#anyways. i work a nine hour shift today

[extravalgant]

'for the dead are changless' aka the wizdyv fluff i always promised but never followed up on. UNTIL NOW summary: He could still feel the ghostly imprints of your fingers on his skin, kissed by the warmth of your body. You were checking his pulse. You were checking his pulse. words: 2144 warnings: no warnings. free range wizdyv fluff babey. except maybe some ooc-ness. please mind that 🛐

read on a03

"What does shadow magic feel like?" 

You can tell Dyvim is curious—just by the way his voice tilts in a certain way. He's not afraid, no; just cautious of what is to come. You avoid his gaze anyways, swallowing down the hard lump of guilt that suddenly manifests in your throat.

You've been avoiding his gaze for days by this point. You think yourself clever, but you know Dyvim; you know that this is his way of getting you to open up. You two had not spoken about what had happened at the Queen's hive, of what you two had lost and subsequently regained, but the relief of his return is palpable in the air. 

He would be a fool not to have noticed the way your fingers curl underneath his jaw, light as the morning's dew, and press gently against the pulse along his neck. You do this when you think he's sleeping, but he's a light sleeper, now—awake even at the slightest snap of a branch, at the mere suggestion that something may be moving in the dark. 

The first time you had done it had been after his revival—when you had taken the first shift, when he slowly fell into a dreamless sleep. He didn't know what to expect, but the sensation of your hand had not been one of them. 

Your fingers were warm against the jugular of his throat, and something in his chest squeezed at the thought; of the implications your actions held. His pulse was warm and hearty, thrumming strongly against the pads of your fingertips, and after a few beats of silence, he felt your hand slide away. 

He could still feel the ghostly imprints of your fingers on his skin, kissed by the warmth of your body. You were checking his pulse. You were checking his pulse. 

The affection he had been careful to tuck underneath his armor, between the smooth, metal ridges, suddenly can't help but bloom without warning. 

"It's different from other magic,” you say, bringing Dyvim back to this moment in time. He hadn't even realized the two of you had fallen silent until you had spoken. Your voice was soft, as it always was with him, as you shuffle your spell cards. They make a soft, satisfying hiss as they slide against one another, glittering low in the light. It reflects off of your face, washing your plaintive expression in a wash of bright, warm gold. 

“In what way?” he asks, his eyes round with genuine interest. Magic was never his strong suit, and it seemed so… finicky at times. It was hard to rely on something that had the possibility of failing you in the most crucial of moments. 

“It's colder than light magic,” you said, tucking the cards back into your deck, before slotting it onto your side. You slot your fingers together, resting your elbows on your thighs, before leaning forward. 

Yes, your hands had felt cold, hadn't they? He could feel it the other night, when you had done your usual rounds. Watched him breathe long and slow, like he savored every breath. 

“It is?” He blinks. “I had no idea magic was warm.” 

“Not… necessarily,” you reply, and allow the tendrils of magic to dance across your skin. To the denizens of this world, magic was a wonder to behold; a weapon wielded against darkness. The responsibility you have is not lost on you. “Light magic doesn't feel like anything, its just… shadow magic that feels colder in comparison. It feels like… cracking an egg over your head.” 

Dyvim smiles, a laugh passing through his lips without a second thought. He didn't expect a metaphor like that, but it made it easier to imagine. 

“Does it?” He says, with a hint of a smile tracing the edges of his words. His eyes crinkle with amusement. “I don't believe you.” 

“We could always get an egg and find out,” you suggest with a tease, until the soft warmth of your conversations silts through the silence, and you go back to being you. Not ‘The Wizard’—but you. 

His spellbinder—the one with the sad eyes and the kind smile. Everything about you is so kind, he thinks. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” he muses gently, and the smiles he receives in reply is enough to make his heart squeeze in his chest. 

He watches the firelight dance across your face. It dips wonderfully into all your crevices—the softness of your cheeks, curving underneath your eyes, against the slope of your face. 

But in your eyes, something lingers. Something that’s been there long before Dyvim had shown up. He wasn’t one to pry—you two had not known each other for long, and he felt it would be rude to ask about things that weren’t his business. He understood it, in a way. He’d rather not linger on things that happened in the past, not when their future finally seemed so bright. 

And not when the reason for that brightness was sitting right next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Crack. 

The flame splits the kindle once more. It sways and dances, making the shadows dance along the ground in a graceful dance. Dyvim blinks, surprised at the sudden apology. “Sorry? What for?” 

“I got you killed,” you reply, your voice raspy with raw emotion. Like the words were sandpaper, and you were dragging them out of your throat. 

Ah, his… death. It’s with a shameful flush that he realizes, that the wizard must have been worried about him. 

“I knew full well what I was getting into, spellbinder.” Dyvim soothes. “Rather—it’s me who should be apologizing to you. I hadn’t meant to worry you like that.”

You suck in a soft breath, and let it exhale slow and gently from your mouth. His words release the knot of tension that had been lingering in your chest, unraveling it into fine, thin strands. 

“You’re alive,” you whisper. You resist the urge to reach out, to grab his hand and intertwine it with yours. To feel the thrum of his pulse fluttering underneath your palm. “And that’s all that matters.” 

The smile comes to him easily—something he felt only you were capable of bringing out of him, in these times of war. 

The guilt lessens, but not by a whole lot. It was true that you had felt guilty for a long time after his death, unable to even listen to your superiors without a scathing retort ready at the handle. They deserved every bit of it, and thensome. 

Dyvim didn’t. Dyvim didn’t deserve anything that happened to him. 

“I-I’m sorry, too, for—” The words spill out of your mouth, clumsy and awkward. “—For learning shadow magic.” 

The words hang in the air, amidst the quiet ambience of their camp for the evening. It’s not the sort of thing Dyvim was expecting, leading him to blink slowly, silently, at the wizard.

He… doesn’t know how to respond to that, frankly. It’s true that the wizard’s spells look different, feel different, but he had never thought of it anything beyond that. The fact that they were apologizing meant that they felt they did something wrong. 

But, there it is—the shine of guilt, lingering in your eyes. Glossing over the whites of your eyes, making them shimmer like glass. Dyvim feels his shoulders sag, just slightly, as his voice softens—only for you. “Oh, spellbinder…” 

And you? You can’t take that. With only two words, he’s knocked down your walls completely. Your eyes burn, nose stinging, as you reach up to blink away the tears. 

You can feel it—his pulse, lingering with yours, as his hand circles your wrist; he gently tugs it downwards, and you let him, allowing him to see the fruits of your labor. Your lower lashline, dotted with tears, and quiet little sobs that break his heart. 

“I didn’t mean,” you gasp out, the words stilted and disjointed. “to disappoint you. To disappoint—everyone.” 

“Where did you get that idea?” Dyvim whispers back, running a thumb gently over the seam of your wrist, where your heartbeat flutters underneath his touch. 

“It’s forbidden,” you say, your voice gravely. The words grate in your throat, uncovering the shame and guilt you had been carrying all this time, on your own. “Shadow magic is forbidden, and it’s caused… so much grief and sorrow. To you, to—to everyone else—” 

“Spellbinder,” Dyvim says, softly, and your body shudders in response. How could he say your name with such softness? You were not soft at all. You were hard at the edges, tightly coiled and ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Ready to defend the spiral. 

He doesn’t say anything else, but allows you to cry if need be. Had this been several weeks ago, a part of you would have been mortified at the idea of crying so openly in front of another person. But weeks ago Dyvim wasn’t alive—he was still encased in amber by that point, lost to the world, and you had been forced to pick up the scattered pieces and run. 

“I’m not angry at you, spellbinder,” Dyvim says, the lilt of his tone warm and gentle, voice dipping down into a soothing hush. “And I do not blame you for learning shadow magic.” 

When he reaches out, this time, it’s to take your hands gently into his own. The contrast in temperatures surprises you, the warmth of his palms seeping into your skin. The shadow had taken that from you, as well—the warmth of your own body. 

"Morganthe has done a lot to hurt my people," He says, and his voice trembles with an anger, a despair, that you recognize. The unfairness of it all, the dawning realization that you lost; that for the moment, evil had triumphed over good. Dyvim’s voice softens as he brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. "But you… you have done nothing wrong."

I have, you think, almost helplessly. Dyvim looks at you like you’ve personally hung the stars—and for him, you might. 

"You have undone some of the hurt that has been inflicted upon us for centuries, and, for the first time, I feel… hopeful."

Dyvim looks into your eyes as he says this, eyes pooling with an adoration you hadn't seen in a long, long time. A small, bitter part of you says you don't deserve it. You swallow it down, letting it drop into your stomach like a stone.

"You make me feel hopeful, spellbinder."

Truly, you don’t know what to make of that. You’re no saint, you know this—but he’s so earnest, it’s hard to disagree with him. You open your mouth to reply, but when it’s clear that nothing is going to come out, you close it. You can feel his hands squeezing yours gently, as if saying, take your time.

So you cry. 

Your face warms as you cry, letting the thick globs of tears track down your face, sniffling with each sob that leaves your lips. You don’t remember the last time you’ve cried, but it had to have been a while ago, because you can’t stop. And when one of your hands pulls away from his, to reach up to wipe away the tears with the back of your hand, his arm reaches out to circle your shoulders, and tuck you against his armor. 

“You’re safe here, spellbinder,” he whispers. “Let it all out.” 

He tells you to mind all the cold, metal parts of his armor, but you don’t care. You tuck your face against his shoulder, and let the sobs shudder through your body. Your tears twinkle like stars as they quietly plop onto his armor, as his other hand dips up and down your back in a gentle, soothing motion. 

Frankly, it’s one of the best hugs you have ever received. It’s probably one of the only hugs you have ever received, since you had stepped foot in the spiral.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this," your voice crackles, choking on the emotion lodged in your throat.. "I know how much everyone looks up to me. I don't want to seem weak…"

"Allowing yourself to be comforted is not weak, spellbinder." Dyvim chastises lightly, for your own good. "I feel honored you were even willing to divulge this side of vulnerability to me."

"You're special," you reply, not even attempting to hide your favoritism towards him. 

For some reason, this surprises him. “Am I?” He asks. “More special than anyone else?” 

You nod. “More special than anyone else.” 

You feel him tuck his cheek against the top of your head, and feel the soft inhale and exhale of his breath. 

“In all of the spiral?” He asks, his voice quieter. 

“In all of the spiral.” 

[rubberbandballqueen]

hmm i have like, 500-600 taiwan dollars leftover in a tin from the last time i visited relatives... i wonder what would happen if i just handed it to my little cousins like. "yep. here is gift. have fun."

[prettyboysmlm]

ughhh mistakes have been made :(((((

[cheswirls]

short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

-

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no.  You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience. 

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!”

[chaosandmarigolds]

me, laying in bed after my 12hr shift:

my gf: remember that ask you got

me: ..

gf:

me: aside from wondering how you accessed my Tumblr I’ve gotten a lot of asks which one. gf: the sad one. me: 99% of them are sad

gf: The REALLY sad one

ANYWAY here we go and bc I am horrible with titles imma go after a song-

Tourner Dans Le Vide

It was a stupid question, one someone would find on a ‘get to know about me’ section of a questionnaire, a small talkish question. But it stung like he didn’t expect it to, so as he stood in the gala, glass in hand, he cleared his throat, “Sorry, one more time mate?”

“Your spouse.” The poor person motioned to the finger that comfortably sat on his ring finger, the gold glimmering in the sunset light, “Are they here?”

You should’ve been here. You had the outfit planned for months. You knew you wanted to get your hair done the day before, insisting that you ought to look nice to represent your family name.

“No, got caught up at home unfortunately.”

“Ah, kids?”

“Two.” Not a lie, you had two young girls you had both adopted, just now he was just the only person within the household, adding more weight to their shoulders.

—

with a huff he gets into the car and then takes off the face mask, scrunching his nose as he adjusted to the cold air, and he starts the car. After a moment he pulls out his phone, expecting a notification from your name above Macey’s, the eldest, yet he was surprised to see none.

so with a hum he makes sure the phone is conntected to the car and begins to call you, shifting the car to drive, it rings….and rings until he is met with-

“hey! It’s me, sorry I’m not at the phone right now, leave me a message and I’ll get back to ya!”

the short automated message follows and he begins to drive home on the darkened roads, until it was his turn to speak, “Luv, it’s Simon, baby I know I was out really late yesterday but I brought the girls some pizza, Macey had her rugby game this mornin- she did amazin. Taylor got an A on her spelling test, so I got her ice cream after school today. What else..mm, the girls send you love. I love you. Call me when you can.”

—

“Papa,” Taylor chirps from her car seat, happily looking out the window, “Papa, when is mama coming home?”

He furrows his eyebrows to the questions and then shrugs, “I’m not sure, princess, I hope soon.”

“did you and mama have fight? Is tha’ why she go way?”

“No no, princess, mama and I didn’t fight- she’s okay, she’s just,” the words died in his throat, because maybe he knew them to be a lie but he would never admit such, “busy. You know how mama works real long hours.”

—

“How’s ya dad?” Johnny stood in the doorway of the ordinary home, peering in from where he stood as Macey stood in front of him- the young girl still in her gear.

to that she shrugs, allowing the man she had learned to be her uncle enter, “fine I guess.”

upon entering the home Johnny noticed your coat still hanging on the rack, even though it was the middle of summer so it mismatched from the girls pink pool towels, he noticed how your mug sat beside the coffee maker, hot water steaming inside- indicating it was just filled. He noticed how your spot on the dining table still had your notebook, pen still tucked where you had left off writing.

he then saw Simon walking down the stairs, and he gave him a grin, “Haven’t been answerin my calls, mate,” with a quick side hug he nudged the man, “Got worried bout ya.”

Simon shrugs it off with a brief laugh, “Got caught up here, with her off at work- got a lil busy.” his heart dropped, and Johnny clears his throat, “Mm? At work she is?”

“Yeah, more like fuckin deployed, never see her.”

it had been close to nine months since a car accident had taken your life, suddenly and harsh, and Simon chose to completely leave his position within the force to stay with the girls. Something Johnny could respect, losing a spouse was a horrid thing but until that moment he had assumed his friend had been taking it in stride. He fell quiet and followed Simon as he said he needed to grab something from the laundry room, so he followed.

His eye caught sight of the master bedroom, lit up by the summer sun (Simon had never been a fan of natural light, unless he was outside) one side of the room messy, clothes tossed about and looking like a proper grieving man’s room, and the other just how would have left it, a glass of water sitting atop a floral coaster, bed still made with the pillows creased just how you do them. The small bottle of perfume still tossed atop of it- as you put it on that morning and threw it on the bed as you ran out the door.

oh…this was not good. This was not good at all.

(um…yeah!! Based off an amazing ask! Comments mean the world to me, toodles!!)

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Still With You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter Nine

Summary: Filling in Grey on everything that happened came with a rude awakening but you calm yourself down like you always do...even if it's to your detriment Pairing : Luna (reader) x Jungkook and Jimin, f2l love triangle Word Count: 5.1k~ Warnings: Explicit language and a heated discussion that talks about death and not grieving their lost love ones (idk how else to put it) a/n: Barely edited per usual 😅 Start from the beginning

Jimin goes home after I insist on making him breakfast, using it as a sort of apology for last night. He assures me he didn't mind while giving me a tentative hug goodbye and leaves before he can see my reaction. 

I smile as I watch him scurry off and catch a glimpse of a rosy blush on his cheeks. That boy is way too easy to read and it's so endearing but I just hope he'll learn soon that not everyone has the purest of intentions at heart. 

I finally take the time to look through my notifications after cleaning up the mess left over from breakfast and out of habit I search for a sign of life from Jungkook but come up empty handed. 

I did ask him for space but I didn't realize how much I was going to miss the simplest things like a good morning text or a funny video left in my DMs.

I push past those feelings and check the notifications I do have and see a few from Grey and a message from Jin letting me know that he got home safe as well as a good morning text to check in on how I'm doing. 

I reply, being completely honest with him and let him know  that I'm feeling pretty down today, but leave out the events that happened after he dropped me off. I'll tell him eventually but I don't want to burden him with it or have him accidentally tell Jungkook. 

We both need time to ourselves and bringing him in after I told him I need space is gonna be way too confusing for the both of us.

My uncle texts me right after I close my messages with Jin asking me if I can come in to cover someone's shift and I groan at the thought of it. It's late at night though and Grey's gonna be there so I reluctantly agree. I need to tell her everything anyways so might as well get paid to do it. 

Jimin texts me later to check on me and asks if I wanted him to come over tonight. I let him know that I'm gonna be working late so I'll be fine but he jumps at the opportunity of accompanying me to work and he doesn't take no for an answer. Laughing at his antics I let him know what time I'm leaving and he says he'll wait for me outside. 

I decide to take the rest of the day to clean up my apartment and get some laundry done. 

Going through my room I grab my dirty clothes basket and take it over to my washer and dryer and as I'm placing the basket down on the floor next to them I hear my phone ringing in my room. I answer it but before I can even say 'Hello' I'm already being cut off.

"What crawled up Jungkook's ass and died?" classic Grey, I think to myself.

"Yeah about that..." I start but trail off.

"Luna, what did you do?" she asks in a serious tone clearly sensing that something big happened between us.

"What time do you start work tonight?" I question hoping she has time to come over beforehand since there's no way she's waiting for me to tell her tonight.

"I'm only working four hours tonight so I start at the same time you do" she says filling me in on the rest of the information my uncle left out.

"Can you come over?"

"Shit it's that bad huh?" she says before continuing with a quick "Yeah I'll be there in 15" but knowing her she'll be here in 30.

I thank her and she hangs up the phone, quickly getting ready to come over since I know the suspense is killing her. 

I dig through the basket and throw my laundry in but notice that the shirt at the bottom is Jungkook's. I start thinking about the past few days we spent together and I can't help but worry about him, wanting to know how he's feeling. 

Before I crack and try to reach out to him I throw the shirt in and close the lid in an effort to close off those thoughts as well. After starting the washer I send Jimin a quick text letting him know that I'll be going to work with Grey so he won't need to come pick me up. He offers to walk with the both of us but I assure him we'll be fine. 

We end the conversation there and he tells me to stay safe and lets me know he'll stop by the store later to give me pepper spray. I decline but he said he already bought it and it's nonrefundable so I laugh and tell him to come around 10.

I'm pulled out of the conversation by the sound of Grey punching in the code and swinging my front door open. "What did you do?" she asks immediately, throwing away the possibility of me distracting her with small talk. 

"Why do you assume I'm the one who did something?" I say as a weak defense. "Because you're always the one who did something" she says giving me a knowing look and I can't help but nod my head in agreement knowing that she's right for the most part. 

"Okay but this time it wasn't like that" I say continuing to defend myself. "This is gonna take a while" she says walking over to the couch and plopping down onto her spot. "So, what happened?" she says getting tired of the momentary silence. "You know how Jungkook and I got together the other night?" she nods her head encouraging me to continue. "Well he kinda sorta told me he's in love with me".

Her jaw drops momentarily before jumping in "He told you? Why didn't he tell me he was gonna tell you? After all of these years of keeping his secret and he doesn't even tell me! That's fucked up man" she says with a look of utter betrayal. 

"Wait, he told you?" I ask, completely shocked that even she had known. "Girl he didn't even have to tell me. He's been in love with you since before I met you guys. But yes, he told me like sophomore year of high school or something like that" she admits. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" I question feeling slightly betrayed. "Do you tell me everything Jungkook has ever told you?" she questions crossing her arms over her chest. "Well...no" I say in defeat. "Exactly, you guys have your secrets and him and I have ours. To be fair most of ours were pretty much about you but I guess since it's not a secret anymore we don't really have any" she says with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Did you really not know?" she continues. "No! I had no clue! I mean, I always knew that we were close but I always told myself that he didn't like me like that" I admit. "Well then you're more clueless than I thought you were" she says while picking up her phone to check the time. I let out a slight groan and cross my arms over my chest, already haven beat myself up about all of this. 

"Girl, that man has been following you around like a lovesick puppy ever since you guys were kids" I grow silent having a few memories flash through my mind of when he really did show that he liked me and as much as I hate to say it there have been a lot of them. 

"So, what happened after that?" she prods further. "Well I sorta freaked out on him and had a panic attack" I say rubbing my neck. "You did?" she cringes gaining secondhand embarrassment and I nod my head, mortified that I have to live through it and talk about it again. I see almost a look of pity in her eyes but it's gone in a flash and is replaced with curiosity, silently waiting for me to continue.

"He got worried and told me that I didn't have to say anything, so we just stargazed for the rest of the night. We went back to his place after we were done and nothing really happened. He said something to me when he thought I was sleeping though. Something like 'I know you're hiding something from me and I wish you would let your guard down'" I relay and he nods her head, thinking about what he could possibly mean but also knowing that she's been feeling the same way. 

"I hate that he can read me like that. I can never hide anything from him but I guess that just shows how well he knows me. Same with you" I finish off, poking her bicep. "Hey, it's not my fault you forced me to be friends with you" she says rubbing her arm. "Oh come on it's not that bad" I tease. 

"Yeah yeah whatever, but what I wanna know is why Jungkook has gone all moody on me. I texted him because I wanted to see what happened with the whole stargazing thing and all he responded with was 'I don't know ask y/n' and I was like 'Shit you used her government name? What the fuck did she do?' and he left me on read". "He said that?" I say feeling somewhat downtrodden. "Yeah..." she says trailing off.

I take a deep breath and decide to tell her the whole story about what happened yesterday...

"So yeah we're not really on speaking terms at the moment" I end after filling her in on everything. 

"Shit, that's heavy" she says under he breath, "I know. I've been over thinking this whole thing but this is Jungkook we're talking about. I don't want to lose him if things go wrong" I say feeling myself getting choked up at the thought. 

"Luna you're not gonna lose him, that boy loves you way too much to let you go" she says while rubbing my back trying to reassure me. "You know everyone keeps telling me that but none of us really knows what Jungkook is gonna do except for Jungkook! It's seems like it was pretty easy for him to shut me out right away so what's stopping him from just disappearing? Grey I'm fucking terrified, and I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing" I say, reaching my breaking point.

"Oh yeah, and then on top of all of that I guess I have a fucking stalker now" I say letting out a laugh dripping in sarcasm. Grey looks at me clearly confused and all I can do is nod towards the envelope on the table. 

She picks it up and gives me a questioning glance before she empties out the contents on the table. The frown on her face keeps on getting deeper and deeper with every picture she sees. 

"Luna, what the fuck?" is all she says waiting for me to explain. "Yesterday when I came back home from the whole fiasco with Jungkook, this was waiting for me on my doorstep. No one was in the hall, and no one was on the street outside" I explain plainly. "Do you think one of your neighbors did it?" she questions picking up some of the pictures that she's in. 

"Maybe? I don't really know though, I haven't had a chance to really process it, let alone think about who it could be" I pause for a second when she gets distracted with a picture of Jungkook and I kissing. 

"I asked Jimin to come over last night" I say nervously, not knowing how she'll respond. "Jimin? You mean that kid that came into the store the other day? Don't tell me you guys-" "No! No, nothing like that" I say cutting her off. 

"When I opened the envelope up for the first time I started to freak out you know, the whole nine yards. I meant to call Jungkook because he's the one who, well you know, the one who usually helps me get through it but when I went and clicked on my most recent texts I guess Jimin was close enough to Jungkook that I accidentally called him" she nod along, understanding the situation and waits for me to continue.

"I told him I called him on accident but I was already too far gone that he could tell something was wrong. He offered to come over, and I said yes. Thinking about it now, it might've not been the best decision" I admit and she cringes, a clear sign that she agrees with me.

"He knows about Jungkook now... more than I would've liked him to" I say picking up a picture of Jungkook and I from when he came over the other night. "What are you gonna do?" she asks trying to figure out where my head's at. "What can I do? My best friend is in love with me, and tells me at the same time a new guy conveniently walks into my life. Now I'm confused because I already started to like Jimin, but Jungkook and I have so much history and that's the problem. I love Jungkook, I've loved him for years but I pushed those romantic feelings to the side because I thought it was hopeless to even try. Everything is just so confusing and I keep on telling myself that and everyone that talks to me knows it's my excuse as well. I feel like the world is caving in on me and I don't know why. I have two guys who have a crush on me, big deal" I say sarcastically, letting out a shaky breath. 

"It's so stupid and I don't know why I'm taking things so seriously" I let out, tired of holding it all in. "I wish everything would just stop so I could catch my fucking breath" I finish ending my rant for the moment. "I think I know why everything is hitting you harder than usual" Grey says trying to bring me back down from the fit I've worked myself into. I look at her expectantly waiting for her to continue but I wasn't prepared for what she said next.

"The anniversary just passed didn't it?" hearing it now makes me feel stupid, seeing as she found the cause for all of this pent up anxiety so quickly. 

"I guess I forgot..." I lie but she won't let me gloss over it. "No for fucks sake Luna you didn't! I know you like to go around and pretend like everything is fine but you can't just forget about what happened to them. Keeping all of these things to yourself isn't going to magically make it all go away. Your parents died Luna, don't you think they at least deserve to be acknowledged?" she finishes the lecture she gives me every year and I never know how to respond. 

"When was the last time you went to their grave?" she asks in a softer tone. I shake my head and wipe away the tears that are threatening to fall "I don't know" I say getting choked up. "I know you would like to think that you've moved past that part of your life and that you've healed but in all the years I've know you, you really haven't given yourself time to do anything about it" she says taking a hold of one of my hands. 

"I love you, you're my best friend and I want to be there for you but there's only so much I can do. At the end of the day you're the only one that can choose to heal".I know she's right, fuck she is so right but I can't bring myself to fall apart like that. If I do...well then I don't know what'll be left of me. 

I've dealt with this pain bubbling under the surface for so long, giving fake smiles and crying behind closed doors, but just enough to be able to force that fake smile again. The only ones who have ever really brought out that true smile have been Jungkook and Grey. Without them, I don't know who I would be, or if I would even be here anymore. 

"I can't do it" I let out just loud enough for her to hear, tears free falling. "Why can't-" "Because I don't know how!" I say raising my voice at her. "There's too much, too fucking much that I just... I don't know how to let it all out. I feel like if I do I'll shatter into a million pieces and I'm afraid that the next time I look in the mirror, I won't recognize myself. I've been like this for so long that I don't think I could put myself back together again once I fall apart" I choke out and stop to catch my breath.

"Don't you want to let all of that go?" she tries but I can't accept that. "That's all I have left!" I yell through a sob. "That's all I have left of them, the pain, the trauma, that's all I fucking have left of them. Call me sick but holding it all in feels like I'm holding onto the broken pieces that they left behind. If I let that go... then there's nothing left" I finish trying to wipe off all the tears that were streaming down my face, only letting go for just a second like I always do. 

"I have no memories from before the accident, everything is gone. All the times we spent together and the love that they gave me, it's all gone. It's been suppressed for so long that sometimes I don't even remember what they looked like" I say looking up at the ceiling and blinking back the rest of the tears before they have a chance to fall again. "I only have one picture of them here and I put it in a drawer because I can't bring myself to look at them without falling apart again".

Grey takes a moment to think and I take that chance and get up to grab us both a bottle of water from the fridge, slowing my breathing and trying to calm myself down. 

"I didn't know..." she trails off, not knowing where she should take this. "No one does, not even Jungkook" I say curtly not wanting to elaborate further but she presses anyway hoping I'll let her in a little more. 

"But didn't he meet you right after it happened? You guys didn't talk about it when you were kids?" she asks but I shake my head. "Jungkook wasn't like that when we were little. He knew I was hurting but he never pressed me to talk about it. I would open up to him sometimes but he knew my limits and he didn't want to push past them. Once we got older he talked to me about therapy a few times but I always brushed it off saying I was fine and that I was just feeling a little sad that day and we would drop the conversation" I explain. 

"He seems pretty pushy with you though, or at least from what I've seen" she says tilting her head, confused at the explanation I've given. "He makes me open up and talk about other things sometimes but when it comes to my parents or my family in general he tends to leave it alone. I'm pretty sure he knows I need professional help to unpack all of that shit" I chuckle dryly. 

"But you still don't want to go? I could go with you if you want" she offers but I shake my head, "Jungkook has said the same thing to me many, many times and I also told him no so can we just drop it, please?" I ask, taking a drink of water to break up the conversation and luckily she complies, taking a drink of her's as well.

We sit there in silence for a bit before I decide to break the built up tension thats been created between us. "Well," I say patting my thighs before standing up and clearing my throat, "why don't we get out of here? There's this new place that Jimin took me to the other night and I wanna show you!" I say quickly changing the subject. 

She shakes her head at me and rolls her eyes "Yeah, but you're paying" she says, standing up and grabbing her bag to go. "Fine, but give me like ten minutes to get ready and then we'll go" I say and rush into my room to get dressed while she lets out a big sigh of annoyance and slouches back down onto the couch. 

Going into the bathroom to brush my teeth I notice how bloodshot my eyes are from all the crying so I quickly open the cabinet behind the mirror and search for my eye drops, hoping they will soothe the burning sensation that had been a natural consequence of showing more emotion than I had planned to. 

I blink a few times after I apply them, letting the drops settle in my eyes and wipe away the excess before brushing my teeth and washing my face hopefully getting rid of the red tint thats still splayed on my face and dry off before getting dressed for the day.

Stepping outside the building was a lot more jarring than I had anticipated, feeling the violent urge to look over my shoulder every few seconds but I do my best to shake off those feeling and focus on getting to the subway station. I try to keep a constant conversation going with Grey about her new kitten Smokey and how he's been driving her nuts to distract me from it all and for now it seems to be working. 

"If I would've known how difficult it would be to take care of a kitten I would've gotten a goldfish instead" she huffs as we get off at our stop but when we start to walk towards the exit I see a figure lurking in the shadows as we pass by and my body goes stiff in response. I'm only brought back once Grey pulls on my arm to keep going, trying to get us out of the busy stairwell. 

I follow her wordlessly until we get to the top of the steps and it's then when she takes in my body language. "You okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost" she says with a crooked smile. "I thought I saw someone watching us so I got a bit spooked but it was probably just my imagination" I say physically shaking off those feelings. "Come on, the cafe is just around the corner" I say now switching rolls, with me now pulling her along instead.

It's pretty easy to spot the place as it's the only one that's doused in a violet hue and I get even more giddy the closer we get. 

"This place has pretty much become once of my favorite places in the city" I say proudly even though I've only been once. "Bora?" Grey says unamused, "As in Purple?" she asks and I nod my head while dragging her in, secretly hoping she'll love the place too. "Very creative" she says still criticizing the name of the establishment but I don't take it to heart. She's never the type to get excited about cute or themed anything so I'm not phased by her reaction. 

Once we make it past the entryway and are greeted with the ever glowing neon lights is when her interest starts to peak. "I'm surprised it's not one of those girly fairy like cafes you've taken me to in the past" she says as she roams around on her own, checking out the interior and I smile knowing that deep down inside she's loving it. 

"I'll go get us some drinks, are you hungry?" I ask and she nods and continues to make her way over to the records displayed in the far corner that I failed to notice before. Seeing as music has been a big interest of hers since before we had met I'm not surprised to already see her flipping through their collection and messing around with the record player.

Making my way over to the counter I place our order and head back to pick out a table close to where she seems to be still tinkering with the poor thing. 

"You know it's probably more for show than anything else" I say teasingly and she sits down with a silent huff confirming my suspicions. "You could always ask them if they ever thought about getting a real one" I suggest but she waves off the idea. 

"Too much of a bother" she says and shrugs her shoulders "They've got a pretty good sound system in here anyways so I'm sure they don't plan on it. The records they have are cool though" she says while letting her eyes wander around the rest of the place. 

"Well then they must have good taste if even you like them" I say before someone joins our conversation making me jump. "I guess that would be me" a charming guy with a purple apron says as he walks over with our order. "You like Deftones?" Grey asks giving him a once over."Is that so hard to believe?" he says with a sideways smile but before Grey has a chance to open her mouth to utter something that I'm sure would come off as harsh I jump in changing the subject. 

"Oh um, we didn't order those" I says glancing down at the pair of lilac macarons "It's on the house" he says giving me a smile while placing it on the table along with the rest of our order. "It's new to the menu so let me know what you think" he says giving us a shallow bow and tucking his tray under his arm before he walks back over to the counter.

"He was cute" I say to which she responds with narrowing her eyes at me, clearly meaning that she thinks the same. 

"What, no insults? You usually say 'Ew he looks like a piece of gum that's been stuck to the bottom of a garbage man's shoe' or 'He looks like how the sewer smells' or the dozens of other insults you've thrown out whenever I've pointed out a guy to you" I continue with a teasing smile grabbing one of the macarons left in between us. 

"This one isn't too bad though" she mumbles under her breath. "I'm sorry what was that? I couldn't hear you" I say continuing to embarrass her even more. "Shut up" she says copying me and throws the whole pastry in her mouth, her eyes widening when she takes in the flavor and lets out a groan. 

"Shit these are good!" she says, clearly sad there isn't another one. "I could go order more if you'd like?" I say making moves to stand up but she grabs my hand and pulls me back down into my seat. "It's fine we've got other stuff here already. By the way, what the fuck did you order me?" she says glancing at the beverage that was placed in front of her.

Yours is called 'The Stars' and it's a lavender lemonade with a splash of butterfly pea tea and popping lychee boba. Mine is called 'Rain' and its a black cherry iced tea" I say taking a sip of my more conservative dark purple drink compared to her bright colorful one, both in stark contrast to our personalities. 

"Why'd you have to get me the girly one?" she grumbles taking a sip of the purple concoction, surprised at how much she's enjoying yet another one of the menu items. "Because I knew that you would like it...even if you didn't want to admit it" I say with a sideways smile before taking a glance down at my phone seeing a message from Jin.

'What's got you feeling so blue?'  he asks, hoping not to sound too pushy.

'Just Jungkook stuff. I still haven't made up my mind but I'm worried about him, he's never blown up on me like that so I feel like something else might be wrong' I send quickly before placing my phone face down and cutting the croissant I got us in half, smiling at the huckleberry filling cross section. 

"They really wont let up on this purple theme huh?" Grey scoffs with a shake of her head taking half of it for herself. "I guess not" I say laughing at her clear disgust with the mystery substance but takes a bite anyways trusting my judgement. 

"Well I guess it wasn't a huge chore coming here seeing as everything here tastes alright" she says, admitting that I have good taste this time around. 

"Wow high praise? Looks like someone woke up on the right side of the bed today" I say never letting up on the teasing. She's always teasing me mercilessly at work so I don't feel bad poking fun at her today. Gotta take the opportunities when I can. 

"I take it back you have shit taste" she says trying to fight back. "Nope what's done is done, can't back peddle now" I say  playing coy and she finally accepts defeat, slouching back into her seat, her preferred state of being in almost all situations.

After finishing up Grey heads towards the exit while I place our dishes in the designated bin. 

"Everything was amazing and those macarons were to die for!" I say fulfilling his request for our impressions. "I'm glad you liked them! Here take a few more for the road" he says bagging up two more. 

"Oh I couldn't possibly take those! You already gave us the other ones for free" I say shaking my head no. "Well I've already boxed them up so they can't go back in the case. It would be a shame to waste them" he says and now I am on the receiving end of his coy antics. 

"Well, thank you" I say as he places the small box in the palm of my hand but I quickly slip a few dollars into the tip jar before leaving with a shy smile. "Come back again soon...both of you" he says clearly telling me he's curious about Grey without telling me. "Don't worry we will" I say and wave him off before running out the door to catch up with Grey. 

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Quiet My Fears (With The Touch Of Your Hand) Ch. 2

Steve Harrington x f!reader

Description: You have this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of Steve's chest with words alone.

Warnings: pregnant!reader, mentions of being sick (among other scarier pregnancy symptoms), language

Word Count: 3614

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Rain slammed against the window panes of the Harrington house like bullets. The cold seeped through the walls and ate straight through Steve’s pajamas, and the cup of coffee in his hands was doing little to remedy it. There was zero hint of sun in the sky, it seemed like there would be none all day, and Steve was really regretting coming out from under his covers. 

Steve had only slept in his own house three times over the past two weeks; he’d made quite the home for himself on your couch, living out of a backpack of clothes he’d stuck in the corner of your living room. You had asked him not to leave you alone, and what kind of man would he be if he had said no to that? He probably wouldn’t even have been able to, anyway.

He didn’t know if he would be allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and he had been too afraid to ask. 

While his father never really bothered to care where his son was, and his mother trusted him enough to let him do his own thing most of the time, he was still expected to show his face at home every once in a while. He’d been stuck with the closing shift last night (even though it was outside of his availability, so thanks for that, Keith), and he knew you’d be fast asleep by the time he made it back to your apartment. You’d called the store after you got home at the much more reasonable hour of six thirty. ‘I think I can live with being alone for tonight’ you’d told him. ‘I’ve got a paper to write, anyway.’ 

Fuck, Steve really needed a better job. Preferably one that paid him more and wasn’t open until eleven p.m. on a Thursday night. 

You worked a big girl job at the Roane County Historical Society museum. You were just a secretary, but you had a salary, insurance, and all that other grown up stuff. Nine to five, four days a week, and they helped with your college tuition, too. Come May, you’d have a History degree and a teaching certification, and word on the street said Hawkins Middle was about to have a need for a  new History teacher. Unlike him, you had the perfect five year plan laid out right in front of you. 

Y’know, as long as Steve hadn’t ruined it for you. 

By the time he woke up on Friday, his father was long gone. It was nearing one in the afternoon, and the big empty house felt extra big and extra empty today. Steve glanced out the window as he poured a second cup of coffee and saw the rain collecting in the bottom of the long-since drained pool in his backyard. A handful of stray leaves sat mixed with the rainwater, some stuck in a brown mass on the bottom, some floating lazily atop the puddle. 

He was startled out of his trance by his mother’s voice and nearly dropped his full mug.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said as she walked into the kitchen, heels clicking along the tiles. “Or, good afternoon, rather.”

Meredith Harrington was the opposite of her husband in more ways than anyone could count. She actually enjoyed spending time with her child, for one, but there had never been an angry bone in her body. She wasn’t immune to frustration, or worry, but it was never unfounded. Yet still, for every wild flame of rage that shot from her husband's mouth, she counteracted with calmness. Or, more accurately, quiet, fearful resignation. Her husband never put his hands on her or their son, but Steve could always tell that she had spent her whole marriage walking on eggshells, waiting for the terrifying moment that he did, as if it was a simple inevitability. 

Steve loved his mom, but fuck, he wished she would just stand up for herself for once.

“God, Mom, you scared me,” Steve responded, leaning against the counter. 

“I do live here, too, y’know,” she poked back with a smile. “When did you get so jumpy?”

If she ever found out the real answer to that question, she would probably never let her son out of her sight ever again.

“Haven’t seen much of you these last couple weeks,” his mother observed. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he insisted. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. She put the pocketbook she was holding down on the marble countertop of the island and crossed the room to lean against it, opposite her son. “I can tell, there’s far too much going on in that big head of your’s.”

Steve snorted at the well meaning insult. 

“It’s nothing mom, I promise.”

“Come on now, you know I don’t buy that,” his mother asked with arms crossed. “Talk to me, kid.” 

“I-I don’t know.” Steve was absolutely, in no way, ready to talk about any of what was going through his head, especially to his mom. ‘You might be a grandma come September’ wasn’t really something he could just drop in the middle of casual conversation.

“Is it a girl, maybe?”

Steve’s quiet was proof enough that his mother was, at least partially, right. She gave her son a knowing smile.

“Tell me it’s not Nancy again, right?” she asked. Meredith was generally a pretty forgiving woman, but Nancy had really broken her son’s heart. So, while she would always show nothing but kindness to the eldest of the Wheeler children, she didn’t have to like her. 

“Oh, no. Definitely not,” Steve assured. “That ship sailed a long, long time ago.” 

“Good,” she replied. “Will I ever get to meet this mystery girl?”

Steve just shrugged, deciding it best to omit the fact that the “mystery girl” had lived across the street for eighteen years and swam in their pool every summer for a decade.

“You should invite her over for dinner some time,” his mother said. She leaned forward and pulled a piece of errant lint off of Steve’s shoulder with perfectly manicured nails. “I’ll roast a chicken. It’ll be nice.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken.”

“She doesn’t eat chicken?” she parroted back. “What kind of person doesn’t eat chicken?”

“She’s a vegetarian, mom,” he explained. 

“Ah,” his mom accepted. “Then I’ll make that broccoli cheddar casserole you like. You know, the one I make during Lent every year? Think she’d like that?”

“Yeah, I think she would.” Steve was trying his best to hide his smile, though he wasn’t doing it all that well.

“Alrighty.” She patted her son’s shoulder as she walked past him and gathered her purse. “Well, I have to go run some errands. You’re more than welcome to join me if you’d like.”

“No, thanks.”

“Right. You’re much too cool to tag along with mom to the grocery store. How could I have forgotten?”

“No! No, it’s not that, I-”

“I’m joking, Steve,” she assured with a smile. “Make sure that cup ends up in the dishwasher, okay? Not just in the sink.” 

“Dishwasher. Got it.”

“I love you! Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone!”

With that, the heavy front door shut and Steve was plunged into the silence of deserted suburbia. 

You were at work, he had the day off with no plans, and the idea of being at all productive sounded absolutely exhausting. He finished his coffee in two big gulps and decided the best way to spend the day would be to crawl right back into bed and wallow in his feelings.

Steve had, very much on purpose, kept most of his thoughts about your current situation to himself. Partially because every time you two did start talking about it, you ended up a slushy pile of tears in his arms. The other reason, though, the bigger reason, was that he was terrified that you would put all of your own wants and wishes to the side and do whatever he wanted you to. The concept of you having a baby you didn’t want just to appease him made him sick to his stomach.

His parents only got married because his mom ended up pregnant at nineteen, and having a baby out of wedlock in 1967 was a social sin of the highest order. So they planned a wedding in two weeks time (a small family affair, exclusively to save face and avoid the questions that arise with courthouse ceremonies), and moved into a big, fancy house so that everyone knew the Harringtons were a normal, run-of-the-mill, perfect American family. His father loved to point out all of the things he didn’t get to do all because Steve came along and got in the way, and his mother. . . 

She loved him. He knew that. He also knew that she had to pack up her life to play house with a man she was always a little bit afraid of, all because of him. His father always resented him for it, but his mom never did. At the very least, she never told him she did. 

The thought of doing to you what his father did to his mom absolutely fucking terrified him, but ‘terrified’ had been his baseline state of being pretty much constantly over the past two weeks.

Steve was no stranger to fear. He’d had extensive experience with the feeling; that sharp heaviness that settled itself behind his ribs and sucked every drop of oxygen out of his lungs. When it came at him hard and fast, that was when he could handle it best. This was not that. This fear was slow and achy, all-encompassing. It sealed itself onto his bones, like some sort of emotional slime. Like a fungus.

And, honestly, most of that fear was for you, not him. The worst thing that could happen to him was that he could end up being a shitty father, and while he would hate that more than pretty much anything in the entire world, it did sort of pale in comparison to your worst case scenario. You could die.

Yeah, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic, but you still could. It wasn’t all that far outside of the realm of possibility. You were already horribly sick, you had been for the past few weeks, and while you had been taking the constant nausea and incessant dizzy spells like a fuckin’ champ, it wasn’t like a positive attitude would be able to save you if you started hemorrhaging. 

Steve really hoped, for your sake, that you had yet to go down this train of thought, but he knew you most likely had. As terrified for you as he was, he understood that you were probably feeling all of it tenfold.

And yet, behind all of that, he was having a very difficult time squashing that tiny inkling of reckless hope that had been planted in the back of his head. He was still a 21 year old dick-head who had zero business taking care of a baby, and he definitely wasn’t allowed to be excited about it. For, like, a million different reasons.

Eventually, he fell back into a heavy-limbed sleep, but was woken up however many hours later by the shrill ring of the phone. A bleary eyed glance at the clock on his bedside table told him it was just passed six o’clock. His mother should be back by now, right? He let it ring.

 A moment passed, and it rang once more. He debated for a moment if he even had the right to answer it anymore, but he begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed and picked it up anyway.

“Harrington Residence,” he grumbled, hoping whoever was on the other side could tell how frustrated he was to be awake. 

“Steve?” Your voice came through the line. It was strained, and he heard you trying your best to disguise the sobs coming from your throat. “It’s me.”

“Hey, woah, what’s going on? What happened?” he questioned, any annoyance gone. 

“Are you able to come pick me up?” you stuttered out between sniffles. “I’m at work. I-I have a flat tire.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course I can,” he said.  

“Okay.”

“I’m on my way, alright? Five minutes, tops,” he told you. He had the earpiece of the phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder, and the cord was stretched as far as it could go to reach into his bedroom as he haphazardly swapped his flannel pajama bottoms for a pair of jeans.

“Thank you.” Another sob.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he insisted. “Hang tight, I’ll be right there.”

The rain had slowed back to a dismal drizzle that splashed into the puddles stretched across Steve’s driveway. The drive to the museum was usually short, but the evening rush (as if the barely-there Hawkins traffic could ever be called that) slowed him down just enough for it to be annoying. The museum had officially closed an hour ago, though stray patrons and evening administrative duties usually kept you back after hours. 

Steve saw you shivering underneath the awning that hung over the front doors, comparable to a lost kitten stuck in a thunderstorm. The shoulders of your sweater were soaked through, and as Steve pulled into the parking lot and stopped his car, he could see the angry black rivers of runny mascara that dribbled down your face. 

“What the hell are you doing waiting for me out here in the rain?” Steve asked as he jogged up to where you were standing. He removed his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Why aren’t you inside? It’s freezing.”

“That creepy research assistant is in there and I hate being in the same room as him when there’s nobody else around,” you choked out, syllables broken up by wracking sobs. 

“Alec?” Steve asked, and you nodded. He pulled you tightly against him before adding, “I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

“Please don’t do that,” you squeaked. 

“Let’s change your tire, huh?” Steve said, though he made no move to let you go. “Do you have the spare?”

“That-” your words were cut off by a pitiful sniffle. “That is the spare.”

“Of course it is,” Steve sighed, though he most certainly should not have, because it just spurred on more crying from you. “Hey, it’s alright. I can take you home and we can get a new tire on it in the morning, okay?”

“I just had a really bad day,” you wept into his shoulder.

“I know, baby. It’s okay.”

“I spilled the hottest tea in the universe all over my legs,” you croaked. Steve winced at the image. 

“I’m sorry,” he said into the top of your head.

“And since it was so hot, I accidentally said ‘motherfucker’ in front of a tour group that consisted exclusively of second graders!” you added. Steve would have laughed at that if you weren’t so wildly upset. “And Creepy Alec was being creepy all day long-”

“My offer still stands.”

“And then I came out here and my fucking tire was fucking flat!” you exclaimed, punctuated by another bout of wailing, the kind that made your whole body shake and your voice stutter. Steve took it the best he could, petting the back of your head and holding you tight, wishing he could go into your brain and dig all of the bad bits out. 

“Let me get you home, and we can get you into some dry clothes and deal with your car in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimpered. 

Steve let you go, but when he went to pull you along to his car so the pair of you could leave, you stayed planted right where you were. You lifted your watery eyes to meet his, and he gazed at you from where he stood.

“Steve?” you quietly asked him. 

“Yeah?” Steve responded. A silence fell between the two of you, though the lazy rain and evening downtown traffic poked holes through it.

“I wanna keep the baby.”

You had this amazing talent of knocking the wind right out of his chest with only words alone.

“That-” came out of fucking nowhere, holy shit!, he didn’t add. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you muttered over a wobbly lip.

Steve was paralyzed. The soles of his shoes had been superglued to the pavement and his arms had been turned to stone. It was somehow both exactly what he did and did not want to hear all at the same time, because deep down in his gut he knew he wanted that too, but there was a laundry list of reasons why it was a bad idea, why it was irresponsible, why it was maybe everything he ever wanted, and- 

“Steve, if you don’t want to do this, that's okay, but I need you to tell me. Now.” Your voice, shaky and full of fear and yet so, so determined, pulled him up and away from his thoughts once again. 

“I do!” he exclaimed, maybe with a bit too much fervor. He regained his ability to move and closed the gap between the two of you in one wide step. “I do.”

You stood silent with your glassy eyes staring bullets into his. 

“Look, I’m gonna start talking, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop, so if it gets to be too much, just shut me up, okay?” Steve said. He brought his hands up to grace your shoulders.

“What?” you questioned, confusion laced throughout your miserable expression.

Steve had spent the last three and a half years doing everything he could to drown out the sounds of his feelings for you, and Robin was right. It was destroying his brain. 

“I’m really, really in love with you,” he said. “And I have been for a really, really long time. Since way before this, fuck, since before Starcourt, and I’m so fucking sorry for not having the guts to say it until now. I’m the universe’s biggest coward for that-”

“You are not a coward!”

“-And I know you deserve better, but for some reason that still eludes me, you’ve stuck with me through all the bullshit, anyway. You could’ve run away whenever you wanted to, you could’ve gone with your parents when they left, but you didn’t, and that has to mean something, right?”

“Steve,” you wept.

“I promise, there is nothing in this world that I want more than to do this with you, alright? Not a single fucking thing,” he assured you. “I meant what I said. Holding your hand the whole time.”

Steve took your trembling hand into his own, fingers fitting together like lock and key. 

“If you’ll have me,” he added.

Your lips wobbled, you let out another shattered sob, and you kissed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Like you would drop dead right on the spot if not for his lips on yours. Steve kissed back, because he knew he would drop dead if he didn’t, and now he had tears to match your own.

“I’m really, really in love with you, too,” you blubbered after the pair of you pulled apart. You had a hand on either side of his face, fingers ghosting over the junction of his jawline and neck, and Steve had his wrapped delicately around each wrist.

“You really wanna do this?” Steve asked you. “You really mean it? You’re not just saying it?”

“I really mean it,” you said definitively. You were still very much crying, though you were infinitely less miserable than you had been five minutes ago. The pair of you stayed swaying in each other's arms, protecting each other from the cold.

“Good, because I really mean it, too,” he responded. 

The thick, foggy haze of emotion was beginning to dwindle, and despite the warm bubble of affection the two of you had created, you were still standing out in the rain. And Steve was pretty sure he could see Creepy Alec spying on them through one of the second story windows.

“Let’s go home. I’ll make you dinner,” Steve murmured to you, and you nodded in agreement. 

Steve drove you both back to your apartment and made a feast of plain scrambled eggs and buttered toast, because it was all your stomach could really handle right now. Turns out, he very much was allowed to sleep in your bed with you, and after he’d finished doing the dishes in the sink, he joined you under the pile of blankets that adorned your mattress. Your cat curled itself up at the end of the bed as you drew yourself into his side. He didn’t remember you being this cuddly, but it was a change he was more than happy to welcome.

After a few minutes, when he’d thought you had fallen asleep, your voice pierced through the quiet of your bedroom.

“You’re gonna be someone's dad,” you muttered into his pajamas. Fuck. He was, wasn’t he?

“You’re gonna be someone’s mom,” he shot back.

“Weird,” you responded. “I think you’ll be really good at it.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. Definitely.”

And of course Steve was still fucking terrified. Terrified of the monsters, and of his dad, and of all the different ways this could go south, but he had you tucked up against his chest, and he was gonna be someone’s dad, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care about any of the scary stuff. In this moment, for the first time in as long as Steve could really remember, the underlying current of fear that ran along his thoughts was finally overpowered by just how much he fucking adored you.

Tiny Little Taglist: @sheisjoeschateau @hazydespair @damon-loves-pie @pariahsparadise @anislabonis-love @e0509 @alexa4040 @starsforviolet @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @plk-18 @hoesbloated

[thedarkivistwrites]

Without a word of warning, Hubert opens the curtains, and sunlight floods the guest bedroom. Against their usual routine, he's already dressed, busying himself with something on the coffee table near the window. Ferdinand sits up on the bed, blinking in confusion until he remembers where they are.

"Remember, you're expected at nine o’clock sharp," Hubert says, pouring tea into a delicate blue teacup painted with daffodils. He doesn't look at Ferdinand, not even when he sets the teapot down.

"Good morning to you too," Ferdinand yawns, stretching. He pulls up the sleeve of the borrowed nightshirt, but it slides down his shoulder again immediately. "There is still time, is there not?"

Hubert crosses the room and hands him the cup. Southern Fruit Blend, his favourite. "There is," he assures him. "Half an hour at least, if I were to guess."

He looks up. "You should have woken me up earlier."

Perhaps he should have, but frankly, Hubert didn't have the heart. Of course, he knows better than to tell him that. And he won't tell him how lovely he looked on the unmade bed either. The bedding in disarray and his - his - Ferdinand nestled in the centre of the bed, bare legs tangled in Hubert's cloak, his face pressed into the mass of black fabric. He didn't even realise he'd smiled at the sight until a moment later.

Right. No need to burden him with all that. "I saw no reason to do so," he says instead. It's true enough.

"What are you planning to do today?" Ferdinand asks while Hubert makes his way to the pile of clothes Ferdinand’s clothes on the chair. "You could come with me - I do not understand why he- why the invitation wasn’t extended to you in the first place."

Hubert runs his fingertips over the smooth fabric, marvelling at the normalcy of it all. It unsettles. "Don't lie to me, Ferdinand. We both know why."

The younger man flushes, and for a few minutes drinks his tea in silence. Finally, Hubert sighs, sits next to him, and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. "I can accompany you if you're worried."

"I would not say worried-"

"You never would, that's the problem," Hubert teases, though something in his stomach squeezes uncomfortably at the words anyway. He looks away quickly, but too late all the same, because Ferdinand throws his legs over his lap and takes one of his hands into both of his own.

"Hubert?"

No response.

"Love?"

Hubert makes a faint, dismissive sound, but the tips of his ears turn pink.

"My love, my darling, my precious shining star-"

"Are you listening to yourself?" the other chokes out, covering his face with his free hand.

Ferdinand rests his head on Hubert's shoulder, drawing little circles on his wrist with his thumbs. "I simply do not understand why he is acting like this when it seems as though he..." He clears his throat so primly Hubert is tempted to remind him what other sounds he was making mere hours ago. In case he forgot. "... is already spoken for." A chuckle. "I wish we had taken Dorothea along, she would know at a glance."

"Which is precisely why I'm glad she stayed back home," Hubert says drily, letting his hand rest on his lover's knee.

"My guess is that they used to be… involved, until something went wrong."

"Yet they still spend time together even when their work does not require it," Ferdinand notes. A fair point, too.

Silence.

"Ferdinand, this doesn't concern us." He hesitates, but then shakes his head. "No, no, you are right." This earns him a raised eyebrow. "I am?" "You heard me." Hubert's hand slides up, fingertips teasing the hem of his nightgown in a deliberately distracted gesture. "Are you telling me that you're not curious? That you can leave this be?"

The other shifts in his seat, his knees parting slightly. "I can... try."

When Hubert's shoulders shake with stifled laughter, he adds indignantly: "You asked me not to lie to you."

At that, Hubert pulls both of his hands away, but still leans in to drop a kiss over what absolutely certainly wasn't the first hint of a pout. "Go get dressed," he whispers against his lips, "he's waiting for you."

[howlinchickhowl]

Couple of days late because I keep falling asleep while writing, but here is my little contribution for day 9 of @gallavichthings a.u.gust fiesta.

Got me stuck on your face and your body nine - college

There’s an alarm clock blaring, it’s been blaring for what feels like hours, and it’s not his. He doesn’t even have an alarm clock. This day and age who even owns a real fucking clock anymore? Doesn’t everyone just use their phone?

The noise stops, and Mickey cracks an eye open. Through his minimal aperture he can see a a light green colored towel, a pair of legs dusted with light ginger hair. Ian.

“Sorry about the alarm, I woke up early and jumped in the shower, forgot it was even set.”

He sounds so awake already, alive with energy at whatever ghastly hour of the morning someone like Ian chooses to rise in the morning. It’s as much as Mickey can do to roll over onto his back, and even that feels like too much of an effort. He slings one arm over his face to block out the obnoxious sunlight streaming through Ian’s cheap dorm-room curtains, and sucks in a deep yawn of a breath.

“It’s all good man,” He says, on the tail end of the yawn, “didn’t mean to fall asleep. Shoulda woken me.”

“I didn’t mind you staying.” The weight on the bed shifts like Ian has just sat down, and when Mickey drags his arm from his eyes to look he’s right there, chest bare, soft hairs on his pecs glistening with large droplets of water because the guy apparently doesn’t know how towels work and clambers every day from the shower dripping like an umbrella after a rainstorm.

He watches a single rivulet wind its way down towards a nipple, take a detour around a particularly thick hair and drop into the valley that marks the centre of Ian’s well defined chest.

He drags his gaze away and meets Ian’s eyes, warm and open, and it sinks in to Mickey what Ian had said. That he didn’t mind Mickey staying over. It’s crazy to Mickey how easily shit like that just rolls off Ian’s tongue, like he just says exactly what he’s thinking or feeling, in the moment when he’s thinking or feeling it. Mickey wonders what that must be like. To be just completely at ease all the damn time. It couldn’t be him.

“Well, didn’t mean to, so.”

Case in point. The words that roll off Mickey’s tongue are always awkward and stilted, and only ever half of what he really wants to be saying, and almost always succeeds in making whomever he is talking to smaller and less happy and less bright than they were before he spoke.

Something in Ian shuts down, his openness, that light inside him that Mickey is so obsessed with, can’t get enough of, dims, just a little, and just like every time he opens his mouth, Mickey regrets his words.

“What you got your alarm set for anyway?” He asks, dropping his hand onto Ian’s bent knee where he’s sat sideways on the bed. “You don’t got class today.”

One thing that’s great about Ian is that Mickey kind of thinks he gets it. Mickey’s words can hurt him but if he can get a hand on him, quickly, he recovers. Like he understands what it means when Mickey uses his touch to try and soothe the lashes his tongue doles out.

Like now, green eyes glance down at where Mickey’s hand is resting on a towel clad knee, and a little smile forms on his lips

“You know my schedule Mickey?”

Smug bastard. And he does, is the problem. They’ve been fucking basically since class began in September, since Mickey had wandered into a frat house kitchen at a party Mandy had dragged him to and shared a shot with the giant red-head hiding from the party by ‘manning the bar’. He was the least likely frat dude you could imagine, sweet and kind of shy, not interested in keg stands or embarrassing pledges. They’d ended up back in Ian’s room that night and Mickey’s been freefalling ever since. He’s into him so deep it’s embarrassing.

Yeah, he knows his fucking schedule. Knows when his classes are and his preferred times to go to the gym, knows he treats himself to lunch outside the cafeteria once a week, on Wednesdays, on a rotating schedule of alternative campus eateries. Knows he calls his big sister on Fridays, facetimes his big brother most mornings on his way to class. Knows what day and time he goes to his book club that’s not a book club, but that he won’t actually tell Mickey what it is. He knows, and he feels like a fucking pussy for knowing, and he knows that if he replies right now he’ll say something even more hurtful than he already has because his stupid fucking brain thinks it will make it less embarrassing to be obsessed with Ian if there’s no way Ian could ever possibly know.

“Got a frat thing early, philanthropy requirement, that’s why the alarm.”

There’s a blush spreading across Ian’s cheeks, the same that always does whenever he talks about fraternity stuff, he’s the only frat guy Mickey ever met who doesn’t like to let on he’s in a frat. Mickey’d asked him once, why he’d joined if he found it so embarrassing to be a Greek. He’d said that when he’d come to college he’d been lonely, had missed the noise and the company of being at home with all his siblings, the frat had seemed like a way to have that again, on campus.

“Gotta go be a good boy, huh?” Ian quirks a suggestive eyebrow at that and the shadow of a shiver rushes up Mickey’s spine. It is way too easy to get him going where Ian’s concerned. “Guess I’ll let you get to it then, I’m gonna head out.”

He rolls himself to the other side of the bed and pushes himself up to standing, starting to find where his clothes had ended up. He finds them in a neat pile on the chair by the window, shirt and pants and boxers folded, fucking boy scout.

“You don’t have to go.” Ian tells him while he’s pulling up his pants, rooting in his underwear drawer for some clean boxers and dropping his towel to pull them on.

“I got a paper due.”

“Well, are you busy later? I’m supposed to go to this open mic thing at Java John’s…”

Mickey winces at the thought of an ‘open mic thing’ and Ian trails off, finishes buttoning his shirt, smart clothes for philanthropy hours. Mickey tries not to let his gaze linger too long, but the fact is, Ian looks good all dressed up.

“But I could skip it? If you wanted to…” He trails off again, shrugging at Mickey like he doesn’t really know what he’s suggesting.

He’s suggesting spending time together, really, that’s what he’s always suggesting. All the time he’s inviting Mickey along to some event or telling him about some party, just trying to spend time with him, and every time he does Mickey blows him off, turns it into some innuendo, or manufactures the scenario so that instead of hanging out like normal people, like Ian so clearly wants to do, they end up just fucking.

It’s not like Mickey doesn’t want to hang out with Ian, properly. Without fucking. He does. He would. But the thing is, they’re good at fucking. They’ve got great chemistry and he knows he can make Ian feel good, that he can hold his interest for that, that he won’t disappoint the guy.

But without that, if they’re just spending time together and talking and not distracted by the overwhelming pleasure of an impending orgasm, Ian might figure out that in the long run, Mickey’s not smart or interesting or worth spending time with at all. And he can’t have that.

He finishes shoving his feet inside his boots and looks up, finding Ian still looking over at him, hopefully. And he wants to say yes. He wants to say sure, and sounds fun. Wants to meet Ian at the stupid fucking Java John’s and listen to some emo loser singing acoustic covers of eighties pop hits and drink an overpriced cup of coffee and just, sit next to the guy, smile at him, make him laugh. Feel the warmth of his body radiate against Mickey’s own. He wants it so badly he can hardly breathe from the wanting.

And what if he did it? What if he said yes? What if, actually, Ian didn’t find him boring or stupid or only good for fucking? What if, actually, they had a great fucking time and great sex? Looking into Ian’s imploring eyes, for the first time he believes it might be possible.

He takes a deep breath, takes a massive fucking leap, and says.

“They got beer at the Java John’s?”

The smile on Ian’s face makes his heart almost beat out of his chest, and he hopes, hopes he’s made the right choice.

[justactgaussian]

I worked at an amusement park for 6 years, mostly as a ride operater. It was quite a few years ago, but I feel like reminiscing, so here are a few of my favourite things customers said. Most of them happened to me, but a few are 'greatest hits' from stories shared in the break room.

Breaking news: Water is wet

"I got wet! My clothes are soaked!"

Yes, that is sort of the point, it's why this ride is full of water.

"Well there should be some kind of warning!"

Somehow, pointing out the huge sign saying YOU MAY GET SPLASHED didn't help. 

This one happened regularly.

If you get scammed by a ghost, that's on you

"I already paid!"

I'm not that stupid. You're waiting in line, I know you didn't pay yet.

"No no, I paid your colleague, just like I did earlier today"

What, the one whose shift ended 2 hours ago, when the rush died down? 

"She's still there, I swear"

Sure. Look, you're clearly too drunk for this anyway, go back to my colleague and ask for a refund.

7 ways to (not) make your child taller

No shift went by without at least one argument over children not being tall enough. I'm still surprised so many people hate basic safety regulations.

"If the height requirement is 120cm then clearly 119cm should be fine too"

Try following that logic a little further and see if you can spot the problem. 

"We've been standing in line for an hour!"

And that wasn't enough time for them to get taller. Maybe read the sign first next time. 

"His brother is tall enough, they can go in together"

A nine-year-old can not save a six-year-old from falling out of a rollercoaster.

"It's fine, I'm sure *this* will take care of it"

Bribes don't make your children taller. 

"Do you know who I am?"

Being a celebrity doesn't make your children taller.

"Just stand on tiptoes when they measure you, sweety"

First, that is the oldest trick in the book. We know, we check. Second, you're right in front of me, I can hear you.

"But they said she was tall enough just yesterday"

If she shrunk that much in a day, you should probably call a doctor.

Not how rain works

"The seats are wet"

I know, it's raining.

"Can't you dry them?"

I could, but won't. Because it's raining.

Safety precautions make me feel unsafe

"Closing down the ride for 20 minutes and then opening it up again makes people really worried. It's unacceptable!"

Okay, if we can't call a technician just to check if something out of the ordinary is a problem or not, what do you want us to do instead? Would you really feel safer if we just ignored things like that? Do you want us to close down a perfectly safe ride for the rest of the day to make you feel better? Are you paying for that?

I get that being reminded of accidents isn't fun, especially when you're in an amusement park, and I'm not telling you how to feel about it. But it won't change the saftey protocols. If it helps, you don't have to try this one, it's not mandatory.

Do I look like I own this thing?

"I can't believe you only take cash! Don't you know how much more money you could make if you accepted card?"

"This is too expensive, don't you see how much more you would earn if you lowered the price a bit?"

Actually I do. I'm paid by the hour, that means it would increase my earnings by exactly 0.

'I wasn't looking' is a terrible excuse

"How dare you yank my child's arm!"

Your dumbass child was running as fast as they could, severely overestimating the speed of the cart pulling onto the platform. It was either grab them, or stand back and watch them faceplant onto the tracks and get run over. I don't know about you, but my first priority is that no one dies here.

"I didn't see them do that!"

I sure hope not, it would be really fucked up to just wait for me to handle it if you did.

The math is too hard

I'm sorry, you and your sister can't go alone, she needs someone who's least 15 years old with her.

"I'm 15!"

Mhm, and what year were you born in?

"I uhm... in..."

Wow, I can't believe that worked in the year of our lord 2015

Music to match the mood

A couple were too busy making out to sit down, so I couldn't close the safety bar. After awkwardly waiting for a minute or two, I realised the only right move was changing the music to Careless Whisper. They got so mad. Luckily their three friends were very quick to defend me: "It's fucking hilarious, and you asked for it!"

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Birthday Reveal

The moment Shoto was inside, he shrugged off his coat and kicked off his shoes. He then lowered the bag full of presents to the floor, albeit delicately, before making his way to the bedroom; he didn't bother tidying up.

Birthdays were fun, now that he actually celebrated them, but they were also exhausting. Shoto figured he'd be used to the attention, considering his upbringing and hero ranking, but honestly, he couldn't have been more wrong. His family had been doting - always trying to make up for lost time - while his friends made fun of him good-naturedly, and while he enjoyed the company, it was all very overwhelming.

But Shoto had to admit, as he quickly changed into his Deku-themed pyjamas, his exhaustion was paired with disappointment.

Izuku had been at work all day.

Sure, they co-ran "Our Power" agency together, so it made sense that they had to cover for each other with holidays sometimes - especially when Izuku insisted on keeping their relationship a secret for safety reasons, despite Shoto's solid counterarguments - but it was Shoto's birthday and Izuku still hadn't come home!

He checked his phone, hoping for another notification updating him on the situation, but alas, all he could see was the text from three hours ago - when Izuku's shift was supposed to finish - saying he'd been called out.

With a sigh, Shoto finished his night-time routine and climbed into bed.

He knew he shouldn't worry. Izuku was the number one hero for a reason. He could handle anything... yet Shoto couldn't fall asleep. As selfish as he felt for wanting his partner here with him, they had a duty to Japan - he didn't expect Izuku to forgo that just to appease him - but that duty was dangerous. Three hours of overtime due to call-out was never a good sign.

His phone buzzed.

Shoto was almost embarrassed by how quickly he grabbed it, only to be dismayed to find that it was only Uraraka.

Uraraka [21:25]: Hey I know you're moping bc you thought it was Deku messaging you,which is dumb bc I'm cooler than him 😤

Uraraka [21:25]: Anyway, turn on NHK Hero news live right now

Me [21:25]: K ☹

Shoto opened the browser on his phone, snorting when a notification popped up from Uraraka, calling him a "rude bitch boy, you'll thank me later". Once he had the station up, he turned on the volume and clicked play.

The screen loaded, showing Izuku in his hero suit, smiling as he spoke to a reporter. They seemed to be talking about the villain encounter, but it wasn't hurried or frantic; it was almost leisurely. Shoto frowned.

'Okay, Hero Deku.' The reporter looked at her watch. 'You requested this interview and it is now officially nine thirty. You said you had an announcement to make?'

'Ah, yes!' A deep flush painted those freckled cheeks as Izuku rocked on his feet. 'So, as you know, Hero Shoto's birthday is today!'

He heartbeat quickened at the direct address, and he swallowed heavily.

'As one of my best friends and co-owner of our agency, we usually spend his birthday hanging out in some form, but unfortunately that wasn't possible today.' Izuku continued. His hands were fiddling with each other in front of him; he was nervous. 'So I thought I'd give him one of his presents now, now that I know he's watching this.'

His partner turned to the camera, and suddenly, his smile reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners. It was a fond smile; the kind only Shoto was privy too.

'Happy birthday, Shouchan.' His voice quivered slightly, but was laced with affection. 'I know you've wanted this for a while, but I've been too chicken to do it. That changes today, because you were right... about everything. So... to quote All Might, I am here!'

He paused, exhaling slowly. 'I am here... to tell the world that I love Todoroki Shoto! He is my partner in life, and I feel so blessed to wake up beside him. We're in a relationship and have been for a while now, and I can't wait for us to grow old together.'

Izuku grinned dopily at the camera - Shoto was sure he was making a similar face at his phone - before realising where he was.

He then coughed awkwardly. 'Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Thank you for taking the time to listen to this announcement, but I have a boyfriend to get home to, and I'm already three hours late.'

Before anyone else could speak, emerald lightning shone as Izuku launched himself in the air; the camera focused on him flying off into the distance, like a shooting star. The reporter was gobsmacked, while her microphone picked up the cries of the excited fans who had gathered around to watch the interview in person. Meanwhile, Shoto buried his face in a pillow, hugging it close to his chest as he rolled around the bed.

It was finally out there. Everyone knew about them. He was finally able to love Izuku openly.

It was the best present.

A loud thud sounded from outside, followed by a key opening the front door. Clearly, his partner was keen to see him, and Shoto wasn't complaining. However, as soon as the door slammed shut, he heard a squawk, followed a clatter and a bang.

He shot out of bed and into the corridor, where he found Izuku sprawled out across the floor, having tripped over the shoes Shoto had left out earlier.

'You good, my love?'

'Never better.' His partner grumbled against the tatami. 'Anyway... Happy birthday, baby cakes. I hope you liked my present.'

Shoto tipped his head back and laughed.

'I loved it.'

[tenderlywicked]

The Devil Judge fanfiction rec list

NEW Additional Duties as Assigned by Yellowdancer21 (WIP)

Summary:

Kim Ga On never thought attending social events would be a part of his job as a judge, but working for Kang Yo Han means that many unusual tasks are simply additional duties as assigned.

Takes place somewhere in the middle of the series, right around episode nine.

and if i could i'd claim all my scars made by you by TechnicolorTango

Summary:

It's the end of a year and the beginning of a new one and Yohan's scars are aching. The scars from his father, barely visible now but some still peeking from beneath burned flesh, they ache in a way that causes Yohan to flinch, to cower, to clench his fingers into the covers until his knuckles go white. The scar that marrs the old lashings, the largest one, burns in the shape of a twisted cross along the expanse of his back, chokes him and suffocates him, leaves him feeling exposed and raw. There's another, across his palm, that he traces with his thumb reverently, and it aches but in a way that somehow dulls all the other pain, fills him with a taste in his mouth, oddly bitter and sweet at the same time.

(yohan is haunted by his demons but gaon is there to put him back together again)

And on the seventh day, God rested by godotismissing

Summary:

A demon called Gaon moves into the Kangs household. Yohan is not pleased.

Notes:

This was supposed to be a spooky fic for October but it didn't turn out that way. I honestly have no idea what this is now.

Anyway Gaon makes a lousy demon.

Ascetic Aesthetics by godotismissing

Summary:

K's journey into ascetism is derailed by Kang Yohan and his pesky associate judge, Kim Gaon.

Counterstatement (WIP) by godotismissing

Summary:

That cliche AU where Gaon is an associate lawyer, has a one night stand and messes up big-ly.

D.A. Butler, At Your Service by kolachess

Summary:

"Butler, what’s my schedule for today?"

“You have a one-hour meeting with Mr. Yeo at nine followed by a half-hour meeting with Dr. Jang at ten. You have set a reminder to call the Doosan Group representative at ten-thirty. Gaon-juinnim has a lunch date at noon.”

Choking on the spoonful of milk and cereal that just went down, he splutters without thinking, “With who?”

“Gaon-juinnim—”

“No wait, I didn’t mean to ask that. More importantly, what does Gaon’s ‘lunch date’ have to do with me?” he asks the bot a little incredulously.

“Gaon-juinnim does not have a lunch date scheduled with you, juinnim.”

...Is this bot getting sassy with me?

-

Or, five times shipper bot gets it wrong, and one time shipper bot gets it right. Spoilers up to episode 8.

Destroy Me More by saturate

Summary:

“What kind of monster am I becoming?” Gaon asks, then, and wishes he could regret it, this becoming. He knows that Yohan is a monster, in some ways. Knows that only another monster could stand on his level, be his equal, and Gaon yearns to stand beside Yohan with an intensity that hollows him out.

Yohan’s hand on his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. Gaon shudders. Wants more. Wants everything. “It may be hard,” Yohan says, and his ears are flushed red, like something in this is getting to him, too, “but it can’t be helped.”

Don't Judge a Book by its Cover by Indelible_Faith (TheWaterGoddess)

Summary:

A simple change in interpersonal relationships and everything shifted. And mere misunderstandings simply can’t break bonds forged in adversity.

Or, in which Kim Gaon sees a very different side of Kang Yohan one time, and decides to trust a little more.

don't wake me (if you won't be there) by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

Gaon knows he’s about to have a really rough week or so when he ends up snapping at Jinjoo over something really stupid.

A rough week turns out to be much worse than that when it turns into a fever so high he can't get out of bed.

Nowhere to run except inside his head and that's where they wait.

hitobashira by dryrsheet

Summary:

Kang Yohan comes to Kim Gaon one night in his office after the events of the series, and Kim Gaon takes him home. After Gaon realizes he may have set himself up to be used once more, he struggles with finding his place in the world he's helping construct around him, his grief, his guilt, and what he truly wants.

NEW hostage by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

The weight of the blade pressed against his throat makes it difficult to breathe.

NEW Indulge Me by ChampagneSly (WIP)

Summary:

(Coffee shop AU)

In a non-dystopic world (cut the background trauma by like 50%), in which Yo Han is still a judge and still a little bit manipulative and still wants to touch Kim Ga On from the first moment they meet, but in which Kim Ga On is a barista trying to pass the bar exam and Elijah is pretending she needs help with math she could do in her sleep because all Kangs are suckers for Ga On.

Industry Baby and Montero by godotismissing

Summary

It's by complete coincidence that Yohan happens to see the file on Prosecutor Shin's table.

For a stunned moment, he stops breathing.

"What is this about?" he asks casually after he has composed himself.

"Oh, just a cut and dry case of assault and attempted murder."

mask | masked | maskless by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

Being a judge for a live court show is difficult.

First, there is the persona. Second, there is the dedicated worker. Finally, there is a poor girl from the country whose mother taught her to keep her clothes looking nice and to wash her face twice a day.

Oh Jinjoo, the Right Associate Judge, has a lot of work to do. If only the others would make it a little less…everywhere.

Once you say it out loud, it can't be undone by Ivrigasked

Summary:

Alternative title: Five times Gaon catches Yohan off guard, and the one time he sees it coming.

out, damned spot by surgicalstainless

Summary:

What is a soulmark if not a prophecy, the future foretold?

All his life, Kim Ga On had felt his soulmark steering him, pushing him into a role prewritten. What if he went off-script?

What if he met his soulmate, and just… didn’t say anything?

NEW Pretty Boys Anonymous by sisilim

Summary:

A video call with an investigator, a judge, and a crime novelist, complaining about life. And some special someones.

Or: Pretty Boys and their Morally Ambiguous (maybe) Unhinged Middle Aged Men

(The Devil Judge/Beyond Evil/Strangers from Hell crossover)

Resonance by Mangacat

Summary:

It’s always a tug of war between them, isn’t it? Always a fight, always a dance.

The give and take their very own resonance.

NEW Rumour Has It by godotismissing

Summary:

Gaon and Yohan start trending on social media much to Gaon's displeasure.

NEW sit down calmly, take a stress pill, think things over by godotismissing

Summary:

After the argument about Soohyun in episode 12, Gaon and Yohan are locked in a room together to "resolve their differences."

Snatched Up by godotismissing

Summary:

Gaon doesn't think himself as particularly unlucky. After all, lots of people experience tragedy at different points in their lives. But he doesn't think anyone can claim to have lost both their parents and their dick in the same lifetime.

or Gaon wakes up one day with a pussy

Soulgaze by TheAsexualofSpades

Summary:

Severability. In the event that any one or more of the provisions contained herein, or the application thereof in any circumstance, is held invalid, illegal or unenforceable, the validity, legality and enforceability of any such provision in every other respect and of the remaining provisions contained herein shall not be affected or impaired thereby.

When Min Jungho tells him he’s going to need to take drastic measures to stay out of Kang Yohan’s awareness, he doesn’t think he means like this. (Featuring Demon!Yohan)

Star Wars: The Chase (WIP) by ItsJaneyDanny

Summary:

(Prior knowledge of Star Wars not required)

He felt Gaon right behind him before the young Jedi drew his lightsaber, turned it on and raised it for a strike. Yohan stayed still where he was. He took a breath and felt the force all around him. He was unmoved. The boy’s blade came down and stopped next to his head. He could feel the heat of it against the side of his face and he could see it out of the corner of his vision. It was blue, befitting for such a righteous warrior of the light as he thought himself.

“If you’re going to stab someone in the back you need to be more decisive,” Yohan said softly. The first words he would use to greet his new guest.

“Draw your weapon,” Gaon declared. Yohan smirked, he knew it was that simple. The young Jedi could not kill him when he did not have his weapon in his hands. He was unarmed, so to strike him down would be to commit an act against the life of the force itself. Kim Gaon’s perfect pristine moral self assurance would be damaged if he killed Kang Yohan. It was considered one step towards becoming a Sith Lord by the Jedi.

Trust Issues by godotismissing

Summary:

Shameless, self-indulgent smut because Yohan is fucking hot and Gaon needs to be owned.

All you need to know is, there's a chair involved.

We Have Always Lived Here by godotismissing

Summary:

A modern magical AU very loosely based on Beauty & the Beast From the moment he crossed the threshold, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was like stepping into a vacuum; sound, light, life even, was dulled. Gaon pushed, felt the house shudder awake, pushing back trying to smother him, testing, squeezing.

He held firm, frowning, until the pressure gave, and slunk away, the house's curiosity sated for now. Breathing was easy again and Gaon exhaled once, satisfied, the tension seeping out of him.

"Is everything alright?" Mrs Ji asked, concerned. She stood on the base of the stairs, ignorant or unaffected.

Who Holds the Devil (WIP) by Amethystina

Summary:

Three months have passed since Yo Han's final act of revenge and Ga On is struggling. Despite his best efforts, he hasn't been able to make much progress in straightening out the chaos Yo Han left in his wake. Each day, Ga On grows more and more frustrated, trying not to feel like a complete failure.

But, even worse than that, is the loneliness. Ga On knows he only has himself to blame for the emptiness he now feels, but he also can't help but long for what he once had. Which is why he almost doesn't dare to believe it when Elijah reaches out to him after months of silence. But Ga On knows better than to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He's determined to set things right and, this time, he's not going to make the same mistakes.

What Ga On doesn't expect is just how overwhelming it will feel to suddenly have Yo Han back in his life. And that, maybe, he doesn't actually want things to return to what they used to be. Ga On wants something else entirely — something new, breathtaking, and frightening.

But oh so tempting.

And if you’re so inclined, you can also take a look at my fic How Much Do You Like Me? :) Beware of heavy angst, though!

[einsteinsugly]

2006. Whatever Tomorrow Brings.

"As George of the jungle would say, watch out for that tree."

She doesn't even know where to begin, when it comes to parallel parking. The situation seems hopelessly futile, and Dad's bad dad jokes don't help.

He laughs on his own behalf, and Leah groans. "You're not funny."

"Hey, your sister laughed."

"Out of obligation." She looks over her shoulder, at the skinny, wiry little tree. Like six feet away. "The tree looks like you."

"You're not funny, either." Now, Dad is strangely serious. Not a deadpan kind of serious, either. "And I think you should get out of the middle of the road."

"You sound like Mom." Firmly in the driver's seat, she stubbornly crosses her arms, refusing to budge. "I'm not parallel parking today."

He's a bit flabbergasted. It was the reason they went out on the road today, after all. "Why not?"

"Because." No explanation needed, she suddenly shifts gears. Literally, as she pulls to the side of the road, exasperated. "I wanna try the highway."

"Life isn't a highway, missy." He likes to sound like he's all philosophical, when in reality? He ripped it right from a stupid Rascal Flatts song. "Parallel parking is part of the test, not driving on the highway."

Leah rolls her eyes, in a way only a dramatic sixteen year old can. "Rascal Flatts suck."

He chuckles, like a snarky, know it all, middle-aged man. "I think you mean, Tom Cochrane."

"Whatever. They both suck." She sighs, wishing she could wave a magic wand. And then she'd be the best driver, ever. "I just wanna be a naturally good driver, like Jamie."

In turn, Dad is quick to toot his own horn. "And me?"

"Whatever."

After thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence, he attempts to remain positive. Kind of. "Well, you're not Betsy."

"How did she get her driver's license when she was sixteen, anyway?"

He thinks he's a wise sage, as he inevitably grins. More like, a wise ass. "Lots and lots and lots of practice."

"I need a lot less practice than her, right?"

"Only a little bit less." Now, he brings out his theoretical bargaining chips. "If you practice parallel parking for an hour, we'll get some KFC, okay?"

"I work there. You need to bribe me with something better than that." Taking advantage of his generosity, she ups the ante. Like always. "How about those black Etnies I saw at the mall..."

"Aren't those like fifty bucks?" He always turns that down. Now, they can negotiate. "You earn nine bucks an hour. So, you can get something that costs around nine bucks."

Leah stubbornly pouts. "But this is way harder than working at KFC."

Dad sighs, similarly exasperated. "Fine, twelve bucks."

"Fifteen?"

"Don't push it."

[el-michoacano]

fill him with daylight: chapter 2

READ ON AO3

Tagging @dolly-macabre, @lokisinsurrection, @seraphtrevs, @lady-writes-flanagan, @jugem13, @sword-day, @slainmanca and @cooked-out-euro-trash 🖤

.

Nacho Varga was not a weak man. He'd had no choice but to make himself strong, he'd once told Lalo. It was the only way he could survive the beatings that had come in his teenage years after he'd been caught kissing another boy behind the schoolhouse. He could have hidden his tastes, but he had never been one to hide.

He was more careful now, though. He loved only behind closed doors, never where anyone could see.

And so when Lalo got him behind closed doors, he simply couldn't resist.

They'd been at it off and on all night, Lalo pressed tight against Nacho's back, trailing kisses down his spine while Nacho shivered apart beneath him, flushed and panting and whispering Lalo's name like a prayer.

Nacho Varga was not a weak man, and breaking down his walls like this was among Lalo's favorite things to do.

It was, unfortunately, not something they could do all night. Nacho had to work in the morning, and so did Lalo, and after a quick, chilly shower, Lalo was on his way out. The sun hadn't yet risen, and it was still terribly, terribly cold. Lalo was immensely lucky it had been dry lately and he had no need to scrape frost off the Ajax's windshield. The roads were still empty, and he arrived home in Manhattan before his neighborhood was even awake. It was a wealthy neighborhood, though, and only the staff was awake before nine a.m.

Lalo's place was an apartment in one of the island's newly-sprouted skyscrapers, not far from the Washington Bridge. He lived near the top floor, and he'd decorated with leather and dark wood furniture and tile he'd had shipped all the way from México. Through his enormous windows, he could pick out his favorite places on the other side of the Harlem River. His apartment was simpler than many of the others in the building, but he liked it that way. He wasn't there all that often, anyway. He spent most of his time bouncing between his tio's restaurant and Nacho's shop, spending only a few hours a week here.

He wasn't long today, either, grabbing an hour of sleep before he dressed and headed back to the restaurant. The sun was rising over the city now, and when Lalo stepped out of his car and into the restaurant, he found it bustling, though it wouldn't open to diners for another half-hour. Tio Hector was there, as were Tuco, the twins, Carlos, and Domingo, which was normal, but why was Arturo still there? His shift would have ended two hours ago.

Tio Hector, who stood behind the long counter at the back of the room, was saying, "We're overdue for a raid."

He wasn't wrong. Just last week, another restaurant-fronted speakeasy by the name of Los Pollos Hermanos had been raided, complete with deportations. It had gotten the Chileno out of the picture, which was nice, but it seemed like there was a crackdown in the works.

"There was someone watching from outside last night," Arturo said, and all eyes landed on him. He had his arms crossed over his chest, the brim of his hat pulled down low over his hooded eyes. He looked exhausted. "I chased him down, but I lost him in one of the alleys. He's been here a few nights this week."

"They scoping us out?" Carlos asked.

"It's probably just Schrader," Lalo kicked in, and Hector paused in his cleaning of the counter to glance up at him. Lalo's opinion was worth more than anyone else's. "Ehrmantraut's getting a little old for the beat." It was a little sad, honestly. Lalo had a surprising amount of respect for the old man. Schrader was another story. He'd had his eyes on the Salamancas for years, and on Lalo in particular.

Tuco, who had his arms crossed, leaning forward and pillowing them against the counter, said, "We oughta just shoot him."

Lalo didn't necessarily disagree, but he said, "You can't just shoot a cop." There was laughter in his voice, though, and he was certain Tuco picked up on it. Hector did, too, but he was decided less amused by it.

"We could do it quietly," Marco said, and Leonel added, "Make it look like an accident."

Hector seemed to give it some thought before he shook his head. "We wait," he said. This was, of course, spoken in Spanish. His English was perfectly passable, but he only spoke it under the most dire of circumstances. It also kept the police from understanding what he was saying. Most of them had no idea what he was saying when he spoke Spanish. "If it's coming, we don't want to rush it."

He wasn't wrong. Even if he had been, no one would say so. Not to his face, at least.

He waved his hand, and the group scattered. Arturo would be heading home after his shift the previous night, with Carlos taking his place as guard for the day shift. Tuco and the twins headed toward the back of the restaurant to work in the kitchen. Domingo, the youngest and gentlest of the group, stayed in the front to wait tables. He was the only one of them who was friendly enough for it, save Lalo. Lalo, though, was the best cook of the lot, and spent most of his time in the kitchen.

Before he went, though, he gave Domingo a clap on the back. He looked like a startled fawn, his straw hat clutched in his hands. He wasn't as soft as he looked, Lalo knew. The thought of a raid was more concerning to him than it was to the others, not because he was in the country illegally, but because he was like Lalo and Nacho, and nothing scared him more than being found out. He had never even said it aloud, as far as Lalo knew, but there was a way about him that Lalo recognized. There was also the fact that he had been the boy Nacho had been caught with. Had Hector known, Domingo would have been fired on the spot.

Tuco already had the grill running when Lalo stepped back into the kitchen, grabbing an apron from the rack of them on the nearest wall and tying it around his waist. They were in charge of the savory foods, while Marco and Leonel handled the sweets.

Though he was busily warming flour and corn tortillas, Tuco asked, "You trying to get Nacho in the business?" Tuco liked Nacho, Lalo knew. Not in the same way Lalo liked him, of course, but in the way that Tuco was good at seeing the use in people. Nacho was strong, and he was stubborn, and he knew how to market himself; He could be exceedingly useful, if he wasn't so opposed to the speakeasy side of the business existing at all. "We can always use more guys."

That wasn't going to happen, and Lalo said, "Nah, he's not the cooking type." He didn't say, I don't wanna share. He didn't say, He's mine.

[joels-fave-jacket]

she's still gone

joel miller x reader

warnings: brief discription of injury, death, swearing, violence

joel hands you off to tommy after you're injured in the explosion, and nothing stays the same after that.

the sun shone in through the blinds, gently coaxing you from your sleep. as you awoke, the weight of joel's arm across your waist, and the gentle exhales of his breath on the back of your neck lulling you back to sleep. but, as the alarm starts to go off, you begrudgingly make your way out of bed, stumbling around to shut it off.

sarah whips the door open just as you manage to get the damn thing to shut off, and you smile apologetically as she glares at you, sleep still present in her eyes. "sorry, babe, your dad's limbs are too heavy," you laughed and she chuckled, sending you a mock side eye as she turns away back to her bedroom.

"mmm, mornin' sunshine," the familiar nickname rolling off his tongue still gave you butterflies, even after three years. "morning baby, happy birthday," you smiled, crawling across the bed to his open arms.

"thank you," he pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly against him. the feeling of his steady heart rate and breathing, and his body heat against your chest threatening to put you back asleep.

"as much as i'd love to go back to sleep, you've gotta get to work." you sigh, pushing yourself off his chest and pulling him by the arm up from the bed.

"nooooo," joel whined, something you'd never expect to come from a man like him.

"yes, you're gonna be late to work and sarah's gonna be late to school," you chimed, throwing a clean t-shirt at his bare chest.

"I think I'll just skip today. call sarah in sick,"

"no, come on. tommy'll drag you to work," you scolded, opening the door and welcoming the wash of cool air. you padded down the stairs, joel following suit.

"where's the pancake mix?" sarah asked as you made it into the kitchen.

you turned to him, and he sighed, throwing his head back. "dammit."

sarah's shoulders slumped slightly, but she turned to the stove anyway, the pan of oil sizzling and a carton of eggs out in front of her. "its okay, we've got eggs and sausage instead,"

you smiled at her, pulling joel to sit at the table as you moved to make him a cup of black coffee, just the way he liked it. "thank you, baby," he grumbled out, the smell of coffee making him feel a little more awake. you moved over to help sarah plate and serve the breakfast she made. you made up a plate and set it in the microwave, fully expecting tommy to come hungry.

setting the plates in front of yours and joel's spots, you sat, digging in. the door burst open, thanks to tommy's rude introduction. 'birthday pancakes?" he asked hopefully as he looked at the plates in front of the three of you.

"nope. dad forgot," sarah remarked.

"there's a plate of sausage and eggs for you in the microwave," you motioned towards it.

"thanks y/n/n,"

"mhm," you answered, mouth full. it was little moments like this, you thought as tommy set his full plate down across from sarah, that you really felt lucky. sure you weren't the richest people in town, but you lived comfortably, and with the people you loved.

"all right, we'd better get going if you wanna be on time to school today," joel remarked, setting his plate in the sink and kissing the crown of your head.

"you'll be home early?" you asked hopefully.

he frowned lightly. "nine. the latest."

"with a cake," sarah chimed in.

"yes. nine o'clock, with a cake." joel confirmed, grabbing his stuff and tommy as they headed out the door.

you had already worked your twelve hour shifts for the week, seeing as it was friday, and you were ready to clean up and get the rest of joel's gift ready. he had been eyeing a new truck for a while now, and you were finally at a place where you could get it for him. you were beyond ecstatic, and it was ready to be picked up today. you'd leave to go get it at 3, and pick up sarah along the way, where she'd have his watch fixed and packaged up.

three o'clock rolled around, and as you walked into the dealership, you ignored the weird feeling, and met the salesman in his office to sign the last of the paperwork.

"you're our last sale of the day, mrs. miller, quite frankly you're lucky to have gotten in. we're about ready to close up now." the man informed you.

"oh, well, thank you for seeing this through. my husband had been eyeing it for a while, im just glad we could finally get it for him." you smiled gratefully at the man.

he nodded, an uncomfortable look rested upon his features and you tried your best to ignore it, but the feeling in the pit of your stomach made you queasy.

driving the brand new truck out of the dealership, your mind was going haywire. everything you had been hearing recently about the outbreak made you wonder if people were just being paranoid, or maybe everything really was going to shit.

you grabbed sarah from the clock makers, and she excitedly showed you the watch. you were happy about it, and sure joel would love it, but as they boarded up the windows and door to the shop, you couldn't get that feeling out of your stomach.

"dad should be home soon, along with uncle tommy. do you think he's gonna like the new truck? or do you think it's too much? i know we've only been together three years but-"

"y/n, relax. he's going to love it. and it doesn't matter how long you've been together, you're family. we all love you."

you smiled gratefully at the teenager, as she seemed to be able to read you like an open book.

sarah and you sat on the couch, watching as the clock hit ten. "he said nine," sarah mumbled, her head dropping onto your shoulder.

"I know kiddo, but he'll be home soon."

as sarah sighed in agreement, joel pushed the door open. "hey, my two favorite girls," he let out a breath of relief.

"hi baby how was-"

"where's the cake, dad?" sarah asked.

joel's shoulders dropped. the bakery was closed. tomorrow." he promised.

she nodded, giving him a small smile to tell him it was okay.

"by the way, who's truck is outside?"

you smirked at him. "yours, baby."

he cocked his head like a confused puppy. "mine?"

"yes, yours. i know you've been wanting it, and i finally worked up enough hours that i could afford to pay it off."

joel smiled brightly at you, striding forward to pick you up and spin you around the living room. "fuck, thank you darlin'. i love you so damn much,"

you giggled as he spun you around, letting him know he deserved it. "oh, and sarah's got an even better present for you."

she handed him the box, watching as he carefully opened it. inside lay the watch he'd been meaning to fix for weeks. "i knew you wouldn't do it."

joel beamed at the two of you. "my favorite girls. i love you both so much more than you could ever know." joel gushed.

"we love you too, baby," you smiled, melting into his embrace.

sarah began to softly snore, and you motioned for joel to take her up to bed. as joel trekked up the stairs, his phone rang. “hello?”

“y/n,” tommy’s voice rang out, a sigh of relief leaving him.

“tommy, what’s the matter?”

“i’m in big trouble y/n/n.”

“hang on, tommy, what do you mean big trouble?”

“i’m at the jail. this guy wouldn’t stop.”

“okay, okay. off county nine?” joel walked down the stairs at this point, cocking his eyebrow at the worried look on your face. you pulled the phone away from you and mouthed 'tommy'. he nodded, knowing how his brother got.

“yes. can you come get me? i swear i'll make it up to you guys." he was begging at this point.

"of course, tommy. we'll be there in thirty."

joel sighed as the two of you loaded up in his truck. "i'm sorry he's doin' this, baby, i know you were excited for a night in."

"i feel bad, it's your birthday." you reminded him, settling your hand ontop of his resting on your thigh.

"ah, it's alright. i'm with the woman i love, that's all i could ask for." He looked over at you, his eyes shining with adoration.

by the time the three of you got home it was two a.m., and you had seen the shitshow of the town you came to love. speeding down the street, joel was the first to spot sarah, running out into the street, and the old lady from next door crawling after her. you watched in horror, jumping out with joel and pulling sarah as quickly as you could into the back of the truck. "it's okay baby, it's okay."

"y/n, what the hell is happening?" sarah asked, and tommy and joel's voices kept you distracted.

"i don't know. but we'll be alright." you saw joel's arm raise with the heavy tool in his hand, and held sarah's head to your chest as he swung it, killing your sweet, infected neighbor.

tommy and joel whipped open the doors, getting in and thinking of what to do as the infected filed into the street. "what are we doin' here, joel?"

"i don't know, i don't know. just drive tommy, drive!"

tommy stepped on it, and joel's hand came back behind the seat, and you held it as tightly as you could while still holding onto sarah. the truck was nearly silent as tommy drove, up until you came across your close friend's house, completely ablaze.

"fuck," you muttered, hoping they were out of town this week. joel's hand squeezed yours as the tears began to well.

sarah noticed, and squeezed your middle tighter, resting her head on your chest.

"where did this come from?" sarah asked lightly, the first words other than directions from joel to tommy.

"they're thinking the city," tommy mentioned.

"oh. they were bringing mrs. adler into the city. was it for long enough?"

"probably not," you reassured her, resting your head ontop of hers.

"we're safe, baby," joel told her.

"fuck," tommy muttered as you approached a traffic block.

"everyone had the same idea. alright, hold on, tommy, cut through the field we'll go west."

"yeah, west. west, west, west." tommy repeated to himself as he drove.

"shit, military." joel muttered.

"isn't that good?" sarah asked.

"for them, but that's the highway we're trying to get to."

"alright, head north."

"there'll be a lot of people," tommy looked at joel, but he shook his head.

"we can't go south, can't go west, can't go east. Hell else we supposed to go?"

"tommy come on!" you urged him, hoping the cops in front of you weren't going to get to you.

"fuck, where are we gonna go?" tommy asked as he drove.

"i don't know. far, as far as we can get. mexico? i don't know."

"how much gas?" you asked, scared for the answer. you hadn't filled it on the way home from the dealership.

tommy glanced down. "three quarter tank."

"Go through town, golf course by the river, straight across, we pick up the highway on the other side of the blockade…"

"then we’re out."

as the four of you approached the town, the first thing you saw was the fire. then it was the people, then the infected. chaos rang around you, and as you approached you held sarah's head in your chest. she was shaking, and you were too.

tommy slowed to a stop, seeing all the people in the street.

"what are you doing?" joel demanded.

"what the hell do you mean? the people are in the way!"

"we don't got a choice tommy-" joel was cut off by a gritty rumbling. "back! back back back back," joel yelled.

"i'm trying!"

"faster, tommy, faster!"

"i can't! there's no where to go!"

"an alley, find an alley or something,"

"the people-"

"roll over 'em, i don't care. we can't stay on this street."

"that's what i'm tryin'-"

"dad-" sarah was cut off by an explosion. a plane crashed behind you, and suddenly everything was muffled. you were upside down, and sarah was ontop of you. you groaned, feeling her start to move.

"sarah, baby, are you okay? don't move," you asked slowly, your head pounding as you felt the shattered glass digging into the skin of your head.

"yeah, just- my ankle," she cried. joel approached her side of the truck, leaning in to pull her out.

"come on, sarah, i've gotta get you out. i know it hurts, baby,"

she cried as he pulled her out. passing her off to tommy, he turned around to you holding the back of your head as you tried to sit up. he nearly vommited as he saw the chunk of glass sticking from your abdomen, and the blood and flesh pooling around it.

"y/n, sweetheart, stop moving."

"what, why? i'm fine, my head is just bleeding."

"y/n, stop. it's more than just your head."

"what? no it's not," you leaned forward, and a searing pain stabbed through your stomach, causing you to let out a shout.

joel cringed as the noise rang out. turning to tommy he yelled, "get her out! get sarah out!"

tommy nodded, turning around and getting her to a safer alley.

"alright, y/nn, you gotta breathe with me here. I'm gonna pull you out, but you can't look down."

"joel, i'm a nurse, i can handle this," you muttered, giving a passing glance to your abdomen, and getting lightheaded. it was different when it was you.

"oh fuck," you muttered, throwing your head back as joel's arms wrapped around your hips, pulling you forward through the gap in the truck.

"alright, it's okay. it's gonna be okay. we're gonna get you help."

you sighed, tilting your head back against his shoulder, the noises being drowned out as the hot, pulsating pain radiated throughout your body.

you fell limp in his arms, and joel panicked. he may not have known much about trauma injury, but he figured you should be awake. he nudged your head with his shoulder, and you groaned as you woke.

"gotta stay awake baby, gotta stay awake for me." joel muttered as he walked, hoping to find a med kit or something somewhere.

he and tommy ran into each other, and sarah was in hysterics. "joel, you gotta take her. i'll find something to help y/n, but i can't help sarah anymore,"

joel hesitated. it wasn't that he doubted his brother's ability to save you, but tommy didn't know you like joel did. he didn't know how stubborn you were, or how you got snappy when you were tired, or how independent you were, even when you were on the verge of death.

but, sarah's tears swayed him. you were grown, tommy was grown, you'd be okay. tommy would get you help and you'd find each other again in no time. you'd all be reunited and everything would be okay.

joel could not have been more wrong.

sarah was dead, but he had you and tommy still.

the three of you worked together, though it didn't feel right, and eventually, tommy couldn't take it anymore. so, he left to join a group he thought would do better than you and joel did.

in the beginning, you and joel grew apart. the tension after losing sarah was rising, and he couldn't help but blame himself. if he had left sarah with tommy, she could still be alive. and maybe you'd be the same girl he fell in love with. but he didn't, she was still gone, and you had changed. for the better or worse, he still was sure of.

[hoarderofliterature]

being indian-american and also very Gender is hilarious, a vignette

i think the easiest term for what my gender is, or sometimes isn't, is genderfluid. i don't think i've ever truly been able to understand the concept of gender, or how it's ever applied to me. but i'm not completely agender, either.

some people might argue that calling gender a performance can be a bullet in favor of bigots, who wish to treat trans people as just "disillusioned kids playing dress-up", as a teacher i once met in high school so succinctly put it. but gender is something i feel more tangibly in terms of performance, and i can't really put it in other words that make sense.

i find myself at odds with who i was, ten years ago. when gender felt like something out of my hands, an understanding waiting to be reached within my brain, hoping that one day it might solidify into something on a binary side, or at the very least, leave me with nothing at all to worry about.

(and when that didn't end up happening, a firm resolve to at least learn to deal with the constant dysphoria, await the supposedly masculine or feminine shifts in perspective the same way i anticipated and dealt with blood work results.)

i find myself at odds with that because gender to me now, and the way i feel it, is wholly performance. perspective, perception, their resulting behaviors and viewpoints, are all so fluid. and the way my gender shifts, flows into another, is still not something i am entirely in control of like the way i once wished, but something i can wield in the environment or situation in which i find myself, regardless of how it shows itself at that time.

anyway.

the way i dress most days is androgynous, so that if gender taps me on the shoulder and asks to be my skin for a few hours, i can work with it. but today was more masculine, and i was going downtown, so i decided to wear something to reflect that - an open floral shirt over a t-shirt with a golden chain, jeans, sneakers, and of course, a backwards baseball cap. which is about as southern california dude/butch of an outfit you can get without wearing swim shorts and a tank top.

and on the way back, i had to stop by an indian cultural event because a family friend was participating.

indian culture is very strict to the gender binary. this opposes some parts of vedic philosophy, in which the body is a mere shell for the soul, and so the soul is inherently without the idea or limitation of gender. it also renders gods as genderless, though we have the separation between gods and goddesses in mythology. many hindus haven't followed the true meaning of the scripture for a long time. but that's besides the point.

indian men tend to gather, standing or sitting, in groups while their wives shop, and not to talk- to steadfastly stare in opposite directions, and if they do talk, it's about politics. or the latest moon mission. indian women hover, stall to stall, either staring fearfully at their husbands or cheerfully talking with store owners, or silently comparing prices while taking stock of the different languages within nine square feet of them.

my experience of the indian american performance of gender, outside of what bollywood puts on screen, is, in a word, careful. everyone wants someone else to know, to notice, that the way they are dressed or the volume of their voice is deliberate. that the gold earrings they're wearing are 24K and they got them on their last trip to India over the summer. that they will fit in with the rest of their half of the crowd if they lower their voice, speak less, speak more, laugh louder, eat pani puri or samosas any more or less delicately than the man or woman next to them.

standards of being an indian man or woman are trained into us as young children, so that we grow up with a clear idea of what that looks like. how to dress (within american standards, but also indian standards, but also gender standards), how to talk, what topics to discuss, how to stand diminutively to avoid attracting attention, what to say to make others stay within their own gender boundaries, and let them recognize that we're doing the same.

great how that turned out, huh.

so when they're confronted with someone who doesn't fit any of those standards, who doesn't want to, who simply wants to exist in a culture that thrives on conformity and oneupmanship, they don't know what to do.

and standing with my father in this event market crowd was interesting. because i was deliberately performing masculinity in my clothing and stature, and people were thrown off. nearly every woman was in a chudidar or a dress or wearing makeup, staring at me and my long hair and my decidedly non-feminine presentation, trying to reconcile those. trying to figure out exactly why my mother let me leave the house dressed like this, because you can't escape your indian parents' clutches even as an adult. trying to know exactly what i was, failing, and turning back to the other women with one eye on the merchandise and one eye on me.

and it wasn't the fact that i wasn't in indian dress- there were plenty of people in western clothing- but rather that i stood by my father, equally silently, in a crowd of men looking like they'd rather be anywhere but there, holding on to gender not as a bargaining tool or a tenet, but as a rippling, nebulous key.