure to add the projection for the campaigns next month and then align with Supply for the added stock for the next three months to support the demand. 

Nice format. I like the colors. :) 

Cheers, 

Boruto. 

Sarada smiled at seeing he added an emoji but rolled her eyes at his signature. Who uses “cheers”? 

Chaotic people. That’s who. 

Oh well. He seemed like the type anyway. 

Sarada flagged his email and then scribbled on another post-it to write Shikadai an email, and set a meeting with him to finalize the following day. 

With that, she turned her laptop off and gathered her belongings. Time to call it a day. 

Sarada exited the office and headed towards the elevator, a little shocked to see that Boruto was already there, waiting, and playing with his car keys. He noticed her approach and turned to look at her, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

“Finally finished?”

Sarada smiled back and nodded. “Yup. Finally!” 

“Heading straight home?” He asked casually and then the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. “After you.”

Impressed with his gentlemanly tone and gesture, she entered the elevator and waited for him to enter before pushing the button for the ground floor, and Boruto pushed the button for the sixth. 

“I have some grocery shopping to do, and then yes, go home.” Noticing the floor he pushed, she asked, “You drive to work?” 

“I do. What about you?” He asked, blue eyes peeking at her. 

Sarada couldn’t help but look at his eyes. Even in the dim elevator light, they looked so bright. “I take the train,” she replied before looking away, turning her attention to the screen, indicating what floor they were on. Anything to keep her from looking at his eyes. They were so… alluring. 

“The train? That must suck.” His nose scrunched as if he couldn’t fathom the idea. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

Her dark eyes widened. Getting a ride home would be nice, but no. She didn’t want to intrude. “Oh no, it’s okay,” Sarada held her hands up. “I have to stop by the grocery, and besides, I don’t want to trouble you.” 

Boruto chuckled softly and played with his keys again. “It’s no trouble, really. I don’t mind.”

She bit her lower lip. It was tempting. The train would be cramped around this time, and she didn’t really need to do the groceries… “no, really. It’s okay. You look like you need to rest a little more today, boss.” She grinned cheekily at him, hoping he wouldn’t mind being teased. At least, today, she learned he was a grumpy little baby when he was hungover. 

“Fine. Your loss.” He shrugged, smirking. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yeah, I live by Eleventh Avenue, near the convenience store. You?” 

“Oh, really? I live on Fifth. Not too far.” Knowing this only seemed to make him smugger. 

Sarada rolled her eyes and the elevator dinged, opening up to the parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“See you then.” Boruto nodded, still smiling as he walked out.

Sarada waved at him with a small smile on her face as the elevator doors closed. The elevator felt a little lonelier now that he was gone, but Sarada brushed it off and got out as soon as she reached the ground floor. 

The walk to the station was nice. The air was cool and the crowd wasn’t as bad yet. A quick stop at the grocery made her mood lift, choosing some fresh vegetables and crackers, along with a cheap bottle of wine and chips. Tonight, she would have a salad for dinner, but reward herself with wine and chips as she watched a few episodes on Ninflix before bed. 

The night was looking good. 

xxx

[i-went-to-a-cuddle-party-once]

Breaking and Entering

Summary: Teen Malcolm is a handful to say in the least but Gil tries his best to be a good Dad.

Warnings: Small traces of angst.

Word Count: 1, 503

A/N: This can be read as both a stand-alone and continuation of my story Christmas Time Is Here 

“Stop acting like you’re my dad! I’m not some kid anymore Gil!” The words stung more than he’d like to admit. He wasn’t surprised by them. The last few months, years if he was being honest, had led to this. And Malcolm was right in some ways. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He sighed rubbing his head. The early morning light shone through the window and did nothing for his budding headache.

“Let’s just put that aside for now Malcolm. What I really want to know is why you were caught breaking into empty houses at two am,” the teenager sat across the kitchen table from him, arms crossed, mouth pursed closed.

“And yeah, you’re not a kid anymore. You’re almost an adult. And if you keep on pulling shit like this you’re going to get yourself arrested. Hell, you could have if the owner decided to press charges. You’re lucky,-” Malcolm stood up, almost knocking his chair over in the process. 

“Oh I’m lucky,” he said in a calm and furious voice, “yeah I’m so fucking lucky that my closest friend is the cop that arrested my father. I’m so lucky that my mom is an alcoholic and drinking herself to an early grave. I’m so lucky that I get kicked out of every school I go to because once the word gets out that the freak with a serial killer for a father is there they’ll stop at nothing to get rid of me,” he looked straight into his eyes, waiting for Gill to say something. He didn’t. He knew nothing he said or did right now would quell the boy’s anger. Anything he tried would be twisted into another reason to be mad. Instead, he watched the teen’s hands, shaking and clenching, wishing he could reach out to comfort him. Malcolm left, slamming the door behind him.  

Jackie walked in from the living room. She pushed the empty chair in and leaned against the counter, sipping from the cup she held in her hands. 

“If that boy breaks my door he’s buying me a new one. Heaven knows he can afford it.” She smiled at him and he felt the tightness in his heart ease slightly. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. 

“Maybe I’ll get one of those fancy ones with the built-in knocker. No, then I’d have to get him to break all the other ones so they’d match.”

…

It was nearing midnight and he still couldn’t relax. Still couldn’t stop thinking about him. Without turning on the light he opened the drawer to his bedside table and quietly looked for the letter. When things with Malcolm got difficult, which they often did, he would reread it. He had written it to him that first terrible year. It was Christmas time and the impending trial of Doctor Martin Whitley was looming. He found it, worn and soft from the years of being kept in his wallet. He’d only removed it when he realized it was starting to fall apart. He left the room, house slippers and a robe on, and made his way to the guest room with the recliner. He didn’t really need to read the physical letter but holding the paper in his hands and seeing the boys print gave him a sense of purpose that remembering it didn’t. 

Dear Gil,

I’m not good at saying things out loud. Even before I stopped talking I wasn’t good at it. I know I’m not an easy person to be around. But I want to tell you these things. My therapist told me it’s important to share things with the people that matter to you. 

I wish you were my dad. I wish that I could live with you and Jackie. I wish I had friends and I could invite my friends over and we could eat pizza and watch movies. I wish I could eat pizza. I wish I was normal. I wish I wasn’t me but I am. My therapist says I have to accept that. 

I’m glad you were the one that showed up at our house that night. I’m glad that you’re part of my life. People on the news always talk about how great a person my father was but he wasn’t. You don’t yell at my mom when you think Ainsley and I are asleep. You hold me when I cry and don’t tell me to stop. You don’t go away for long work trips or yell at us for playing with your stuff. You don’t make me feel like I have to be perfect.  I didn’t realize he was a bad dad until I met you.

My father always told me that I was going to do great things. That I’m a genius and a prodigy. I never wanted to be any of those things though. You make me feel like I can be just me. 

I know I can’t change who I am. I know you can’t actually be my dad but you can be my best friend. I know Jackie is your best friend because she is your wife but I hope I can be your second best friend. Merry Christmas Gil.

Love, 

Your friend,

Malcolm

…

The click of the front door opening woke him up. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep. He looked at his watch, 2:00 a.m. glaring back at him. He headed down the stairs without turning the lights on. The teenager was there, pacing the living room. 

“You didn’t even bring your gun. What if I was robbing your house,” he asked. 

“What are you going to take? You know I don’t have anything good.”

“I didn’t break-in,” Malcolm dug his hand into his jacket pocket and fished out a ring of keys.

“Ah, you remembered how to use keys” Gil flipped the light on before sitting on the couch. “Come on, take a seat,” he patted at the cushion beside him. “Or stand. I’m sitting,” he sighed. Malcolm ran his hand through his hair contemplating it before rolling his eyes and flopping onto the worn couch next to him. They sat in silence, the crack and hum of the heater keeping them company. It wasn’t until he heard the teens quiet sniffling that he turned to look at him. Tears ran down Malcolm’s face. 

“I know. I know it’s stupid. And I know it’s not a good reason. But Ainsley’s getting older and is normal enough to actually have friends and my Mother has her charity galas and you have your work and Jackie’s been sick and I- I started visiting him more often because I was so tired of feeling so fucking alone,” he put his arm around Malcolm and Malcolm rested his head against his chest like he used to when he was a boy. “And I can’t sleep,” he laughed, “I mean I never sleep but this is different. Worse.” Gil stayed quiet, waiting for Malcolm to finish. “It’s stupid and I’m so sorry Gil, I didn’t mean to let you down,” the teen wiped his face with his sleeve but the tears kept on coming, “I didn’t mean to make you worry. And I swear Gil, I promise you I always made sure the houses were empty first. I made sure the families were on vacation or business trips or whatever,” he looked up at Gil who nodded back at him.

“I just don’t understand Malcolm. Why?” He sighed for the umpteenth time.

“I don’t really remember how the idea came to me but I thought-” he paused to bite his lip, “I thought that if I could be in their homes, in their beds, that I could convince myself I was someone else. Just for a little while. Just for a few hours. Just so I could get some sleep. I-I know it’s stupid.” the man pulled him into a hug. 

“I’m sorry you feel like you have to be someone else, kid. If I had any wisdom I could share with you that would make all these night terrors and insomnia go away I would’ve told you it years ago.”

“ I know.”

“And I’m sorry. Not that I yelled. Well yes, that I yelled. But I’m sorry we made you feel like you were alone. Malcolm, you’re getting older and-”

“I know, I need to be more careful. I will. I promise.” Gil turned his body so he was facing him and wiped the remaining tears from the boys face. 

“Let me finish. You’re getting older and we were trying to give you some more space. To grow up, meet people, step out of your comfort zone a bit. You can’t live the rest of your life hanging out with us old folks. But we’re always here for you Malcolm. You’re always welcome in our home and our lives,” he squeezed him into a tight hug to accentuate his point. 

They sat in silence again. A comfortable one.

[ceegeenyan]

Can I please get some tsukishima fluff in the rain with an s/o who LOVES the rain bonus points if u add the karasuno team (who don't know that they are dating) accidently stumbling upon them being cute and shit

HI I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT HERE IT IS OMG I HOPE YOU ENJOY

—

You and Tsukishima have been studying in the café for nearly four hours now and it was starting to hurt his head.

Normally, this amount of reading and rereading would be no problem. He’s done more hours at home and even got to endure countless sleepless nights from juggling club activities and schoolwork, but the mixed smell of bitter drinks and sweet snacks were playing with his senses and distracting him with a throbbing headache. He wondered why you liked studying in cafes so much, but he never asked. He never would, not when you were able to concentrate this much when normally you’d struggle to keep focus on reading one paragraph.

But the headache was getting to him and he hadto leave.

“Hey,” he calls for your attention and you look up from your books. You stare for a second, then smile. He loved it when you smiled like that, but he would never admit it.

“Yes?” The sight of you almost made him forget the pain he was feeling on his head, but not on his back. He wanted to lie down, too.

He frowns. “Can we go? The smell isn’t really… pleasant.”

Your laugh made his heart skip a beat. “I was wondering when you’d cave.”

“So you knew I wouldn’t like it here?”

“You’re my boyfriend,” you grin at him, obviously smug, and he hated it but he loved you. He decided that he kind of hated that, too. “I know you entirely.”

The blond growls under his breath but he knew you could see the warmth forming on his cheeks when he hears your soft giggle. “Come on, Kei.”

—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Tsukishima curses loudly as he hurriedly brings out his umbrella when it suddenly started raining. He rushes to shield you from the rain but you run out, welcoming the cold droplets drenching your body.

You love rain, so much so that no matter how much Tsukishima would talk you into using an umbrella, no matter how much you got sick after, you still ran towards it. Embracing it. It makes you happy, and he loves seeing you happy.

But he, personally, did not like rain.

He calls for your name with a louder volume, his voice almost getting lost over the strong pitter patter of the rain hitting the ground. “You’ll get sick. Again.”

You grin at him and he wanted to punch himself in the gut for wanting to spoil you, for wanting to give you everything that you wanted. “Then I’ll just get better again.”

“It’s cold as hell,” he reasons, “let’s get you home. Quickly.”

“No, thank you!”

He pauses for a second before sighing, utterly defeated. He knew there was no reasoning when it came to you and rain. He’ll just think about the chicken soup that he’ll get for your sick ass tomorrow.

He didn’t notice when you’d stopped moving around. You were still, head facing the sky as you let the rain massage your face. It was a new sight—you were rarely this quiet, so peaceful, especially when it rained. For a second, he was worried, then you turn to look at him.

“…what?”

You smile at him again, warmly this time, and he swore his heart would jump out of his chest at the sight of you.

“Thanks for staying in the café with me even though you didn’t like it.”

He looksto the side, his cheeks stained pink. “It’s nothing.”

He turns his head to watch you as you walk slowly to his direction with a soft smile on your face. “What is it this time?”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“You have bad eyesight, not hearing. Or is that getting difficult for you too?”

“You’re fucking wet.”

“Yes.”

“Have you just completely lost your mind?”

“Come on, let me enjoy the things I love most!”

He blinks. “I think you’ve enjoyed the rain well enough?” It was a statement, but his confusion made it sound like a question.

You scrunch your nose. “Kei, you’re smart but sometimes you can be dumb.”

“What—”

“I meant you, dumbass.”

He stared at you, completely dumbfounded. For a few seconds, your words held no meaning, swimming in his head without proper direction and it almost left the other ear. But when he saw your red face, it all made sense, and it was his turn to blush like a madman. Both of you stared at each other, now with an air of embarrassment and awkwardness, but you held your gaze just as much as he did.And God, you were beautiful in his eyes.

When you spoke, your voice cracked a little. “W-well? Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He decides to tease you, even though he was probably a thing of teasing as well. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you because of my poor hearing.”

You growl.“I said—”

A little too suddenly, his umbrella was forgotten, left to the ground beside his feet. Replacing the object in his hand was now your face, as he pulls you close to him into a kiss. You were the one who asked for it, but he caught you off guard—he was never one to initiate.

Soon, he finds that you’re sinking into the kiss, placing your arms around his neck. In spite of the cold rain hitting both of your bodies, the kiss was warm—hot, even, and it burned his insides to be this close to you, but he loves it. He loves you.

He pullsaway first, taking in a breath. He rests his forehead on yours, his eyes staring deep into yours. His expression softens as he relaxes into your hold, and his hands move to pull your body closer to his as he wraps them around your waist. “We’re both going to get sick and it’s your fault.”

“Shut up, Kei, you liked it.”

Maybe he did.

[sunsetscurving]

Oh, Cruel Fate (Enemies to Lovers AU)

Ch. 5

The Demaurys and the Lallemants had been enemies for over one hundred years. And when Lucas first meets Eliott, he hates him with his whole heart even without knowing him, blaming him and his family for his life which is slowly falling apart. But when they are forced to live alongside in the same surrounding, something is changing between them. And this scares Lucas more than anything else.

Eliott stared at his phone, rereading the messages between Lucas and him over and over. He drove a hand through his messy hair, biting his lip slowly while his eyes scanned the messages, burning from the brightness of the screen.

He really hates me.

But that didn’t stop Eliott from worrying. He knew that Lucas didn’t feel very well in the last days, he looked tired and done with life in general. And every time, Lucas spotted Eliott in the hallway, he took a turn and walked into the other direction, desperate to get out of his way, as if Eliott would bring back memories which Lucas wanted to repress so badly.

Eliott didn’t even know why he cared at all.

Lucas Lallemant was his enemy. He was the boy his parents warned him about his whole childhood. But Eliott was always a very curious boy. The more his parents talked about this Lucas Lallemant, the more research Eliott did on the other boy, slowly getting more and more interested in Lucas as a person, not as his personal enemy.

As his parents told him that he would change schools and be in the same classes as Lucas Lallemant, Eliott didn’t even know what to say. His parents wanted him to investigate about his current life situation, about the Lallemants in general through this and Eliott was too tired to argue about all of this again and again and again. He would lose that fight nevertheless.

But when Lucas told him about his mum, Eliott was shocked. This was new to him, something he didn’t know before, something not even the media knew. And although he promised his parents to act as their spy, to tell them about everything he found out, he wouldn’t tell them a word about this.  He was done with this stupid feud and this bullshit.

And he promised Lucas not to tell anyone about their… conversation.

Well, you couldn’t call it a conversation when one was silent and the other one was screaming at you. Like all of their real life conversations went till yet. But Lucas was sad and desperate, his life was falling apart. And Eliott couldn’t blame him for talking to him like that, his family being the reason for all of this.

Eliott grabbed his caramel bomber jacket, walking out of his room and straight to the main door of his house.

He made his decision.

“Eliott? Where are you going?”

“I’m joining my friends on a party.”

He stopped in the doorway, looking over his shoulder to see his mum watching him from the sofa in the living room. She looked at him, knowing that he usually didn’t went out in the middle of a school week.

Knowing that something was off.

“I’m going to be back soon. I just… have to meet someone.”

His mum slowly nodded and turned around, facing the TV again. Eliott was glad that his parents trusted him and he pulled out his phone again, opening Instagram, as he went off into the dark of the night.

Lucas was drunk as hell and no one at the party would be sober enough to tell Lucas to go the fuck home.

Why the fuck am I doing this. You are so dumb, Eliott.

Yeah, he really was dumb. He couldn’t explain to himself why he wanted Lucas to be safe. Why he had a really bad feeling about this night. Maybe he felt responsible for the boy, after what his family did to him. Maybe he developed some kind of protective sense over Lucas, wanting to keep him safe from the cruelty of life because he already had too much weight to carry on his tiny, little shoulders. Maybe he wished that someone would do the same for him someday. Maybe he was just stupid.

You are supposed to hate him.

Yes, he was supposed to hate him.

But that ship had already sailed.

.

Lucas danced as if this would be the last night of his life. If he would die tonight, he wouldn’t care at all. His senses were blurred, the music and the bass were vibrating in his bones and he screamed the lyrics together with Yann, Arthur and Basile. The other boys were already too drunk to realize that Lucas had had enough. Clearly enough. Instead, they passed around the bottle and the joint, Lucas taking a deep drag, letting the smoke fill his mouth, his lungs and his mind.

“Lucas, someone is watching you”, slurred Yann and pointed with his head behind Lucas. Lucas stumbled as he tried to throw a gaze over his shoulder. A young man in his age was watching him, a knowing smile on his face. And Lucas smiled back, maybe a bit dumb, but he did it nevertheless.

“I’m on a mission, mes amis. Don’t follow me, the master is doing his work now.”

The others laughed as Lucas made his way to the other boy, not asking too many questions before dancing with him, his arms thrown around the other boys neck. He didn’t even know his name, but his eyes and his messy hair reminded him of someone.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere more private”, Lucas slurred and pulled the other boy with him, winking at his friends as he passed them. He needed love, affection, something to hold onto. This boy was there in the right place to the right time.

Everything in this apartment was too loud, too hot, too much. And Lucas enjoyed this feeling of not being himself, of losing slowly but surely control, forgetting every thought which roomed through his mind for at least a moment. He pulled the other boy into the corridor, pushing him against the wall before their lips locked together.

They were having an intense make-out session, the boy slowly sliding his hand into Lucas’ pants, as Lucas suddenly felt strange.

“Wait…”

Lucas pulled away, the other boy looking confused.

“What’s wrong? Are you—”

The stranger couldn’t finish his thoughts because Lucas, shuddered, buckled over and threw up onto the shoes of the other boy.

Oh, shit.

Lucas felt absolutely terrible, a big headache forming at the back of his head. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking up to the other boy who had gone rigid.

Lucas was sorry, he really was. The alcohol in his blood was way too much, he was high and his head felt numb and dizzy.

And despite all of that, he started to laugh.

Shut up, you stupid prick.

But he couldn’t. The other one looked at him and his face grew angrier with every passing second. And with every passing second, Lucas had to laugh more.

This was possible the low of his life.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” The stranger screamed at him, coming closer, ready to fight this off right here, as Lucas felt a hand on his arm, pulling him out of the other ones reach.

“I think it’s better for you to go now.”

Lucas heard a familiar voice near his ear but he couldn’t put a finger on who it was just now.

“No, let me go. I’m having a lot of fun here!”

“You can have fun another time.”

He tried to twist out of this grasp, but the hand only grabbed him tighter, pulling him away from this whole scene. The boy he just made out with stormed off to his other friends, probably spreading rumors by this second. Lucas would regret a lot of decision tonight, the newspapers and social media accounts reminding him of the embarrassing night with a lot of reports and photos from random people.

“What the fuck do you—”

Lucas turned around and froze as he looked into the eyes of his opponent.

“Eliott.”

He just said his name, dumbly as fuck, slurring the syllables of his name together.

“Didn’t I told you that you are not invited?”

Eliott was raising his eyebrows, looking down at Lucas, who was much smaller than him. Eliott looked like he ran all the way to this party, his cheeks slightly tinted pink and his breath a bit faster than it was usual.

“Do you think I care?” Eliott said while hiding his real emotions. Maybe he wasn’t hiding his emotions at all and Lucas was just too drunk to read him and his facial expressions. His face seemed slightly blurred to Lucas.

“Well, you do seem to care about me. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. But if you just came  to bring me home, then you are a fool. A foooooooool.”

He poked Eliott into his chest, stumbling while doing so and nearly finding himself in Eliotts arms.

“But let me tell you some news, I can walk home. Alone. All by myself.”

Lucas was grinning and came close to Eliotts face, looking him into the eyes.

“Without the help from you, you pretty, stupid boy.”

Amusement flickered over Eliotts face and Lucas took some steps backwards, steading himself on the wall with one hand.

“And I think I’m gonna do just that. Going home. Without you.”

Lucas would never admit that Eliott was right with his assumption so he pretended that going home was his own decision and his own idea only. He didn’t want to puke on any other boys shoes, to be honest, so it maybe was really time to stop the night right here. His brain couldn’t find an explanation why Eliott was here, though. He couldn’t be here only because he realized from the chats between them that Lucas was drunk and needed someone to bring him home.

And Lucas was a grown-up man. He didn’t need anyone.

“So, good night. It was not nice to see you.”

“Lucas?”

Lucas nearly was out of the door, pushing past other people. He turned around as he heard his name, aware of the fact that Eliott was still watching him.

“Huh?”

“Your shoes.”

A ghost of a smile was now on Eliotts face and Lucas looked down at himself.

“Oh.”

He wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“This was intentionally. Totally intentionally.”

Lucas looked around, starting to rummage through the pile of shoes at the entrance door.

“I’m sure that I saw them somewhe – ah, here they are.”

He pulled them out from the stack. It took him way longer than expected to put on his shoes and to tie the laces. Only at the third attempt, he finally managed a proper ribbon.

All this time, Eliott was watching him, leaning against a wall.

“Don’t you have something else to do?” Lucas slurred at him and looked up, sitting on the floor like a little boy, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Oh, I think this is the perfect entertainment”, Eliott responded while not being able to hold back his grin anymore.

“Well, your entertainment is leaving now. Goodnight.”

Lucas got up slowly, his vision sliding in and out while his head was spinning. He couldn’t even walk straight anymore and he was sure that he was never that drunk before in his life.

“Goodnight.”

Lucas looked around one last time at Eliott who still stood at the wall, the colorful light of the party illuminating his face, making his beautiful eyes stand out even more.

“Putain”, Lucas whispered. Stop being so pretty, for god’s sake.

He turned around and left, trying not to fall down the stairs while making his way out. The cold night air hit him like a hammer and as he looked around, he realized that he had no fucking clue where he came from nor where he had to go to.

“Luckily, Paris isn’t dangerous at night”, he chuckled to himself and took off into some random direction.

In a sober state, Lucas would know that in some places, Paris was very dangerous at night.