#Queue the pit sounds

[chaotic-tired-bastard]

I can draw good sometimes

Inspired heavily by the comments under this post

[sophisticatedswifts]

It’s just baffling to me that it was so much simpler to get Lover Fest tickets than Eras Tour tickets when Lover Fest had 4 shows in the US compared to the 52 on the Eras Tour. I know Taylor is more popular now and that the verified fan system that they carried over from Reputation helped things run more smoothly but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. Imagine if Taylor had done 4 shows this time. That would’ve been a bloodbath.

[jckeperalta]

"they say don't open old wounds but this is still brand new" SO TRUE LYNDSEY GUNNULFSEN

[vanbredevoort]

@percivalofsalm asked ❛  is there anything i can do for you?  ❜ guess what it’s still angst time meme / accepting

The recurring thought during that night was that a party at Ban Ard sounded way better than what it actually was. Her dress was uncomfortable, her posture (sorceress like) was uncomfortable, the whole atmosphere was beyond uncomfortable.

Lydia wanted to be home, she wanted her hair tied in a braid (not loose, as sorceresses were supposed to wear it, brown stands curled at the ends that reached her waist), she wanted her body covered (not displayed like another weapon, as was expected from her), and she wanted tea and books (not wine and meaningless conversations about achievements she did not care about). Lydia wanted honesty, not a pantomime of good manners, and that she could only get at home, with him.

Besides, Aretuza girls partied better.

She folded her legs and tugged at the fabric of her dress in futile attempts at comfort. As a gift from the gods, beside her sat Percival, dear professor Percival, with his blue eyes and the looks of someone who's holding too much on his hands. He apparently added her obvious distress to his list (her eyes didn't lie, after all).

"Yes. Yes. You can talk to me about anything that's remotely interesting and it will make this whole thing bearable"

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 3

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

ED mentions.

Parts:

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

When you wake in the morning, Regina is already gone. She’s probably gone to meet with Karen and Gretchen for breakfast, pushing food around her plate more like. You’ve noticed some of your leftovers have gone missing, you don’t mind though. At least it means she’s eating something.

You’re not sure why she seems to relax around you enough to eat, something she can’t seem to do around her supposed best friends.

You have to remind yourself you aren’t her friend but the sketch is still neatly folded under her pillow, whatever that means.

You have a quick shower, throw on some jeans and a band tee and go to the campfire pit to hear what activity you’ll have to do today. It might mean being paired with Regina again, although she acts like a completely different person with you in public. You can see straight through her act. The more you see of her, the more you realise she’s not cruel, bitchy or formidable. She’s scared and a little insecure.

“Today half of you will be boating and half of you will be climbing! Cabins 1-6 follow me and cabins 7-12 meet your leader at the high ropes in 5 minutes!” The instructor calls.

Fuck no.

You try and sneak away slowly, if there’s one thing you’re afraid of, it’s heights. Maybe you can sneak off with the boating group, that sounds less scary, and safer.

It doesn’t work, Mrs Norbury catches you and sends you off in the direction of the high ropes. It’s not like they can force you to climb, right?

They’re laughing about something, you can’t tell what. Maybe Regina’s already making fun of you, maybe she’s gone through your bags to find anything embarrassing to tell her best friends. Maybe she’s taken a photograph of your sketch to prove you’re a loser, freak or whatever. She did similar to Janis, what’s stopping her from doing the same to you?

Maybe not.

You think you saw a glimpse of the real Regina underneath all the pink and glitter, last night.

An instructor calls out that the session is starting. For once this week you stop thinking about Regina.

You can already feel your heartbeat in your ears as you approach the climbing frame. You’re instructed on how to correctly fit your harnesses and told to line up and go over one at a time across the high ropes.

It was like an assault course in the air. First some wooden stepping stones, then walking across a tightrope with just a rope above to balance yourself, and then finally a zip line. You felt your stomach flip, there had to be a way out. You couldn’t have Regina see you having a full-blown panic attack.

Regina is just in front of you in the queue, she doesn’t turn to look at you even once. You’re slightly hurt but not surprised. It’s not like one evening of civility means she could be seen with you in public.

The plastics climb up and start to walk across. Gretchen and Karen walk in front, screaming and giggling the whole way. Regina saunters across, nothing phases her. As she climbs across the rope you can see the muscles under her pink crop top tensing, it makes you momentarily forget about what you have to do until the instructor calls out that it’s your turn next.

Okay, just breathe and whatever you do, don’t look down.

You climb up to the top platform. It’s just a walk across some stable wooden platforms. You can do this. You stare straight ahead, ignoring the thumping of your heart, your hands clammy against the ropes. As long as you don’t look down you’ll be fine.

By some miracle you make it across. The next obstacle is a walk across a tightrope. This one makes you cold sweat.

You start to shake more. Regina is already across the other side standing and waiting to go across the next obstacle. She still looks like a goddess, and you probably look like a sweaty mess. For the first time today she turns and looks at you, her expression is hard to work out, maybe pity? Probably amusement.

You put one foot tentatively on the rope and hold for dear life onto the top rope. You shuffle across in an ungraceful manner. Hopefully Regina has turned her back by now. This would definitely be blackmail material.

Every time the rope moves you feel like you’ll fall, any second you could faint, or throw up, or maybe have a heart attack.

You edge closer to the finishing platform, you can see the edge of it and make the mistake of looking down.

The ground becomes blurry and feels like it’s 3,000 feet away.

Your stomach lurches and your foot slips.

Desperation fills you and without thinking you desperately reach your hand out, hoping Regina will grab It, pull you back up and you won’t feel that dreaded falling sensation.

Instead she shoves you.

Hard.

You fall from the rope, your heart nearly stops and you can’t open your eyes. The harness catches you but you’ve swung sideways from the rope and the force of Regina’s push makes you come crashing back, your hip colliding with the wooden platform.

The pain is immediate, and searing.

An instructor lowers you down and a teacher demands that Regina comes down too to take you to first aid.

She does this begrudgingly, her little minions whining that it’s not fair that she has to pay the price when you ‘just slipped.’

You don’t look at her or speak to her on your way to first aid. With every step your hip explodes with pain. You try not to show how hard it is to walk. This wasn’t the same Regina you hung out with last night.

Never show your weakness to a predator. That was your first mistake.

“ I wouldn’t have had to do that if you didn’t try to touch me.” She spat, staring at the ground as you walked. Was she ashamed?

“Whatever Regina. I don’t care.” You sigh, wincing again as you step.

She huffs and rolls her eyes at you as you finally make it to first aid. She leaves you at the door.

The first aider confirms that she doesn’t think it’s fractured or broken. Just badly bruised. When she asks what happened you lie and say you slipped. She doesn’t buy it but she doesn’t push any further. She gives you some pain medicine and an ice pack and suggests you go and rest for a bit in your cabin.

You go back and lie in your bed on your back with the ice pack slowly melting away at your hip, making the sheets wet and cold.

Luckily Regina is out somewhere, she’s probably snuck off to one of the plastics cabins.

It’s not like you care anyway.

You decide not to get dinner today. The thought of limping all the way to the campfire sounds awful and you don’t want to give Regina the satisfaction of knowing she hurt you so you try and get some sleep.

Your phone buzzes and lights up on the nightstand. It’s Janis.

“Heeey Dude! How’s the school trip? Wait why are you in bed it’s not even late” the voice of your best friend rings out down the phone.

“Long story, I slipped climbing.” You don’t know why you lie to Janis. You don’t feel like talking about Regina.

You know that despite them being on civil terms now, Janis and Regina still held a grudge respectively. Secretly you knew Janis definitely still had a crush on her, not that she’d ever admit it. At first you didn’t understand why Janis would fall for someone so fake and shallow but now you’ve seen the other side to her. Or is it just a disguise for her to gain your trust? You trusted she’d catch you and instead she pushed you away.

“Are you even listening to me?” Janis breaks you out of your thoughts.

“Huh”

“I said, has Regina fallen in mud, or ruined her boots or had bugs in her hair yet?” You can hear the grin in her voice, and a slight hint of excitement from speaking about Regina.

“Uh, I don’t know… I haven’t really seen her.” You lie again. Why can’t you stop lying to your friend?

“Anyway Janis I have to go, I should probably go and get dinner now, the teachers will wonder where I am.” Another lie “Bye!” You add quickly and hang up.

You sigh and throw your phone back onto the nightstand. You close your eyes again and try and get some sleep.

The painkillers have kicked in and you finally drift off.

You’re in the middle of a forest in a clearing. For some reason you feel uneasy. The trees are all looming around you, as if they’re trying to warn you, leaning closer to whisper “Run” in their windy breath. From between the trees you see a bright pair of blue cat eyes. They’re fixed on you. Unblinking.

You try to get up to run but you can’t move, you’re fixed to the spot as a lion emerges from the trees, claws sharp and teeth bared just about to clamp down on your neck-

Something shakes you awake. Or rather, someone.

“Get up.” You hear Regina hiss.

“What, why?” You mumble back, rubbing your eyes. Her silhouette is blurry above you.

“Come with me.”

“Why the fuck should I.” Your response shocks both of you,she scowls and grabs your wrist to drag you up.

“Just come with me.”

“Fuck off, Regina.” You spit

She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her grip on your wrist and pulls you up.

There’s no use resisting. Stupidly you follow her. Why would you trust her after she pushed you, you’re walking yourself to your doom.

She leads you to a clearing in the trees. Just like your dream, everything in your body is telling you to run.

And then you see it.

A hot pink blanket is sprawled out on the floor and you recognise various containers of food you’d bought laid out on the blanket. There’s two fluffy white pillows either side of the blanket.

“Say something, dumbass!” She barks, she doesn’t meet your eyes and you notice a slight blush on her cheeks

“What’s happening.” You stutter. Surely not, why would Regina have gone to all this effort? Is she trying to apologise?

“I saw you weren’t at dinner and I didn’t want you to starve or something. I’m not sleeping in the same room as a corpse.” She quips, going to sit on one of the pillows. You follow and sit on the other, are you still dreaming?

You eat in silence for a while. Every now and then stealing glances at Regina. She’s actually eating some of the food, looking down at the blanket in thought. The sun is setting and the light manages to catch her in a way that makes her even more perfect. Her cheeks are slightly rosy and you notice she’s taken off most of her makeup. She looks softer, like her guard has dropped slightly.

“I’m sorry I pushed you.” She whispers and her eyes catch yours. She looks genuinely sorry.

Against better judgement you immediately forgive her. You can’t hold much resolve against her when she’s sitting at a picnic she made for you and the sun is reflecting off her skin like that.

“It’s okay, I’m fine anyway.” That’s half a lie, it still hurts quite badly. “Thanks for this. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted you to know I’m sorry, really, and…. Your food is better than the shit they serve here.” She fidgets nervously “It’s nice to eat without Gretch and Karen commenting on the fat content of it.”

That makes your stomach sink. You wonder how anyone could ever think that Regina was anything but beautiful.

“We could have dinner together tomorrow too, if you wanted” that definitely didn’t come out as confident as you wanted it to.

She doesn’t say anything but she smiles at you. Your heart skips.

After you finish eating you pack up Regina’s cute picnic and make your way back to the cabin. You resist the fleeting urge to hold her hand. You don’t want to get shoved again.

She goes to the bathroom to shower and you pull out your sketchbook. You draw the same forest clearing before, sketching in all the leaves, except this time the lion is lying on a blanket, eyes closed, peaceful.

You put the sketchbook back in your bag and get changed into pyjama shorts and a top before laying on top of the covers on the bed.

You’re drifting in and out of consciousness when Regina comes out of the bathroom, you hear her pad quietly towards your bed.

As if not to scare her off you stay perfectly still, eyes shut, and pretend to be asleep.

You feel her hand pull the leg of your shorts up at the side to reveal the darkening bruise at your hip.

Your heart nearly implodes when you feel her gentle lips press a soft kiss to your hip.

It’s over in a second, she goes back to her bed and pulls the covers over her head.

You let out a shaky breath and decided you would probably never be able to figure Regina George out, but at this current moment, you didn’t really mind.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: When We Met

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn't end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

As you approach the sandwich shop, another pedestrian comes up from the other side. You open the door and hold it for them, waiting patiently for them to go first. The place isn’t very busy, you can wait an extra turn to get your food. 

The man barely acknowledges you as he enters. You’re used to that. In the city, manners run down the gutters with the rain and litter.  

You follow him inside. As he stomps to the counter, poking his ear in agitation, you stand back in a single-person queue. You check the chalkboard menu for the soups of the day. Oh, cabbage. They make the best cabbage soup you’ve ever had. 

You bounce on your heels as your gaze wanders over the monochrome wall art over the handcrafted wood tables. You open and close the flap of your crossbody purse. Your father always said you flutter like a hummingbird. Never quiet still and a little skittish. 

Behind the glaze of your distraction, the man’s deep snarl breaks through. You blink and lean to see around him. The cashier bats her lashes and puffs out her cheeks, “sorry sir, we discontinued the Mexican wrap, but the chipotle is similar--” 

“I don’t want the fucking chipotle,” he cups his ear and growls as he pushes his head into his hand.  

“They don’t send us the cilantro lime sauce anymore, sir,” the employee explains. “But I could add some peppers--” 

“Can’t you understand me?” He snips. 

“Erm, if you... if you put a bit of cilantro on, it would be close, wouldn’t it?” You ask, cringing as your thoughts spill out without intention. 

The man glares over his shoulder as his cheek pits derisively. He squints and shakes his head. He throws his arms out and faces the cashier again. “Whatever. Give me the damn chipotle with cilantro. I’m starving.” He reaches back for his wallet, “some fucking week...” he mutters. 

He slides the leather wallet above his pocket but it catches and falls from his grasp. He growls and bends to retrieve it. “Another fucking thing...” 

You watch him pick up his wallet and finger his ear again. It seems to cause him pain. The cashier watches helplessly. You feel bad for both of them. It just seems like a miscommunication. 

“Um, excuse me,” you wave two fingers at the cashier. “Can you add a cabbage soup and I’ll for both?” 

The employee blinks and the man snaps up with a scowl. They both stand in silent surprise. He finally shakes his head. “Why would you do that?” His tone makes it sound like an accusation. 

“I don’t know. Seems like you’re having a bad day and I can?” You shrug and cautiously step forward, “can I also get an iced raspberry tea?” 

“Uhhhh, sure,” the employee keys in the items. 

“Sir, did you want a drink?” You twist back to the man as he stands aside with a leery squint. He just shakes his head. 

“Alright, that’s everything. No cookie today,” you dig in your purse. “Debit, please.” 

She hits total and you pay. The receipt juts out of the machine and you step to the side to wait with one last thanks to the cashier. You tuck your card away and slip your phone out as your hands long to fidget. You know the man is staring, you can feel it, but you don’t want to piss him off even more than he already is. 

The lull that follow is torturous. The man’s wrap is up first and you wait for him to take it. He hesitates and you hand it to him. 

“I hope it’s still good,” you say with a smile at his throat. You’re too scared to look him in the eye. 

“You know I have money,” he grits. 

“Oh, no, that’s not... it isn’t... just a nice thing. Like, maybe one day you can pay it forward. I don’t know,” you rock sheepishly and look behind the counter. 

He nods and backs up. The cashier puts your soup up and your iced tea. You thank her and take your food.  

“Have a good one, sir.” 

You shuffle away to the table in the corner. You sit, self-conscious as the man lingers. Is he mad? You don’t think you were rude. 

The man sighs and goes up to the counter, “hey, look, I’m... sorry,” his words are stiff as if he could choke on them. “Thanks for the wrap.” 

“Oh, uh, okay, sir,” the cashier sounds shocked. “Um, enjoy.” 

You stir the soup and blow away the steam. As you scoop up a spoonful, the man approaches. You look at the velvet toes of his loafers then follow them up. He sits without invitation. 

You stare at him and lower your spoon. 

“Thanks for the wrap,” he says. “I was being a—jerk.” The last word is stunted as if he meant to say something else. “Mind if I eat with you?” 

You look around. The place is empty. You shrug. 

“Sure,” you grab the iced tea and swirl the ice. “Be nice to have company, I guess.” 

He hums and shifts in the chair. He peels away the wrapper and you sip from the straw. You put the cup down and stare into your soup. Your eyes flick up again and you find him staring. 

“Lloyd,” he offers his hand across the table, “but you can just call me that jackass who yells at people.” 

You give your name in return, his change in tone soothing your nerves. 

“You been here before?” He asks. 

“Once in a while,” you say. “When I can afford it. It’s a special treat. They have good soup.” 

He nods and looks down at the wrap, “yeah, food is pretty decent.” He lifts the wrap but doesn’t bite into it. He hovers it before him. “You know, you didn’t have to be nice to me.” 

“You never know what other people are going through. Sometimes, they just need some kindness,” you say. “And if they’re just a butthole, well, you’re not going to change that by matching their energy.” 

His brows arch, and he tilt his head. He sucks in his cheeks thoughtfully, “well, I think I’m just a butthole, as you put it. Thanks for giving me a chance.” 

You don’t know what to say. It’s awkward. You usually eat alone. You don’t have anyone to eat with, not since dad passed. Still, not all change is bad, is it? You’ve already faced the worst kind of change. 

You lean forward and take a bite of your soup. Sometimes making someone’s day easier makes your own a little brighter. As of late, none of them have been more than gloomy. 

[turcott3]

homesick

trevor zegras and platonic jamie drysdale x fem! reader

warnings?: sad af tbh!, angst, cursing but ofc fluff

masterlist

-

“what?” you spoke into the phone.

“he picked up the phone and they told him he was going to philly in the morning. no warning or anything. completely blindsided.” trevor explains to you.

“i cannot believe that, is he okay?” you ask.

“he’s shocked, we all are.”

“i bet. i’m so sorry trevor.” you say trying to comfort your boyfriend.

“it’s okay, i just wish it wasn’t so sudden.”

“well, tell jamie i wish him the best and that ill miss making breakfast with him every morning.”

“you can call him, that feels too personal don’t wanna invade.” he forces a laugh.

“okay ill call him tomorrow. get back to your friends babe, try to have a good night okay?”

“okay i will, love you y/n.”

“love you trev, bye.”

“bye.” he hangs up. you sat staring off into space. your mind spinning uncontrollably. they just shipped off your boyfriends best friend. scratch that, your best friend, besides trevor of course. you turn on the tv to whatever was on distracting yourself from the thoughts invading your mind, clouding the good day you had. finally, you allow yourself to cry, knowing your last goodbye to jamie was truly your last and that he wouldn’t be returning.

“what the fuck.” you say crying more, wishing someone was around you could talk to. you say for hours lost in your thoughts, watching tv without paying any attention. at this point it was late enough so you took yourself to bed, heart heavy at the thought of having to call jamie in the morning. though falling asleep was easy, waking up was the worst feeling in the world. you picked up your phone quickly, scrolling through your contacts to find jamie’s name, hitting call. the phone only rang twice before he picked up.

“hello?” he says, voice sounding weak.

“hey jimmy, how are you feeling?”

“i’m okay, i’m in philly now. i’m getting ready to head to the rink. i’m a little nervous but i talked to cam and he reassured me.”

“good i’m glad, im gonna miss you so much jamie.”

“i miss you too y/n, gonna miss our early morning breakfast making.” he laughs softly, a bittersweet smile spreading on my face.

“yeah, yeah ill really miss that too. singing ‘unwritten’ will never be the same without you.”

“damn you’re right, listening to that song will never hit like it did when we were making pancakes every morning.”

“i’m gonna miss that so much, well i don’t wanna keep you for too long. call me if you need anything okay? i know this is gonna be tough.”

“i will, thank you y/n.”

“of course, bye jamie.”

“bye.” he says before hanging up. your heart sank at his tone but could sense his hopefullness that they wouldn’t give up on him like anaheim had.

-

you say on the couch, watching trevor play with a heavy heart. you could practically smell it through the tv. you’d spoken to him briefly but he avoided the topic of jamie, it was still a touchy subject for him. next thing you know, trevor falls, hitting the boards awkwardly.

“fuck.” you say, watching him unable to get up without assistance, your heart breaking all over again. the trainer escorted him to the locker room, the pit in your stomach growing larger.

“please be okay, please be okay.” you say sighing.

“trevor zegras will not return to tonight’s game.” you hear the commentators say, you sigh shutting your eyes, waiting for the phone to ring and almost on queue it begins.

“y/n?”

“trevor are you okay? what’s going on?”

“i don’t know i just fell and i did something and then i couldn’t skate off the ice and i-“

“trevor stop, slow down. take a breath honey. you’re gonna make yourself sick.” you say stopping him.

“i don’t know what to do y/n.”

“do you want me to come to nashville?”

“no no you don’t need to, i think i may just come back to anaheim if i can’t play next game.”

“call me as soon as you know.” you say biting your nails.

“i promise i will, ill call you once they evaluate me.”

“okay, love you trevor.”

“love you too, bye.” he says and you hang up, slamming your phone down on the couch tears instantly spilling from your eyes, your hands instantly covering your face.

“i can’t fucking do this.” you cry, trying to catch your breath as your phone begins to ring, jamie’s name coming into the screen.

“hello?” you say weakly.

“i saw what happened and i wanted to check up on you. how you holding up?”

“i’m a fucking mess jamie.” you say sobbing.

“oh y/n, i’m so sorry. i wish i could be there with you.” he says apologetically.

“it’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay.” you say out loud to yourself.

“do you have any updates?” he asks.

“no he said he would call me after he gets evaluated.” you say sniffling.

“okay, do you want me to stay on the phone until then? i can facetime you, that’s better than nothing.”

“yes, please do.” you say and he presses the facetime button, you picking up immediately.

“sorry i look awful right now,” you say wiping your nose.

“hey no, don’t worry. you’re going through a lot right now.”

you stayed on the phone with jamie for the next two hours, appreciating him spending time on the phone with you instead of getting to know his new city.

“jamie i gotta go. z is calling, i’ll text you with updates.”

“okay, goodnight y/n.”

“goodnight jamie.” you say hanging up and picking up trevor’s call.

“so?” you ask.

“can you pick me up from the airport in the morning?” he asks, your heart sinking into your stomach.

“yes i can.”

“thank you baby, i’m so sorry about all of this.”

“it’s okay. are you okay?”

“i’m not playing, won’t know what’s wrong until i come home and go see team doc.”

“okay okay, what time?” you ask.

“7 am, cali time.”

“jesus thats in,” you look at the time, “11 hours.”

“i’m sorry for the short notice, i didn’t think this would happen.”

“it’s okay no worries at all okay? i’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“okay, i love you.” he says

“i love you too, bye trevor.” you say hanging up. texting jamie about picking him up in the morning. with the early wake up time, you take yourself to bed and crash instantly. the sadness had exhausted you. it seems like just as you went to sleep your alarm was already going off. you groaned at the sound, sliding your shoes on and heading out the door without caring for your appearance. feeling selfish for being this down when it’s not even happening to you. your drive to the airport was smooth, trevor texting you that he’d landed a few minutes ago as you pull into the airport arrival lane, him waiting patiently with his foot in a boot. you stop and get out of the car to hug him, crying instantly.

“hey hey i’m here now, let’s go home okay?” he says holding you tightly. you put his things in the car and drive off, back to your apartment. the car ride was completely silent as you gathered your composure. once you arrive you help him bring his stuff in and help him into bed.

“did you sleep?” you ask laying down next to him.

“no.” he says looking over at you, looking beat down.

“get some sleep baby.” you say pulling yourself to his side, combing your fingers through his hair.

“i can’t sleep y/n,” he said, his voice breaking, “god damnit.” he says breaking down in tears, your hands catching his face as he looked down.

“talk to me trevor, get it out.”

“well for starters, it was my 200th game and i didn’t even make it through the first period and my best friend got traded across the country all within 24 hours. life couldn’t possibly get any worse. this is the lowest i have ever felt.” he explained, getting everything off his chest.

“i know it’s hard honey, i’ve cried about 50 times in the last 24 hours. my heart is broken for you. all i can do is be here for you and listen and i feel like that’s still not even enough.”

“it is enough, it’s just a tough time right now. for both of us it seems.” he giggles, placing a hand around my waist.

“well i love you, i’m here for you baby. don’t hold back anything you’re feeling, not until you’re better. it sucks that jamie is gone but we still have each other! i know that’s not like the greatest but it’s something.”

“you know, you are the best girlfriend ever.” he smiles weakly, pulling you onto his lap and wiping the few tears that left your eyes.

“i just feel terrible about all of this.” you say to him.

“there’s nothing you could’ve done, it’s okay.” he says hugging you to his chest.

“this was not on my 2024 bingo card.” you sniffled, laughing lightly.

“it wasn’t on mine either but here we are.” he says hugging onto me tightly. you stayed on his chest until you felt yourself grow tired, eyes getting heavier by the second. not a word was said as you drifted off to sleep. trevor stayed awake, holding onto you as it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“i love you more than you’ll ever know.” he whispers into your hair, kissing your head sweetly as his hands rubbed your back gently.

-

when you woke up and rolled off of the boy who was fast asleep, trying not to wake him up. you grabbed your phone off the charger and walked into the kitchen, opening your phone to a missed call from jamie about 20 minutes ago. you click on the notification to call him back and he picks up instantly.

“hello?” he says.

“yes jamie hi, what’s up?”

“do you have a minute?”

“yeah i just got up, are you okay?”

“yeah i think it’s all starting to process now and i’m so emotional. like i just up and left my home with my two best friends. how can i just live like this so suddenly? i made breakfast and it wasn’t even good.” he explains, his voice wavering.

“oh jamie,” you say, “it’s gonna be okay. i promise it will be. they love you.”

“i’m sure ill get used to it soon it’s just such an unexpected change, i don’t know what i’m doing.” he says sending you through all of your emotions at once.

“i understand, even though we aren’t physically there we are always here for you jam. we love you so so much.”

“i love you guys too.”

“i’m also about to make breakfast for the first time without you, i don’t really know how to feel.” you laugh realizing what you had walked into the kitchen to do.

“well i’ll let you go so you can perfect your pancakes as always. bye y/n.”

“bye jam.” you say hanging up the phone and bringing out all the ingredients. you do your typical routine, humming ‘unwritten’, your favorite song. suddenly a wall of emotions hit you and tears begin to fall without warning.

“our breakfast song.” you say to yourself, recalling that you and jamie had sang this together every morning.

“smells good.” trevor says walking out of the room, your back fortunately facing away from him.

“thank you.” you force out, sounding mostly normal.

“pancakes?” he asks.

“yep.” you reply flipping the last one. you plate it and turn around, revealing your red and puffy face to your boyfriend.

“woah,” he says getting up off the bar stool and rounding the counter, “what’s going on?”

“trevor im so tired.” you cry and he wraps you in his arms.

“i know i know.” he says holding you tightly.

“i feel so empty, ive been here for you, for jamie, for everyone and no one has sat and listened to me. im so tired.” you cry even more into his chest.

“i didn’t know you felt that way, im so sorry if you felt like you couldn’t talk to me baby.”

“it’s okay, it’s a rough time for you i didn’t wanna push too hard but i can’t say i wasn’t upset.”

“don’t dismiss your own feelings just because i’m going through something. we’re in this together.” he says pulling away slightly, brushing strands of hair from your face.

“okay.” you say, your sobs finally subsiding.

“i love you.” he says kissing your gently on the forehead.

“i love you too trev.” you say smiling at the gesture, wrapping yourself back in his embrace.

-

[imaginidol]

Jongho: Backstage After-Hours

!!mentions of NSFW!! 18+ !! do NOT interact if you are not comfortable with smut!! as requested, here is a Jongho smut fic for you! This one is also pretty long so be prepared for that :3 IF you are comfortable, you may read more smuts here: hongjoong, san, mingi, yunho, wooyoung. PLEASE feel free to request more if you'd like! I'll get to ALL requests soon!!

The last thing you would've expected of this year was to be screaming your lungs out at a front-row seat for ATEEZ.

The shock overwhelmed you the night that the ATEEZ tickets were released for their tour, and no more than four seconds into the queue, you managed to snag a front-row seat.

Front row. Front. Row. To ATEEZ.

Sure, this meant you'd be working overtime for the next few weeks, but it was a small sacrifice to pay for the unmatched excitement that would await you soon. You've never been so quick to put any purchase like this into your credit card, and now the day finally came and here you were--screaming you rabid lungs out for the boys who made you the happiest person in the world.

Your live-in-the-moment excitement bounced off and influenced the fans around you. Soon enough, your side of the pit was the most fun to visit by the boys. They loved the energy, the fact that you were hopping around and screaming your heart out, singing along to all of their songs, and you were one of the few fans who didn't have a phone up to your face capturing the perfect fancam for the entirety of the 3-hour long concert duration.

Now, if your luck for front-row hadn't been enough to convince you that fate was indeed real, you were surely re-considering it when a security guard briskly walked up to you as you started leaving your seat, asking you to follow him once the concert ended.

Am I in trouble? is all you can think in your head as you nervously walk behind the guard, going over the events of the night that might've caused a misunderstanding.

Maybe they think I'm a sasaeng. Maybe my tickets were a fraud!?

To your surprise, you weren't yelled at or interrogated at all. Instead, a tall, slender woman with a KQ shirt greets you with a smile.

"Before you accept to come backstage and we proceed with anything further, I'll need you to sign this," she hands you a pen and a clipboard with an NDA form for you to read and fill out.

I'm being given an NDA. A Non-Disclosure Agreement. These things only happen in...

You shakily hand back the form with your information and initials signed.

...fanfiction.

The woman takes you towards the back and you quietly admire a multitude of stretching backup dancers, audio and sound engineers, large camera and videography equipment, and so much more.

It's a lot brighter than I ever imagined a backstage to be, you thought, attempting to distract yourself from the impending elephant that would soon ensue.

Finally, you're introduced to Choi Jongho, main vocalist, main dancer, and the infamous maknae of ATEEZ.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Ah, I didn't think you'd agree to come back here," he bows his head, offering you a warmest smile and a water bottle. "I'm Jongho, thank you for coming."

He offers you a seat on a single-seater sofa, closing the door of his dressing room behind him. He sat himself on another single-seater to be closer to you, and now you were practically face-to-face with one of the most beautiful boys to ever cross your existence.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This. Isn't. Fucking. Happening.

"I know who you are," you giggle, introducing yourself and offering your warmest smile, ignoring the obvious screaming and fangirling raging on in your head.

"I wanted to meet you backstage because I wanted to tell you that I saw you up front," he smiles, "and I really liked your energy. I wanted to meet you so bad."

"You liked my energy?" you scoff, "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

"You wouldn't be too surprised if you knew what it's like from the stage," he smirked. "There's always a camera on you. I don't blame anyone, of course, because you do what you want with what you pay for. But sometimes the crowd is too immersed in their videos that they forget to enjoy the moment. It makes me feel like a robot."

He turns to you, covering his mouth in slight embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invite you here to listen to me vent."

"No," you giggle, "I totally get it. I enjoyed the moment with you guys too, and I loved seeing you come to my side of the stage when we linked. Sharing interactions like that really made me feel like you guys noticed me, too. You're really great performers."

"Thank you," he smiles.

Several small conversations (and several arm pinches to make sure you weren't dreaming or anything) later, you manage to calm yourself down the more and more you talked with Jongho.

He really is just an ordinary person, just like me.

"Who's your bias?" the boy suddenly asks, leaning back against his chair.

"My bias? Currently you, obviously," you laugh.

"Nah, you're just saying that 'cause I'm right here," he says.

"Fine. My bias currently is Yunho."

"Currently? What, it changes?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, "I can't ever stick to one bias. You're all just so fun to stan."

"Okay," he grins, "we could change it from Yunho to me then, right?"

You grin, covering your mouth as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

"How about you?" you poke back.

"Me?"

"Yeah, who's your favorite fan? Is that even a thing?"

He lets out a loud laugh, turning back to you.

"You could be my favorite fan," he smirks.

"You're also just saying that," you smile.

"Can I be honest?"

You cock your head to the side, a curious smile beaming across your face. "Honest? About what?"

"You're the only fan I've asked to come backstage for this tour," he says quietly.

"You're lying," you giggle.

"I'm not," he whispers as a more endearing smile crosses his face. "I think you're also very pretty."

He eyed you steadily now, slow blinking and leaning back against his chair. You couldn't help but think about where this could lead to, if you allowed it.

"Is that why you made me sign an NDA?" you smirk, crossing your legs and leaning against the armchair.

The boy scoffs, looking away in embarrassment. "No, I didn't mean to come off as--"

"Relax," you tease, "I'm just messing with you. I think you're really cute, too. Way cuter in person."

You eye him steadily now, a sly grin meeting his. "Can I be honest now?"

He keeps his eyes locked on you, marveling at the way the apples of your cheeks illuminated your face when you smiled.

"I'd love to put that NDA to good use."

Jongho smiles slowly, relaxing against his chair and man-spreading his legs.

"Come here, then," he whispers.

His expression fades to lust at the sight of you slowly making your way to his lap. One of the many things he loved about you tonight was your outfit. You were wearing a black and white blazer dress with a deep, plunging neckline. An outfit that made your pretty face stand out in a crowd, but also one that implied you were grown enough to fuck.

And man, was he glad that you were initiating it.

You lean over him as he pulls your legs over his lap, grazing his lips gently against yours, closing your eyes as you caressed each other's faces and bodies in unison. As he kisses you slowly, he brings a hand against your thighs, curiously outlining his fingertips over your curves. You bring a hand to his jaw and push further into his mouth, inviting his tongue into yours with each fervent kiss. Jongho glides his hand from your hips to your inner thighs, circling his fingers around your clothed groin. The feel of Jongho's fingers poking at you through your clothes was enough to make you crave for his warmth against your body.

"Jongho," you whisper into him, "let me entertain you tonight."

You begin sliding off his lap and start unbuttoning your dress, taking a few step backs as you slowly and seductively exposed more of your collarbone, shoulders, and breasts. You step out of your dress and fold it neatly on the floor, using it as a cushion for your knees.

Jongho bites his lower lip and brings a hand to cover his mouth to hold back a grunt. Seeing you bend to your knees in front of him was enough to ignite an emerging boner rising deep inside his black sweatpants.

You slowly glide your hands against his hips until you reach the waist of his pants, tugging at them slowly until his boxers were out.

Cute, you think, as you're greeted by a pair of pink AllSaints boxers.

"I ran out of black pairs," is all he can embarrassingly admit, his cheeks growing bright and hot at seeing your smile.

"No," you whisper, "these are so much better."

You pull his boxers down to reveal his long, hardened cock already pleading for your entertainment.

You dampen your lips as you begin stroking the erect member with your hands, pulling soft, deep strokes as the boy reposed against his chair.

He bites his lip harder to hold back a low grunt, his lust for you enticing further at the feel of your warm hands wrapped around him. He exhaled deeper and heavier breaths as you began twisting his member, gently stroking it over and over. Suddenly, he felt the warmth and wetness of your tongue delicately licking against his tip.

The boy reaches a hand to your head, calmly running his fingers through your hair before proceeding to nudge you further, bringing your mouth gingerly around his cock. You obeyed, sucking on him considerately before picking up the pace.

You experimented with your timing for a bit, switching between your hands and your mouth (and sometimes both) wrapped around his throbbing member. The boy's breathing intensified as he began to feel himself on the verge of reaching a climax. He massaged your scalp as he pushed you deeper into him, soft sounds of gagging and choking erupting in the air.

The boy lets out a whimper as he looks down to see you shying away from him, licking your lips and wiping your mouth as you stood up.

"Why'd you--why'd you stop? I.. I was so.."

You grinned, knowing that edging him was part of the entertainment deal you wanted to give him exclusively.

"Are you being entertained? I didn't say I was done," you grin, climbing back on his lap and wrapping your thighs around his cock. You leaned into him, placing your hands over his shoulders as you slowly began riding his dick, throwing your head back as your soft moans progressively got louder. All at once, the tempered boy was also thrusting himself underneath you, desperately wanting to take charge of what was about to come.

And so, when he couldn't hold himself back anymore, he did.

He stood up and carried you towards his vanity mirror, sitting you against the tabletop. Your legs wrapped around his waist, sinking your fingernails deep into his back, gasping as the boy started fucking you. And he was going in hard.

From behind you, he caught sight of himself in the mirror as he fucked you hard, and to his surprise, the reflection in the mirror had aroused him even more. The way your legs were clenched and buckled around his waist, the way you bounced up and down at every protruding thrust, the way your head was leaning into his shoulder as you desperately bit into his blades with hopes of silencing your screams. Now he was going in harder, clutching onto the sides of the desk as the furniture rattled underneath you both.

He turned to face you, sticking his tongue inside your mouth agape. At this point, he was taking full control of you and your body, and all you could do was try to ease the thristing moans repeatedly escaping your lips.

"Fuck," Jongho grunts as he feels himself on the verge of climaxing, and in a sudden instant you find yourself on your back against the floor in an attempt to make you more comfortable.

If only there was a fucking longer couch instead of single ones, he quietly cursed in his head, pulling your legs over his shoulders and mindlessly fucking you on the carpet. While the floor wasn't the most comfortable place to fuck, it had come in great luck as Jongho had managed to finally reach your G-spot.

You tightened your handgrip against the legs of the vanity desk behind you, letting out the last of your cries before feeling the hot release of your orgasm rush through your lower abdomen. You noticed the boy's face scrunch up as he was about to ejaculate inside of you, and then in an instant you felt the rush of his hot cum spilling in and all over your inner thighs, making a mess of the floor beneath you.

"Fuck," he panted, bringing your legs down from his shoulders and wrapping them around his hips instead. You looked in awe as the sweat drops rolled down his forehead, his mouth agape and eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing.

You sat up and placed your hands around his jaw, giving him a quick kiss before he could open his eyes again.

"What was that for?" he smiled tiredly.

"For being a good performer off-stage, too," you smirk.

He laughs, repositioning himself on the floor to where you were sitting across his lap again, his hands wrapped around your waist and your arms around his neck.

"You're a good fan," he says, his eyes softening as a smile crossed your face, "both in a crowd and in private."

You smile, letting him pepper kisses all over your cheek, jaw, and lips.

"Are you gonna look for me when you come back for your next tour?" you say, cocking your head to the side.

"I don't think you believed me when I said you're the only person I've picked from a crowd for this tour," he insists again.

"You're lying, that's why I don't believe you," you tease.

"I'm serious. I mean, I've invited people over before... for my past tours... but none of them have had as much of a colorful personality as yours. You're the first who really stuck out to me in a long time, really. Both on and offstage. I hope you never lose that part of you."

"Awe," you smile warmly, "look at you being so sweet. It makes me kind of want to bias you, now."

"I haven't been able to change your mind from biasing me instead of Yunho?" he furrows his brows in annoyance.

"I don't know yet," you shrug, planting another soft kiss against his cheek.

"Then I guess that leaves me only one option," he grins, giggling into your neck and rocking you gently back and forth, "be my girlfriend one day, so I can make more time to convince you to always choose me."

small pt. 2 coming soon!! (sfw :))

[herbgerblin]

ipre theater thots

loosely based off of this poll. sorry, this got away from me. i was a theater kid for years (i still am, i literally made a bunch of friends larp as wizards two weeks ago)

Davenport: Producer and Stage Manager. Personally more experienced in opera than musicals, but answers the call when the need for a manager arises. Keeps everyone focused and on schedule. Has final word on what choices the art department gets to make. Sometimes does solo performances on his own time.

Merle: Choreographer and Director. Leads the ensemble into meditation every rehearsal before warming up. Talks with each member of the cast one-on-one. Sometimes leaves the script open to interpretation. His artistic vision sounds bonkers in concept, but illuminating in execution. Why are there so many plants? Don't worry about it.

Magnus: Lead Actor and Set Builder. He brings the energy every single night. He doesn't need to be micc'ed up because his natural voice projects well enough. It takes a bit of time for him to memorize the script, but he devotes his heart and soul to it. He claps loudly for the ensemble when he's in the wings. He cries at the emotional numbers. Built all the sets by hand.

Lucretia: Co-stage Manager and Supporting Actor (not for lack of chops, only because she spreads herself very thin.) Knows the script like a second language. Mainly reserves her Director Voice for backstage when things get chaotic. Enjoys performing the musical numbers because no one knows she can belt, until she does. Standing ovation girlie, but bashful about it.

Lup: Co-lead Lead Actor and Costumer. Only willing to do the role if Davenport lets her include cold sparks and fog machines in the set budget (he finds a way.) No one knows when she took measurements for the costumes, but they're ready by dress rehearsal and they fit perfectly. Helps the other actors figure out their groove. Great at engaging the audience.

Angus (special edition): Child lead and stagehand. The sweetest little singing voice you ever did hear. Everyone is going to rue the day his voice starts cracking. A heartbreaker of a performer and a speedy backstage assistant.

Taako: A MYSTERY. He's wearing a fancy scarf and roaming all over the place. He's talking about the Art of the Theatre. He's listed on the billing of lead actors and NO ONE knows what his role is. He remembers all the little things that everyone forgets: clothes pins, a hot glue gun, and electrolytes. He's got a walkie-talkie. Only the managers and tech are supposed to have walkie-talkies. Hello, this is Taako speaking, over.

Barry: Usually Tech. He's got a beautifully choreographed queue of lighting designs and stage effects. He's got an immaculately labeled pad controller and a ready-to-go Excel spreadsheet. But on opening night, Lucretia informs him he's in the orchestra pit.

Barry: ...But I'm lighting tonight.

Lucretia (via walkie-talkie): And our percussionist twisted his ankle tripping over a stage light. You're in the orchestra now, compadre.

Barry: (with increasing emphasis, decreasing conviction) But. I'm. Light. Tech.

Taako: E N T E R T H E P I T B A R O L D

Davenport: Taako, get off this line.

During intermission, Magnus asks him to help lift the ensemble dancers onto the set scaffolding, and hold it steady. Barry agrees, thinking he's in the clear after that. But the second the music number ends, Merle tells him that one of the support roles had to leave, so now he's the understudy.

Barry (longsuffering): I am just. the light guy.

Merle (gesturing to Taako in the balcony, having a ballgame playing with the lightboard): well, in two minutes you're the showstopper guy, so you need to go out there and stop the show

Lup (emerging from nowhere, slapping a red, hooded robe on Barold's shoulders): Knock 'em dead!

Barry: D:

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xlix // Pinned

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

I didn’t hit the heart.

The back tires slide sideways on the road, whining through the corner of an intersection. The sound is soon replaced by the engine accelerating to the peak of second gear. In the rearview mirror, flashing lights momentarily disappear behind the cover of an office building. If Renee keeps hyperventilating, he’s pretty sure he will pass out.

A punctured lung isn’t fatal. He’ll be okay. I didn’t hit the heart.

It feels like he’s running low on adrenaline, or maybe the cumulative stress is finally breaking through the brunt of his body’s defenses in the wake of actually fighting. The pinky of his right hand is either broken or dislocated. He has no idea when or how it happened, but it bends unnaturally at the base knuckle, and he can’t close his hand properly around the steering wheel. The pain there is only just starting to make itself known, and it fades in comparison to his knee, his elbow, the back of his chest just under the shoulder blade where he bumped off a branch in the fall. There’s no way his finger is the only part of his body that didn’t make that fall. The pain is making him sweat.

So much of his headspace is split between frantic self-reassurances and the struggle to stay alert through growing agony, his attention to where he’s actually headed takes on a negligible role. The last wave of the morning rush hour traffic is mostly aimed downtown, so Renee automatically drives in the opposite direction. The main roads alternate between double and triple lanes, giving him plenty of room to overtake, and on red lights, he slips past the queues via turn lanes, barely slowing down to look for crossing traffic. He doesn’t have a plan. There’s what’s directly in front of him, and not much else.

Meanwhile, they steadily accumulate in his mirrors. What started as two by the apartment complex turns into five, six, seven, trickling in from side roads or catching up as the minutes tick by. Four-wheelers and SUVs, or the standard Dodge Chargers. Renee is a good driver, but he knows it doesn’t take much horsepower to keep up with a fucking Clio. When he veers off a ramp to the highway, he doesn’t feel an ounce of relief. Still, he kicks down the accelerator hard enough to make the pain in his leg spike. Every movement feels shaky, disorganized.

I didn’t hit the heart. He’s going to be okay.

His cheeks puff up at several unsteady exhales, and he blinks hard, wiping his forehead. The wind rumbles around the carrosserie. In and out between the commuters. Suburbs make way for scattered woods and fields, and the highway divides to accommodate a wide, grassy median. His pursuiters have kept a relative distance so far, but as the traffic gets lighter further out of the city, they slowly creep up closer. Close enough that he can actually hear the sirens over the Clio’s engine, the tires on the road, the rushing in his own head.

Renee has fled from cops before, but never in a car, and not always successfully. He can’t think. They’ll probably try to pit him. Await the authorization like dogs, and then eagerly watch for an opportunity.

Slaloming between other commuters. He’s going fast enough that the occasional semi doesn’t take more than two or three seconds to pass, and for all he knows, they’re driving the limit. A few tight squeezes rather naturally make him seek out the shoulder, where he can drive unhindered, and he speeds up exponentially – a passing glance in the rear view mirror tells him that at least one of the cops had the same idea before he did. He grits his teeth.

Would they do a pit at speeds this high? Do they even care if they kill him?

Up ahead, a little grey Ford blinks towards a coming exit ramp, turning directly onto his path. They’re not expecting someone overturning from the right, and even when Renee lays on the horn, the driver doesn’t react. To his left, a larger truck is blocking his way, effectively boxing him in. With a hiss, he finds himself forced to brake – but he still closes in on the Ford, tailgating near enough that he’s pretty sure the bumpers come within mere inches of each other.

“Move,” he says under his breath. “Move.”

As he knocks his fist into the horn again, right at the beginning of the exit ramp, the Ford’s driver freaks out. Contrary to any semblance of reason, the driver doesn’t move out of the way – instead, they suddenly slam on their brakes.

Renee barely has time to react to the flash of red light before the Clio rams into the Ford, momentum lurching him forward, halted sharply when the seatbelt snaps taught over his chest. The rebound makes every part of his body scream out in pain.

“Shit! Fff—”

Both cars swerve. While the Ford drifts toward the shoulder of the ramp, Renee’s only focus is to keep himself from overcorrecting as the back tires slide. He succeeds, but only so far as to not crash into the guard rail. By the time he regains control of the Clio, he’s far enough on the exit ramp that any attempt to veer back on the highway would be suicide, so he steadies his new trajectory. Sweat stings his eyes.

The unexpected route starts up circling a large patch of grass, then thankfully merges with another highway running perpendicular to the first. North, south? It doesn’t matter.

As Renee accelerates again, beneath the sirens and the roar of the engine, he starts to hear a faint rumbling sound. He thinks it’s the Clio at first. It’s doing remarkably well, doesn’t drive as though anything major broke in the fender bender, but his eyes still search the dashboard for hints, finding nothing. Meanwhile, the sound grows louder, and takes on a deep, rhythmic quality. It's not until he’s on the next highway proper that Renee realizes, and his stomach drops.

The seatbelt bites his neck as he looks over his shoulder, eyes scanning the sky. It must be behind him or on the passenger side, hidden by the Clio’s ceiling – he can’t see it, but the clearer that sound becomes, the harder it is to conclude otherwise.

They’ve got a fucking helicopter on him.

 Swiveling back to watch the road, Renee locks his jaw. “God,” he wheezes, sound rough in his throat. His breathing has far from settled, and he’s starting to feel a prickle in his limbs. Traffic continues to thin out before him, and the whine of the sirens grows stronger. It’s always the same car in front, a jet black box of a four-wheeler, close enough now that Renee can see the outline of the driver and a passenger, although he can’t make out any details.

Something vibrates in his pocket. Steadying the wheel with the root of his bad hand, he manages to maneuver his phone out without swerving too much.

It’s an incoming call from Davin.

Renee sneers, quickly tossing it in a cup holder.

One patrol car surges ahead, rapidly gaining more and more space in his mirror. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it’s trying to do, and Renee tries his best to stay directly in front of it, aligning bumper to bumper – when a second cruiser joins in, weighing the odds unevenly.

The one to his right manages to get up halfway beside him, and before Renee knows it, the crush of metal against metal accompanies a swift loss of control, as a Dodge forces the back tires of the Clio sideways. The impact sends it spinning violently, and for several seconds, the world beyond the windows is reduced to a blur of light and shadow, and his knuckles are white against the leather of the steering wheel. Twisting it and sharply tapping the brakes, Renee fights the skidding tires, but the Clio still shudders sideways. The rear end grips the asphalt, halting the spin, but when he finally manages to steady the car, he’s facing the wrong way on the highway, glaring at the steady approach of his pursuers.

As his momentum rolls him backwards, a split second passes in which Renee is paralyzed, watching wide-eyed as flashes of red and blue creep forward with a threatening, relentless thirst. For what feels like an eternity, all he can do is stare, barely comprehending the enormity of his situation.

Without thinking, he yanks the gear into reverse, barely losing further momentum as he slams the speeder to the floor. Several seconds, he stares in disbelief at the swarm of cops on his heel, raspy gasps escaping from his throat. It doesn’t feel real, but somehow, it is.

His heart is racing as, in quick succession, he whips the steering wheel sideways and yanks up the handbrake, locking the rear tires. Rubber burns on tarmac, suspension whining as the Clio pivots on its axis, swaying at the end of the J-turn, when Renee releases the clutch, accelerating as fast as he can to steady the car’s trajectory. In less than two seconds, he’s facing the right way on the road and rapidly increasing his speed again, one gear at a time. Behind him, the cop cars lurch forward on his heel.

Shit, shit, shit.

Staying on a highway wide enough to accommodate a maneuver like that suddenly seems like a terrible idea. The first exit ramp Renee spots, he zeroes in on, air whistling through his teeth.

After a dead intersection, it veers off to a smaller road splitting rows of plowed fields, some of which still shelter patches of snow between the crevasses.  Five, six miles pass without another attempt to pit him, although with almost zero traffic, they’re no more than twenty-odd yards on his ass at all times. As the landscape changes, waving across the horizon, patches of trees becoming more and more frequent, he gets a glimpse of the helicopter, swaying back and forth across the road, field to field, seemingly having trouble keeping up with the pace – because it’s too slow.

Renee knows he needs to lose it, but he doesn’t know how. Part of him is settled in the idea of driving until, magically, some genius solution will spontaneously offer itself up. But it’s been, what, twenty-five minutes, now?

At some point, the cops suddenly shrink in the rearview mirror, distance emphasized by the dust thrown up by the Clio’s tires. Renee should’ve been suspicious, but he isn’t – he feels mindlessly hopeful. Not long after, the phone rings again, hum amplified by the cup holder.

Renee’s eyes snap to it, lips retracted in a growl. “Fuck off. Fuck you.”

It causes enough of a distraction that, although he spots the car parked on the side of the road, Renee doesn’t see the spike strip until it’s too late to dodge or brake. The only thing he has time for is a sharp inhale, and a grip that tightens on the steering wheel.

Two loud bangs and a whole lot of hissing. Running over the strip itself is no worse than a minor speed bump, but the moment the tires are back on asphalt, the Clio begins to swerve. Not violently, but it’s enough to make Renee curse. Steering has instantly gone to shit – there’s a delay between him pulling the wheel and the car actually turning, and when it does, it wobbles in either direction, never quite going where he wants it to go.

They picked the spot well. Less than two hundred yards from the spike strip, the road makes a turn to the left.

He’s sure he brakes before the bend, but the Clio doesn’t fully respond. The front wheels don’t have enough friction with the road to cause a ton and a half of metal to turn nearly enough, and the back wheels can’t slow its momentum. What should’ve been seventy degrees is instead eighty.

The car leaves the road for a short patch of grass, bouncing off the ground so hard, Renee’s seatbelt snaps taught again. In an instant, it breaks through heavy underbrush, narrowly missing the larger trees closest to the road, continuing down a wooded embankment. It’s a blur of jolting movement. A trunk clips down the driver’s side, breaking all windows and shearing off the mirror, altering the car’s trajectory, and the Clio snaps sideways and begins to roll.

Renee loses consciousness.

He thinks he does, anyway, because the next thing he knows, the world is completely still.

Silent, apart from the hiss of snapped hydraulics, the click of hot metal rapidly contracting as it meets the open air, the slow whirring down of a fan somewhere.

He's hanging upside down in his seat, arms hanging above his head, legs resting on the bottom of the steering wheel, struggling to comprehend what just happened. The seatbelt’s pressure on his body makes him breathless as he blinks, sparks dancing across his vision. It feels like his lungs can’t fully inflate, as if the air is barred from reaching further than his collarbones. Blood is quickly rushing to his head, veins pulsing at his temples. Renee let’s out a choked cough, arms swaying with the movement of his torso.

The windshield, almost entirely opaque with cracks, has collapsed and partially dislodged from its frame. All the contents of his car not nailed in place lays strewn about the ceiling. About half a year’s worth of empty soda cans and greasy takeout bags, receipts and tissues and paper cups, all mixed with dirt and leaves and shattered glass, fragments of bark and plastic and twisted metal. Bits of the forest, bits of his Clio.

Turning his head further reveals a space that has caved in on one side. Half the seats are gone, replaced by an almost perfectly rounded door wrapped around the trunk of a tree, from which large wooden splinters look like they’ve exploded into the cabin.

Somewhere outside, sirens approach, the whining noise echoing off the hills.

Renee lets out a small sound, struggling to swallow. He looks down at himself – up, technically.

A branch an inch and a half in diameter has shot through the windshield and now presses against his stomach, just below his ribs. It doesn’t move when he breathes, which is odd. When he wraps his good hand around it and tries to push it aside, it doesn’t budge; instead something warm runs up his chest at the movement, diffused in his shirt. He blinks up at the blood steadily spreading through the fabric. When the muscles of his abdomen flex with an involuntary gasp, he feels a tugging in his back, too.

His back…?

A slow realization makes him dizzy. Blinking a creeping vignette from his vision, he manages to squeeze his hand through the gap between his back and the seat, a movement that feels revolting enough to nearly make him gag. Just next to the small bumps of his spine, his fingers hit something rough again: bark.

The branch isn’t pressed against him. It’s going through him.

Letting out a small sound, Renee lets his arm drop to the car’s ceiling, watches the blood on his hand drip steadily on the ripped canopy. Swallows repeatedly. He’s breathing hard and shallow, wide eyes occasionally drifting to nothing, only to return to focus, with no real rhyme or reason.

He can feel it clearer now. There’s a horrifying pressure in his abdomen, a sense that his insides have been pushed away to accommodate the foreign object. Small twitches of ripped muscle, the harder spasms of a body battling shock, it all writhes around a new axis. The branch carries some of his weight, tugging at his organs. The fact that his lungs can’t fully expand isn’t just in his head – it must be adjacent to his diaphragm, close enough to get in the way of movement.

With as deep a breath as he can mechanically take, he wraps both hands around it, tries to push it out and away from himself. It doesn’t move an inch, and the pain is creeping in, like the corrosive gnarl of an acid, churning its way through his guts. It doesn’t move, no matter how hard he tries to push or pull. He makes a couple attempts to snap it, but even if his arms weren’t so weak, it would’ve been a fool’s errand.

Renee lets out a low groan, cut short when his throat closes up, and drops his arms again, awash with exhaustion and a dawning panic.

Nailed to the seat. He’s nailed to the fucking seat.

Buried somewhere midst the debris on the ceiling, his phone rings. The sound makes him look up – down, whatever – and although he can’t immediately spot it, his eyes catch on the gun lying above the passenger seat, aimed directly out the window.

A grim thought passes through his head.

Reaching out makes his vision darken, raw flesh shifting across wood. The tips of his fingers barely brush over metal, nails tracing the seams to draw it close enough to properly grasp. He lets out a shaky breath when he finally manages to pull it closer, then wastes a precious moment to gather his bearings, gasping in pain. Warm blood trickles up the side of his neck. The gun is heavier than it was five minutes ago.

Renee’s voice is raspy as he groans, shutting his eyes. “F-fuck,” he bites out. A quick heartbeat drums at the sides of his skull. “Fuck, fuck…”

He can hear them shouting in the distance. Barking at the sight of broken underbrush, the trail he left behind.

As Renee tries to lift the gun to his head, he heaves in a breath that sends a sharp jab of agony through his core, triggering a spasm of his body, which in turn triggers another wave of pain. The back of his head bumps the headrest, air blocked as his throat constricts, and both his hands divert, wrapping as best they can around the branch to steady his movement. Still, it takes a while before the pain fades enough that he can open his eyes. Through a haze, his blurred vision locks on his left hand, struggling to grasp both gun and branch in one crooked grip.

Gun, branch.

He’s not thinking through it, and it’s a wonder he doesn’t accidentally send a round going through his own legs in the process. But by some miracle, when he presses the lip of the barrel against the branch, a mere inch or two from his stomach, he awkwardly points it sideways, perpendicular to his body. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to close his mouth before he shoots.

It's an instant, violent jerk of the branch, instant recoil’s lash to his hand, instant ringing in his ears. Renee drops the gun, biting his tongue hard before he shouts hoarsely, lets it echo in his throat for every inebriated gasp that follows. Through a flash of blindness, it takes a second for the world to return, creeping back from the void, only for the dark to linger in his periphery as he manages to look up at himself. He can barely keep his eyes focused.

The branch is shattered, long splinters tracing up the grain of the wood, and the route of the point-blank shot has left a half-cylinder across its diameter, singed black from the heat. More notably, the blast has shattered it in two – the part jabbing through the broken windshield, and the part still lodged in him.

First, a sense of despair, a desire to listening to the voice in his head beckoning to either give up or give in. There hasn’t been hope in this endeavor for a while.

Still, Renee finds himself tucking the collar of his shirt between his teeth, biting down hard as he leverages both hands on the back of the seat. Shutting his eyes, he pushes his body forward, dragging himself off the branch.

He's aiming to get it over with as quickly as possible, but the sheer scope of agony instantly radiating through his body turn his efforts weak, unsteady. Renee is vaguely aware that he’s screaming through the self-imposed gag – at least whenever he has enough air to do so. There’s no words for it, really. It’s pain that reaches a crescendo so high that, like sound, it occasionally slips out of his ability to even sense it. The feeling of blood beginning to flow more freely as the internal pressure offered by the foreign object is reduced. The feeling of coarse and splintered wood dragging through his body a fraction of an inch at a time, hitching on whatever tissue it meets – organs, muscle, skin...

How much time it takes, how long he struggles to free himself, there’s no telling. It feels like an eternity before something gives – with a final, agonizing tug, he falls a half-inch, seatbelt digging deep around one shoulder. The branch presses against the small of his back, still hitched in the fabric of his shirt. Renee is barely conscious when his shaky hand fumbles for the clasp, eventually finding it. The first press is too feeble to release the seatbelt, but his second try is followed by the sound of tearing fabric, and he suddenly crashes down. He lands on his head and shoulder, body flopping sideways once his legs clear the wheel. He’s lying flat on his back on the ceiling suddenly, bits of debris digging in.

Hungry, starving, he gulps down air. Each lungful is marked with some noise or another: a half-moan or a grunt, a whine, a choked-out murmur. Through every spasm of his body, he moves, and eventually ends up on his side in the mess of debris, curling around himself – around the wound, now freely bleeding.

And his phone rings again.

It’s somewhere above his head, buried beneath a handful of leaves and a soda can. Unseeing, he instinctually reaches for it, dragging it down in front of his face as he gasps.

Pressing his good hand to the seeping hole in his abdomen, he lifts the phone to the side of his head with the other, and lets the majority of its weight simply rest there to spare his energy. Part of him starts pitting a sarcastically cheerful greeting against a myriad of insults, but the only thing that escapes his mouth is a half-hearted, raspy sigh.

Davin wastes no time on niceties. “They’re at the spot where you veered off the road,” he says. “The forest is pretty thick, and you can’t see anything from the air. They perk up sometimes, but I think they’re waiting for a canine unit. You need to get going.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Renee lets his cheek rest in the debris. “… bleeding,” he mutters on the exhale.

“Tie something around it.”

He lets out a weak laugh. Immediately frowns, confused.

“More cars are pulling up, man, you need to move.”

The bloodstain has grown under his hand just in that short period of time, slipping down his side as opposed to his chest. His back feels wet, too. “I have… nowhere to...”

“Go in the opposite direction of the cops. There’s a road down the hill. You need another car.”

“… didn’t mean…”

“Are you listening to me?”

Renee blinks. “Y-yeah…”

“Then do as I say, and call me back when you’ve got a car. I’ll tell you where to go.”

The call is disconnected.

Renee swallows. Lets his arm flop to the ground, phone clutched awkwardly in his broken hand. Some distant part of him still capable of humor notes that him feeling drained is getting truer by the minute. The urge to laugh at it, though, is quick to wash clear.

It takes a while, but Renee eventually musters up the energy to push himself off the ceiling. Crawling slowly on his hands and knees, he squeezes out the broken passenger side window, small shards of glass hooking in his shirt, scratching at his skin. His hands sink in the wet earth, leaves and bits of rotting wood sticking to the blood on his palms. It’d be soft to lie down and die in, he thinks, if it wasn’t littered with torn sheets of metal and plastic, or the occasional exhaust pipe.

His eyes distantly drift across the wreckage. The Clio has taken on a new shape, panels dented or ripped off, a wheel or two missing. It’s a brief glance, but he can’t spot a single thing on it that doesn’t look broken. The first thing he bought with his own money is now too tanked to even sell for parts.

Using a tree for balance, Renee slowly manages to haul himself to his feet, an effort that makes the pain in his abdomen flare exponentially, and he shudders. He can’t stand up straight, has to hunch over. His legs feel too weak to support him, but they nonetheless do, albeit shaking with the effort.

Between his shoes, a steady drip of red on the leaves. Pat-pat-pat-pat.

Who’s bleeding faster? Me or…?

It’s the last place his mind should’ve gone. Not now, not when all the barriers are gone.

It seeps into him as he tries to move forward, hands clutching his torn shirt, not putting pressure as much as just guarding. A burning in his throat, and a sense that gravity gets stronger. He hasn’t walked two steps before the pressure in his chest becomes overwhelming, and his legs give out. Painfully dropping to his knees on the forest floor, he clamps a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from sobbing.

Finally, he lets out a hoarse scream and slams his broken hand into the ground, once, twice, and then a third time in quick succession, until the pain drowns out most of everything else. As he raises his arm for a fourth strike, it’s as if his body’s visceral reaction to the pain, the lingering instinct for self-preservation, becomes a force that physically prevents him from bringing it down again, however much he might want to.

So Renee screams his lungs out instead.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[dont-f-with-moogles]

The Envelope (Part 2) (NSFW) Dazai x Reader 1261 words

Cold morning. A tentative blue threaded with pale clouds. Mist had gathered in the corners of the windows. The double doors remained closed for now; you still had time to unload the gleaming cups and saucers from the dishwasher. Your manager - Uzumaki’s renowned, veteran barista - passed by the counter. His mouth was pulled to the side as though he was suppressing an uncomfortable smile.

“I, ah… think someone is trying to call you.”

With a wave of his hand he gestured to the lit smartphone which lay, singing idly to itself, nestled between a tray of glasses and the petty cash tin. A leaden weight had settled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t need to check to know who it was.

As you continued stacking the cups within a wall-mounted cupboard the phone’s melody ceased, only to be followed by the sound of a chime. One insistent ping followed another; a flurry of notifications without pause. With a pained sigh, you retrieved your phone. Refusing to scroll back and read the long reel of previous messages, your eyes settled on the most recent.

Not that I want you to rush back of course! It’s only a small fire after all.

There came the rapid tap of your thumbs in reply.

I told you this morning that I’m not coming back until after my shift.

Dropping the device down with a thud, you continued to put cups, glasses and cutlery away, all the while ignoring the series of shrill sounds which rang impatiently from your phone.

“Sounds like someone wants to talk to you,” the café owner observed, unlatching the double doors and releasing a flood of warm light into the long room. Rather than answer, you pretended to search for something in the dishwasher’s cutlery basket.

“Perhaps you ought to answer him?”

“What makes you think it’s a him?” you countered, looking up at just the wrong moment. The café manager’s smile was all-knowing. He was a people watcher; an inadvertent gatherer of secrets. He had held his position with quiet pride for many years, unobtrusively pouring coffee as the lives of his customers played out around him.

Lifting a small bag of sugar cubes, you began to refill the ceramic containers on the tables.

“...in any case, if you don’t answer, he might come up here.”

Hesitating, sugar tongs still in hand, you managed a derisive snort. It did not take long for your false bravado to cower upon itself. Thinking better of it, you stalked back to the counter to seize your phone.

I won’t be back til 6. Grab a shower or a coffee or some fresh bandages if you have indeed set fire to yourself - whatever you need, but don’t wait for me to get back. Spare key in the teapot.

The device had hardly touched the surface when its screen glowed in response.

Good to know there’s another spare. I took the key you hid in the sconce. Think I’ll hang onto it ;)

You do that. Think I’ll have the locks changed.

Ah! You’re driving me insane! <3

“Miss?”

“Coming!” you called, relieved by the distraction. A steady queue of customers had formed from the cash register, snaking out into the hallway beyond. Stifling a yawn, you poured coffee into paper cups, adding a dash of milk here; a shot of syrup there. Plastic lids were fastened on in succession. You stretched your arms and arched your aching back. Names were penned on cardboard. The morning rush was always this busy, only to be followed by… silence. There was the respite after the madness. The calm before the storm. Only a visit from your rather irregular regulars could break up the monotony now. The Armed Detectives from the fourth floor, with their wild antics and raucous laughter… You ground your teeth. Not that you were thinking about him though. Not that you were, even now, considering checking your phone for his messages. Too often you had witnessed those poor souls who fell for his superficial charms. They would weep, helpless, struggling to comprehend the reason for his sudden absence. How ignorant they were, never knowing he had already moved on to his next person of interest…

Even as you stood, reasoning so calmly with yourself, your hand was inciting a mutiny against your mind and body. You reached for your phone again.

Ditch work. Tell the boss you have a headache and need to stay in bed ;)

I think he might see through that brilliant scheme?

Cruel mistress! Don’t make me beg :(

This is on you. I’m not making you do anything.

Three little dots danced, taunting, as he crafted his reply. You set the device to one side each time the café owner strode past. It was more than your job’s worth to be caught sending messages to one of your regular customers.

As the manager stooped to clear one of the tables, your phone buzzed irritably.

Don’t pretend. And for the record, I hate being made to wait.

Wait for what exactly? You smiled; it wasn’t like you to behave so coyly but, somehow, his persistence had reeled you in like a spider’s silk.

Seriously? Don’t forget that I’d been trapped behind bars for WEEKS. You know I couldn’t stop thinking about you in there. I thought last night was all I needed but holy fuck, I already miss your pussy…

The weight in your stomach shifted. Something sparked, like flint on stone.

It’s 9:28 am! We’ve only just opened.

Well what time does your pussy open? Cause I’m

Heat flooded your cheeks. You felt your pulse beating in your throat; blood roared thunderously in your ears. You looked up - another poorly-timed gesture - to witness Ranpo glance away thoughtfully, his finger tapping his chin. The detective who saw through everything.

You dropped your phone with a clatter.

“I thought the temperature was mild today,” he observed dryly, such was his way of small talk. “Is it hot in here?”

“Yes,” you answered automatically, placing your phone face down before you could read the rest of Dazai’s message. Given the brief glimpse of the words hard scream beg and gag you could only assume it contained some tangible threats. You dusted down your black skirt self-consciously and reached to tighten the fastening in your hair, remembering that you had been forced to wear it loose today. Only its dark curtain, as it swung about the white frill of your collar, could hide the blemishes he had left upon your skin the night before. Incriminating marks which had branded you as his.

“Sorry, I uh- Let me pass you a menu-”

“Sweet curry,” Ranpo declared without pause. “And, not that it’s any of my business, but Dazai thrives on dysfunction. Nothing bores him more than having his own schemes go smoothly. I wouldn’t be so quick to give him the replies he wants.”

You gaped in astonishment. “That’s not- that’s-”

“One doesn’t need ultra deduction to read it in your distracted demeanour; the way you’re repeatedly picking your phone up, cursing to yourself… we’ve seen it all before. It’s the Dazai effect. Not to mention the circles under your eyes, your constant yawning…”

“Plus those hickeys speak for themselves.” Yosano had appeared behind him. “Pour us both a coffee - you look like you need it.”

Ruefully brushing your hair down against your neck, you turned away, poured out two cups and grabbed a blue Ramune from the fridge. What had ever made you think that sleeping with Osamu Dazai would have gone unnoticed by a group of professional detectives?

Part 1 (tw)

[chaotic-tired-bastard]

~This is a headcanon, not canon! I made this up!~

In Fire Nation mythology, the dragons are children of Agni who chose to live in the mortal realm and give the gift of fire to those who are deserving of it. Thus, Agni takes great pride in his children and whenever one is born, he creates a star in the night to symbolize its life. When a dragon dies, the star remains to remind Agni of his passed children and the life and light they brought to the world.

Since the dragons gave Firebenders their ability to bend, they are technically Agni's children too. When a Firebender dies, Agni entombs their fire amongst the stars as well, letting their soul move on to be reincarnated but keeping a bit of their gift in the night sky among their ancestor's gifts and their founder's fire. However, the Avatar does not get a star, as their spirit does not go to Agni after death and instead is added to the Avatar Spirit's collection of past lives.

[ms-fandomgirl]

BBHG: Oyakodon with Spicy Sauce (Ch. 3)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 4,280

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Oyakodon - a donburi (rice bowl) dish where chicken, egg, scallion, and other ingredients are simmered together in a sweet and salty broth, served over a large bowl of rice. Oyakodon is a popular comfort food in Japan.

You were going to kill him. You were going to take your homemade bowl of oyakodon which you had so painstakingly prepared and dump it all over his smug face. When you saw him next, you weren’t going to hold back. That is, if you ever saw him next.

You were leaning against the wall of the train station, arms crossed and most likely scaring off anyone within a five-foot radius. Your knuckles were white with rage from clutching the bento you had prepared that morning, your one morning off. You could have been tucked into your warm bed, dreaming sweet thoughts about anything other than the asshole who was extremely late.

You pushed yourself off of the wall, making your way back up the stairs of the station. You had arrived fifteen minutes earlier than usual, since he always seemed to be here before you. Watching the trains come and go, you counted down the minutes until it was ten minutes after your usual stop. Then twenty. Then thirty. You normally tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, but by now, your brain had completely run dry of excuses.

The good-smelling asshole wasn’t coming, and you were a complete and utter fool.

You pulled out your phone as you walked. Opening Hina’s contact, you began to tell her about the unfortunate conclusion to your “meet-cute” and to berate her for filling your head with rom-com scenarios that would never actually happen. As you sent the message, a notification chimed which made you stop in your tracks.

Come to the hospital now. It’s an all-staff emergency. -Gia

How Gia got your number, you had no idea. It must have been on file, or maybe she bullied it out of Hina. Either way, the message made your skin crawl, a cold chill creeping down your spine. You had no clue what could constitute such an ominous and urgent text, but you would find out soon enough.

As you waited for the next train, you began to see signs that something was indeed off. The train station was as busy as ever, but instead of people getting on to the trains, you noticed that the majority of people were leaving the station as quickly as they could. Looking left and right, only ten other people were waiting for your train to the central downtown and medical area. Usually, the queues would extend ten or twelve people deep, not total. The train pulled into the station, its doors opening to let a flurry of passengers out but then promptly closing before you could get on. The sound of soft chimes echoed through the train station, and a pit formed in your stomach as you heard a cheery voice through the speakers.

“Announcement: We regret to inform all passengers that the Yamanote train line is delayed until further notice due to villainous activity. Estimated time of departure is unknown.”

Groans and unhappy muttering erupted around you, and you tried your best to not scream in frustration. As if your day couldn’t get any worse. Jogging out of the train station, you were at least fortunate enough to find a taxi after only five minutes of waiting. The diver was an elderly man with a soft voice, who openly balked when you told him your destination.

“Are you sure you want to go that way, miss?” he questioned. “The whole area is blocked off right now due to the attack this morning. They’re not letting anyone in.”

You sighed, pulling out your nurse’s badge from your pocket. “I work at the Tokyo Central Hospital and was just called in. If I’m on duty because of the attack, then they should let me through.”

The man nodded in agreement before pulling out onto the road. “Normally, the trip is about twenty-five minutes, but with the traffic and blockades, I’m not sure how long it will take.”

“That’s okay,” you said, leaning against the door. “I’ve had a morning of waiting.”

Pulling out your phone, you tried to find more information on the most recent events. The search proved easy, with an attack on a public parade hosting the top heroes being the only topic reported on.

“So a hero parade got attacked?” you muttered, more to yourself than the driver. However, the man heard your question, glancing back at you in the rear-view mirror.

“From what I heard, it was by a whole group of villains! I don’t know the specifics, but apparently one of them had a super powerful quirk that knocked out two of the top ten heroes there instantly. The other villains participating in the attack got captured, but the powerful one still remains at large.”

The driver shook his head. “To think what the world has come to. Every day, I hear of more and more villainous activity. Maybe it’s time for me to retire.”

You hummed in agreement, the car falling into a comfortable silence as glass storefronts and busy pedestrians passed by in a blur. You tried to reason that walking into such a dangerous area was simply part of the job. If you had chosen paramedics over pediatrics as your profession, you would have been in a lot more danger on a regular basis. Nonetheless, your stomach became uneasy at the thought of walking the streets so close to the incident with someone still at large.  Whoever these villains were that attacked the parade were either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, probably a hefty mixture of both. And the fact that one of them managed to incapacitate two top ten heroes on spot - you weren’t very familiar with the hero charts or rankings, but you knew anyone in the top twenty could kick some serious ass. After all, Suneater was number twelve, and from the shaky live footage that Hina had shown you, he looked terrifying to oppose when he was focused and fighting.

Eventually, the car slowed, pulling over to the curb. You were still about two blocks away from the hospital, but bright orange barricades and police cars prevented any further travel.

“I’m afraid this is as far as I can go, miss,” the driver said.

He bowed his head in a slight apology, but you waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. We knew I wouldn’t have been able to make it all the way to the hospital by car anyway. Thank you for your help!”

You paid the man, hopping out of the car and walking up to the barricade with all of the confidence you could muster. As expected, the policemen on duty immediately stopped you from progressing. However, with a quick word and a flash of your badge, you found yourself being officially escorted to the hospital.

Things were in utter chaos when you arrived. Worried families crowded the waiting rooms of the ICU: Quirk-Related Injury floor, and you were happy to slip into the back away from all of the noise. Throwing on your pair of emergency scrubs that you kept in the back of your locker, you were heading toward the nurse’s station to receive instructions when you quite literally ran into Dr. Hayashi.

His normally pristine white coat was crumpled, and his hair looked tousled, as though he had run his hands through it one too many times. Despite this, he still gave you a kind smile, reaching out to steady you. “Just who I was looking for! Thank you for coming in on such short notice. As you can see, that attack on the parade created an ‘all-hands-on-deck’ situation.”

He turned on heel, gesturing you to follow him down the hallway and toward the patient rooms. “Normally in these events, the villains only target the heroes, and civilian injuries can be kept to a minimum. However, this group appeared to do the opposite: targeting the citizens with their quirks in a quick attack while using only one person to subdue the heroes. That’s why we have so many people in our unit right now and why having you here to help us is so vital.”

He took you down two long hallways leading farther and farther away from the main rooms, stopping in front of a set of large double doors. Swiping his access card, he gave you an encouraging nod as he ushered you in, seeing your reluctance.  You had never been in this wing of the hospital before, as it was for critical emergencies or high-profile individuals. On your introductory tour, it was firmly impressed upon you that you would most likely never have the chance to enter the area, either.

“I know this deviates from your program requirements which specify general care, but you have demonstrated a high level of professionalism and competence with us thus far, and I hope will be up to the challenge.” Dr. Hiyashi led you over to door 3307, pushing it open for you to enter. 

The inside of the space reminded you more of a luxury hotel room than a hospital. The room was large, with honey-colored hardwood floors and modern floor-to-ceiling windows illuminating the room in a soft natural light. A light grey leather couch sat against the center of the windows, surrounded by two matching leather recliners.  Between them was a sleek coffee table, with a plethora of magazines and a small vase of flowers artfully arranged on top. On either side of the sitting area, a hospital bed was set up, along with a folding screen to offer privacy.

Taking the charts offered to you by Dr. Hiyashi, your breath stuttered as you read the name of the patient on the right. You took a closer look, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. He looked different, with his sunglasses nowhere to be seen and his resting face serene, but even then, it was easy to recognize the black lightning bolt contrasted against his golden hair. You were being assigned one of the top ten heroes: Chargebolt.

You felt honored, thrilled even, to be given such a large opportunity. Yet at the same time, uncertainty clawed its way into your chest, dragging down your thoughts. You were still in your rotationals. Why had you been chosen over a senior nurse like Gia, or someone who had been here longer? What if you overlooked something, or messed something up? This was a hero who had saved countless lives. If you put his life in jeopardy by making a mistake, could you technically be arrested for villainy?

“Hina has been assigned to care for the other hero here, Red Riot,” Dr. Hiyashi said, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. “You both will continue to care for your regular patients and perform your other duties, but we thought it best that we assign a nurse to each of these high-level patients. While the decision might have been made quickly, you can be assured that we did not choose the assignments lightly. We truly believe you are more than capable of monitoring these patients with diligence.”

You bent into a low bow. “Thank you for the opportunity, Dr. Hiyashi. I promise to extend the greatest care possible to Chargebolt while he is here.”

Dr. Hiyashi smiled widely at your consent. “I’ll leave you here then, to get acquainted with the charts and situation. Your badge should be programmed to have access to this wing of the hospital now, so you can return whenever you wish.”

You bowed to the doctor once again in thanks, fingers brushing your badge as he left. Laughing under your breath, you shook your head. They must have had a lot of confidence you would accept.

Rounding the bed, you took note of his vitals and other readings to ensure they were stable- they were - and then began to read over the notes in the chart provided to you. The quirk that hit them was still largely unknown, but between Dr. Hiyashi and the medics on sight, they were able to piece together some vital information. Most importantly, this quirk was toxic. A small puncture wound on both Chargebolt and Red Riot suggested how the toxin was able to enter their bodies, making them immobile and comatose in a matter of seconds. While the effects of such poison were unknown, the two heroes were at least stable, and they were now to be carefully be kept under surveillance. 

You double-checked the monitors before carefully laying the back of your palm against Chargebolt’s forehead. It was warmer than usual, indicating a fever, but nothing that caused alarm. You were about to investigate the puncture mark on his neck when the door to the room was thrown open, causing you to jump back in alarm. There stood Hina, chest heaving as she leaned on the door for support.

“We need you in the visitor waiting room, ASAP,” she gasped. 

Your eyes widened, and you quickly followed her out of the room.

While you had been called upon to use your quirk before, it was always as a last resort. Your mind raced as you tried to conjure up what could possibly cause such a huge commotion that Hina needed to sprint to find you. Sure, there were many civilian injuries, but thankfully, no casualties, and most worried families were at least willing to cooperate and not cause a scene.

The doors to the waiting room came within your sight, and you activated your quirk preemptively, mentally preparing yourself for whatever chaos laid behind them. However, as you entered the room, you froze, all preparation out of the window and your mind going blank. His back was turned away from you right now, as he was angrily making demands to some poor nurse in front of him, but at this point, you would have recognized those broad shoulders and ash blond hair anywhere. It was your bento box stranger. It was the annoying asshole. He turned upon hearing your arrival, and you realized with absolute horror that he was also Number 2 Pro-Hero Dynamight.

To his credit, he looked as surprised to see you as you were to see him. His eyebrows rose in confusion, and he tilted his head slightly to the side. “Bento box girl? What the hell?”

Your thoughts echoed his exactly, but you at least had the good sense to retain some form of professionalism. “Pro-hero Dynamight, when I was called here on emergency, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you.” 

A small scoff escaped his lips as he waved his hand in dismissal. “Cut the formalities. Call me Bakugou. Now, can you tell me how Eijiro and Denki are doing, or will I have to question every nurse on this damn floor for some answers?”

“That won’t be necessary,” you responded, stepping closer to him. You watched as his shoulders loosened, his stance slowly relaxing like an unwinding coil until he was leaning back on the heels of his feet, hands lax at his side.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked. His voice had lowered in volume, but his eyes were still burning with guarded curiosity.

You held your hands up in an appeasing gesture. “It’s just my quirk. It’s called Tranquil. I can emit a calming aura that affects anyone within a five-foot radius of me. Before I was called in here to use it, I was actually just tending to Pro-Heroes Red Riot and Chargebolt, who I assume you are here to see. They are comatose, but stable. They’re in the special care wing right now, but if you show me a valid form of ID, I can allow you to visit them if you can manage to contain yourself.”

Your tone became stern at the end of your small rant, yet he didn’t back down from your challenge. Instead, a small grin broke across his face, completely unrepentant about his earlier outburst as he fished out his hero license from his pocket. He brandished it to you proudly.

“Just in case you need a reminder of who you’re talking to.”

You sighed but didn’t argue, slipping back into your professional persona as you motioned him to follow you through the doors of the visitor area and down the winding hallways towards the special unit. The walk there was in silence, but not contention. From the glances you sneaked of him, he appeared to be lost in thought as he followed behind you like a sleepwalker. For all his gusto, he must have been extremely worried about his friends, and you almost felt sorry for him. Then you thought of his cocky face and demanding attitude, and you banished the idea from your mind immediately. You might not know a lot about him, but he definitely didn’t seem like someone who wanted your pity.

At last, you arrived at the door, holding it open for him to enter. He did so with his head held high, but his expression was troubled, lips pressed into a firm line. He walked over to Red Riot’s bed first, looking at the oxygen mask wrapped around his face and the monitor screens, flashing data and emitting a steady beeping to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He squinted as though he could understand it, and you wondered if he could. Most heroes knew basic first aid and medical care, and this guy seemed like he could be incredibly driven if he wanted to learn more. He moved over to Chargebolt, doing the same body scan before turning to you. 

“And they’re okay?”

You nodded, and he let out a deep sigh of relief. He collapsed on the couch, throwing his head back onto the backrest and covering his eyes with the crook of his arm. The silence stretched on. Bakugou, planted firmly on the couch, and you, hovering around the entrance of the doorway unsure of what to do next.

“What about you?” you settled on asking.

The question had been plaguing your mind ever since you put two and two together. The reason why he didn’t show up in the train station this morning. The danger of the villain attack. The bodies of his friends comatose on either side of him. You’re not sure whether you meant the question in a physical way only or something more, but he chose to interpret it as the former.

“The medics on site checked me over. I didn’t even have a scratch.”

He motioned over to Red Riot’s side of the room, brows furrowed. “This idiot was the first one to get hit by that bastard’s quirk, most likely targeted because his quirk wasn’t active at the time. If it was, the villain wouldn’t have stood a chance at getting through it.”

“And this idiot-” he continued, motioning to Chargebolt, “saw what happened and shoved me out of the way before I could get scratched as well. The fool could have used his quirk to taze the guy or set up an electric force field around the area to segregate him off, but no. His first move was to save me. And look how that worked out for him.”

He sounded annoyed at him, like he was nothing more than a bother, but the fact that he was here in his hospital room after causing such a scene and refusing to leave proved otherwise.

“I’d say it worked out well, then.” Bakugou gave you an incredulous look, so you continued to explain. “If his goal was to save you, then he did exactly that, seeing as you’re sitting on that couch unscathed.”

You thought your logic was sound, but Bakugou groaned in frustration. “But he was wrong! His first goal should always be to apprehend the villain and minimize the collateral. I could have handled myself.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor. You approached him with caution, but he remained stubbornly still. “I’m sure he knew better than most that you could have handled yourself, but that’s what happens when you care about someone, you know?”

He still didn’t look at you, so you took a seat beside him on the couch. “And I happen to know a thing about caring. It’s quite literally my job, after all.”

At this, he let out a wry chuckle, glancing at you from the side. You smiled back, getting to take in the full intensity of his carmine eyes as you met his gaze. He was the first to concede, rolling his shoulders as he sighed.

“Are you using your quirk on me?”

You were pretty sure he was just joking, but an undertone of sincerity in his voice prompted you to answer seriously. “No, I stopped whenever you showed me your ID.”

He grunted in approval, and silence swept over you both once again. However, it wasn’t like last time, when the silence was charged with a certain tension of unspoken worry. This silence was different, born of a tentative camaraderie between two people who shared the same hopes and concerns.

The low buzz of your pager broke the peace, causing you to give him an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I think I’m needed in the main unit. I can come back to check over everything again once I’ve made my rounds.”

Bakugou nodded, waving his hand in a shooing motion. “Not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

With that dismissal, you quickly exited the room and made your way to your main wing of the hospital. After having a taste of serenity and quiet, the rushing nurses and frantic voices were a bit jarring, making you wish you were back in room 3307 with a certain snarky blond. You had been assigned a couple of new patients as a result of the attack, but considerably less than what you would have been given if you weren’t caring for Chargebolt.

By the time the dust had settled and you had completed your rounds, several hours had passed. Your feet were screaming at you to sit down, and you all but passed out the second you made it to the break room, the hard plastic chairs feeling like heaven. You had about twenty minutes to spare, and you were highly considering taking a quick power nap on the table when your stomach growled loudly, reminding you of yet another problem. Since you hadn’t planned to start your shift until the afternoon, you were originally going to get lunch beforehand. However, like everything else, things had not gone according to plan, and now you were left with the unappealing choices of a vending machine meal or a quick run to a convince store.

And that’s when you remembered it: the bento of oyakodon tantalizingly waiting in your locker. You practically started salivating right there at the thought. After the day you had, a bowl of nice comforting oyakodon with spicy sauce sounded like the perfect pick-me-up, and so much better than what the vending machines here could offer. You moved on instinct, opening your locker before you had even realized you were headed its direction. You reached in, pulling out the pastel orange bento in triumph.

You were about to head back to the break room when a small, nagging thought wriggled its way into your mind. A small thought in the shape of one good-smelling asshole who most certainly had a worse day than you. You sighed, hating yourself for being a good person with empathy, and instead turned toward the special wing of the ICU.

When you arrived, you knocked on the door, softly calling out a greeting. Silence answered you in return. A slight wave of disappointment passed through you at the thought that Bakugou had left, but you brushed it off, pushing open the door regardless. You needed to check on Chargebolt anyway. However, the sight before you made you stop in your tracks.

The world was incredibly unfair. Bakugou laid on the couch, legs outstretched and arms pillowing his head as he slept. He was the perfect muse illuminated by a golden halo of light, a figure that could have inspired countless artworks in the renaissance, a marble sculpture come to life, dozing in a hospital room in Tokyo. He looked younger like this, with no scowl marring his face and perfectly at peace.

You approached as quietly as you could, not wanting to disturb him and break the scene in front of you. Placing the bento box on the table, you hastily retreated, checking over Chargebolt’s vitals before leaving the room once again.

As you finished out the rest of your shift in the main area of the ICU, you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander in the small handful of minutes you had to yourself. You wondered if Bakugou liked the bento, or if he even ate it. You wondered if he would continue your game of exchanging bentos back and forth, or if your oyakodon was the final offering. You wondered how often he would come back. Most of all, you wondered what would happen next.

At last, you reached the final round of check-ups for the day before heading home. When you finally reached Chargebolt’s room, the last on your list for both practical and entirely selfish purposes, you took a deep breath before opening the door in anticipation. The room was devoid of any explosive personalities, but you also noticed with a smile that there was no bento box in sight.

A/N: Chapter 3 is a big one, but it's finally here! The plot finally begins to thicken. It ended up being a lot longer than I expected it to be, which in turn also put me a bit behind in my writing schedule. In addition, chapter 4 is turning out longer as well. With that being said, and also with Thanksgiving coming up, I'm making the tentative post date of chapter 4 to be the weekend of Thanksgiving instead of the exact Friday after. I will also be travelling during this time, so that makes things tough. Sorry about things in advance if I do post a day or two late, but thanks for the understanding!

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious, @cringeycookies, @summrwalkr, @nyxmania, @poopoobuttsy, @st1rvoid, @kitzusune

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments! Also, if the tag list DIDN'T work, please let me know as well.

[goforth-ladymidnight]

Dirty Limericks

Tamlin Week 2024, Day 2: Poet

@tamlinweek

Rating: Teen and up (with mature themes)

Warnings: None (unless you don't like poetry, I guess)

Word Count: 900

Summary: Tamlin reads aloud the five limericks that he wrote to make Feyre laugh. (If you've ever wondered what the other four were, as referenced in ch. 19 of ACOTAR, this is my take on them.)

Read on AO3, or read on below:

“Feeling better today?” Tamlin asked, mirth dancing in his eyes and at the corners of his full mouth.

Feyre blushed as she caught herself staring, then tucked a stray hair behind her ear as she glanced away and mumbled something incoherent, even to her own ears.

“Good,” he said lightly, unbuttoning the first three buttons on his tunic as she pretended not to notice. “But, just in case, I wanted to give you… these,” he added, pulling some rumpled papers from his tunic and offering them to her.

Doing her best to ignore the glimpse of sun-kissed skin visible through his unbuttoned collar, she bit the inside of her cheek as she smoothed the three papers in her hands. One for each button, she thought, then shook her head as she tried to concentrate instead on what was written on them. Poems, she realized, grimacing as she scanned each page in turn. Five poems in all, with five lines each. Her heart sunk down to the pit of her stomach as she stared at the first, trying to sound out the unfamiliar words in her head. Bee… Bee-ah… Bee-ah-you…

“Before you bolt, or start yelling,” he began, as if he knew what she was thinking, “allow me.” He stepped closer to peer over her shoulder, and touched one corner of the page to hold it steady.

She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she felt his on her neck, warming the shell of her ear. If she had dared, she could have leaned back into his chest, and he might have put his arms around her as he read… But she didn’t dare.

In a clear, steady voice, he read the first poem:

“There once was a lady most beautiful

Spirited, if a little unusual

Of friends, she had few

But the men did queue

Yet to all she gave a refusal.”

Her eyebrows rose. Is this about me, she wanted to ask, but before she could, he took the pages from her and stepped away to keep reading:

“Her refusals were rather dismaying

So they thought they should try dragon slaying

To their devastation

The mass conflagration

Burnt their pants, so they would not be staying.”

She let out a surprised chuckle when he finished. “What is this… Are you writing riddles?”

“Not riddles,” he said with a coy smile. “Limericks.”

Before she could ask him why, he shuffled to the second page and began reading another one.

“It wasn’t until later that night

That the young lady heard of their plight

She said: ‘What a pity

That no man in this city

Can cause my own pants to ignite!’”

Feyre’s face flushed, and she smothered a snort with her hand. “That’s a limerick?” she asked him, her voice muffled.

His eyes twinkled. “Indeed,” he said wryly, then shook out the papers and kept going.

By this lady’s own admonition

She is in an awkward position

Though she wishes to marry

Of these men, she is wary

For they cannot fuck in their condition.

Her brows shot up when he finished.

“You’re terrible!” she exclaimed, blushing madly.

He looked at her askance. “Am I?” he said, smirking slightly. “I thought I was rather good.”

“I mean, you are, but…” When she met his twinkling, green-eyed gaze, she bit her lip and glanced away. “How did you come up with these, anyway?”

He kept the final page but handed the rest to her. “Look at the last word in the second and fourth lines of each poem,” he said, nodding at the papers in her hands.

She did as he said, then frowned. Unusual. Queue. She glanced at the second poem, then her mouth fell open as she gasped, “These are my—”

“I couldn’t resist,” he said, smiling. “Your list of words was far too interesting to pass up,” he said, fluttering the last page in the breeze. “And not good for love poems at all.”

Slaying. Conflagration. Plight. Position.

Feyre felt her face flush anew. “Love poems?” she repeated doubtfully.

He chuckled. “Well… Not love poems, exactly,” he admitted with a shy smile. “You see… We had, ah, contests to see who could write the dirtiest limericks while I was living with my father’s war-band on the border.” He sauntered closer. “I don’t particularly enjoy losing, so… I took it upon myself to become good at them.”

As he came to stand before her, his warmth washed over her like the sun coming out after a storm. As warm as his eyes, flecked with amber… She bashfully bit back a smile and dropped her gaze to the pages in her hands.

How long had it taken him to write such bawdy lines for her amusement? And it was for her amusement, she realized, not his, or he would have read them to Lucien over dinner.

“Well, uh…” She cleared her throat, then fanned her face with the pages as she smiled shyly up at him. “If this was a contest, I’d say you won.”

His smile broadened, and her heart thumped strangely. “I saved the best for last, you know.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded and made a show of smoothing out the last page, then cleared his throat.

“She packed up her bags and forthwith-ian

Crossed over the Wall into Prythian

When she found what she sought

She was no longer distraught

For orgasms were no longer a myth-ian.”

Feyre burst out laughing, and when Tamlin joined in, the sound reminded her of ice shattering after a long winter.

[ludwig-van-gaythoven]

Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 4

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Implied ED, Claustrophobia

Parts:

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6

You can feel Regina’s lips on your skin all morning. The aching pain in your hip is now replaced by a warm longing. It’s a pretty good metaphor for Regina herself. She can bruise you so easily and then make it all better.

She kissed you.

Why did she kiss you?

Was it because she felt so guilty about hurting you and couldn’t find the words to tell you? That had to be it. The other option briefly crosses your mind but you quickly dismiss it. This is Regina George. Less than 2 days ago she didn’t know you existed. She’s the Queen of the school, why would she want to be anything to someone like you? The thought is disheartening but it's much better than falling victim to a disappointing fantasy.

Regina is already gone, as usual. At least it gives you some time in the morning to sort your thoughts into nice neat boxes and get yourself ready without the distraction.

You know that today's activity is caving. Working your way through a man made cave system sounds much better for you, at least your feet are firmly on the ground. You decide on a pair of jeans, another band tee (Is that really all you packed?) and throw a hoodie on top. The caves might be cold and it’ll stop you scraping up your elbows while you navigate tight crawl spaces.

You make your way to the Campfire pit to be shown today's activity. The instructor tells you all to find groups or pairs. You don’t even bother glancing in Regina’s direction, she’ll be with Gretchen and Karen. You don’t mind going through it alone. It’s better than being paired up with a stranger. It would be much more fun with Janis and Damien though.

You feel a slight not in your stomach at the thought of Janis. She’d tried to call again this morning but you didn’t have the heart to answer in case more lies came tumbling out of your mouth, so instead you just sent back a quick text letting her know you’d call this evening and put your phone on silent.

You’re led to a door in the side of what looks like an oddly shaped hill which contains an intricate man-made cave system. Some of the group drop out saying they’re claustrophobic and don’t want to go through. It’s understandable, you wish you’d been given that option on the high ropes.

The instructor lets each group go through every 10 minutes to allow the first group to be a decent way through and avoid traffic. You end up behind the plastics in the queue again. It’s not exactly accidental. Hopefully Regina doesn’t notice this.

They go through first, you try not to make it too obvious where your gaze lands as Regina gets on her knees to crawl through the cave entrance. She’s wearing a pair of tight, black leather trousers and a pink tank top. It frames her body perfectly and you understand why most of the boys at school stare openly when she walks by. How are you only just noticing how hot she is now?

10 minutes later you’re instructed to go through. You crawl, squeeze and climb through the narrow passages of the cave. It’s pitch black, you have to use the head torch on your helmet to navigate.

It’s quite fun, you like the challenge. The further you get into the cave system, the harder some of the tunnels get. Some have passages you have to squeeze through sideways. Some you have to be on your stomach, sliding under. Every so often there are larger chambers you can have a break in and stand up fully. You slip through a narrow tunnel and into a larger chamber and your headlight catches a pair of eyes. You have to physically put your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming when you see a human figure cowering in the corner of the cave. You realize it’s Regina and she looks terrified. Her makeup has run slightly as if she’d been crying.

“Hey, are you okay?” You try softly, but Regina is shaking too much to respond. You crouch down to her level and try and meet her gaze.

“Where are Gretchen and Karen?” You ask. From what you can tell, they’re nowhere in sight and you can’t hear their chipper voices up ahead.

“They went on ahead.” She answers, her voice barely a whisper.

She glances over at the next tunnel, you can tell because her head torch illuminates the passage. It’s tight. Possibly the hardest one to get through so far. You move to look through and see another chamber with specks of light. This must be the final challenge.

“I’m pretty sure this is the final tunnel. I can see the light on the other side.” There’s no response from the blonde, she must be really scared.

Why did Karen and Gretchen just leave her like this? You know you wouldn’t have. Did Regina ask them to go ahead so they didn’t see she was this afraid? She doesn’t hide her fear in front of you, she eats with you and she laughs and plays geeky games with you. You guess she only agreed to go through to protect her reputation, it seems more than its worth keeping up her act.

“I can go first, then you follow and I’ll pull you through so you’re out quicker.” you say, standing to walk over to the tunnel and offering her your hand.

“Please don’t! you’re going to leave me here.” She cries, her lip is trembling. You wish you could comfort her better but you’re not sure what she’ll allow and you don’t want to push your luck.

“Regina, I promise I won’t leave you. I’ll crawl through and pull you out the other side. You just have to follow after me, I won’t let anything happen.”

“....You promise?” She whispers.

You take one of her hands

“I promise”

Her hand is so soft, just as you’d expect. Just how you’d expect the rest of her to feel. You squeeze her hand in encouragement before you bend down to crawl through the tunnel. Once you reach the last chamber you see there’s an exit door. You sigh in relief.

“Come through now, I’m at the other end, there’s a door here!” you shout, hoping she can hear you from the other side.

You hear shuffling from the end of the tunnel and bend down, ready to pull her through. As soon as she’s in arms reach you swiftly pull her out and she lets out a shaky breath. She quickly puts her arms around your neck in a gentle hug.

“Thank you”

Her breath tickles your neck and you’re overwhelmed by everything about her. You don’t move to reciprocate the hug, you’re still understandably wary after what happened and you don’t want to do anything that’d make her let go any faster.

And then she’s gone. When you leave the final chamber you see her back with Gretchen and Karen, subtly wiping her eyes to make sure nobody sees her smudged makeup. It’s impressive how quickly she can recover and put her mean girl act back on. You wonder how long she’d had to wear that mask.

You head back to the campfire pit for dinner, but you don’t bother going to eat anything. Regina had said she wanted dinner with you again. You couldn’t shake the thought that it felt like a date, but you couldn’t let yourself think like that. Regina had Boyfriends, and had already bullied Janis for her sexuality. You had to be more careful.

You wait for about 30 minutes after dinner at the campfire pit has ended. Regina doesn't show up. That serves you right for thinking Regina even thought of you as a friend, let alone thinking of your secret dinners as a date. You’re just there for her convenience.

You feel a squeezing sensation in your chest. Why did you let it bother you this much? You decide you need a distraction so go to the river close by the camp and ask one of the instructors if you can borrow a canoe. You’e allowed but you have to sign the boat out and make sure it’s returned within 3 hours. That’s fine, you want as much time away from the cabin as you can. Away from Regina’s stuff, away from her sweet vanilla scent, away from her giggle that still felt like it was trapped between the walls, away from Regina.

You take the Canoe to the edge of the river and lower it in, you hop down into the small boat and pick up the oar ready to set sail.

“Hey, what the fuck?” you hear a familiar voice yell.

All of your resolve to forget about her disappears when you see her at the bank, above your boat with her arms folded and one eyebrow raised. It’s intimidating.

“I saw you walk off earlier. What happened to dinner?” She scoffs “ Nobody stands me up, where are you going?”

“I didn’t think you were coming, I waited for half an hour.” you respond, you wish you could sound as confident as Regina but it just comes out as guilty, like a scorned puppy.

She drops down into the boat and sits facing you. Her eyes are challenging.

“I’m coming with you. I’m not allowed to go back to Karen and Gretchen’s cabins anyway.” That stings a little. So she’s not just spending time with you because she wants to.

“And I guess you’re not bad company.” She adds, rolling her eyes.

That makes your heart flutter and you hand her an oar and push off from the bank. You’re not sure where you’re going and Regina doesn’t really help row much. Luckily the flow of the river helps pull you downstream.

You’re not sure what possesses you but for a moment you forget who you’re in a boat with and dip your oar into the water, you pull it out fast and splash the blonde who is now looking at you with an incredulous expression.

“What the FUCK!” She screams as the cold water hits her.

You can’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a lot of water but you can see some droplets running down her cheeks. She growls in frustration and dips her hand in the river to splash you back.

You shriek at the sensation of sudden cold, but you’re still laughing. You see her lips curl in a smile too. You’re not sure if she’s laughing too or just proud she managed to get you back.

Unfortunately your oar can create a much bigger splash than her hand and this time you hit her with quite a lot of cold water to her chest, narrowly missing her face.

The look she gives you makes your knees weak and you regret the choice immediately.

Shit. You might have taken it too far.

She lunges for you, grappling for the oar. You lean left, trying to stretch the oar right out of her reach. Her body is sliding against yours, you can feel the cold patch where the water soaked into her top. Her face is millimeters from yours and you glance down at her lips. If you just moved forward a tiny bit your lips would meet, she probably tastes like vanilla too. She leans on the edge of the boat, inching forwards. Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion.

The weight of both of you on one side is just slightly too much and the canoe flips, dunking you both underwater. It’s freezing and makes you gasp when you breach the surface in a state of absolute shock. Regina splashes her way to the surface beside you, she’s gasping and her eyes are wide, black mascara dripping down her face.

A giggle erupts from your lips and it's not long before it's a full blown laughing fit. Regina giggles too, its a loose and carefree sound, it might be your favorite.

You swim over to her and flick some water at her, she squeals and throws some back your way. No use going easy now, you’re both soaked.

You manage to flip the canoe back over with some effort and both climb back in. You have no change of clothes and you’re both so cold your lips are turning blue so you decide to turn back.

“I’m so sorry I left you earlier. I didn’t think you were coming.” You chatter between shivers.

“I even stole these sandwiches from dinner for us, but I don't think we can eat them now.” She shudders back, pulling out two dripping wet sandwiches from her pocket. This makes you both burst into another giggling fit.

She shifts over to sit next to you and rests her head on your shoulder. Even though you’re soaked you feel your whole body heat up, especially your cheeks from the interaction. You rest your head on top of hers, surprised when she doesn’t pull away.

You make it back to the bank without going for another unexpected swim and tell Regina to go back to the cabin while you return the boating equipment. There’s no use in both of you staying freezing.

She’s already showered by the time you’re back and sitting on the edge of her bed. She gives you a shy smile and you dip into the bathroom to warm up. The water gives new life to your icy skin, as it washes down your face you can’t help but remember Regina’s soft lips just centimeters from yours. What would have happened if the boat hadn’t tipped? Probably nothing right? You’re just overthinking it.

As you start putting your pajamas on you notice your phone buzzing again. It's Janis. It’s reasonably late enough to pretend you're asleep so you swipe the screen to decline the call and put your phone in your pocket.

When you go back into the bedroom, Regina is under the covers, scrolling her phone but she sits up as soon as you come in.

“Hey, uh I wanted to say thanks for today.. you know, helping me, and I had fun.” She thinks for a moment. “Having fun with you is easy.” she adds with a small, sleepy smile.

“If I check my schedule I’m sure I can fit you in tomorrow evening.” You laugh, pretending to think over exaggeratedly.

She rolls her eyes with a smile.

“Goodnight Loser.” She yawns.

“Night Regina” You reply

Just as you’re about to lay down you hear a muffled voice from your pocket.

“What the fuck, are you talking to Regina?”

Shit.

[slavghoul]

Slav! You've been to a lot of shows, do you have any advice for how early we should queue up for the show if we want to be in the front? ie how many hours before doors, in your experience?

I usually come at around 9. Sometimes there are plenty of people there already, sometimes just a few, sometimes none. It really depends on the place/country, so it's hard to say. The worst spot I had in the pit was the second row, so not bad by any standards.

If you plan on queueing for a long time, PLEASE drink water and eat something throughout the day!!! If possible something filling. No alcohol. It can get very hot inside the venue (or outside if it's summer) and if you're dehydrated and hungry, there's the risk you may faint and end up in the back. Having an energy gel/bar right before the show is a great booster, but make sure you can bring them inside cause not all venues allow food items.

Also, keep in mind that some people are selfish cunts. There are people who will do anything to get to the first row, they will push, they will shove, they will cut in line, or simply just run faster than you. Queueing etiquette is nice in theory, in practice people are very selfish. This isn't anything new - I've seen comments blaming new fans, which I think are greatly exaggerated. I think it's due to this weird old sentiment that Ghost fans are like a big family and it's all peace and love and good times, which always made me roll my eyes cause that's not really my experience neither now nor in the past, but whatever. Yes, vast majority of the people ARE cool and there to have a good time, but don't ever let your guard down cause there can be that *one* person out of a hundred that will ruin someone's day. It's dog-eat-dog world out there once the gates open. These are very big shows. So be aware of your surroundings, look out for yourselves and others too if possible, and if you see any shady behavior (pushing, fighting, drunk people, inappropriate touching) don't be afraid to let security know.

I realize all this sounds very doomy 💀 So I'd like to emphasise that what I described above is *not* the norm at every show (all my experiences have been mostly positive), but it *can* happen, therefore be cautious and make your safety and safety of others the priority!

Oh and bring earplugs! Seriously. The sound is a lot clearer, the bass doesn't hurt, and you're saving your ears. Tinnitus is no joke. Even cheap ones are better than none, but if you're going to a lot of shows it's worth splurging on something made specifically for concerts.