#I am once again thinking about totally trucked

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Perfect Gentleman

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Spencer is the perfect gentleman for you, in every way that counts.

Square Filled: spiderman kiss for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

It’s hard to find a good man these days. All of your ex-boyfriends had something wrong with them in one way, shape, or form. Either they always thought of themselves, always put you second, or were total douchebags and dicks. You almost swore off men completely until you met Dr. Spencer Reid.

He is the perfect gentleman. He is nothing like what you’ve experienced before. He always puts you first, always thinks of you, and never has made you feel less than not even once. He made you feel safe and that’s all you ever wanted in a man.

The weather is nice enough to allow you to walk to your favorite coffee place rather than drive there. The street isn't too busy with cars but that doesn’t mean you’ll stop exercising caution when walking on the sidewalk. Spencer is walking on the left side while you’re on the inside of the curb, and you look at him with a smile.

The sun hits his face just right, giving his flawless skin a slight shimmer. God, how did you ever get so lucky to land a man like him?

You look behind you to see the street empty and you smirk to yourself. You let go of Spencer’s hand and make it look like you’re fixing something in your hair when you slow down enough to fall behind, and you switch sides with him so that you're walking on the outer side of the sidewalk, closest to the street.

“Ha, ha, very funny. Get back over here,” Spencer chuckles.

“What? I want to walk on the left side this time.”

“No, you’re going to walk on the right side and let me protect you. Come on, I don’t want to have to throw you over my shoulder.”

“Tempting,” you giggle.

“What if someone wants to kidnap you? They have easy access to do it.”

“What if they decide to kidnap you?”

“A beanstalk like me? Nah, only the pretty girls like you. Come on, get over here.”

You smile and comply with his request, getting back on the right side of the sidewalk. Spencer takes your hand in his and kisses your palm.

Even when he doesn’t try to be a gentleman, it comes out naturally. He is always looking for ways to make your life easier because he doesn’t want to see you overworking yourself. He loves you too much to see you put yourself through that.

Moving day is finally here. You and Spencer will be together without worrying about time or whether or not you have to go home for things. You two are moving into his apartment; nothing ever felt more right.

You got out your lease a month early and packed up all your shit, now all that’s left to do is take all the boxes out of the moving truck and put it inside his place.

He jogs down the stairs after bringing a box up and sees you struggling to pick up the box full of your books. You made it light enough for you to carry but not heavy enough to put it on a dolly. The only problem you’re having is picking it up off the ground.

“Nope, let me do this one.”

“Spencer, I am perfectly capable of doing this.”

“Darling, what if you trip and crack your head open on the stairs? No, I’m doing it.”

“Okay, what if you do that?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me,” He kisses you quickly and takes out his wallet. He takes out forty bucks and hands it over to you. “Call JJ and Penelope. I hear they have a new coffee shop in town.”

“No, I can’t leave you to do this by yourself.”

“I’ll be okay. I can call Derek if I need help. Go. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Again, how did you get so lucky to snag him?

Spencer always makes it his mission to make sure you’re comfortable no matter what you two go. It could be the briefing room or on the plane and he'd make sure you have a pillow for the flight or back support for your chair. It could also be him making sure your bath water is at the right temperature for a relaxing night in.

In order to catch the unsub red-handed, the team has to attend this elegant party that he is hosting. His MO is finding rich couples to lure upstairs where he’d drug both of them and strip them of all their valuables before killing them. Hotch theorizes that he’s here tonight about to do the same thing.

You and Spencer arrive at the party first, and you step out of the limo Hotch rented for you. If the unsub is going to think you’re rich, you need to arrive in a limo. However, you didn’t judge the weather properly. You thought it was going to be a lot warmer than it is. A shiver runs down your spine and Spencer notices goosebumps on your arm.

You’re wearing a royal purple strapless dress that goes down to your calves with a sequin lining on the outside. Spencer doesn’t think you can get even more beautiful than you are now.

“Here, take my jacket.”

He strips off his outer jacket before you have a chance to protest.

“No, Spencer, it’s okay. I’m fine,” you say even as he’s draping his jacket over your shoulders.

Damn, this jacket smells just like him and it’s warming your heart as much as it’s warming your skin.

“Take it. You’re cold.”

“Now you’ll be cold.”

“Don’t worry about me. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

It’s the way he said it that makes you want to cry out of pure happiness. He makes you so happy that sometimes, he feels like a dream.

One of Spencer’s favorite games is finding new ways to kiss you. He loves the traditional kiss but also loves Eskimo kisses, butterfly kisses, palm kisses, neck kisses, and your personal favorite, Spider-Man kisses. He never tells you when he’s going to do them because he loves seeing the blush on your cheeks whenever he pulls away from you.

“I know Hotch says he wants us to come up with a game plan on how to catch the unsub, but I think our resources are better spent finding his next victim. If we can pinpoint the kind of women he likes to target, we can be better prepared for when he strikes next.”

You and JJ are trying to come up with a way to stop this sunubs before he hurts any more people ad she is agreeing with your plan a lot more than Hotch’s. He’ll understand why you had to go this way once you catch the unsub.

“If this doesn’t work, I already have Morgan and Prentiss working on Hotch’s plan.”

“Thank you,” you breathe a sigh of relief. “Now, how should we go about this?”

Spencer walks into the bullpen with two cups of coffee when he sees the worry lines on your forehead. Hotch has been showing down on you recently so you’re just trying to do your best not to piss him off more than you already have. He sets both coffees on his desk and walks over to yours without letting you know he’s there.

When he gets to you, he gently grabs your hair and pulls your head back to kiss you Spider-Man style. The tension from your shoulders immediately dissipates and all that you can think of is Spencer. He knows you and JJ are working hard so he keeps the kiss short and sweet but nothing less than passionate.

When he pulls away, he sees the slight blush on your cheeks that makes him smile.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you, too.”

Spencer always had your well-being in mind both physically and mentally. It doesn’t matter where you are or if you’re without him. He will make sure that you’re safe at all times because he knows the worst thing can happen in the blink of an eye.

You: I’m getting gas. Be home shortly.

You’re not even out of the car when you get a reply back.

Spencer: DON’T MOVE. I’LL BE RIGHT THERE.

At first, you’re confused as to why he’s coming down here when you’re almost home. Maybe he has something to give you and can’t wait? Did he forget something and need your car to go get it? Whatever the reason, you can’t sit at this gas station all day and wait for him to show up. There are people waiting to use the pump.

You leave your car and put in your card to pay for it when Spencer’s car practically comes speeding into the gas station. He parks off to the side, gets out, and jogs over to you.

“Did you speed all the way over here?”

“Get in the car. I’ll do this.”

He hates you already put your card in, but he’ll send you money for however much the gas is.

“What are you doing?”

“Pouring my girl’s gas for her. This thing is filthy and you can get sick. Or you can fall victim to a robbery. Or someone can kidnap you. Just sit back and let me do my job.”

He kisses you and takes the pump out of the slot.

“You drove ten miles from our warm apartment just to pump my gas for me?”

“Yes. Get in the car.”

You’d have melted into a puddle if it weren't so damn cold outside.

Spencer never once puts himself first because, to him, you’re his entire world. He takes care of what he loves and that would be solely you.

Derek had invited you two to a dinner party he and Savannah are hosting at their house along with JJ and Will and Kevin and Penelope. It’s a couples night which is why Emily wasn’t invited. Though, you did promise her a girls’ night tomorrow. She preferred to stay in anyway, so she’s not too upset over not being invited.

Spencer arrives at Derek’s house and turns off the car after parking it. You unbuckle your seatbelt and grip the door handle to get out when Spencer shouts at you.

“Wait!” You jump in surprise and watch as he gets out and rushes over to your side of the car. He fixes his tie in the reflection of the car’s window before opening your door for you. “M’lady.”

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you grin and grab his outstretched hand. He helps you out of the car and closes the door behind you. “Are you going to do this every time we go somewhere?”

“Why wouldn't I?” Years of broken boyfriends have wired your brain to think this behavior is weird. However, Spencer is starting to fix that. “Have I told you that you look absolutely stunning?”

“Every day,” you smile.

“Good. I don’t want you to forget it.”

How could you when you have a man like Spencer Reid?

x

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[frudoo]

For the slasher 141 AU, imagine they didn’t find the guy. He lays low, evading police and CPS until they eventually lose interest, or another case “takes priority” (AKA they can sweep it under the rug.)

141 lies waiting, but maybe it slips their minds, until John gets a call that reader’s been attacked by the guy, or maybe it’s a hostage situation type deal where he has reader and her class under duress while making orders. Does reader dare to try and fight back, knowing her class and the legal trouble it could bring? Does she pretend to comply, until she can overpower him?

Alternatively, 141 using her as bait (consensually ofc) to lure a notorious abuser out of hiding that goes horribly wrong. Love your AU!

I am kissing your brain right now anon

Reader gets some more backstory <3

Part 2 to this.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Mentions of abuse. Brief mention of teen pregnancy, forced miscarriage, infertility, hysterectomy. Cancer. Cliffhanger ending (sorry!).

“Faster, bitch!”

     You grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched shut. You want nothing more than to smart off to him, but you know better than that. With four armed and dangerous men of your own, you’d think that they would have taught you to check your surroundings at all times, or at the very least to always lock your damn car. You thought it was harmless—all you had to do was run back inside the building to grab your lunchbox you’d left by accident. How were you supposed to know that someone with a vendetta would sneak into your backseat?

     You had forgotten all about the situation for the most part—Oliver had been coming to your class like normal, happy and unscathed, and his mom had been picking him up with no issue. Maybe that’s why you’d assumed the police had taken his father into custody, or that the man simply just didn’t want to come after you. That theory has been completely obliterated, now, with his knife to your neck, barking orders in your ear. 

     “Are you deaf? I said faster!” He’s erratic, positively irate, and you can feel the cool blade pressing harder against your throat. 

     He’s been screaming at you to take him to his wife’s house, and you plan to do just that. You know for a fact that Oliver’s mother has taken him to her parents’ house because she felt unsafe at her own—too many bad memories and the nagging fear that her husband may come back—and for good reason, apparently. The house is totally empty.

     “I’m trying not to get pulled over,” you say plainly, willing yourself not to wince as he leans in closer, hot breath puffing against the side of your face.

     “Whatever. Just- just fucking get there.”

     The man leans back once more, but he’s getting more and more anxious by the second, frantically checking his phone and tapping his leg nervously. You use his distraction as an opportunity to pull out your own cell, quickly searching for one of your lovers’ contacts. You land on John’s, cautiously typing out an SOS and sending it. There’s a read receipt immediately and you know John is already tracking your location, making Simon start the truck and gathering up the other two. 

     You hide your phone before the fuming man behind you can see what you’ve been doing and pray that Simon’s reckless driving will get them at the house around the same time as you do. Your heart and head are pounding with irritation and, for the first time in a while, true fear. 

     Suddenly, you feel like you’re sixteen again, with your father pressing the tip of his blade into your pregnant belly. You can still hear his voice berating you, calling you words no daughter should ever hear from her father. You can still feel the excruciating pain of the bowie penetrating your abdomen right where your womb sat. You can still remember driving yourself to the hospital and being told that you’d lost your baby, and as a result of the knife wound, would never be able to conceive again. There’s emptiness where your uterus should be, loss where there should have been life. Your boyfriend at the time left you after finding out about your hysterectomy. 

     Sometimes you wish you could have been the one to kill your father. Not the stupid fucking cancer that slowly made him hate you less and less as he got weaker. The sickness seemed to take all the spite in his heart and manifest it into a malignant tumor in his pancreas. The doctors found the mass too late, just like your father found some twisted form of love for you far too long after he ruined you. You didn’t have control over his fate, but you do have control over the piece of shit behind you.

     It’s another fifteen minutes of being threatened before you finally make it to the house, and your heart drops when you realize that your boys aren’t there yet. Your mind starts racing—what if they got pulled over? What if they got into a wreck? You don’t know what the hell you’d do without them, especially not now, as the man is dragging you out of the car and forcing you inside the house with him. Thankfully, it’s empty as you expected, but that just infuriates Oliver’s dad more. 

     “Where the fuck are they?” He grabs you by the throat, spittle spraying across your face in his rage. 

     “I don’t know,” you whimper.

     You’re cursing yourself for showing him just how scared you are. He can practically smell your anxiety and it fuels his ego, makes him squeeze your neck so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. You’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that this is more than likely where you’ll die, with no courage rising up from your belly and none of your boys to have your back. Maybe it’s a fitting end—your father coming back in a different body to finish the job he was too weak to complete all those years ago. 

     “I think you do,” he hisses, tightening his hand and effectively cutting off your air supply.

     Your vision goes spotty and then black, gasping for breath but not even bothering to fight back. At worst, your death will alert the police and your lovers won’t even get to see your body for the last time as you’re dragged to the morgue. At best, the boys will finally show up and get rid of this fucker, albeit too late to save you, but at least they’ll get to see you and take you back home to lay you to rest. Your absence may hurt for a while but things would inevitably go back to normal—and your sweet little kiddos at the daycare. They’re still so young that they won’t remember you after a while, and you take comfort in that fact as you slowly lose consciousness.

     You don’t feel your body hit the ground.

[andrea-lyn]

Roswell New Mexico - Master Fic Rec Post

See under the cut for thirty-four total recs, predominantly Malex. There's also 10 additional in the "Recs Less Travelled" project here.

a few drinks and some conversation by @christchex

Michael Guerin makes a friend who isn’t his sibling, an ex, or a sibling’s ex.

Astriferous Sea by hrhbrittany, Sismyn

Alex has always been the baby among the sirens in the Dead Sea. Michael is performing beard services for his sister. Communication is a little wishy-washy.

This AU came out of nowhere and smacked me right with the ‘I’ve always wanted this and I just never knew’. It has sirens and rescues and bad guys and false relationships and real marriages and rings and drama and romance. It honestly reminds me (in the best way) of an exciting romance novel and I’m so jazzed there’s still one part left to it.

The Bachelor by Sweetgirl2019

After the events of high school, Michael, Isobel & Max moved to California while Liz, Maria & Kyle stayed in Roswell and Alex went to war overseas. Once his enlistment period ends, Alex gets thrown into something that brings him and Michael back together again.

So I think this might be my favourite to see updated right now. It should be a run-of-the-mill fluffy AU, yet the author threw this incredible curveball by using the alien background in a canon divergence to turn The Bachelor into both a romantic dramedy for the boys, but also keeping the looming threat of people finding out about aliens in the background. Also, I think this is top tier pining that you will actively feel in your own chest, that’s how good it is. 

blink back to let me know by haloud - Roswell New Mexico

Alex doesn’t have important conversations over the phone when he can avoid them. It feels too much like going in blind. But in some ways, the phone makes it easier–it’s easier to break when no one’s looking.

It’s Mylex and the 5th in a series, and every part is worth reading, but I definitely re-read parts 4 and 5 a lot. It’s so well written and the dynamic is mwah and I love how Kyle fits into this. One of my favourite pieces in this is how Kyle reacts to his father in relation to Michael & Caulfield and it’s an amazing read.

built this house on memories by @villanellve

He wakes up eight years in the future, and everything is strange, but Alex is there.

YOU GUYS. If you were to write a list of tropes I adore, this would be way up there at the top because of how much I love it. I am a sucker for a character having to be removed from their situation to learn (whether it’s an alternate universe or the future or the past), but this one is so achingly painful and perfect and hopeful. I love the callout that the situation is almost too hard for Alex, I love the resolution at the end on Michael’s part, and you could just soak in the happiness and comfort of their future lives if you let yourself.

Can’t Get No by one_flying_ace

“They’re on round two already,” he says, tilting his head towards the truck again, “or maybe three.” Guerin grimaces, and that’s fair; it’s his brother, after all. “You know how they’re feeling. Could I handle it, if you stopped-” being in control, he doesn’t say, but Guerin shudders. “I’m good, Alex. Just keep the hell away.” (Or: alien sex rocks don’t make them do it, but they sure do help.)

Sex pollen/sex-or-die fics are pretty much a requirement, but this is my absolute favourite and I have re-read it more times than I can tell you (let’s put it at six or seven?) The restraint that Michael has in this is amazing, but the mental images of it are incredible as well. I loved Max and Liz’s secondary presence as well and how each character was tonally perfect down to the little things (like Max not noticing Michael’s sex marks). What a good. What a hot. What amazing.

Constant as the Northern Star by celzmccelz

Michael stares at Kyle. “But I’m a guy! How can I be pregnant?” Kyle looks embarrassed. “Well, you appear to have a fully functioning set of female reproductive organs—or, I mean, like, the kind of reproductive organs that are associated with a double X-chromosome in humans, so I’d assume that you probably became pregnant when semen was introduced into your reproductive tract—” “Jesus Christ, Kyle!” says Michael. He could have happily lived the rest of his life without ever hearing Kyle Valenti say the words “semen” and “reproductive tract.” Kyle’s eyes widen. “Have you been having unprotected sex?” “Oh my God, I am not having this conversation with you!”

Yes, going in, there are some warnings to be cognizant of. It’s mpreg, there’s a lot of medical stuff to go through, but I think this is my absolute favourite of the mpregs I’ve read and it actually comes down to Michael’s support system outside of Alex, namely in Kyle. There’s no sudden BFF bracelets being given, but that morality that makes Kyle Valenti who he is, that’s right there. Also, given that this is an mpreg fic, it delves into family and plot in a way that I haven’t often seen. Plus, you get the ‘getting back together’ Malex that I so deeply crave.

Contigo me encontré by beautifulcheat (Katalyst), ladynox

The Lockhart House was once a home, although it was never a happy one. Steeped in tragedy, it still stands today, in the heart of Old Town Roswell, attracting ghost hunters and those seeking to catch a peak of something from beyond the veil.

Contrary to popular myth, it wasn’t currently haunted (except by one paranormally talented docent). It was Michael’s favorite job and the best part of his summer home from UNM. Or at least was until Alex Manes was hired to man the gift shop, complicating an otherwise fun and easy job.

everywhere on earth you go - @evepolastried

Across the room, he can still see how Michael Guerin is looking at him. And that’s something different, something new, something so very familiar. The thrill of nerves, of guilt, of want. Alex smiles, and he starts to sing. (OR: Alex Manes grabs his guitar and gets the hell out of Roswell in 2008, and he leaves behind a letter. Here’s what happens ten years later)

I love this. This one has something incredible, and it’s something I called out, but it has this amazing work with pace. There’s a frantic moment at the bar and it’s chaos, and you feel it. It’s rushed and wild and crazy, but then everything slows down and it gets perfect. There’s Michael, there’s Alex, there’s music, and it’s such a great ride.

Family Matters by @bestillmyslashyheart

Isobel is telepathic. Most of the time she ignores it. She used to pick up on other’s people’s emotions but she’s long since learned to tune that out. Until one night she can’t. Someone, somewhere is in such a state that it’s spilling over and she’s left to deal with the brunt of it. Or, Michael keeps things close to the vest until he can’t. The night after Alex leaves him at the drive-in, everything he’s feeling bubbles up inside until it spills over onto Isobel. Suddenly he’s left with no other choice but to open up.

This is an early fandom piece, but I still think it’s held up to an immensely amazing rate. Not only that, but I love how it delves into powers, Michael and Isobel’s relationship, and the incredible idea of spillover, which I still actively wish would become canon because of this fic. I think it’s so IC, especially with Michael’s active wish not to talk about it that he screws himself over in his sleep and seriously, it’s such a good read for both Isobel & Michael stuff, but also Michael & Alex.

the first who ever did - nostaljinks

Five times Michael saves Alex + 1 time Alex saves Michael back.

I feel like there aren’t enough words that I can heap onto this of praise. This fic is well-written, well-plotted, well-thought out, well-everything. It’s a beautiful emotional roller coaster and will make you ACHE, but in a great way. It also is the right amount of long that you want more, but you also get it, and it’s just as quality as the rest. ABSOLUTE must read.

fish bowl by @sabrinachill

Alex makes a series of phone calls and bad choices that lead him directly here — an Airstream on the edge of a junkyard with a distractingly attractive mechanic showing him how the dining table converts into a bed that he can sleep on for just $75 a week. It is, of course, completely absurd. But there’s something cozy about the fuzzy yellow blanket on the bed/table and the sparkling sunlight streaming through the mostly-clean windows, in the smell of leather and motor oil and aftershave and summer storms, in the hopeful half-smile on Michael’s face. That’s his name — Michael. Alex’s potential new roommate and landlord. (AKA An AU About Quarantined Roommates Who Fall in Love)

I highly recommend anything by @sabrinachill, but this fic is a really clear argument about why. It’s an AU that involves quarantine, and you might think ‘oh, I’ve read that before’, but then it will take you down the unexpected road that you didn’t expect to go down, but as soon as you take that twist, you instantly realize how much better it is that way. Hats off to the clever plotting not just in Fish Bowl, but other fics! 

Funny How Things Never Change - @waroftheposes​

“What can I do for you?” Michael asks, turning to face Alex. Alex can tell the moment that Michael’s mind registers who he’s addressing, because the polite smile drops from his face and the hat falls from his hand. He stands there, eyes wide and unbelieving, looking at Alex. Alex takes a deep breath, willing his racing heart to settle. “Well,” he begins and is his voice shaking? “For starters you can get your stubborn ass over here and give me a divorce.” – (A Sweet Home Alabama AU)

Yooooo, guess who was bereft when she thought she lost this link. It was absolutely me. This AU makes me happy in so many ways, especially the storms in the desert motif that keeps coming back around, and also that it’s messy. I like that it’s not cut and dry, that it goes right up until the wedding, and that it takes some real talk for them to get back together. I love fics where they all get to be human and this one is just so good. 

I Know Nothing Stays The Same by aewriting

“Alex doesn’t believe in miracles until one happens to him. His father has a hammer in one hand and Alex’s throat in the other. As Alex’s consciousness fades, he’s dimly aware of movement. His father’s about to swing the hammer, and this is how Alex will die.” When an unexplainable force puts a stop to Jesse’s attack in the shed, Alex and Michael are forced to go on the run. Leaving Roswell is an easy decision, but navigating the consequences of that choice months and even years later proves to be much more complicated.

I think this one became a must read very early on, but then it’s continued to deliver. There’s been a few stories that delve into the characters getting therapy, but there’s a whole chapter here where it genuinely feels cathartic as we go through the process with Alex. This fic also is an excellent and long version of an AU I think that we’ve all wondered, about what would happen if they ran away, and it’s so well written and so real that I know I will be re-reading this a ton. Like many of the others, why I love it is because it’s not perfection, but it’s the kind of real where I want to wrap myself up in it. 

i won’t go, i can’t do it on my own by @queersirius

alex tries to let go by giving back the pieces of michael he’s kept

Millie has a bunch of AMAZING AUs (guys, the 10 Things I Hate About You is something I never thought I’d get, especially from a favourite author), but i think this one is actually my favourite, especially when it comes to the ship piece that Alex has. Again, when I talk about ‘fics that make me want to be better’, this one was one. The writing is engaging, the characterization is fabulous, and the emotions are so honest and real. Then there’s this line, like a gut punch:  “Because it’s the last thing I have of you,” he admits. “The last piece of you I have to let go of.” which I love because it’s still Alex’s journey, an honest attempt to offer closure (if closure is wanted). 

in some other life - @spaceskam​

michael tries to build a time machine, but ends up in a different reality all together

There are a lot of these that have been written and they are all quality, but I love this one especially because of how we get into Alex in the other universe, get the glimpse of this unknown Michael, but also the scene that strikes this one out for me is that Alex doesn’t want to let him go. I love that Alex gets to be selfish, that he begs for him to stay, and that we don’t get the automatic happy ending in that, but there’s still the hope for it. Also, Alex the Angel, unf. 

intimate encounters of the third kind by @alexmanes

Three years after Antar and its people take Earth under their wings, Roswell becomes the epicenter for human-alien relations between both planets. It doesn’t take very long for Alex Manes to find himself embroiled in a scandal that threatens this intergalactic partnership, all thanks to a beautiful man named Michael Guerin who is not nearly as human as he claims to be.

Okay, so, if you like No Love Like Your Love, the truth is that you have this fic to thank. This was my first introduction in RNM fandom as to what a really amazing fic could be that incorporated the royalty elements into the pairing. Once 1x12 aired and we met Michael’s mother, it was pretty much a done deal that I wanted to do something that played with that, but this is the actual inspiration. It’s well plotted, it has a great ensemble cast, and plays with the kind of care that it takes to know your plot inside and out, but also to leave breadcrumbs that guide the reader along. It’s very methodical in the sense that nothing is by accident and it has you on the edge of your seat.

It’s a long road back to you by @magsthemagical

Michael finds out that Alex is dating Forrest and he’s okay with it, until he’s not. Maria suggests a double date to show they can all hang out as friends. But they can’t… not really. [OR the one where Michael & Alex realize that they belong together and so they say goodbye to their respective relationships and start anew]

Honest truth time - in terms of ‘ships, while I always love people to ship and let ship, my personal preference for both Michael and Alex is one another, so both Maria/Michael and Forrest/Alex aren’t things that I usually seek out when trawling Ao3. This fic is so good to all parties involved. No one is a villain and I appreciate that they get to talk about things like Alex’s reticence to do certain things in public, but also being aware that Alex deserves to have something new as much as Michael.

Last Stop: This Town by @ubiestcaelum

Someone asked what it would have been like if Michael had gone home with the Evan’s and I couldn’t let it go.

Am I cheating because I requested this? idk, maybe, because another one I requested will end up here too. I am addicted to the idea of Michael getting the support system he needs, but THIS FIC takes it to the most impossibly amazing level and fleshes out the Evans parents in such an incredible way. I love that it’s not super sunshine and rainbows, but it’s an honest telling of raising kids (and maybe too many kids versus what you expected). I know this is only in progress (several today will be), but even as it is, it’s worth reading multiple times, because I know I have.

let me count the ways by @queersirius

liz ortecho isn’t allowed to date until her snarky, determined-not-to-date brother, alex ortecho, does. luckily, one of her suitors has a plan. well, max goes to isobel for a plan, which involves getting their brother, michael, to woo alex. or, the 10 things i hate about you AU

Obviously this needs to be here as I desperately pleaded for it to exist, but it’s so beyond what it might be as a mini tumblr ficlet and has become a whole world. It’s not just a great Malex story, it’s an amazing story for all the characters and really fleshes out a world, but weaves in the RNM characters perfectly, but also gives me a dynamic I want more of, in Alex being an Ortecho. It’s not quite finished yet, but Millie has never steered us wrong and I can’t wait for more.

Loathly by @aewriting

When King Manes and his sons are caught illegally hunting on Antarian lands, King Noah gives King Manes a choice - correctly answer a riddle or accept death. A year-long search for the correct answer ensues, leading the youngest son of the king, Alex, to strike a bargain with a mysterious woman who claims to know the answer. This is an AU of the Arthurian legend “Sir Gawain and the Dame Ragnell.”

Love at First Sass - @daffietjuh

Taking a class of 30 high school kids on a school trip to an Air Force base was about as exhausting as it sounds, luckily, the Captain giving them the tour is perfectly capable of handling a group of rowdy teenagers. Michael may be slightly in love Okay, so first of all, if you haven’t read any of the author’s other work, you should. The AUs are fantastic and the hockey one is still one of my favourites ever, but this one also just was exactly what I needed. It was sexy and flirty and fun, but also fit their personalities perfectly!

Everything in the Michael Sanders AU, by prouvaireafterdark which is a fantastic series that gives us what we all wanted, which is Walt Sanders giving Michael the home he deserved (and getting one right back).

My love is a life taker by @jocarthage

By the time he turned 15, Captain Alex Manes had been to every war zone and unofficial conflict the United States of America was involved in. It wasn’t regular practice, or even heard of, for a Colonel to bring his son along on combat missions; the exception was if the child had been identified as Time Aware, able to travel in time along their own timeline using stolen alien technology. So here Alex Manes was, 28, and ducking bombs, killing who he’s told to. On his way back from a mission, Alex slips into another timestream. It should be impossible. But he can hear a child crying and he heads towards the sound. This is the story of how Alex saved Michael and Michael saved Alex, with lots of time travel shenanigans and angst.

This story is incredible for so many reasons and one of them I continue to praise is the balance. It’s an Alex driven story, but you can break his life down into friends, mission, family, and Michael, and often those elements combine, but there’s never any update that doesn’t give you enough (imo). It’s excellent writing with engaging OCs and wonderful plot, and the most incredible love story.

not in this world (or the next) by @hannah-writes

It isn’t until he realises he can’t find the keys for his fucking truck anywhere and that there’s mail on the table addressed to Mr M Evans that Noah called him ‘Evans’, too. He fumbles inside the wallet that he’d managed to locate and pulls out a New Mexico licence with his picture on it; he doesn’t have a black eye and a split lip in this one, his hair’s tamed and he doesn’t look like he’s gone three days without showering. His date of birth is stamped, clear and correct, but then where his name should read ‘Michael Guerin’, it reads “Michael Evans’ and the address registered on the license is that of Max and Isobel’s childhood home. Noah had also said ‘your mom’s’. Not ‘Mrs Evans’. It feels like a bucket of ice water’s dumped over his head as he finally accepts that something is very, very wrong. (aka, the fic spawned from a tumblr prompt about Michael waking up in a parallel reality.)

This one, guys. This is an absolute beast of angst and love and a really well plotted story, but also is really amazing for how it creates Mikey, but also creates motive behind what drives both Michael and Mikey in ways that are the same, but also different. Genuinely, this fic is a great read because you get so much attention to the characters while also driving along the relationships, and who they are. 

nursery sharks by christchex

Six firsts in the Sanders household and a second.

Otherwise Engaged by JustAsSweet

Alex Manes was perfectly happy with his job at Colden Records but when his visa is rejected and deportation looms, marrying his assistant Michael Evans is his only option. And when they make a trip to Alaska to see Michael’s family, everything becomes a lot more complicated.

AKA: The Proposal AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway.

Shadow Work - @myrmidryad

After his discharge from the Air Force, Alex Manes is working as a shade - a professional ghost hunter - when Michael Guerin tracks him down. Alex left Roswell thirteen years ago and never went back, but overnight Michael’s family has vanished and the supernatural activity in Roswell has exploded, and he wants Alex’s help. Featuring: ghosts, more ghosts, metaphorical ghosts, and a lot of sex without talking about feelings. Also missing family members, government conspiracies, and gratuitous worldbuilding.

No, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. I can’t rec this enough. Literally, this is a novel-type rec. If this were a book on a shelf, I would be shouting that you need to go read it, because it is literally good enough to be a published work on a best-selling list. It’s so fucking good. Every time you think it can’t get better, it does. It has nuance and plot and world-building and it is So. Fucking. Good. I could sit here and sing praises all day and it still wouldn’t be enough. Please give yourself a holiday treat and read it.

The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot by Anonymous

Michael and Alex erase each other from their memories. It does not go according to plan. [Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Roswell style]

I mean, I could rec anything by Anonymous and it would be worth your read. They’re so good and so in character,  but this one is my favourite. It’s angsty as fuck, don’t get me wrong, but it plays with the movie plot in such a Roswell-specific way that makes sense that I honestly never even compared or contrasted it to the movie past the first few beats. The pain is visceral, and the memory loss segment is incredible, but also delivers on a positive ending. 

To Trust Love by @laughsalot3412 

The prisoner’s voice sounded like home. He could have been raised in Roswell, the way his accent stretched his vowels. He definitely hadn’t been. Alex would have remembered eyes like those. (AU where Alex Manes goes on an undercover rescue mission in Caulfield Prison and forms a bond with one of the prisoners in the process.)

I don’t have enough words in the English language to praise this one. Honestly, I don’t. For one, the pace and the length is perfect. That we got the parts as quickly as we did was honestly such a treat, but then every part was just as high quality as the last. There are chapters in this one that made me go, “holy shit, this would’ve been a novel I read”, and then there are little emotional impacts where the tone shifts, but it works so well. It’s SO HOT, and the AU is so perfect, and also helped inspire the one that I wrote last night with the “genie”. 

Unwind Me - delgay

“Think you can manage that? Sitting next to me, without picking a fight?” Michael challenged. “Can you?” Alex returned. “No idea,” Michael admitted with a sideways grin that never failed to make Alex’s stomach turn over, “But I’m eager to find out.” Alex is avoiding everyone, but he can’t seem to escape Michael.

This whole fic is intensely amazing, but it got on my rec list for the absolutely electric scene with the dancing that was absolutely beyond incredible. You also get Michael courting Alex, which is something he utterly deserves and I love the way Michael goes about it. 

we feel so american by thepredatorywasp

“Papa’s on the spaceship again?” River asks, his bright green eyes welling with tears and his face growing red. “Comin’ back?” “Of course he is,” Alex says, smoothing down the son’s hair and adjusting the Mickey ears atop his head. “Always.” There is no easy way to explain to your three year-old that not only is he an alien, but his Papa is an alien and that apparently, Michael loves leaning hard into irony because he has gone on Space Mountain approximately ten times over the course of four days.

LOOK. I LOVE A SWEET KID FIC. The next rec will prove this, but this one will melt your fucking heart. I love it because it’s not perfect and easy. There’s difficulties, there are issues, but it’s Michael and Alex and their baby boy in Disney and if you do not come away feeling warmer from this, then I just don’t know. 

We’re Waking Up Slow by myrmyriad

“I think need a little time to process all of this. Um. Storm’s getting closer and I don’t really wanna get snowed in here, so…let’s just talk later, okay?” What if the storm that blew in during S01E10 came in a lot faster and heavier, and Alex was snowed in at the junkyard?

Again, fic that makes me wish that I could write as well as this. This one makes you feel it all. You’ll feel the cold, the wet, the storm, the pain, the hope, the healing. You feel the connection between Michael and Alex, and you’ll be left wishing at the end that this had been how canon went, but also that it’s justifiably not that far off from how it could have, had they taken a different tack, because of how well it’s written. 

What’s Up, Pregnant? by Marie_L

Michael Guerin is broke, practically homeless, and a knocked up secret alien. What now?

Speaking of kid fics, this mpreg is one that I really like, because if nothing else, it introduced the concept of mpreg using pods to me in the fandom, and I kind of went, “YES, of course”. I love that it’s got everyone rallying, but I mostly love the psychic connection between Michael and his baby, and the softness of loving sugar and Alex. 

With Love Overflowing by Nestra

"We both agree that this is not the place we belong, right? Please say yes."

Michael tossed his hat on the coffee table and dropped onto the couch. "If you mean that your dad's been dead since CrashCon and some kind of crazy shit is going on, then yeah, I agree."

(This one was for me for Secret Santa, it is just THAT GOOD that I want everyone in the world to read it)

x marks the spot (where we fell apart) by catching_paper_moons, preciousthings

“Don’t write it off,” Alex says, and Liz is so relieved someone is coming to her defense, even if it’s someone who already knew beforehand. “Liz and Kyle have ideas, and there are people in this room with literal superpowers. It’s pretty much our only option.” “Our only option?” Isobel scoffs. “What are we, Ocean’s Eleven?”

[ghostssweetgirl]

hello luv how are you doing? I’ll let you know u’r curring my depression. Could you please write an angsty pov with simon riley where he finds a fem reader on the old russian base on his mission??? so he sees her russian uniform and aimes his weapon on her but hesitates once he sees she’s unarmed combat medic?? and she kinda hides there in the from her comrades cuz they claimed her a traitor for saving an “enemy” soldier’s life?

if that’s too much and definitely not what you wanna write it’s totally okay. sorry. and thank u again hope u have a good day!!

omg hi anon! i'm doing good, but i hope you are doing even better! <3 yeah, i can do that for you :) hope this is okay for you!

cw: angst(ish), cursing, idk if i missed any let me know

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Combat Medic Reader

Simon was currently securing some intel from an enemy base, exploring what he thought was empty, abandoned. Just before he was about to leave and call it clear, he felt the need to check the only quarters with a closed door.

As he walked in, he instantly raised his gun. He didn't get a good look at first, just noticing her Russian uniform, but his finger let off the trigger when he saw her - froze, hands up, unarmed.

She was clearly beat up, bruises scattered amongst her arms, a neat gash on the side of her head. Messy, matted hair. Could tell you were exhausted.

"I'm sorry! Please! Please don't kill me," you begged.

"What are you doin'... here?" Ghost asked.

You swallowed as you tried to find your words, unsure if he'd believe you.

"Come on, spit it out."

"I am hiding here... from my comrades..." you started. "They call me a traitor."

"Traitor? Why?"

"I saved an enemy's life... They were unarmed, in so much pain," you sniffed, lips quivering as you cried. "They said... they said-"

"Shh, quiet down, now," he rasped. He didn't really know what to think. On one hand, he thought it was brave, heroic of you. It's your job. On the other, he didn't want to risk getting involved with a possible dangerous situation.

"Are they lookin' for you?"

"Yes... I know I need to get out of here but," you shrugged. "I don't know... They could kill me."

"None of that, now," he whispered. "Let's get you out of here first. I'll get you some place safe."

--

He led you back to a safe area, and helped you get into the passenger side of the truck. He hopped in the passenger seat, quietly sitting there as he took out his phone, sending a few texts.

"Suppose you could come with me," he spoke. "But, you can't wear... that. And don't go snoopin' around... or do anythin' to get yourself killed."

You nodded your head understandingly. "Yes, sir. Thank you... thank you."

He got out a few spare pairs of cargo pants and some shirts, tossing them down in the middle seat. "I'll stop somewhere soon. Let you change and... get yourself cleaned up."

--

You were beyond thankful he was helping you. Maybe this was your chance to start over, fully get away from your old comrades, from the military.

You feel cleaner than before, able to make yourself decent at a truck stop and get into a... clean enough pair of clothes.

--

Just as you expected, coming onto this new base, you were questioned by everybody. They had to make sure you weren't putting up an act, but they soon halfway trusted your sincereness.

You were shown to a spare room, and instantly plopped into the bed. Needing the rest as you now felt somewhat safe. It was very much awkward, so you didn't want to leave your room, but you were so hungry you had no choice.

It was late at night at this point, a little bit past 1200. Figuring everyone was asleep, you walked into the shared kitchen to find some grub only to be startled by the large presence before you, the man who saved you, a little bit dressed down than how you met him before.

"Hungry?" he asked. "Food in the fridge."

"Thank you..." you spoke quietly. "Hey... what's your name?"

He just looked at you before he answered. "Ghost."

"Thank you, Ghost..." you weakly smiled. "For saving me."

He hummed as he nodded.

"You didn't have to-"

"I know."

"I-I'm Y/N. Nice to... meet you," you chirped as you opened the fridge, picking up a container of leftovers that seemed decent enough to eat.

"Yeah. Well, have a good night," he walked away from you, not looking back as you watched his tall figure disappear into the darkness of the hallway.

--

A/N - I liked this idea a lot, I just hope I wrote it okay lol.

[fillinforlater]

When Life Gives You Bandmates, Make A Mess Out Of Them

Huh Yunjin x Nakamura Kazuha

Length: 2830 words

Tags: idol x idol, falling in love, getting the hots for someone, in heat but totally not gay, sweaty and scared, in denial, lesbian sex, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, turning-someone-gay kink, making out, passionate sex, squirting, rubbing on each other, pit licking, pit kink, taking control, totally_straight!Yunjin / confident!Kazuha

TW: disclaimer: it's just a fic with kinks--no, you can't turn people gay/straight with force, but you should know that

Inspiration: @friskyriskywhisky once send an ask a looooong time ago with "J-line getting all the girls" and this suddenly came up, so I made this.

(A/N: Hope you like this idol x idol piece with a fucking great ship tbh. L4 is still in the works)

"Hurry up, we're pressed for time."

The photographer slaps his thigh repeatedly, each smack transferring his stress to everyone around him. Kazuha quickly steps up, with her simple yet addictingly beautiful outfit and long strands of chocolate colored hair. Her bandmate however is still nowhere to be seen.

"Where is the other?" the photographer sighs and turns to one of the staff members. The woman shrugs and walks towards the dressing room, shouting one name over and over again. 

"Yunjin! Yunjin, hurry up! We don't have all day!"

"I'm sorry!" Yunjin shouts in panic as she sprints out from underneath her stylists busy hands, through other staff members until she's right next to Kazuha.

"Ah perfect," the photographer says and picks up his large camera. "The behind the scenes team is also ready, so please get into position. Facing each other, hands on—you know the drill."

The two girls nod, it's not their first shooting session after all. Business as usual, one could say, nothing too special, too crazy—yet something is building up. You never know, until it's too late.

My heart is beating faster, Yunjin thinks and takes a deep breath. I should not have sprinted here.

"A bit closer please," the photographer gestures with his hands.

Kazuha takes a confident step forward, Yunjin hesitates.

That's a bit too close—wait, what is this? Why does she smell so good?

"Try to lock eyes, gaze a little," he shouts with anticipation.

Kazuha has her eyes already locked on target, when Yunjin slowly raises her head.

Wha—do-don't look at me like that!

For a fraction of a second, a smirk. Yunjin can barely keep her wrist on the younger's shoulder.

"Perfect."

Perfect indeed. Fuck, why is she so pretty?

Kazuha smirks. 

No matter how fierce and cool her facade is, Yunjin can't hide it anymore. She averts her eyes, her head to the side and, as if her heart is directly connected to her lips, she cracks a wide, shy smile. Kazuha joins her and they both begin to giggle.

"Nice, nice, very good," the photographer praises and someone from the behind the scenes crew gives a thumbs up. "Great content, well done girls."

"Shall we go again?" Kazuha asks, her lips still formed in a cheerful smile, and Yunjin can't help but stare. If it were up to her—

Please, again, Zuha.

Wait, fuck, what am I even thinking?

"It was perfect, I think we got everything,” the photographer responds. “Time for your solo pictures."

Kazuha gives a thumbs up and tries to leave the set, but Yunjin is still frozen before her, eyes a bit teary, arms a bit shaky, her smile a bit wider than usual.

"Yunjin-unnie, would you please—"

"Ahhh, of course, Zuha," Yunjin jumps and flails before getting out of Kazuha's way. "Sorry, I'm a bit lost today."

"Nah, it's fine," Kazuha waves her Unnies' worries off. "It's kinda cute."

With a wink the younger girl disappears behind the dressing room door. Yunjin's face starts to burn. The rosy flush that was about to settle on her features turns to the red of fire and no fire truck can cool off her heart right now. Flames engulf it again and again, as if someone keeps pouring gasoline on it.

What's wrong with her today? No, what's wrong with me today? Just a photoshoot, and of course she is pretty, Chaewon is pretty too, Sakura too—no, that's not it. 

But she smells so good, and her smile, those lips, the way she is confident yet acts shy at the same time—

Yunjin reaches for one of the water bottles and settles down, somewhere far away from the clicking of the cameras. No behind the scenes footage of her should exist right now, it's already a bit embarrassing that they captured her being somewhat unprofessional earlier.

Seriously, get your act together, She tells herself. What about it? Not that I haven’t seen pretty people before, not that I like girls that way. Probably just overworked, curse this comeback schedule. 

A couple of minutes later, Kazuha steps out of the dressing room, a blanket wrapped around her body. It hides her new outfit and her great body. For some reason, Yunjin has to think of the latter first, but she tries to shake it off and takes another sip from her bottle.

“Ready for the final set of pictures?” the photographer asks as one of the stylists combs and curls the final strands of Kazuha’s immaculate hair.

“Yes, where should I put this blanket?”

“Just put it on the floor, we’ll focus on your upper body for now.”

Like the curtains to a theatrical masterpiece, the gray blanket rolls off of Kazuha’s shoulder to reveal something so marvelous, Yunjin almost spits out the water in her mouth, shit. 

The japanese girl wears a large, open cardigan loosely hanging from one of her shoulders. Tight skinny jeans wrap around her hips, but thank God they do not hide her belly button and chiseled abs, the product of hard work and divine favoritism. What makes Yunjin gawk the most however is the exposed part of skin above Kazuha’s chest, a biteable collarbone, a lickable shoulder, fuck, I’d bite and lick my way up to her lips, oh my God, she is so fucking hot. 

Her Dongsaeng begins to take poses and make expressions that strike Yunjin’s body with heat, from head to toes, but most importantly, around her heart and at her crotch. Her eyes linger on the skin as she fans air to herself, but every attempt at cooling her off is futile. Kazuha just goes on, face disinterested, hand placed to the side of her head—that’s just personal now.

Yunjin tries to turn around, rather looking at the white concrete wall instead of the flawless skin she'd love to place hickeys on—she already failed and continues to stare. She can feel a tiny trail of her own wetness run down her trembling thighs and her drooling mouth falls open slowly. Luckily, no one is paying attention to her right n—

The camera. Behind the scene footage of her at the worst possible time. There is no explaining the rosiness of her cheeks or the glassiness of her eyes. Yunjin turns away from the camera and then back to it.

"Ah," she groans and dramatically fans air to herself. "It's so hot today, I—I need some water."

Shit, that was so stupid, Yunjin thinks as she tries to laugh it off. To make it worse, the cameraman gets closer, confused at the joke and her expression. Yunjin makes a finger heart, then hides her face in embarrassment.

Oh my God, I'm such an idiot. The only thing hot here is Zuha, for fucks sake. Why am I tripping so hard?

Why is she making me trip so hard?

#

Yunjin twists in turns underneath her sheets. It’s too hot beneath them, but it’s impossible for her to fall asleep without it. Sweat builds up on her legs, cooling them; it’s completely different in between her legs. The liquid building up there just makes the heat worse, it makes her more desperate and pushes her into a frenzy.

I need her so bad. Zuha, you make me go crazy!

Yunjin opens her eyes. The surprisingly strong light of the moon shines through the open window, onto the bed beside her. In their dorm, Yunjin shares a room with the person she longs for—it feels more like a curse than a blessing as of now though. Kazuha’s toned back, partially covered by her sports bra, is turned to Yunjin, but it suffices to start the elders' fantasies.

Zuha, I-I want to feel her skin, the shoulders, the back, then the abs, God, those hard, perfect abs. I need to grab them, hng.

Fuck it.

“Zuha, are you still awake?” Yunjin whispers, her voice seconds before breaking, her fingers entangled in the hem of her shorts.

“Yes, Unnie,” Kazuha whispers back and turns around. She looks beautifully sleepy, eyes narrow, blanket pressed to her chest. Small beads of sweat on her temple show that she is somewhat hot as well. “You keep turning all the time, it’s pretty loud.”

“I-I’m sorry about that, bu-but—” Yunjin takes a deep breath. 

“—it’s your fault, Zuha-yah.”

Yunjin climbs out of her bed and walks over to Kazuha’s. The Japanese girl looks at her confused and sits upright on the mattress. Yunjin can’t help but stare down at the perfect figure, the heaving chest, the thick thighs, I’m so sorry, Kazuha.

“I need you, Zuha.”

“Unnie? What’s wrong with you?”

“Please touch me.”

Yunjin pulls down her shorts to about her knees to reveal her shaven crotch drenched in slick arousal. She squirms and shivers when a tiny breeze comes through the wide open window, her eyes are unable to look at Kazuha, yet it is the only thing she wants to look at. 

“Please, Zuha-yah, your fi-fingers, I—”

Yunjin’s voice is tiny, very weak. She is not sure Kazuha even hears the words, let alone understand what she means. It's a tense moment where fear and arousal reach a new peak for Yunjin, I can’t think of anything else—what have I done? This was stupid.

Suddenly, hands on Yunjin’s hips, a warm touch on both sides. When she re-opens her eyes, Kazuha’s face is on eye-level with her and so close. Lips could almost touch, and Yunjin breaths heavily through her nostrils as she becomes stiff. Kazuha looks unimpressed.

“I did not know you swing this way, Unnie,” she says and pulls Yunjin onto the bed, having her face close at all times. “I thought you liked guys.”

“W-well, I, uhm—ah!”

Yunjin moans long and deep when Kazuha’s palm suddenly cups her pussy. A long drag by the middle finger, from her entrance, over her lips and clit to her navel—Kazuha has her pinned to the bed with a single digit. The younger idol smiles for a second but then her unimpressed, somewhat annoyed expression returns and she blows air on Yunjin’s cheeks.

“Ts, you can’t even admit it. That is kinda sad.”

Kazuha’s hand roams Yunjin’s tummy, then moves up and over the mid-sized, covered breasts. Yunjin groans as her hard nipples get rubbed through the fabric, the jolt of stimulation sends her hips upwards. She is bucking them upwards, please Kazuha, touch me, use your hands, but instead, Kazuha put one hand beneath Yunjin’s head.

“Where do you want this?” Kazuha asks and drags her finger over Yunjin’s chest again while forcing her head to watch with the pillow-like hand.

“A-at my cro-crotch.”

“Aw, Unnie, that was nothing. Try again.”

“I-I want them in my p-pussy, plea-please.”

“Almost there, Unnie.”

“Please, Kazuha, finger my pussy!”

“Good girl, Yunjin.”

Kazuha wastes no time and quickly searches for Yunjin’s slit. Quick rubs over Yunjin’s clit makes the elders head go haywire, before Kazuha inserts two of her digits into the wet cavern. Yunjin moans loudly, her body instinctively trying to force the fingers to move in order to feel them craze her cunt. Kazuha pulls them out however and rolls her eyes. 

“So greedy,” she says and makes Yunjin look at her awaiting cunt, fingers not inside anymore. “Greedy girls don’t get what they want, Yunjin.”

“Kazuha, please,” Yunjin whines and pouts her dry lips.

“Admit it,” Kazuha says sternly, ring finger circling Yunjin’s clit. “Or are you just a bit lost today, like earlier, during the shoot? Do you like guys, and hope that I am one of them? It’s just a phase, huh? Not real feelings, just something that you talked yourself into, right?”

“Hng.”

Yunjin groans, her face burning from desire and shame, a lot of uncertainty engulfing her, but at the same time, the answer, the right answer is so painfully obvious. Kazuha is so hot, hotter than any person ever, literally flawless, and her fingers are so close, ah!

“Say it, Yunjin.

“Say it.”

“Ka-Kazuha, you—

“—you made me gay!”

Kazuha smiles and slams her hand onto Yunjin’s pussy. The short burst of pain makes Yunjin gasp, but what leaves her truly speechless is the two fingers that start to pump and curl inside her heat. Kazuha pulls Yunjin’s hair, makes her look at how eagerly her cunt takes the digits. Yunjin can’t deal with it, her mind goes blank, her moans become feral. She screams repeatedly when Kazuha makes sure that her palm grinds vigorously on her clit

“Ruin this bed, Yunjin,” Kazuha groans, her voice becoming lower and more sultry. “Sweat on it, drool on it, cum on it. Spray your juice all over it and you’ll be a good gay girl.”

Kazuha! You’re so good at this, I want nothing more, only your touch, your fingers, your body! I’m so gay for you, ah!

“Kazuha, I-I’m so close—no, I’m cumming!”

Kazuha giggles and focuses on Yunjin’s clit more. No more words, just a booming scream that fills the entire dorm, even the street outside. Someone standing beneath the window, however high it may be up, surely knows what’s happening upstairs in the shared room. Someone launches their nectar out of her cunt in an orgasmic release while the other smiles and kisses her tenderly, continuously teasing the entrance to get a bit more squirt out.

Your fingers, your lips, Kazuha~

“You came so much, Yunjin,” Kazuha says happily, rosy cheeks and the biggest of smiles. Yunjin loses herself in the younger’s hazelnut eyes, her own full with tears of overstimulation. Suddenly, Kazuha starts to remove Yunjin’s bra, then undresses herself. Before Yunjin can react, they are both fully naked and Kazuha is on top of her, breasts, abs and pussies rubbing against each other.

“You have an amazing figure, Yunjin. Bigger breasts and a firm butt.” 

Kazuha gently slaps the latter and watches Yunjin melt even more into the wet bed.

“Y-you too, Kazuha. I-I want to touch all of it.”

“Then do it, silly,” Kazuha chuckles. “Your arms have been stiff this entire time. Just feel me up—or do you like this more?”

Kazuha entangles her fingers with Yunjins and then pins both her hands above her head onto a pillow. Yunjin looks and feels even more open now, as her sweaty, smooth pits are exposed and her amazing figure is in perfect view now. 

“Kazuha~”

“You like this, don’t you? My gay little girl wants me to touch her more, right?”

“Yes~”

With a big smirk, Kazuha starts to grind on Yunjin. Stiff nipples rub stiff nipples, a hard clit rubs another hard clit, curves and curves start to become one entity. Kazuha kisses all over Yunjin’s face, from ear to ear, over cheeks, chin or nose, until they engage in a passionate make out session, which urges Kazuha to grind her cunt faster on Yunjin’s.

“You like this, Yunjin?” Kazuha asks, lips still loosely connected to Yunjins. Drool runs from her mouth as she nods. Kazuha shifts the focus of her tongue further down and then suddenly to the right, orbs still locked with the heavily breathing, moaning girl below her. 

“What about this?”

Gently, Kazuha starts to lick across Yunjin’s exposed pit, the salty sweat hitting her taste buds, but instead of making her back off, they urge her to lick faster. Yunjins mouth is agape, her hips begin to work in tandem with Kazuhas to give more stimulation to her dripping pussy. 

“B-but it’s s-so sweaty,” Yunjin stutters, against the natural reaction of her body which is to succumb to Kazuha’s marvelous play on this sensitive spot.

“That’s why I like it so much,” Kazuha responds in a sexy hum and kisses, sucks even on the skin in the pit; everything to push the whimpering girl into another orgasm, which works faster than she would have imagined. A lot more quietly this time, Yunjin’s wets the bed and her legs in a fountain-like squirt while Kazuha makes out with her hairless armpit. 

A little more than a minute later, the two of them lay in their own beds, dressed in new clothes, breaths still quick, but trying to sleep nonetheless. Yunjin faces the wall, in heaven and at the same time embarrassed. She tries to close her eyes, but they can’t stay closed yet. She turns to Kazuha’s bed and peeks right into Kazuha’s sleepy face.

“Sleep tight, Unnie. Try not to keep me awake this time.”

“S-sure, Zuha.”

#

Yunjin wobbles to the breakfast table. Kazuha and Chaewon are already sitting and eating their cereal, while Sakura is in the kitchen making coffee. Yunjin’s heart beats faster, but she tries to play it cool and just sits down next to Kazuha like she usually does. As she reaches for the cereal however, Chaewon slams her hands on the table and her face turns bright red.

“You-you are a screamer!” she shouts at Yunjin. “Control your voice next time, jeez!” 

The room goes deadly silent, as if all the life had been snapped away. 

“Huh?!”

(A/N2: Adding some Kazuha and Yunjin for beauty appreciation just because!)

[freakenomenon]

since you’ve already talked extensively about ted and ellens psychodramas + how they were displayed in the game, what do you think about other characters psychodramas like gorrister and benny?

sits back.

both of their psychodramas are confusing to me, but i prefer bennys over gorristers so ill talk about that first,,

i have like an EXTREME dislike for how they completely took away his entire character in the short story, especially with the erasure of his sexuality. but even beyond that. i just. Don't understand his character??? he was big and strong and handsome and hated the weak and. then what.

id understand if there was some kind of character motive beyond being perfect and not giving a damn point blank period. like if he was trying to prove something. to strive for perfection to the point of killing others because of SOMETHING. but they don't. i don't understand the point of completely reworking this characters already established and VERY WELL IMPLEMENTED backstory for anything other than censorship.

he refused to be weak in any way, but WHY.

it's not like with ellen ( sorry i cant resist ) where she grew up in a bad neighborhood where she was treated like nothing, so she decided to MAKE herself something.

which made it hard to cope with the fact she couldn't just rise above EVERYTHING.

or like with ted where he was forced to work for his family because of their poor financial situation, but then was pulled out of that by someone who was taking advantage of him.

which caused a giant rift in his identity.

benny has just. always been a cool big strong powerful man who didnt care about others!!@ and then when AM took him down he's not anymore boo hoo.

it's watering down what made bennys transformation from man to monkey so god damn horrifying. especially with the lack of compassion. yes sure he cares about nobody but himself BUT FUCKING. WHY? THEY DONT EVEN ELABORATE ON THIS IN THE MANUAL. FUCKING WHYYYYYY.

i like toto though, very fun little guy. very interesting character. he was like the only part of the psychodrama i could really,,, resonate? with.

now. gorristers psychodrama is.

what the hell is even going on

the only thing i could really gather from it is that instead of being an activist and a cautious "looker-aheader", gorrister was a truck driving alcoholic who had a bad marriage and an abusive mother in law who blamed him for driving his wife batshit crazy because he beat her. but. other than that i don't.

understand half of it. what do you mean edna killed gorrister. what do you mean Harry cut his heart out. jesse, what the fuck are you talking about.

i don't fully understand WHY we are supposed to sympathize with gorrister when he is. SOMEWHAT responsible for the mental descent of glynis. obviously edna and harry played a huge part in this, im not ignoring that at all. but the end of the psychodrama implying that gorrister should just forgive himself and bury the past because he wasn't FULLY at fault for punting wife into the looneybin. What.

once again, i don't understand the need for a complete flip of this characters original premis unless it's for CENSORSHIP purposes. alongside that at least the puzzles and the dialogue within bennys psychodrama make SENSE. gorristers just.

DONT?

it's not that the puzzles don't have ANY logic like a good one or two of ellens. THEY JUST. ARENT SOMETHING THAT A NORMAL PERSON WOULD DO OR BE ABLE TO FIGURE OUT WITHOUT JUST CLICKING SHIT ON RANDOM TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS. wait. Wait.

Okay. i know this is supposed to be a rant about their characters but. I just wanna say that a lot of the puzzles. Are things that RELATE to the characters and their stories and backgrounds. which adds to the enjoyment. WHEN YOU REMOVE THE ENJOYMENT OF THE PUZZLES. IT KIND OF MAKES ME. NOT LIKE GORRISTER SO MUCH.

if i kept going id just end up totally rewriting the characters as a whole and that's something for another tumblr rant to soothe my ever expanding rage.

im gonna go get a cheese stick

[devoureddreaa]

diary of a mad black woman

i’m totally not projecting in this /hj. buuuuuut, i love love love the movie: diary of a mad black woman. probably the best piece of fiction tyler perry has created. but, i hope you enjooooy!!

cw: toji is an asshole (mb…), you’re gonna be kind of a bitch too if you squint, relationship issues, infidelity issues (on both sides), an established relationship coming to an end, you’re not getting back with him….. (sorry not sorry), uhh y/n is black woman coded (hii ting at the title). lemme know if i forgot anything !!!!

five long, draining years.

five years ago..you married toji right after you two graduated. don’t worry, your clan didn’t sell you. marrying toji is what you wanted to do. only god knew how bad of a decision you were

toji fushiguro, had his owns dreams and aspirations. ones that most possibly didn’t involve you whatsoever, but you forced yourself into them. the first year was just fine, it was like you were laying on cloud nine.

that was until you were pushed off that cloud.

he moved you away from your home. he wanted to “forget about the past” he said, and leave everything behind. and that included your own family..you didn’t know how long it had been since you last heard their voices. now you were isolated, and that only made things worse cause toji knew what sort of power he had over you now.

you did anything in your power to stay in his vision. whether that was dealing with his manipulative behavior, or even his infidelity..you sticked around.

cause you loved him??

or cause you didn’t have anyone else to go to?

weird, cause then you got kicked out of your own home and he got a divorce. he packed all your shit in a truck and replaced you for some hooker. bet enough booger sugar and lube got her to stay. you drove that truck back over to your grandmothers house…who almost shot you since it was the middle of the night. you got over it after a few months. got a job, made friends, reconnected with family..even your mother, and maybe even found some newfound love.

that’s until toji got injured and he was temporarily paralyzed. the hooker he wanted so badly wanted to leave him for dead, but you..were still legally his wife. so you made the last call.

to keep him alive.

as you sat there, thinking about picking up the pieces of what used to be your life..you realized something. every room in this place that you used to call home held a painful memory for you. even though toji’s suffering…something in you wants him to suffer even more. few months in a divorce can take a person through just as many emotions as five years in a marriage. oh, and you’re starting to feel all of them at once.

but the one that is clear…is rage.

now here you were, in your old home, in the office looking for old bill files for him. while he sat in his wheelchair…quietly.

shuffling through the stake of papers, you started to shake your head. “i don’t see it..”

toji’s head perked up, “you don’t see it?” he repeated, in somewhat of a mocking tone..

“no.”

he scoffed, “you really are good for nothing.” here he goes again. “find my bank statement and get the accountant on the phone.”

you looked up from the stack of papers and looked up at him. into those dead cold eyes, those eyes that used to give you so much love..but now…they just give you a whole lotta hurt.

“then call somebody, anybody and you can leave.” toji motioned down to the wheelchair he was sitting it. “this, is not gonna beat me.”

“oh really?” you’re tone was cold, ice cold. you were watching a grown man, that was fully capable of finding his own bank statements, throw a fit cause you couldn’t find it.

his legs were paralyzed, not his fucking arms.

“yea, and whatchu staring at?”

“you get stabbed in the spine, and you’re still the same.”

“i am who i am, and im gonna die that way. toots.” toji gave you a dirty, damn near disgusting look as he looked you up and down. “i don’t even know why you’re here, i’m not givin’ you shit. matter fact, where are my kids?”

“you done, toji?”

“yknow what bitch, just get out.”

you could feel your jaw clenched up when he said that.

he pinched the bridge of his nose, “i ask you to do one simple thing, and you can even do that after five— get out!”

you dropped the papers that were in your hands, you got up from the rather comfortable leather seat. grabbed your things from off the desk and proceeded to take your exit back home quietly.

but then you stopped.

who the hell is he? the man who hasn’t dont anything but hurt you. and now…you were about to let him keep doing exactly that? keep letting him control you like some toy. nah…that ain’t gon slide. before you could even think about it, your arm swung forward then swung back..the back of your hand connecting with toji’s face.

you turned yourself back around and leaned down to face him, placing your hands on the arm rest of the wheelchair..practically caging him in.

“let me explain something to you.” your tone of voice was sick, nasty. it was damn near like you were spitting pure vemon. “old y/n..is gone. and you will not talk to me like that.”

“now i came here..to help you. but now, i’m here to get even.”

“y/n, you—”

“shut up!” your yell echoed through the quiet home, the rain outside just barely being able to heard over it.

“you want your whore..” you walked over and grabbed the picture of toji and his little hooker..that was framed in a pretty little frame. “and your damn kids?”

you raised your arms up and threw the picture onto the ground, shattering the frame. “do you see what you left me for?!” you bend down and quickly picked up the picture, shoving it in toji’s face.

“this..is what you left me for!”

you started to rip the picture to shreds right in front of him, letting the loose parts fall to the floor. “she didn’t give a damn ‘bout you toji, she told them to let you die.!”

you walked back over by the desk, using your arms to sweep the top of it clean..everything falling on the floor, some of it even breaking.

“and yknow what’s funny? hm?” a condescending smile grew on your face. “i fucking gave you life boy, even though you took it from me.”

you’ve never seen toji so quiet and still before for how long you’ve known, but oh, that didn’t mean you were about to let up. you grabbed a play bat that was sitting on the floor..

“ya kids..your boys.” you swung the plastic bat and hit toji in the head. “i wanted children toji! and had you not been a public sex-stop, we would have them!”

you backed away and anger started to consume you. it showed in your face, your body movement, even in the way your heart was racing. you didn’t know if this felt good or not..

“got me all stressed out, my hair fallin’ out, my weight up ‘n down, can’t keep anything down! two miscarriages! you took life from me, and you never even said ‘i’m sorry’..”

was that it? the end of your rant.

hell nah, you walked out of that office. and you let toji sit there alone for a few days. when you can back it smelt rancid.

“god..” you groaned and covered your nose. walking up behind him. “ya smell like shit.”

you grabbed the handle bars and started to walk, then you started to run towards the bathroom.

“y/n. hell are doing?” toji asked, a bit afraid (that’s a new one.)

you ignored his concerns, barging through the bathroom doors to reveal a tub filled with water and a little bit of bubbles.

“y/n, stop—!”

the wheelchair hit the edge and toji was flipped over into the water. you pushed the wheelchair back and watched him, in silence for a bit.

“bathe him, feed him, clothe him..they say.” you say on the edge of the bathtub just watching him. “what bout me, huh? and jesus, stop lookin’ like an idiot.”

you begin to light a cigarette while toji just laid in the slightly cold water. “you try and..kick me out of our house, and keep me away from our money? hell nah. fuck nah, at that.”

you looked back over to see that toji’s head was started to submerge under the water. you quickly got up, dropped your cigarette in the water, and practically dragged toji back up to the surface.

“remember toji, i was there..when all you had was me.”

you stepped out of the tub and left him there.

later, you both sat at the oddly long dinner table. you on one side, and toji on the other. weird thing was you had a plate with a salad on it, and toji? he didn’t have a thing in front of him.

meanwhile, you were eating like it was the best salad you had ever had.

suddenly, toji had..started to cry? “y/n..”

your eyes perked up, “awe, you hungry?”

maybe he was. but who fucking cared? “hm..maybe you should go into the kitchen and get yourself something to eat then hm?” the smile on your face was brutal

“christina..” toji quietly cried out.

you looked over your shoulder, confused. “christina?!” you looked back over at the pitiful man in front of you..trying to hold back to boiling laughter. “christina’s gone…”

you smiled wildly, “your little tramp didn’t have any money to her so she left.” looking back down at your plate using your fork to pick up for more food. “just like your slut.”

“she packed all her shit, and some of yours toji fushiguro..and went on her merry way.” you started to laugh. “come to think of it..she cleaned out your bank account. all of it!”

“oh, sweetheart, you tried to keep from me? and she ended up taking it all..huh?!” you started to laugh even harder, throwing your head back and slamming your fist on to the table.

this was even better then therapy.

“toji..you are like soooo many men.” you paused to get a good look at him. “you’d rather lay with dogs then make it work with a women.”

“you’re a bitch ass, toji..a coward.”

you forcefully pushed your plate of food, sending it flying across the table towards toji. it ended up landing on his lap and some fell onto the floor. but you sure as hell weren’t gonna pick it up, you got up and went upstairs to go to sleep.

toji ended up getting better, and you let all your anger out on him..later forgiving him. you took that divorce as a blessing, the thing you used to see as curse. he still loved you, but you didn’t love him the same. you didn’t want to be back with him. pain can hurt someone, but it won’t change anybody; and toji is a perfect example of that.

but you? oh you knew better. and anyone that would cross you in the future would learn that.

signed,

a mad black woman.

did it well…and did it good. PLSASE WATXH HIS MOVIE, I LOVE IT!!! anywho coming with the content..smash that like button for more bangers!!! /lhj but, hope you enjoyed!! love you baaaaaaai (if you saw any typos..not you didn’t)

[lastoneout]

You know what, I just realized something that I can probably add to my list of reasons I'm more ND than I think I am...

So in middle school I found out The Princess Bride was based on a book I immediately decided to read it. But here's the thing, unlike the movie's framing device of a grandfather reading the book to his grandson, the book has one that's basically like an autobiography?? Where the author talks about his grandfather reading him the book as a kid and how it affected him growing up and how, eventually, he decided to "abridge" the original and publish the version you're reading. The author even says Florin and Guilder are real places, and gives "history" on them.

I found(and tbh still find) this part of the book exceptionally boring. It's mean spirted and depressing, and an absolute slog to get through. But I kept trucking through taking everything as complete truth, even though I was pretty sure these countries weren't real places. Europe is big after all and I was in middle school, maybe I just hadn't heard of them before. Thankfully once the "real" book, the story The Princess Bride, actually starts the intersections start to make sense and aren't as boring and I quite liked them more or less, even if they were a little confusing at times. I also read everything after the "real" book ends, an epilog of sorts about the author not being allowed to abridge the sequel bcs Steven King?? Was going to do it?? But there was a bit of this "sequel" included so I read that too.

When my friend, who had leant me the book, asked what I thought, I said I liked it but I didn't understand why the author included all that personal history at the start where he complained about his job and family, it just didn't seem necessary to me and was boring as hell.

My friend informed me that all of that "personal" history wasn't real. The author made it all up. It was as much fiction as the actual story itself. It was satire, you see, and apparently??? very important to read bcs without it you wont "understand" the story. My friend genuinely thought it was super weird that I didn't realize it wasn't true, and also that I didn't like it.

But nah, I thought it was true!! Why would he lie like that?? What was it even satirizing(I still don't really know tbh)?? Why would I need to read all that bs to understand the book?? The story of 'The Princess Bride' made perfect sense on it's own!! I ended up kinda hating the book after that. I felt SUPER betrayed. He said all that stuff like it was true, what on earth was the point of lying?? Didnt he know people would believe him?? Why wouldn't I, after all I almost always tell the truth, lying about all that stuff was dumb and mean and I hated it.

A while later when I brought it up to my godfather he ALSO thought it was silly that I believed all that and didn't get that it was satire, and insisted that it was important for understanding the story.

I still don't get why it's important, and I refuse to read any of it again. When I re-read the book I just skip to where 'The Princess Bride' actually starts and then stop once it's "over". The rest of it is probably important, but to this day I think it's mostly mean spirited and stupid, and idk why he didn't just write the book normally or do what they did in the movie.

Anyway I figure this is like...normal, right? I totally don't have any deeper stuff going on with my brain. When I take assessments I insist I'm great at picking up on sarcasam and satire. Totally great at it. Yeah...

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

hello! can I ask if you have any head canons for Peeta getting to do normal, typical teenage boy things once he returns to 12 after the war? things he didn’t really get to do while he was fearing and fighting for his life? Like annoying and irritating Haymitch, finding cool looking rocks and junk to excitedly bring home to show Katniss, and other similar dumb but adorably endearing things? Also maybe some HSc of Everlark just generally getting to be free and fun teenagers together post-war? 🥹❤️

Oh ho ho, Anon. You have come to the right place. *cracks knuckles* Currently raising two teenage boys, so I am ready for this ask like you would not believe. Some of these are pure fluff and some of them have a little more spice to them (which are NOT inspired by my boys lmao).

Corny jokes. Like all the damn time. His goal becomes to make Katniss roll her eyes or groan. He comes up with an elaborate point system. A "Joke Score" as a play on a training score. Getting a soft, inanimate object such as a napkin or a pillow thrown at him in combination with a verbal response earns him a perfect 12 for that joke. Examples! When they are going through everything in their Victor's Village house(s), deciding what goes and what stays, Katniss starts labeling everything with pinned/taped on notes. They say things like Donate or Give to Delly or BURN/TAKE AN AXE TO in the case of the giant desk that Snow once sat behind. And one day, Katniss goes to ask Peeta a question, and when he turns around, he's got one of the notes, in her handwriting, that says Keep taped to his forehead.

He gets perverse joy out of tickling Katniss until she can't breathe and/or is about to pee her pants.

He helps Haymitch give the geese absolutely ridiculous names

Katniss is the one who brings him pretty things from the woods. A blossom, a freshly fallen autumn leaf (look at the colors! this one's almost your favorite color), a neat looking rock. He keeps them on the kitchen table for a day or two before returning them to nature.

The cloud game, where they lay in the meadow and give names to the shapes of clouds, the more ridiculous the better, which Peeta usually wins (an alligator swallowing a garbage truck... no it is, look!)

"IT WAS A FISH I SWEAR!" in the lake... It was not a fish swimming up her shirt Peeta, you naughty boy. That was your hand.

Sitting upside down on the sofa to watch Plutarch's ridiculous new show that he won't shut up about so they watch it once. "Why are you sitting like that?" "Just getting the proper perspective."

Everything is a competition. Like... everything. Who can hold their breath longer (Katniss), who can toss their clothes across the room into the laundry hamper during sexy times and actually make it into the hamper (Peeta, which Katniss is MAD about btw and totally starts cheating by um... kissing or grabbing sensitive areas), who can kiss better (a tie but we need to try again to be sure), who can toast their bread faster in the fire (Katniss, but now it's burned, can I have yours, Peeta? *pouty face* only if you marry me, Katniss. Psssh we're literally already married, you goob), who can shovel snow off the walkway faster (Peeta but he does a sloppy job of it and Katniss makes him do his half of the walkway again and no it is totally not so she can check out his ass (narrator voice: it was totally so she could check out his ass)), who can eat the most *insert food item here* (Katniss, every time), who can make the most ridiculous silly faces (tie again unless there's alcohol involved and then it's Katniss), who can wash the dishes faster (...undecided, Katniss thinks Peeta is cheating by putting extra dishes in the sink or moving ones she's already washed back into the dirty pile. Once, when she accused him of cheating, he grabbed a dirty plate and licked it like he did in the cave scene. "All clean! See! I helped!")

Pillow fights, food fights, water fights, snowball fights, paint slinging fights... pretty much ALL instigated by Peeta, many of them because...

Whenever Peeta tries to teach Katniss how to bake something new and she gets frustrated, his go to method of getting her out of her head and to relax is to smear frosting/batter/dough/flour/whatever is closest on her face.

Singing very loud and off key in the shower to get Katniss out of bed when it's not really a bad day, but not a great day either.

Dunking food in milk. Like all of it, to try it out. Dropping candy into different beverages to see how it changes the flavor. "I'm experimenting for the bakery, Katniss!"

Dramatically flopping on the bed when he's had a long day and whining that he's not moving until Katniss *insert whatever kind of affection and or bribe he wants to glean out of her such as kisses, cuddles, foot rub (ew Peeta, I've smelled your dirty socks and that's not happening -- what if I wash my foot first? or here *presents her with his prosthetic foot* rub this one! but you might have to put some oomph in it before I can feel it)*.

So many one leg/amputee jokes

Pretending to be asleep when he's definitely not and Katniss is clearly horny... just to see how far she'll go.

Both anti-depressants and depression call kill sex drive, but when they're in the mood... they're not seen for at least a day and a half so Peeta has to work up a discreet signal to let Haymitch know not to come a knockin' because the first time it he didn't know, Katniss screamed bloody murder and Haymitch dropped a bottle of "perfectly good wine what is wrong with you two? Is that the chair I sit in for dinner?!?!?" It was not, but Katniss was mortified. And other smutty shenanigans happen on occasion, despite how carefully both Katniss and Peeta guard their privacy and intimacy.

"Hey Katniss, remember when I called you 'pure?' ... I take it back." *pillow to the face*

"Hey, Katniss, watch this..." *does something ridiculous like getting a ball of dough to stick to the ceiling.*

"Hey Katniss, remember when you broke your butt and I had to carry you around?" "I bruised my tailbone, Peeta.. And you had to carry me because I twisted my ankle too." *said with great exasperation right before he hoists her off the ground and carries her somewhere because he can. The shorter and more ridiculous the distance, the better. "We have to move the laundry!" *carries her to the fancy new machines Effie sent them as a toasting gift.* She tries not to laugh or snuggle in close. She fails.

Tucking silly notes everywhere. In her game bag, under her pillow, on her plate at the table, on the window sill where she likes to sit and read/watch the rain, in her shirt when he's feeling extra naughty.

*with the most serious expression ever* "Real or not real, Katniss... this cheese is the stinkiest cheese that ever cheesed?" *shoves some seriously stinky cheese under her nose before she can react* "UGH! GROSS, PEETA!"

Over the top dramatics when he asks her to dance. Only every now and then, though because Katniss also loves to slow dance with him and act stupidly romantic with him, but you didn't hear that from me.

Ice cream for dinner

Blanket forts

Raspberries. You know, when you put your mouth on someone's bare skin and blow out air really hard and it makes a sound like someone is farting? Yeah, those.

"You sleep with the windows open! Of course I'm going to hog the blankets!" Katniss shouts. Peeta solves this by laying on top of her and saying "I'm a blanket!" until she's laughing and agrees to share the actual blankets.

Smearing literal cinnamon and dill all over his body after she confesses that she liked that smell on him.

Attempting to build a catapult to launch cheese buns from the kitchen to where Katniss is sitting on the couch when she's pregnant. Okay, let's be real. It happens BEFORE she gets pregnant with toastbaby the first, but he perfects it during that first pregnancy.

Peeta can't shoot an arrow, but they start making a list of everything he's hit that he WASN'T aiming for... the ground, that patch of violets, the tree next to the tree you were aiming for, the stream, that giant rock, that thankfully unoccupied bird's nest ("thankfully? I would've called it a good shot if you'd hit something we could eat," Katniss says).

"I'm a fluffy bunny." If you don't know what that means, I cannot help you.

"Real or not real, you are the most beautiful woman in the entire world." "No more cough syrup, Peeta--" *LOUD BUZZER NOISE* "WRONG! The correct answer is REAL, Katniss."

“Who ate the last *insert food item here*?!?!” Peeta from the other room around a full mouth “Not me!”

And if you think any of this stops when they have kids, oh boy are you wrong. The kids just get to get in on the fun (of the not spicy variety, of course.)

[reinedeslys-central]

"I think you should totally get in the back of my truck, actually," Leo says, linking pinkies with Jason. "What's the line? 'I can show you the world'?"

Jason stares down at where their fingers are curled together, peach on olive. He can't stop looking. "You don't have a truck."

Leo groans. "That was one time. I promise this one's legal. See?" He gently untangles their hands and slips behind the blue Chevy, returning with a slip of wrinkled paper that he triumphantly shoves in Jason's face.

LEO, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU BREAK MY CAR WHILE I'M IN IOWA I WILL HAUNT YOU TO THE END OF TIME.

Your loving cousin, Nyssa (P.S. You can take your boy for a ride. I'll allow it. There's blankets in the back (and please help yourself to the glovebox). Don't tell me.)

Jason's eyes travel down the sparkly purple pen, catching on the note at the bottom before flickering back up. There's something that aches in his chest at the words 'your boy'.

He's not sure what expression takes over his face, but Leo, for his part, sees him and immediately ducks his head down so he can read the paper too, frowning. Jason follows his eyes down to the same line as they widen and Leo turns a raging, glorious red before hastily re-crumpling the note and sticking it into one of the many pockets of his cargo pants.

He clears his throat awkwardly while inspecting the dying grass at their feet. It looks like it could be good grass if it ever rains again this month, nice and long and thick.

..Yeah, nevermind.

He takes his glasses off and cleans them in an attempt to - what, exactly? It's not like he's got the object permanence of a toddler. It's not like looking away will stop him from thinking about red-hot blushes and bouncing curls and sharp smiles and -

Leo claps once, calling Jason's attention back up to him and the pretty blush staining his freckled nose. He looks just as awkward, laughing bashfully.

"Well, that's just Nyssa. Uh, she probably wouldn't actually haunt me, she doesn't believe in ghosts - not, I mean, if you do -" his words trip over each other, diverting the original innuendo that was definitely just meant to tease Leo since Jason's never even met her, not to mention he's not his, finally ending with - "but as you can see, it's clearly perfectly legal. So."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Somehow I doubt that." Leo groans. "Oh, come on, dude, live a little, why dontcha?" He sidles up to him again, draping a warm arm over his shoulders and drawing him over to the car doors. "I know, you know, your dad's in California, your mom's in Paris, and your sister's at a party."

Jason opens his mouth to protest again and -

"- and before you say that you have homework," Leo scoffs, "allow me to remind you that we did our homework together yesterday, and you're already done your math homework for tomorrow, because you're a nerd."

Jason closes his mouth. "It's a school night," he offers weakly.

"Yeah, and every minute you have us waste out here is another minute we're not in the car, ergo another minute we're wasting, on a school night." Leo steps around him and holds his hands out again, eventually latching on to Jason's wrists and tugging him closer so he can peer into his eyes.

Jason may or may not forget how to breathe.

"Are you tired? You don't look tired," Leo frowns. "If you really don't want to go, I won't force you, y'know."

Jason forces his lungs to expand, contract, expand, so he can blurt out, "No, I mean, you got me. I'll go."

Leo grins as bright as the setting sun and twists around, whooping. He not-so-gently pushes Jason towards the car door before jogging over to hop into the driver's seat.

It takes a while, once they're actually on the road and leaving their neighbourhoods behind, that Jason finally goes, "You know, I'm just as concerned with how legal this is as I am with the fact that you still haven't told me where we're going."

Leo glares at him through the mirror. "Hey, if I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"

Jason hates surprises. "For all I know, you just kidnapped me for a surprise road trip to Toronto, and I didn't even pack my toothbrush."

Laughter bubbles out of the boy sitting at the wheel, quickly escalating into a full guffaw. "You're funny," Leo gasps, wiping away tears at a red light. "How did I not notice that you're funny?"

Jason's definitely never been told that he's funny. He might joke, sure, but being 'funny' is reserved for people like Percy, people like Leo or Cecil, who carry humour on them like sugar on a pastry, baked into their laughs and sprinkled over top with how clever they are.

No matter how hard Jason's tried, he's never been very clever.

Leo's still laughing, now more of a soft giggle as he pulls into the left lane to make a turn. He tries not to let it affect him.

"You should joke more often, dude. Bet all the girls would love that."

Jason looks outside at the trees and farms they're passing. Judging by the position of the sun, they're heading pretty much due south. There's nothing down south for them to be doing, though, especially not this late at night.

Skinny dipping, maybe. He wouldn't put it past Leo to suggest something like that and actually go through with it. But dragging him along? They barely know each other. What's a couple months on all the other people he knows?

"You wanna turn the radio on?" Leo says. Jason looks over to see him watching him with an odd smile. "Shotgun's choice, right? Don't worry, I won't judge. Even though I bet you listen to those 24-hour 'nature recordings' for fun and don't know what real music sounds like."

Jason rolls his eyes and plays with the dial until the 106.1 comes on. Leo groans. "Seriously? They keep playing, like, the same six artists over and over. Sure, Top 40's fine, but show a little variety, you know?"

He shrugs. It's like Leo said - he doesn't really know radio stations. His dad - when he deigns to drive the family places - is much more of a silence-of-doom, or failing that, an ominous-car-conversations person. "You put something on, then, if you're so set on it." He replies.

The warm light from the street plays over Leo's knuckles as he switches the wheel to one hand, blindly flailing the other one towards Jason until he hits the box behind the gear shift. "Pick a CD from here, whatever's fine. Eh, maybe not the Chopin or Metallica though. Might shift the vibe a bit too much."

Obligingly, Jason tugs at the black, faux-leather box until it comes open with a muffled thunk. Inside is a stack of CDs, spanning everything from Katy Perry to Vivaldi to Iron Maiden to Monsta X.

"Your cousin's got quite the music taste," he tosses out, rifling through the stack while giving periodic glances out the window to make sure they're not, like, five seconds away from a crash or something.

If there was anything Beryl Grace taught her kids, it was how to be a responsible passenger.

Almost on autopilot, Jason digs the pink-purple Teenage Dream CD out of the pile and then has to hastily shove the polaroids that spill out from underneath it back between the surrounding paper disc-sleeves (Mamma Mia!, he sees, and ..Heng:garæ? Whatever that means). That can't be safe for the discs, especially in a moving card, but then again who is he to judge. He doesn't even own any CDs.

They've fully left the town behind now, sailing down the open road with nothing but trees, farms, and the occasional streetlight in sight. He leans over and pops the disc into the CD drive, wondering again for the hundredth time where Leo's taking him.

Leo rolls to a stop at a four-way and watches him skip over the first two songs. "Whadya choose?"

Jason smiles. "Is now a good time to tell you I was born in Pasadena?"

The open bars of 'California Gurls' start to play, and Leo's warm, penny-brown eyes widen before he laughs, bright and a touch wild, incredulous.

It's weird. It's so weird. Maybe this is what his father meant when he said not to get any weird ideas in his head so close to finally reaching the decade-long goal of an Ivy League school. Maybe this is what his mother meant when she'd chastised him, saying hormonal teenagers got more impulsive with puberty and he should take care to keep listening to his parents, lest he lose everything he's worked so hard for.

If anyone else had tried this, he thinks, he wouldn't have said yes. He would have stayed at home, studied ahead for bond enthalpy and subjunctive Spanish, made tomorrow's lunch and cleaned his room. Adhering to routine. Acting - being normal.

You have to be normal, Jason. That's how they love you.

I will not tolerate an abnormal son.

Oh, Jason, it's like you just don't understand. What will people say? About you? About our family?

Leo isn't normal. Or maybe he is. Normal doesn't exist, when he's with Leo. He likes that about him.

He takes a risk and rolls the window down halfway so he can lean his head out and watch the sky, crisp wind tousling his hair. Leo smirks at him and switches the wheel to his right hand so he can roll his window down to match.

"Ten minutes," he says. "Look alive, buddy."

"There must be something in the water", Katy Perry croons.

also from 'burning like a glowing star', this valgrace fic I'm writing.

more stuff: Writing Directory

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

46 + 67 for the trope mashup please? 💖

Is there anything more ooey gooey than a sick fic?

46 Sick!Fic/Injury + 67 Casual Intimacy/Physical Comfort

“You didn’t get enough milk as a kid,” Mickey pointed it out. “Your sister always watered that shit down.”

“Is that right, Mickey Milk?” Ian asked teasingly through the pain meds as the nurse wrapped his arm up in the hardening cast.

Mickey nodded with his eyebrows raised and his lower lip pinched with two front teeth. Ian was just glad he was back to teasing, he’d been a nervous wreck from the second Ian had cried out in pain, and nearly fainted at the sight of bone where it was sticking out from under Ian’s skin. 

Ian learned a long time ago that Mickey could go a little batshit when it came to protecting his nest, and Ian was a very big part of his nest. He’d already talked to Mickey about not being a total fucking dick to the nurses, because his husband was an asshole and Ian had to have surgery to reset his arm so naturally Mickey was a bit well, high strung.

“Why’d you have to break your right arm, man?” Mickey whined once they got back to the truck, annoyance not shown in the gentle way he was buckling the seat belt around Ian’s sling. “I’m going to be wiping your ass for weeks.”

“You’re not going to be wiping my ass,” Ian said indignantly. “I mean, I’ll need a little help-”

“Ian, I’m joking obviously. That’s the whole point of having a husband, when I become a demented fuck from all the headshots I’ve taken over the years you’ll be there to remind me who the hell I am. We do need to stop by to show Franny that you’re alive because she’s flipping her shit right now, she thinks it’s her fault.”

Ian sighed but agreed, stopping by the house for a couple of minutes so that Franny could see that he was mostly completely fine. 

It fucking hurt, his arm really fucking hurt and he didn’t want to keep taking the pain meds. Thirty somethings don’t usually break their arms climbing trees so the world isn’t really built around accommodating him, luckily his husband is a beast with bark and bite and extreme care. 

His sixth sense when it came to Ian was almost creepy sometimes. After the first week, Ian stopped gloating over the royal treatment Mickey needed to give him. It was funny at first, but he was soon slightly annoyed and embarrassed about being washed, fed, and dressed because all he had was his stupid, useless left hand. 

And he felt like he was all stupid, unless left hand. So he didn’t want to let on when his arm was killing him, or when he was getting annoyed by the coddling, and yet somehow Mickey knew. He’d sling an arm around Ian while they were watching movies and dig his thumb into the joint between his shoulder and arm, saying nothing until the tension dissipated. Then he’d get up and claim to be in desperate need for peanut M&Ms, leaving Ian alone in the apartment for a few minutes while he ran to the corner store. 

By the time he got back, all the frustration and humiliation of the day seemed to have melted away and they could try to throw candy into each other mouths from opposite ends of the couch. 

The day Ian got the cast off was as massive relief, they were both so excited for Ian to be able to use his fucking hands again, Mickey watched excitedly as they took the saw to his disgusting off white cast, even leaning in and letting out an theatrical eww at the sight of his dirty, shriveled limb. 

That night when they got home Ian announced that he was overdo for a shower, stripping down and staring expectantly at Mickey. 

Mickey raised his eyebrows, staring back at his husband. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Ian asked curiously. 

“I thought you’d want to maybe, I don’t know, wash your own hair since you’re been bitching for the last week.”

“Well,” Ian said slightly huffy. “I liked it when you washed my hair, maybe I just wanted the option to do it myself.”

Mickey shook his head with an indulgent smile, stripping his shirt off and throwing it playfully at his husbands face on his way to the bathroom.  

Hope you enjoyed :)

[strangemischieff]

She’s Always a Woman To Me—Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: When Steve’s parents come home unexpectedly, he runs to his friend’s house for safety. (First posted fic, feel free to roast.)

A heavy breath escaped Steve’s lips as he pulled into the driveway of her trailer. The only way he knew for sure it was hers was the old blue truck he pulled in behind. He has only been here once before, just to drop her off, so he wasn’t totally sure of himself when he drove there. In fact, he wasn’t totally sure he knew why he drove here. In the past, when he needed somewhere to go, it’d be wherever his friend group was boozing at the moment, but that wasn’t an option anymore. He’d never thought he was bothered by that until this very moment while he was trying to work up the courage to knock on her front door.

She wouldn’t even know you were here, he thought to himself, if you turned and ran right now she’d never know and you can act like everything is normal and stop bothering her about something that’s not even a huge--he got out of the car.

Walking closer to the front door, he could hear music coming through the window in the back—The Pretenders—he almost laughed out loud. The urge to smile at the thought of her spinning records alone on a night before she’d have to spend the whole day in a record store was louder than the thoughts in his head telling him to leave her alone, she never given you any reason to think she likes you enough to help you out tonight, especially when it’s not even--he knocks 3 times.

Quickly, the music was lowered. Through the crisp air and buzzing of the summer evening, Steve could hear glasses clinking and muttered curses as small steps rushed closer to the door separating him from potential safety. Or, she could laugh in your face and kick you out. There are probably plenty of other people she’d rather be around tonight, especially after—

“Harrington?” Steve looked down with a tight lipped smile to see the girl that appeared behind the swinging door. He noticed her voice wasn’t condescending or at all teasing when she asked, “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“Naaah, I just, I-I-I thought I’d stop over because I, uh,” Wherever bridge Steve’s train of thought was careening off of was suddenly gone, replaced only with the question, “What the hell am I interrupting?”

Every strand of her hair was messily thrown into varying sizes of velcro rollers, her t-shirt was damp and hung to her knee, and there was a smear of something muddy on her face. Although he doesn’t think he’d ever seen her without black smudges around her lashes, darkly lined lips, and big red boots on, Steve Harrington wasn’t one to be shocked by a girl with no makeup on. He’d seen plenty of girls “before and after” a night out, so he had no explanation for why he couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Ha-ha, don’t answer my question with a dumber one,” she replied, leaning against the door frame. “Why are you here?”

Again, her tone was just soft enough to make him want to tell her everything that was pounding through his brain like horse hooves on a racetrack. Couldn’t do it, though. “I was in the neighborhood.” He was lying through his teeth and she knew it, and he knew that she knew it, which is why his heart swelled a bit when she told him to come in instead of questioning him further.

He didn’t think it was possible for a trailer to look like this from the inside. In fact, if you’d asked anyone in their graduating class to guess what the inside of her trailer would look like, no one would have come anywhere close. With the records lining the walls on shelves, big pillows and plush blankets on the couch, dim lighting, and photos and posters covering the walls, Steve thinks it’s the coziest place he’s ever been.

He wanted to tell her that; wanted to say thank you for letting him see her home and for answering the door at all and that he’s sorry people didn’t treat her well enough in high school just because they didn’t know any better and that he wishes he could have helped and he doesn’t really deserve to be standing in here at all, but instead he said, “what’s on your cheek?”

She turned her eyes, which looked like they were trying to read something on his face, to the mirror on the wall next to her. “Oh, it’s a facemask. I was kinda having a ‘me night’ before you got here.”

“Hence the new Pretender album I could hear from outside?” he teased, knowing she was going to question why he was there and trying as hard as he could to prolong that.

“Yeah!” she barked a laugh. “I finally got enough saved to snag one of the copies we have in the shop without having to skip out on groceries. Which I was totally considering, by the way.” This earns another big breath from Steve, both a laugh and of some relief at his success. After some silence between the two of them, she continues, “um, you could join me? If you want?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

———

“And this is supposed to do…what, exactly?” Steve scrunched his nose at the slowly hardening gray goop covering his cheeks. He was seated on her bed, hair pinned away from his face as he sipped on the glass of wine in his hand. She was across the room, leafing through the milk crate of vinyls under her desk.

“I don’t know, make your skin better? Close your pores? Something like that.” She waved it off, turning to him. “Stop doing that, relax your face. Hall and Oates okay?” She held the record up for him to see.

He nodded as she approached the record player. Did she know they were one of his favorites? “I’m offended that you think my skin needs the help.”

“Shut up, it’s more for fun than anything else,” she walked over to him as the static faded into the familiar opening chords of You're Out of Touch. As she put a hand on his cheek, the poetic timing of that particular song was not lost on him, especially while he was trying his hardest not to think about it. “I think we’re good to take it off now anyway. Follow me.”

He did so, into the tight space as she turned on the sink. She waited for the water to warm up, then dipped a washcloth into the stream, hopping up onto the counter next to the sink to face him. Resting her hand on the spot between his neck and shoulder, she began to wipe the facemask off of his skin.

“Am I hurting you?’

“No.”

“Then stop doing that scrunchie face again.”

Whether it was the glass and a half of chardonnay he had since getting to her place, or the steady rhythm of her dipping the cloth into the warm water, cleaning off his skin, rinsing the gray stuff off the cloth, and repeating, Steve’s tension had almost totally eased. So, he was caught off guard when she said, softly, “do you want to tell me why you came here?”

Steve held his breath and she must have noticed because she continued in the same tone, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. But I know just talking about things usually helps me, makes my brain quieter. Or we don’t have to.”

Steve took a deep breath. She wasn’t watching him, staying vigilant to clean his face (which was quickly warming up, and he is blaming that entirely on the warm water and nothing else). But was looking right at her, and he decided he wasn’t afraid. In this tiny bathroom, he didn’t need to be.

“My parents came home,” he finally admitted. She didn’t pause her process, or speak, and Steve assumes she was waiting to see if he wanted to say more. “I didn’t expect them to, and as soon as they started talking to me I just…needed somewhere else to go. I didn’t want to be in my house anymore.”

She looked like she was thinking for a moment, before she said, “I know they’re not usually there. Do you prefer that?”

“You got that right,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, obviously I don’t get along well with my parents either,” she vaguely gestured to the trailer she lived in by herself, “But I don’t know how I’d handle my parents popping in and playing house all of the sudden,” she was looking at him with her big eyes.

Steve didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like it was okay to complain about his family, with how well off they were compared to people like her and the Byers. His mouth was opening and nothing was coming out. She hopped off the counter. “I don’t blame you for running out of there. But there’s no one to antagonize you like that here.” she laughed.

As she hung the cloth on the drying rack and handed him a fluffy towel for his face (telling him sternly to “pat, don’t rub,”) and began to rinse her own face in the sink, Steve continued, “I guess I just didn’t want to act like I was feeling sorry for myself. But the thought of staying in the house with them made me, I don’t know, panic. I just wasn’t ready to deal with it.

“I totally get it! You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit out of nowhere!” she raised her voice slightly to make sure he heard her over the rushing water.

Like the flowing of water from the faucet, Steve let his words flow from his mouth without stopping them, “They always want to grill me about my life, you know? And no matter what I’m doing, it’s never enough. Hell, I could tell them I’ve been elected president and they’d find a reason why I’m not doing enough! And what if I don’t want to think that far into my future just yet? What if I just want to ‘live for today’ or whatever. Oh, and don’t even get me started on how they acted when I told them about the breakup with Nancy. They NEVER take interest in my personal life until I mention that I’m single again, and all of the sudden they just want to talk about how I couldn't even keep a relationship with such a nice and promising young lady. And if I even try to defend myself my father will..”

Quickly snapping off the tap, she turned to face him, water dripping off of her chin. She seemed to be holding her breath, clearly expecting the worst. Although she might not have been too far off, he decided he’d maybe want to keep the details to himself for now, and waved himself off.

“You can stay here, if you wanna,” she told him when he didn’t resume the rant, “That way you don’t have to think about going back until you’re ready.”

Steve’s heart swelled at the offer, and despite feeling like it was more than what he deserved for this situation, he nodded his head, and she grinned. Looking at her, he noticed she missed a spot right under her eye, so he grabbed the cloth she used on his face, held her chin with his other hand, and gently wiped her skin clean. As she watched him carefully, she quietly told him, “you don’t deserve that, you know. I mean, no one does, but you really don’t.”

“Yeah?” he murmured softly, eyes flicking over to hers before returning to his task.

“Yeah. I think you’re doing just fine. Better than they’d pay attention enough to notice,” they stayed looking at each other.

“I’m still sorry for complaining,” he admitted, tone still soft. “I wouldn’t blame someone like you for being annoyed when someone like me complains.”

“Now you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” she pointed out, rolling forward on her toes and almost bumping her nose against his. “Besides, just because I might have some shit, it doesn’t make your shit any less…shitty.” Steve laughed, clearly confused, and she threw her head back in a laugh as well, tossing her wrist over his shoulder. “I just mean that two things can be sad at the same time. And you can tell me anything. I…I’m happy to listen.”

Steve looked down at their feet, both of them in a pair of her fuzzy socks (“they’re essential,” she had told him), and reached a hand up to wrap around her forearm. “Thank you,” he spoke deliberately as he brought his eyes back up to hers. “I think…I think I know that. I mean, that I can tell you…stuff.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Okay, let’s go, if you’re spending the night you’re watching ‘Raiders of the Lost Arc’ with me.”

The movie choice didn’t matter, by the end of the night. The two of them talked over it, and the next one, and the next; they talked about their parents or exes or the things that kept them up at night here and there, when one of them felt like they needed to. They laughed those laughs that make your face get all hot and make you feel like you’ve just run the mile in gym. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like that, and it was certainly more laughs than he would have had with his parents at home. They talked to each other until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore. And the next morning, when Steve wakes up on the couch with her feet on his lap, he decides that he’d never felt more at home.

[drinkingbitterboy]

alright. i have emotionally recovered from miles posting on instagram this morning, which truly threw off my plan to do a little concert recap bc i was busy yelling at my phone/on tumblr. as you do.

a couple notes:

i don't really do concert photos; literally took a grand total of 4 during the actual show. so sorry, don't have much there!

i did not get a poster :( turns out they ran out before AM even went on stage?? i'm sad, but not too pressed bc really i'd much rather have a good view than wait in the merch line.

here we go!!

so getting into the arena was kind of a shit show lmao. we rolled up around door open and the line stretched 5 city blocks and doubled back on itself; it was mostly organized but asshats loved to pop in when the line got broken up by the streets. took us almost an hour to make it our five blocks and the line behind us was still just as long by then. at least folks waiting by us in line were nice! beyond nice conversation the true highlight was outfit spotting. shoutout to the absolutely dedicated guy who showed up in the full on fwn clown outfit complete with face paint by himself. in this weather! found a couple folks dressed exactly like the car alex (again, why are you wearing a blazer in this weather) and you know. felt real old about it seeing some of the other concert outfits. i'm sorry, not to be judgemental of the tiktok girlies, but holy shit. i managed to out myself once as a weird fan about it bc i had "inside knowledge" aka i saw the ig stories james and davey posted lmao. i'm so sorry i'm incapable of holding it in when i want to correct someone. had a grand time talking to some people in line next to me around my age; one of them even had an old sias shirt from seeing them live back then! good bonding about "hey what have you done since they announced this album?" one guy switched jobs twice, we got married, and the other couple had a baby. jfc.

further highlights include the person who wrote the batphone and cheeseburger notes, a couple other car truck bits i didn't take pics of saying things like "who the fuck are the arctic monkeys", and the true comedy of whoever designed the tickets. big mike wazowski energy

fontaines dc sounded great! a lot of folks around me had no clue who they were, though. so the crowd wasn't too excited overall. also i have no idea who put together the playlist in between sets bc it was nuts.

and then: the big reveal (that i then updated tumblr on)

i'm really surprised the whole set made it! the anticipation before they took the curtain down was absolutely palpable. also, didn't get a picture of it but at one point someone had a giant pole and was trying to poke something right at at the top of the frame of the screen. no idea what that was about but it was hilarious. not pictured: the bonus screens on either side of the stage.

an aside: my partner is fucking hilarious. every time a roadie came on state with an instrument he'd go "i don't think that one is a monkey." he also generally calls them the "monkfys" anyway bc he really latched onto that clip aksdjfs

so this was interesting! they didn't show the body paint symbols at all on any of the screens; instead, they showed this colorful wheel thing.

and then the actual show. oh my word. opening with sculptures was absolutely my dream and honestly i don't have words for what it's like to see alex in person. he's absolutely captivating. hypnotizing. one of the most amazing things is watching how he proceeds through the show--how he goes from suave and put together with his choreographed arm movements for emphasis and his little things like the little bubble pop in that song. and then he starts to loosen up (along with his hair), we get the silly dramatic theatre kid during cornerstone and do me a favour, and by the time we hit body paint he's just completely letting loose. even when they played much of the usual setlist and i obviously know the music super well--better than anyone else around me--it was still absolutely thrilling to just be there and listen to the music and sing loudly and jump around until we felt the floorboards creak. they felt really high energy last night! turns out coming off of a break is good for them!

related, getting to watch the transformation into the poofy lion hair in real life is incredible.

i must admit, i am not immune to things like alex waving in our general direction to the crowd and walking over to our side of the stage and all of the charming bits. just can't help it.

otherwise, the only other person i could consistently see was nick - we were standing stage right, maybe 15 yards back? so you know. gorgeous as always. i'm sure jamie was wonderful also in his insane leather jacket -- didn't see him at all lol. i managed to get a very convenient window to center stage so i actually saw alex a decent amount. worked out well because i couldn't actually see the screens super well. i'm short. here's the only two pictures i actually took of the band, right at the beginning:

and now for the rest of the setlist -- we all know they played a lot of the usual suspects. as expected, much of the crowd was pretty young and very invested in only AM and the hype songs. i didn't mind; at least i wasn't the only person screaming for perfect sense (weren't a lot of us, i was the only one in my general area, but that's alright. i don't care.) my spouse was entertained by the person next to us who looked up the spotify set playlist in between every song; he was like "why look it up? if you don't know the songs well enough to identify by intro then how is the list supposed to help?" anyway, holy shit when is snap getting out of the playlist? and yet even though i was not thrilled by it it was still so fun to sing along.

4 out of 5 had a really funny bit at the end while he was just kinda ad libbing lines. "four stars out of five, not quite there yet, but almosttttt." teddy picker and view from the afternoon were absolutely fantastic, too. and then we get the basic AM bits again, though turns out the crowd was also really hype for fluorescent adolescent. 10/10

i was so goddamn loud for perfect sense. shoutout to the spouse again for only knowing that song bc i learned to play it and then played it constantly bc i wanted to manifest it aksjdflaskdj

he was constantly saying "very nice. very nice. very good" in between songs, which was adorable. "hope you're having a lovely evening, folks." as my partner put it: "very good. that's him like yes, i've met my crowd interaction quota for the night"

and then of course we brought out the drama for do me a favour and cornerstone. i cracked up that there were already gifs of the "forcing a smile" bit by the time i got home.

mirrorball started with alex conducting the stings again. i love it so much. also makes my musician ass miss performing lmao. but really, i can't get over how good mirrorball is. it's so dramatic, so emotional, then the actual mirrorball reveal??? i cried. it's insane. it's beautiful. it's honestly indescribable. i generally don't like people filming a lot or taking tons of pictures but you know what? mirrorball is an exception. holy mother of god.

and then 505!! i know i mentioned this earlier but really??? the mirrorball is only lit up like this for 505 and then they pull it back up?? there better be a mirrorball for me, he says, then we pull it down for the very miles song, and then they get rid of it???????? i had some thoughts.

our end of the stage got a bit distracted during do i wanna know bc we had someone go down in the crowd and had to call someone over to help. good news is that they were pretty close to the wall/barrier so it was easy to make space. even so, i realy can't get over how good that guitar sounds.

and then body paint. we've all seen videos of the extended outro and really, truly, it's just a life-altering experience to watch it life. it sounded incredible, it looked incredible with the rainbow lights, everyone looked like they were having a blast. i am a little biased bc i'm so attached to that song i'm getting tattoos about it on monday lmao. but man. not over it.

and finally the encore. ONE POINT PERSPECTIVE?????? i was NOT expecting it and absolutely lost my shit. unfortunately at this point bc we did some shifting around i no longer had a good view of anything. so it goes.

dancefloor, as always, was an absolute jam. bonus points bc now it's forever associated with our wedding. and r u mine had the place going nuts bc you know, the AM only folks, but really, i am also not immune to how hard that song goes.

all in all, that concert was absolutely incredible. i had an absolute BLAST and it was such a joy. i loved getting to be loud and truly did not care that there were bits where i was the only one who knew all the words. even my partner who is only really a tangential am fan had a really good time. they sounded amazing. i'm absolutely still on a high from it. hopefully the transition to a smaller venue again after the huge stadium tour was nice for the band, too!

and now time for some more coffee.

[wordstro]

[20] apocalypse + ex! san + "i can't fix this, can i?"

part 19 | masterlist 

a/n: 9k words whew. also the final part! thank you everyone for showing so much support for this! i love you all!!! warnings for some very existential talks, mentions of su1c1de once again, and some setting-typical gore descriptions. i am very sorry for how this ends lol........i will say this ended a little differently than originally planned though.

-

"how does this thing always survive?" you ask san, fiddling with the beat up radio.

san chuckles, shrugging, "if the internet still existed, i'd give this thing five stars."

you flip the radio in your hands for a moment, the grooves and scratches scraping at the pads of your fingertips. the volume button is beginning to come off. you carefully clip to your belt loop and decidedly ignore the memories of the sanctuary the thing dredges up. you'd decided long ago that you wouldn't talk about the place. in fact, you're yet to visit the burnt remains, despite knowing how close it is to your cabin.

you look up at san. he sits on the remnants of a broken brick wall in front of one of the more damaged houses. someone crashed a small pickup truck through the wall. you both already scoured the house in search of anything salvageable. all that was left was broken glass and plates all over the floor. the walls were stripped as bare as the pantry. even the bedroom mattresses were stripped of all its bedding. you took great care not to look to far into it, as you usually did when you broke into abandoned homes in search of food or shelter, but five minutes ago, you both came upon a locked attic door and the stench of rotting flesh, maggots crawling along the hallway floor. how either of you can make jokes, or just...move on, when something like that sits mere meters from you is yet another thing to feel guilty about.

san kicks his feet, his hair falling into his eyes. you say, "your hair is too long."

"my hairstylist is all booked out this month," san says.

you can't help but laugh.

san gives you a small smile, his gaze lingering on your face for a long moment. you're unsure, sometimes, what you're supposed to do when you catch him lingering like that. you figure it makes sense. he thought you were dead for months upon months. he's going to look at you like he's trying to remember details of your face he'd forgotten. you give him a pass for that because, frankly, it's understandable. still, you find yourself trailing off, gaze falling to the radio once more. you don't want to deny him that, especially when you let him believe you were dead for so long, and you don't necessarily hate the lingering moments, but you don't know what to do with it. the way it makes you a little nervous, the way it makes you look away, you don't want to examine that. it's baggage you're determined to never ever unpack.

there's a beat of silence before san points at the radio clipped to your belt loop, "i'll bring extra batteries next time. i think the convenience store south of the bunker should still have some."

you sigh, "you really don't have to. i can find some on my own."

it's been four weeks since you saw san again, and you've seen him every week since then. four days. once a week. for four weeks. you'd both agreed on it after that first day, and maybe you were a total idiot to take on his offer, to let him back into your life after everything, but everything he had said that day was not wrong.

you'd thought about it all that first week. you spent so many nights wide awake, curled on your side and listening to the faint clicking noises beyond your barricaded door as you mulled over every single word san had said to you, and how he said it to you.

that second time, you'd stood far enough from san that you both had to cup your hands around your mouths to shout at each other so the other could hear, and you'd yelled, "i'm not going back to that bunker."

san said, "i don't blame you."

the look in his eyes was...sad. you'd wondered during your nights wide awake if he was ever upset with his friends for what happened. you'd wondered how that day went after he thought you'd burned yourself with the sanctuary to save him and his friends, the same friends who put you in that damned place in the first place.

you'd said, "and i don't want to go anywhere near the sanctuary. ever. understood?"

"i don't...i'd never ask you to go back there. i haven't been back since the day...since the day after. when i tried to find your body," san called, shrugging. he kicked at grass, hands in his pockets, lips pursed.

something in your chest curled at the thought. he'd even gone back there.

you'd also called, "you don't get to know where i'm staying."

san nodded, "i understand."

from then on out, the conversation faded out and you were both left in silence. somehow your weekly meetups turned into hours of rummaging through houses and stores for food and supplies to split between the two of you.

neither of you really said much, but the company was enough. at least for you. sometimes, san would hold a tree branch back for you as you trekked through trails to explore smaller towns and farms off the highway, or warn you of sudden steps. sometimes, he'd ask if you were hungry and conjure snacks.

your meetups consisted of the smallest of small talks, yet the silences were...comforting. perhaps, you've gotten used to having a companion with you - from spending most of your chore time at the sanctuary at jongho or san's side to all that time with mrs. kim - and that's why you've started finding yourself looking forward to seeing san every week.

that was something you did not wish to delve too far into. so you decided that your time with san reminded you of your time with mrs. kim. to an extent, it really did. it was as if you were both living in a little bubble of peace that did not make sense in a world like this, and it brought you a moment of serenity you thought had walked away with mrs. kim.

but the dread? the anxiety? it was still there. worse than when you sat in limbo with mrs. kim. it sat at the pit of your stomach and draped itself over your shoulders, whispering of how things were going too smoothly. how this was too good to be true.

now here san is giving you the same damned radio you'd left your apartment in the city with. it's like an omen, especially coupled with what you'd both left behind in that house. death always follows this radio, you've learned, and that thought has your stomach churning.

you glance over his shoulder, at the broken house, fingers curling around the radio.

"i know i don't have to, but i want to." san's voice drifts through the silence, "besides, i think we should have some way to communicate throughout the week."

"i..." you turn the radio over in your hands, once, twice, before you say, "okay."

you turn your gaze from san to the broken pickup truck lodged into the wall san sits on. there's a pair of fuzzy purple dice hanging from the crooked rearview mirror inside the car.

san says, "i wasn't going to give that to you, but..."

your gaze flits to san, from the way he fiddles with his fingers in his lap, to the way he turns slightly to look back at the house. he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. the expression on his face is a familiar thing, something you'd feel lodge in your throat whenever you'd stare at that damned rifle for far too long. live with it, live with it, live with it. your own words echo in your head like a mantra, like a prayer, like a plead.

the thing about the end of the world is that death is a constant. every morning, you'd come upon mangled bodies that you believed were the fog's doing. oftentimes you'd come upon scenes just like the one in the house, bodies hanging from chandeliers and ceiling fans, or worse, with guns lodged in their mouths or knifes clutched in their fingers. it's normal, even, you'd say. each body was another guilty notch on your list of reasons to live, and maybe that does make you a naïve idiot, to let everyone else's problems become your burden. or maybe that's just what you're wired to do. either way, you find yourself frowning at san, at the clear unsaid words lingering in the air between you both.

you say, "i'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're afraid of."

san blinks.

you roll your eyes, but your heart is lodged in your throat, and live with it rings loud in your ears and you say, "i killed all those people when i blew the sanctuary up, and that guilt eats me alive every single fucking day. i don't think i'm allowed to just...die. not yet."

san's fingers curl into fists in his lap. he says, "why did you do it? why didn't you just come with us?"

"if the sanctuary survived, they wouldn't have left us alone."

"that was never your burden to bear," san says with a sigh, dragging both hands through his hair. his eyes glitter with an unreadable emotion. those words make you come to a pause. no one's ever said that to you. not in so many words.

"should i have let jongho do it, then?"

san gives you a small smile. he says, "i guess not."

then you both fall into silence as he walks you to the edge of the forest and you both say your goodbyes.

~.~.~.~.~

with the radio comes conversations throughout the week. they're sporadic, but you keep the radio clipped to your belt even as you're wringing out laundry in the clearing outside the cabin or exploring the woods to find dry wood for fire. they start off as small pleasantries, reports even about your days.

things like:

"jongho is trying speech therapy. yunho says it'll work." san said one evening, while you were boarding up the door and windows for the night. your heart did a little flip at the name and the confirmation that he's alive and okay, despite everything.

"is yunho even a trained doctor?"

"not a paramedic like you were. but he was two years into med school when everything happened. doubt any residency would have ever given him half the amount of hands on training he's had since everything went to shit though."

and:

"mrs. kim tried to teach me how to make rabbit and squirrel traps, but we're both awful at it," you'd explained once.

san said, "i can teach you next time. apparently that's one of my talents."

"setting up traps?" you'd asked, "sounds about right."

san had groaned, "that's fair."

even:

"do you want me to bring you some books? no one reads around here."

"please," you said, "i've been reading the same book for months. i think i can recite it word for word now."

san laughed, "you can't just say that and not recite it word for word. go on."

and sometimes even just:

"good night."

~.~.~.~.~

three more weeks pass, and san's kept his word on taking you into the woods to show you how to set up traps to hunt for food.

he holds a low hanging branch as you edge past him. the ground is cold and hard, trees bare of leaves, and you both know you're not going to catch anything anyway. it's the dead of winter, and the animals are sleeping. still, san showed you how to tie secure knots, raising a brow at you in silence, waiting for your permission before he placed his fingers over yours and guided your hands through the proper motions. even Before, he'd never been quite so sweet, but you figured this was because he'd promised to start over, and the san you once knew is not the san of After. you used to think that was a strange thing, and it made you uneasy. and, maybe, it still does, to an extent. however, in the grand scheme of things, it certainly makes starting over easier.

san trips over a protruding root, and the little yelp that leaves his mouth as he catches himself has you giggling. san narrows his eyes at you, but his grin is contagious.

you don't know about forgiveness, or forgetting, or even trust, but three more weeks have passed and you think maybe you're both getting somewhere.

~.~.~.~.~

the trees start to bud around your clearing. you'd missed the foliage shading you from the sun, but the tiny pink buds of one of the trees brings a fullness to your heart you hadn't felt in a while. you'd never stayed in one place long enough to see the seasons change.

even then, winter does not seem to want to leave. it's snowing.

san blinks up at the grey skies, his nose and the tips of his ears pink, his cheeks flushed, and his hair falling into his eyes. white snowflakes stick to his hair.

you hold out a hand, and you find yourself smiling. "so pretty," you say.

"yeah," san says, and you look back over your shoulder to find san looking at you, his dimple peeking out over his scarf. he looked away first, his cheeks flushed.

you laughed. san grimaced at you, fighting a smile all the while.

maybe starting over isn't so bad.

~.~.~.~.~

only a week later, when the snow has melted away completely and the flowers are still tiny colorful buds, you trip over a familiar boot lodged in the bushes. san catches you by the arm before you can smack your face into the hard ground, but that still doesn't stop you from sinking to your knees.

you recognize that boot because you've spent too many mornings staring at them from your vantage point sprawled in the grass of the clearing in front of the cabin while mrs. kim cooked or cleaned or just sat in silence.

you and san hadn't ventured far from your cabin. you still have not shown him the cabin, but you've both been venturing the forest around it recently. the thought of mrs. kim's boot being so close to your cabin brings a sinking feeling to your stomach.

"y/n?"

san crouches beside you, his hand on your back.

you say, "this is mrs. kim's."

you never told san much about mrs. kim, other than the fact that she saved you and she left for the sea before you met san again. still, san's hand stills on your back.

"maybe," your voice sounds shrill to your own ears, "maybe she had a spare?"

and, perhaps you will always be the type to seek out more reasons to feel guilty. perhaps you really are wired for it.

because you stand up, and you start to look, and san his on your heels, quietly following you as you call for her knowing damn well she's not going to answer.

under a tree further north, you find her other boot. it's tied to the lowest tree branch by its shoelaces, the ratty black boot swinging lightly in the breeze.

you step forward, intent on looking further, when you feel a tug on your sleeve.

you turn, and san's hand remains on your elbow, squeezing lightly. his touch is reassuring. he says, "what are you going to do with yourself if you find her?"

you both know damn well you won't find her alive. you can't help the way your eyes start to sting. in fact, you try to stop the tears, fingers curling into fists. you want to shout. you want to cry. you want to understand how the hell she only made it this far.

"she was," you take a deep breath, "she was supposed to visit."

but your voice cracks as you say it, and you find yourself crumbling despite everything. you hadn't even cried like this when you saw san again and you two talked about starting over. as you stand here with one of mrs. kim's boots dangling from your fingers and the other one dangling from the tree branch, your tears do not stop. your chest hurts with the pain of it. your knees buckle. san catches you before you fall, and he wraps you up in his arms. you clutch onto him. he presses your face to his chest and you let yourself sob. you hadn't cried for a long, long time. you've forgotten how to, your breathing unsteady as you gulp for air.

you cry, and san strokes your back.

~.~.~.~.~

san sits on the steps of your cabin beside you, the two of you staring at the mound of dirt in the clearing. you'd dug up the hole and buried her shoes away. you hadn't dug the hole deep enough.

you say, "she told me she helped me because she owed you."

"oh," san lets out a small, breathless laugh. you watch him look down at his hands. the skin around his nails is rough, as if he's been picking at them. that is a habit he'd never had before. it's new. "before the bunker, i spent some time with another group. there was this girl, doyeon. i wasn't surprised she was mrs. kim's granddaughter. she was so nosy and loud just like mrs. kim. we all used to share stories and so many people talked about their grandparents, and doyeon used to say she wished she had the chance to get to know them."

san trails off, and you ask, "what happened to her?"

san closes his eyes. maybe you aren't the only one wired to carry the burden of guilt on your shoulders. he draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his knees. he says, "my old group found the bunker. there used to be a lot of in-fighting. i picked a side, when i should have tried to keep the peace, but how was i supposed to know this fight would be serious?"

san lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders drooping. it explains why he maintained such neutrality between you and his friends.

"it was five against three that day. me, wooyoung, and doyeon against five guys. things didn't work out. they beat the shit out of us. i'm talking broken bones, lots and lots of blood... we were tied up like pigs for slaughter. wooyoung had a fucking knife in him. i had broken fingers - i don't even think they've healed properly. doyeon's jaw was broken, and she could barely talk. as night drew closer, it became increasingly obvious that it was either us or them. so -" san rubs his red-rimmed eyes, "so we came up with a plan. doyeon thought of it, actually, and sometimes, i wonder if she just...knew what was going to happen to her from the moment she suggested the plan. she lured them out to the front of the bunker. i'll spare you the details, but we managed to push them out of the bunker. it was going smoothly, until it didn't. as we were closing the doors, one of them dragged doyeon out with them. i tried so hard to save her, but...but the sun was setting quickly and she decided to let go. the look in her eyes - i think she knew. woo says it wasn't my fault. either way, she died that night and i couldn't save her. the next morning, there were only pieces left of them. ears and limbs and...and doyeon's hands. woo and i buried her in her favorite part of town and we decided to stay at the bunker anyway. we decided we wouldn't let something like that happen again. that's why it's so hard for the boys to trust people, y/n, and i understand that isn't an excuse, but i think you deserve that explanation. doyeon...i couldn't keep her safe even though i said i would, and i thought i could live with that too, but then i ended up at the sanctuary and met her fucking grandmother." you watch san let out a staggering breath, his eyes fixed on the burial spot, "if anything i'm the one who owes mrs. kim."

you don't know what to say about san's admission. you remember him telling you he'd done horrible things to end up at the bunker. you remember how irritated he had been when you let it slip that you felt safe in the bunker that first night, despite the fact that you were surrounded by strangers. he'd been so angry, and now you can see why. you don't know what to say, so you resort to an attempt at lightheartedness, your chest tight.

"join the club," you mutter, your voice shaky despite your attempt for nonchalance, "i owe her my damned life too, and instead of letting me repay my debts, she had the fucking nerve to die so close to home."

san laughs, says, "she could have at least made it to the sea."

you snort, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you both sit in silence. you say, "if it's any consolation, i'm sorry about doyeon. you tried your best."

he says, "i thought i'd come to terms with it, but when you...i promised i'd keep you safe, and i couldn't do that with you either."

"you tried," you repeat, "that's what matters in the end, i think."

"it wasn't enough."

"it will be."

you can hear the sharp intake of breath, the way san stiffens under your head, but he does not move. he does not say anything.

you hear a sniffle. he says, "you think so?"

you push away to look up at him. he peers down at you, his face inches from yours. his eyes are glassy, and his hair is too long, and his nose is tinged red, and he looks so otherworldly, like a painting. his honeyed gaze curls around your racing heart, and the sun casts gold over his sharp features. you think you understand why throughout history people went to war for pretty queens and kings.

he presses a thumb to your cheek. your heart pounds.

you say, "you really need a haircut."

san laughs. you could drown, you think, in his dimples and his glassy eyes and the rough circles he traces along your cheek and loud laugh.

he asks, "do you have scissors?"

"kitchen scissors."

his gaze flickers over your face. he says, "perfect."

he sits on mrs. kim's once untouched chair, and stares apprehensively at the rusty kitchen scissors in your hands.

he helps you board up the windows and door when the sun starts to set.

he opens the canned food for you. canned food tastes better, you find, when you share it with someone.

he sleeps in mrs. kim's once untouched bed, and you really do think trying is enough.

~.~.~.~.~

only three days pass when you start to notice things are...strange.

not between you and san, but in the woods.

"i think someone must have accidentally planted a shit ton of mint leaves around here. they were too small last time i saw it, so maybe now it's going to -"

you come to halt next to a giant oak tree. its bare branches stretch out to one side, trunk bowed, as if it is a giant looming over you. nailed to the trunk sits a purple piece of cloth. it's flag-like in its shape. it flutters in the breeze. a chill runs straight down your back. you hadn't seen a purple flag since that day you ran into san. you hadn't seen flags since your attempt to avoid the sanctuary. the fact of the matter is that this flag means that someone is out here other than you and san. and they are close.

san's voice echoes all around you, crackly and filled with static. "y/n? y/n? what's wrong?"

your stomach churns as you swivel on your heels, scanning the other trees. despite the beginnings of spring, the leaves have still not returned fully. there are so many bare branches and dead leaves. as you walk, the leaves crunch under your boots.

for a moment, you don't think you should say anything.

but you're starting over, aren't you? you're supposed to try. you don't have to -

a few hundred steps away, another purple flag is nailed to an old tree trunk. your heart jumps in your chest.

you press the radio, "what do purple flags mean?"

your voice is quiet. the ensuing silence rings loud as you step further through the forest, as you come upon another one. it's a trail, you realize, as you keep walking. maybe you shouldn't follow it.

yet you do, even as san's crackly voice fills the silence, "purple flags?"

it takes thirty-six seconds for you to recognize the trail as you keep walking, dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. you say, "there are purple pieces of cloth nailed to the trees, san. they look flags or markers or something."

a pause. "are you following them?"

"yeah," you come to a stop at the next nailed purple flag, your gaze falling on the familiar trees. the clearing. your clearing. you swallow the lump in your throat, your grip on the radio so hard you're afraid you'll break it. "fuck."

"y/n, what is it?"

you say, "it leads to the cabin."

"shit," san's voice is sharp, alert, with an undercurrent of terror curling underneath everything, "y/n, you need to leave now. get out of there right n-"

you turn off the radio, dousing yourself in the silence of the woods. it's not so peaceful now, and every crack of a branch, every rustle of dead leaves, makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. you should run. every cell in your body screams at you to do so, but you find yourself stepping forward. you find yourself peering into the clearing.

wedged into the lump of overturned dirt where you buried mrs. kim's boots is a purple flag fluttering at the end of a wooden stick. there's nothing telling about it. it's merely a poorly dyed purple bedsheet, splotchy and lighter in some parts then others, wrapped around a wooden stick. still your heart pounds against your ribcage. it's as if the shoddiness of the person's work is more terrifying then if the flag was cleanly done, the way the sanctuary's had been. and a smidge of anger curls at the pit of your stomach. your eyes drift to your cabin. the door is wide open, swaying on its rusted hinges.

you back up, one step, two steps, three, until you're running.

~.~.~.~.~

you emerge from the trees to san out of breath, his hair windswept.

you blink in surprise. he surges forward, clutching your shoulders as he gives you a onceover, out of breath the entire time.

your stomach continues to churn, even as san says, "you're okay. you're okay."

you're not sure who he's trying to convince of that.

you are not okay.

you'd spent so many months in a bubble, thinking that everything would be fine. that the end of all things was this gentle, careful, serene thing where all that is left in the world is yourself and anyone you allow in it. that you could make a home somewhere and you would be okay. but the world is nothing like that. you're unsure why you ever thought otherwise. you were in that fucking sanctuary. you were robbed at knifepoint by san and his friends. you killed your mother. you've come upon dead bodies, whether by others doings or their owns. mrs. kim is dead.

you're no ghost, because at least ghosts wander peacefully. you will never find any peace. someone or something will always find a way to burst your bubble. they'll encroach on your space, and you will never truly be safe, and the realization, however late it is, is terrifying. maybe you are naïve. you thought you'd hardened after everything, but you still clung to hope. you look at still san. you still are. to have reprieve from the terror of the end of the world only to feel it so wholly all at once - it's fucking jarring. you hate yourself for ever believing the reprieve could be permanent. as long as those things float in the sky, you'll never find peace.

your hands are shaking. your vision is blurred.

your gaze slides over san's worried face.

wooyoung stares back at you.

you grab san's hands, placing them at his sides, and you squeeze them once before letting him go. you ask, "someone was inside my cabin. they fucking...they put a marker on mrs. kim's grave. purple. everything was purple."

wooyoung is the one to speak, his voice low, thoughtful, "i've been seeing purple markers all over the place, but they never led anywhere. i thought someone was just using them to help them remember places."

"you can't go back there," san's voice is a quiet thing, fragile almost, "it's not safe. i know you said you didn't want to go back to the bunker, but y/n, you cannot go back there."

"it isn't safe anywhere," your fingers curl around each other, "i'd feel safer squatting in one of these houses then staying in your bunker."

you give wooyoung a pointed look, even as you gesture at the dilapidated stone houses around you.

wooyoung rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he cocks his head to the side, "come on, y/n. wasn't robbing me enough?"

"no, actually," you turn fully on him, stepping closer. "let me get a few more punches in."

wooyoung laughs, eyeing you up and down as you round on him. "good to see you're back in tip top shape."

"you really want me to punch you don't you?" you say, fingers clenched into a fist.

"oh," wooyoung grins, tone dripping with honeyed amusement, "i'd love to see you try."

"wooyoung, shut the fuck up," san groans, dragging a hand over his face. san puts a hand on your elbow, and you realize that you are inches from wooyoung, fists clenched, all while wooyoung grins at you without stepping back.

you step back first, glaring at wooyoung for good measure.

san says, "i'm serious, y/n. we don't know who this person is."

"or group," wooyoung mutters, his grin turning into a frown.

san nods, "exactly."

"he's showing absolutely zero remorse, san. if wooyoung's anything to go by, i'd rather get eaten by those aliens then spend a night around your snake friends."

there's a long long stretch of silence. the hairs at the back of your neck still stand on end. the three of you are still at the edge of the forest, out in the open for anyone to watch from the woods. how could you be stupid enough to think no one was ever watching all this time?

"just one night," san says, pleads really, "that's all. just so we have time to clear your place together and find you a new, safer place."

your heart skips a beat at his words, while another part of you is angry you even have to find a new place. you're tired of wandering, and you're tired of feeling scared. you're tired.

still, you meet san's gaze and you sigh. "fine."

~.~.~.~.~

the walk to the bunker had been silent. wooyoung wandered ahead while san matched your strides, his shoulder occasionally brushing against yours.

"i punched him, you know," san says quietly.

you blink up at him. san nods his chin towards wooyoung's back as he leads the way.

"so many times, actually," san smiles a little, "and wooyoung didn't hit me back once. you know him. he always has something to say back, but for months he just...let himself be my punching bag, figuratively and literally, after i lost you."

"that doesn't mean he's sorry," you say, frowning at wooyoung's back.

"in his own way, he is." san purses his lips, "doesn't mean you have to forgive him though. i know i haven't."

you blink. oh. you didn't think he was ever going to hold his friends accountable in any way. you didn't think he even blamed his friends for anything. something churns at the pit of your stomach, and it feels like the strangest bout of guilt. you say, "you love him. you love your friends."

"i think we both know you can love someone and still never forgive them," san murmurs. he looks down at you.

"still," you say quietly, "i'm sorry. your relationship is strained because of me."

he shakes his head.

"it's strained because of their decisions."

"i'm still sorry."

"at least they're trying," san says, and his tone is soft and kind, maybe even a little sad, "they won't hurt you, y/n. please trust me on that at least."

wooyoung turns into a familiar alleyway, one you'd passed through a long, long time ago.

the metal door leading to the bunker sits straight ahead. it's blocked off by abandoned cars, hiding it from view unless one knows where to look. you know where to look.

you take a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. months ago, you wouldn't have conceded with san even on this point, but now you find yourself believing him. maybe that's stupid of you, but you find that you believe him. just a little bit.

~.~.~.~.~

the bunker is exactly as you remembered it. the strewn blankets and cushions. the comforting lights. the long hallway. the way the cold air raises goosebumps along your skin. the feeling that this place is lived in, despite being a metal bunker space.

"you can sleep in my bed," san says, from where he stands awkwardly across from you, next to the kitchen island stools. he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, though his gaze remains steadily on you, "i'll sleep down here."

wooyoung looks between you both in the silence that ensues afterwards, before he turns on his heels and disappears down the dark hallway without another word. you stare after him before turning back to san.

"no," you shake your head, "i'll sleep down here. it's fine."

san looks like he wants to argue, but he just nods. he opens his mouth as if he wants to say something more, but you hear the smallest of gasps.

you look up, and jongho is stands at the end of the hall. wooyoung is behind him, hand on his back. he meets your gaze, and you can't help but smile at him. wooyoung just rolls his eyes and disappears back into the hall, making you wish you could take back that second of gratitude.

jongho blinks over and over and over, and you can't help but let out a laugh. sure, jongho betrayed you, but he'd been a victim, and you couldn't blame him. you really couldn't. here he is, looking well-fed and like he sleeps well, and your heart feels like it's growing three times its size in your chest.

he hovers, and san steps aside, gesturing jongho forward. jongho just stares at you, waiting. you realize he is waiting for permission. that makes you deflate a bit. he likely thinks you hate him, and maybe you should, but you can't find it in yourself to hate him.

so, you hold out your arms, and jongho takes a step, another, before he walks into your arms, still so uncertain, and you say, "you're alive."

he glares at you, even as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. he doesn't need words for you to know what he's thinking. he leans back, frees his arms, and makes a gesture of touching his forehead. he brings his arm down. he keeps doing it. you look at san in confusion.

"it's sign language," san explains quietly, "he says he's sorry."

"oh," you look at jongho. there's a sincerity there you'd always liked about jongho. the apology is something you realize you'd wanted until now. you press your hands to his, and you say, "i know, jongho. i know you are."

jongho nods, over and over and over, as he pulls you into another hug.

~.~.~.~.~

in a way, you expected this eventually. the bunker was only so big.

but jongho asked if you wanted to talk upstairs, and you ended up in that living room once more. san stayed behind downstairs. when you'd pulled yourself through the hatch to the living room, that same feeling you'd felt the first time hit you all at once. the coziness of the room, the home that was so obviously made here, it hurt worse this time knowing that you'd built something like it in the woods and it was encroached upon by intruders. it's like you lost normalcy a second time, and it makes you so angry, yet so fucking sad.

you'd sat on the couch and jongho took out a notebook, and he asked, how are you alive?

you started from the beginning, recounting mrs. kim and your time with her. robbing wooyoung and yunho. jongho giggled at that. you spoke of your time with san. it wasn't a very long story, but it was the first time you'd spoken of it all at once, and it was yours. you hadn't had much that you could call yours since the world ended.

where will you go after tonight? jongho asked.

"i don't know," you said. jongho put his hand over yours. he seemed to be thinking, his brows furrowed, but before you can say more, there are footsteps hurrying down the stairs in the corner.

you look up, and the person comes to a screeching halt at the threshold to the living room, his eyes widening as he meets your gaze.

it's yeosang.

you shoot to your feet.

yeosang frowns as he steps further into the room, his eyes narrowing as he glances between jongho and yourself.

he says, "are you fucking kidding me?"

his voice is loud, angry, and your fingers curl into fists. suddenly, all the anger you've ever felt, from wandering as ghost, from your time at the sanctuary, from learning of all the betrayals, from the death of mrs. kim, from the fact that your cabin was broken into, bubbles at the pit of your stomach, and all you see is fucking red.

"someone's been keep tabs on you and san's first thought is to bring you here?" yeosang grits his teeth as he scowls at you.

"is that really going to be the first thing you say to me?" you ask, matching his tone. you step closer to him, and he does the same. jongho steps in, putting a hand on yeosang's shoulder, and he shrugs it off, his jaw clenching as he peers at you.

yeosang says, "do you want an apology or something?"

"yes," you grit.

yeosang rolls his eyes.

you can't help it when you swing your fist at him. to be fair, it's been a long time coming, and you'd fantasized about this moment often while lying in the clearing in front of your cabin and staring at the clouds pass by. the sound of your knuckles hitting his face echoes all around you. pain shoots through your arm, but the way yeosang doubles over in pain is absolutely worth it.

yeosang clutches his nose - it's bleeding, you realize with a giddiness you haven't felt in a long, long, long time - and glares up at you with so much vitriol, it makes you laugh.

"didn't think i'd do it, huh, asshole?"

then yeosang lunges at you, fury in his eyes.

you yelp when your back hits the ground. yeosang gets a swipe in on your face, and the pain makes you angrier. you grab him by the collar and use all your weight to roll on top. it works for half a minute before he yanks at your hair. you smack him over the top of the head. he gasps. then he kicks you.

maybe this is stupid, or perhaps you should have predicted this. it's not like yeosang ever seemed like the type to take a punch without retaliating.

before you can retaliate fully, though, you're flailing as you're pulled back. you kick and thrash in the arms of yeosang's savior, only to find that he's also being pulled away. by yunho. you look up. mingi meets your gaze, expression unreadable. mingi promptly places you on the ground. you don't move from the spot.

yeosang's nose is bleeding and his lip his cut and there's a bruise blooming under eye, so you don't fight mingi. sure, your cheek is throbbing and he may have ripped out some hair, and if you get the chance you'll punch him again, but for now you're satisfied enough with the damage you've done to stop fighting back.

yeosang is glaring at you, chest heaving.

yunho scowls between yeosang and yourself, "what the fuck was that?"

"he deserved it," you say, with a shrug.

the floor hatch to the living room swings open, and both san climbs out. san blinks between you both. wooyoung only snorts as he remains on the ladder leading out of the hatch, resting his chin on his hands as he watches.

yeosang rolls his eyes, "they deserved it too."

"you're literally acting like children," yunho sighs, shaking his head as he plops down fully on the ground next to yeosang.

the living room looks small with everyone in it. with you leaning heavily against a wall and mingi seated cross-legged next to you, his long limbs taking up too much space, and yeosang leaning against the sofa, yunho groaning with his head thrown back beside him, rubbing his eyes as he does so, and jongho sitting on the couch where you'd left him, his arms wrapped around his knees, and san with his arms crossed over his chest, looming over all four of you, and wooyoung amused from his position at the hatch door.

you scowl, "so i'm not allowed to be angry? is that it? should i just ignore what you've put me through?"

yunho frowns at the floor. no one quite meets your eyes.

"that has nothing to do with this," yeosang snaps, "you have a fucking target on your back and you've dragged us into it."

you start to laugh, and the hollowness of it is jarring even to your own ears, "do you fucking hear your hypocrisy, yeosang?"

yeosang sits up straight, his lips pressed into a straight line. his fingers clench and unclench as he glares at you, "you should have stayed dead if you were just going to bring trouble with you."

"yeosang!" san's voice is sharp as a knife.

you shake your head at san, arms crossed tighter over your chest, "no, i want to hear this."

yeosang stays silent, clenching his jaw as he rolls his eyes.

you raise a brow at him, "go on. tell me how i'm the bad person here."

yeosang says, "every time we leave this bunker, it's dangerous. every week san spends hours outside the bunker with you. do you understand the danger that's putting not only him, but the rest of us, in?"

he keeps his gaze fixed on you, but you glance at san anyway. san looks angry, in a way you hadn't seen in a long long time. he opens his mouth to say something, but wooyoung tugs at his pant leg, shaking his head.

you sigh, turning back to yeosang, "i'm not putting a gun to his head and making him meet me every week, and i certainly did not give the wrong directions to -"

yeosang scoffs, "i did what i had to do to for my people, y/n. the sanctuary was necessary. i'm sorry you got caught in the middle of everything, but i'm not sorry for what i did. we got san and jongho out. we destroyed the sanctuary. everything worked out in the end."

the anger at the pit of your stomach is tumultuous. you want to throw up at how overwhelming the urge to throw another punch is. maybe, in this world, this makes sense. you are not included with yeosang's people, and you never would be. he doesn't owe you anything. not even just a moment of genuine remorse.

"are you even capable of remorse?" you ask.

you don't mean to say it out loud, but your words spill from your mouth, and the room goes so silent, you could hear a pin drop. san is looking at yeosang, waiting for a response. mingi shifts next to you. yunho bites his lip. wooyoung just watches.

yeosang's hard expression falters. it lasts for the blink of an eye, like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings, and you only catch it because you're watching. his gaze flickers to san, as well. for just a moment. it's a tell, you realize, that you've struck something underneath his hard exterior. he clamps his teeth over his bottom lip, lips stretching into a thin line, and his gaze meets yours again just milliseconds later. his face hardens more than you've ever seen it before. if you didn't know better, you could mistake him for a marble statue, carved into the picture of insolence.

he does not respond, though, despite his façade.

yunho frown deepens as he looks at yeosang.

no one looks at you.

so you speak into the silence, "i guess not."

you get to your feet, pushing past san, past the living room table. wooyoung climbs out the hatch, moving aside from you, and he doesn't say anything either. his expression is devoid of his usual shit-eating grin and unfiltered amusement.

in the dimness of the bunker room, you wrap yourself up in a warm blanket - it's the big fur kind you grew up with, right down to the giant floral decal - and you hate how the anger is still there, turning inwards instead. you should have known this would happen. you can't truly start over with san when you share so much history, Before and After.

~.~.~.~.~

you can't sleep. you want to - you'd learned your lesson last time, and if anything the bunker is safe from the aliens, and you should take advantage of it - but you're overheating under the fluffy blanket, and the battery powered light at your side, even at it's lowest setting, is too bright. yunho brought it down for you, wordless in his exchange before he headed back through the hall. you didn't hear the opening of the hatch, so you figured he must have gone into one of the rooms lining the narrow hall. you don't want to turn off the light completely. total darkness unsettles you.

you contemplate going up to the living room and finding a book to occupy your time. at least this time you wouldn't be sneaking around.

before you can, you hear the creaking of the hatch - you'd memorized the sound, a series of cranks and a long squeak followed by a full thud - and you go still in the blanket, peeking over to the dark hall. just in case.

moments later, a shadow appears at the end of the hall. the shadow stretches up onto the ceiling due to the light from your lantern.

your fingers curl around the edge of the blanket as you keep your eyes fixed on the figure, even as you continue to pretend to sleep.

"i know you're awake," san's soft voice fills the bunker. he sounds exhausted.

you sit up. san comes closer. you dial up the brightness of the lantern, illuminating his face. you watch, leaning back on your elbows, as san takes a seat beside you and the lantern, his arms winding around his knees as he chews on his bottom lip.

it's so silent for so long, before san murmurs, "i can't fix this, can i?"

"no," you tug the warm blanket closer as you shake your head, "but at least we tried."

"i can go with you and -"

"no," you interrupt him. you can see it in the furrowed brows, in the way he frowns, that he's going to suggest something stupid. something he'll eventually resent you for. "we said we wouldn't lose ourselves in each other this time, didn't we?"

"y/n."

"you love them," you say, and your heart feels like it's being ripped from your chest. this is worse, somehow, then the anger that had been churning in you earlier. "for better or for worse, you love them. wooyoung, yunho, mingi. yeosang. they are your family. you can’t forgive them, but you can still stay with them. i can't. so i will not and cannot ask you to leave them for me, san."

in the low warmth of the lantern, san's features are softer than ever. his eyes remind you of the earth after rain. you watch as he reaches out, as he slowly presses his fingers to your cheek. first the pads of his fingertips, light as feathers, and then heavier touch of his calloused palms, his thumb. he draws small lines along your jaw, and he looks at you like he is committing you to memory, like he is determined to etch your likeness into the recesses of his mind.

his thumb traces down your jaw, along your cheek, to your hairline. around and around and around.

his wet eyes dance in lanternlight.

he says, quietly, "i'm sorry i wasn't enough."

you shake your head, and you swallow the lump in your throat, "these past few months, you were more than enough. you were everything. you are everything." your fingers curl into fists around the blanket wrapped around you, "i'm glad we at least got a little time together. without all the fighting."

"i'm going to miss you," he says quietly, "i'm always going to miss you."

"me too," you whisper, unable to articulate fully how much you agree. you'll miss him in the next life, too, you think.

his fingers brush along your forehead. then he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. it's short and sweet, and the warmth of his hand on your cheek is enough to make you truly feel like he's ripped the rest of your heart out with that alone. he already has so many pieces of your heart, and now he's taken the rest of it.

the silence between you both is heavy. loaded. it is everything said and unsaid all at once. everything and nothing. it's you and san as you were Before, and as you are Now.

you clear your throat, leaning away to pat the spot next to you, swinging the end of the blanket his way. you say, "tell me a story please."

san smiles, his dimple appearing as he scoots in beside you, his voice soft as he tells you something about mingi stepping on yunho. his voice is soothing, soft, and, just this once, you let yourself relax with him next to you. san brushes at your hair as you do.

the next morning, he is gone. the bunker room is cold and dark, despite the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the feeling of home you'd felt here is gone, with san.

that morning, only jongho sees you off, and you're grateful for it. you don't think you could leave otherwise.

~.~.~.~.~

one year passes, yet the year feels like a decade. time is a funny thing when you're alone, and you'd forgotten that when you'd had constant company. the things in the sky are still there. the black fog at night is denser than ever. you avoid people now more than ever. you don't stay in one place for long, though the country is too damn small to not visit the same area twice. you've traveled far enough away from the bunker where the radio clipped to your belt loop remains out of range, not once straying north. you visit the shores to the south. you find wild vineyards to the east. you remain at the outskirts of the bunker, never within range, but not quite far enough away. still, it's as if nothing has changed, as if you've never even met san again or ended up at the sanctuary.

yet everything's different. you avoid going north in case you stumble upon the sanctuary's ruins. you avoid the west so you can stay out of the bunker's range and resist the urge to return to your cabin. but a year has dulled all that, and everything different starts to bury itself away until you can pretend it doesn't affect you anymore. you've gotten very good at that.

it's summer, when you finally have the courage to travel north. this will be your first step in letting go completely, you decide the night you make the decision to go north. did you already cry your eyes out the minute you'd left the bunker while crouched behind an abandoned car? yes. did you keep doing that for months and months after? maybe. but, now you're ready to really, truly start over. no san. no sanctuary. no bunker. no fears. you can truly let go.

the hike had gone well. you were sweating through your shirt, and your water was running low, but it was going well. you felt reborn, really, from sweat and the dense summer humidity and the feeling of your skin burning under the hot sun.

as you climb over the hill, your radio starts to crackle. you must have forgotten to turn it off. everywhere you go, you gather batteries for the thing, so it doesn't die. you don't wish to delve into the reasons as to why you do that when you're never in range of the bunker anyway.

you trudge up to the hillside, kicking rocks as you go, ignoring the soft crackle. the sound is more comforting then the silence and your heavy labored breathing, anyway, so you keep the radio on. besides the radio never picks anything up anymore anyway.

some nights, you'd clicked the talk button and tried to say hello. all you were ever met with was silence. it was understandable, but it still hurt more than you liked to admit.

you reach for the trunk of the lone tree on top of the hill, catching your breath, when you hear a voice over the radio. it's unfamiliar, cutting off between words, but the sound still makes you jump.

you'd forgotten what it was like to hear voices. especially voices that aren't your own.

you fumble with the radio.

...four boxes incoming....south....open....roger.......

you nearly drop the radio when you look over the hill. in the valley sits a sprawling camp, surrounded by wooden walls that were clearly built. there are vehicles and people walking the perimeter. you can hear laughter. it's the unmistakable sound of children giggling, playing. chills run down your spine at the sight. you see military trucks at the furthest end. not every truck is a military truck, but many of them are.

your fingers tighten around the radio. the walls have makeshift guard towers. for a moment, hope sparks at the pit of your stomach. you want to trust this place so badly. there are military vehicles. there's organization. it looks nothing like the sanctuary.

at least until your gaze lands on the guard towers. fluttering at the top of each makeshift guard tower sits a purple piece of cloth. it's identical to the purple pieces of cloth you'd followed back to your cabin, poorly dyed and the color of eggplants.

dread curls down your spine at the affiliation. this isn't a coincidence. it can't be. fear mixes with that spark of hope, and you start to back away. you don't know what to do. should you leave, or should you investigate further? are they another sanctuary, or are they safe?

then you hear a familiar voice through the radio, a crackly voice that will never leave your memories no matter how hard you try to drown it away. it's been a year, yet you remember the voice so clearly, even as he says, "yeosang...open....five."

your breath catches in your throat.

it's choi san.

it's always choi san.

[keelt9]

Chapter 2

Part 3

Masterlist

HI!

I wanted to take the time to thank you for the support you have been giving me, I really appreciate it and it keeps me very motivated to continue writting, thank you so much.

I hope that as I move forward, you will continue to like all of this, once again, thank you very much. 😉

“Are you awake?” __ hears and feels Caro really close to her face. She waited for her until 1 am, after that, her eyes gave up and closed, she didn’t even hear her coming to the room much less the time she arrived at her house.

“Carolina, if your breathing doesn’t wake me up, believe your weight over my back does.” __ remind with her eyes closed, hearing Caro giggle and lift from her back so she can stand or turn around.

“What happened?”__ sat in the bed just opening one eye, that was enough to see the huge smile on Caro face and the evident move of her jumping to hug her. 

“It was amazing! I really, really, really love it, every second.” Caro hugged her tighter and __ answered the hug.

“So you are…” Caro didn’t let her end the sentence.

“I AM HIS GIRLFRIEND!” __ just laugh with the shrill of her voice and pat Caro’s back. “I’m so happy __.” This time she splits, __ recognizes the pure happiness in her face, all over it, the sparkling eyes, the smile that swear will leave her cheeks numb by the night. 

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

“You should try it.” __ lend her head. “Be in love.” __ stands like the bed was on fire and shakes her head. “Please, if you…” __ grabs Caro face and squeezed it.

“When the orange tree produces strawberries.” Caro rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense.” She takes her hands off her face.

“Exactly.” 

Another day of coming and going left them tired and decided to arrive home earlier, rest a little bit and recover energy for their daily night picnic.

“Darling, Esteban called a couple of hours ago, he said please call him as soon as you arrive.” Mrs. Mendienta notified her when the two girls crashed on the sofa.

“He didn’t call your cell phone?” Caro asks her and passes the phone to the living room.

“Who knows, I left it in my suitcase.” Caro opened her mouth and hit __ shoulder. “That’s why they are mad at you!”

“Caro, let’s be honest, they have been mad at me since I stood at the table the night of the dinner proposal.” __ stands and delays the number expecting the curb of Esteban.

Matias arrived at the storeroom with a plan in mind, but he needed an accomplice, an indirect one.

“Hi Mar.” He greeted her, appearing in the frame door. 

“Matias, hi, what can I do for you?” Mar turns to her chair and smiles at him. He definitely never forgot the intense curiosity in Enzo's eyes and his last words before the part ways last night.

<”So, what is the name, again?” Enzo said in the most random moment.

“Name?” Matias turns to face him. 

“The girl's name, I mean.” Matias grinds and an idea set in his mind, he will comprobe his theory, sooner or later.>

“JAJAJAJAJA, no, no, if I can be so sure about something that is NO, totally.” Matias told Mar his theory. Ok, the fact of an indirect accomplice isn't so indirect, but it would be more weird if he tried to get information by himself.

“Come on Mar! Just think about it for a second…” Matias put his cards on the table; he didn’t miss any detail, from the moment he opened the door of the truck and found them until last night's talk.

“Just because I thought about it for more than a second…listen, Matias, maybe in her teens, yeah, I bought that, but now in her twenties.” Mar shakes her head with a smile on her face. “The only time I know she has been nervous or running away from a man, it’s because is a doctor with a needle.”

“But she…” Matias could swear to see her nervous eyes in her eyes the last time.

“Maybe she left my sister without her knowing, or she forgot her cellphone in plain sight, but I believe because she saw you and got nervous it is my last option.” Mar put her hand on his shoulder. “Sorry Matias.”

“Anyone has seen Recalt?” A grumpy voice came through the radio, Mar pointed with her eyes to the radio. “Is it your call?”

“Just promise me, at least you will consider it as a low probability.” Mar should deny it without a question however something in his voice tone and the security he had made her give in and agree. “Wait and see, just wait and see.”

Matias has the time against him, in 2 days will be the last shooting of the year before the Christmas vacations, it suppose it won’t be a problem, but the 2nd of January __ will take a flight home.

´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´´

The next one is one of my favorites. ☺️

[honey-dont]

Despite reading all your posts abt it I still have no idea what Bigtop Burger is skfkskdk HOWEVER I would still like to hear abt your StEx AU :]

YAY ty for enabling me <3

(it's an animated show on youtube and it's super good!! it's about Totally Normal™ rival food trucks except one of them is run by an alien clown who was banished from his home planet for getting stage fright during a production of cats the musical and the other one is run by a 1000-year-old zombie bounty hunter who is also italian. there's only about an hour's worth of content between all the current eps/songs and it has me grasped by the scruff of the neck like a misbehaving kitten)

sticking this under a cut bc my god the rambling

just focusing on zomburger rn bc they're my beloveds <3 they're a short-line freight train!

-

cesare is a converted oil-burning steamer who used to be a passenger engine once upon a time before getting stuck on freight duty. he's lowkey pissed about essentially getting demoted and goes out of his way to cause problems on purpose - he's extremely petty and WILL slow down whenever he sees a passenger train so they can't pass due to freight having right of rail! has a one-sided rivalry going on with renown tourist train 'the bigtop' (they're more baffled by his antics than anything else tbh)

he got a little fucked up during the conversion process so he'll leak oil from his eyes/mouth sometimes, it's gross </3 his crew doesn't really care tho since they're freight so they're used to grime

frances: were you guys making out again

doctor, face completely covered in oil: no

he totally does NOT care about his freight so what if he makes them sleep in his stall during bad weather so he can keep an eye on them to make sure they're safe it doesn't mean ANYTHING shut up.

(he also never turns his headlight off so his eyes always glow but that's not bc of the conversion he's just a weirdo)

-

doctor is a gondola! he usually carries junk/scrap metal. he'll do that social experiment thing where if you hand someone something while talking to them they'll take it without even thinking. you're having a conversation with him and suddenly you're holding a copy of the atari E.T. game

he'll save things that he thinks are neat or that the others will like! expresses affection by giving you garbage :)

is totally unfazed by the rotary dumper (it freaks everyone else out), very skilled at heckling coaches, and will eat human food (what is wrong with him)

-

conrad is a hazmat tanker and he wears goggles for safety :) why is a short-line carrying hazardous material? don't worry about it. he's v big and v strong and a lil dumb but doing his best! will pick up frances and doctor and carry them around sometimes

he'll also drink his load if he thinks he can get away with it (he is not sneaky starlight bless him). man chugs hydrochloric acid like powerade. kind of scared of humans, they creep him out a bit

-

frances is a transfer caboose and she's basically cesare's right hand man brake van in this scenario bc she's more than happy to be a nuisance!

cesare: FRANCES HIT THE BRAKES WE NEED TO BE AN I N C O N V E N I E N C E

frances: on it boss (saluting emoji)

she was converted from a flatcar (she still has the lil fangs) but she generally tends to get along better with coaches (loves her boys tho). she LOVES having passengers bc she thinks humans are super cute <3

she'll hack into other train's radio frequencies and eavesdrop/interrupt/pass along the hot gossip to everyone else. she'll also tune into stations and sing along to songs sometimes (cesare will tell her to cut that shit out and then 3 seconds later ask if she can get anything italian)

-

last random cute thing before i am forcibly dragged off stage!! freight naturally have black nails so they all paint theirs blue to match with cesare <3