#just need to find a place in this suburban hell where i can do it without others seeing me

[pleasoflove]

love grows best in little houses — lee jeno

roommate jeno x f reader

fluff, friends to lovers, pining, close proximity … >:)

7k words

summary: love grows best in little houses with fewer walls to separate, where you eat and sleep so close together you can't help but communicate. if we had more room between us, think of all we'd miss... love grows best in houses just like this.

authors note: this silly modern all white farmhouse quote had me thinking!!!

“I’m home,” You announce quite obnoxiously, jingling your keys and shopping bags. You made sure to shake the doorknob a little before stepping in as well, doing the courtesy of warning your roommate in case he had company over. 

Instead, you find him relaxed on the couch, a knowing smile resting on his face. He gets up to help you with the grocery bags, “I could tell.” 

You give Jeno an eyeroll, hanging your keys on the little rack by the door. “I’m doing you a favor, okay? Last thing I need is to walk in on you going at it with some chick from your lab class.” 

He laughs a quick laugh, and you get lucky enough to see his eyes form into crescents before his features relax. “Don’t worry. I think I’d warn you before starting something in here.” 

“Better safe than sorry.” 

Sometimes you find yourself squinting and having quick, fleeting thoughts like maybe I should get my eyes checked, but you’re not oblivious to Lee Jeno’s looks, whose entire being seems to have been crafted by all the angels residing in the heavens themselves. All five feet and ten inches of his existence, from the little stray hair that sticks up from the rest to the bottoms of his feet; Jeno is a sight for sore eyes. 

He’s inescapable, too. Quite literally, since you live with him in something that would be flattered to be even called a shoebox of a home. 

The front door is simply the entrance to the kitchen— there is no dining room. The wall to your left side when you walk in is essentially the side of the staircase to your little loft, where your measly mattress sits on the floor. 

Beneath your loft is Jeno’s “bedroom”, where his mattress is placed directly on the floor as well. He’s got a curtain hung up to separate the joke of his room from the living room, which barely fits the couch that the two of you snagged off someone from Facebook Marketplace. 

So, yeah, your living situation is tough, except it only gets harder when the two of you share the most crucial and, possibly, most private space that anyone could ever have. 

The bathroom. 

Oh, it was tough on your heart. It still is, sometimes, though you’ve gotten better at pretending that you can’t see Jeno’s entire naked upper body when he steps out of the shower and you dash inside to finally relieve your bladder. 

It’s not ideal, you know, but it’s the best that your money (combined) can get. Before the start of your junior year, you had been in such a slump over a breakup with your ex that you slacked off hard when it came to apartment hunting. Prices had gone up tenfold by the time you started searching, and with every single day that passed, they only rose and rose, practically laughing in your face for your earlier incompetence. 

It wasn’t until you mentioned to your friend (coworker), Mark, that it had been absolute hell trying to find a place to stay. And bless his heart, that precious boy Mark Lee, as he lifted his hand to run it through his hair, only to accidentally knock off his uniform hat off his head as he exclaimed, I got you! 

That’s how you met Jeno. A friend of a coworker-turned-friend who had been sheepishly looking for a roomie to occupy that devilishly tiny space because even though it was smaller than a suburban backyard, the rent was still so high. 

Before you moved in, your automatic gameplan with any roommate was to interact as little as possible. Stay out of the kitchen if they’re in it. Watch movies in your room if the living room is occupied. Avoid being in the same space at all. Less contact with someone you barely knew meant less conflict, less tension, less worry. You just come in and out, talk about whose turn it is to buy the paper towels and stack the dishes, then move on with your life. 

Absolutely impossible with Jeno. Firstly, he’s a kind-hearted boy. Well, not a boy— he is a man. A boy-ish one with that smile he’s got, and the tenderness behind his words yet the playful venom he spits at you whenever he gets the chance. It’s hard to stay away when his personality is so well-balanced and welcoming that you can’t help but to interact. 

That, and it’s hard to avoid someone when you’re in the kitchen cleaning up and they have to walk right past you in order to leave. The first few weeks were awfully awkward; a constant cycle of oh, sorry, as the two of you tried to get past each other but couldn’t because of how close everything was together. Jeno gave up the act quickly and began to laugh softly at these little conflicts. It made you feel better, made you feel like you too could laugh at the silly reality of your situation. The apartment felt warmer. You’re unsure if it’s because it was tiny, and the heat was trapped, or because getting comfortable felt nice and it slowly transformed your place into your home. 

“Ah. Fruity Pebbles? Someone’s tending to their inner child.”

You huff, your back pressing against his as the two of you sort the new groceries into the little storage space that you have. “They were on sale. And what about it? I’m sure baby Lee enjoyed a bowl or two. Don’t mask your inner child’s excitement with learned patronization.” 

“Someone’s been reading lately,” He shoots back, and you can hear his stupid smile through his voice. “Big words for someone like you.” 

“You know what? You can forget about the pebbles. Get your own cardboard cereal.” 

“I don’t think it’ll fit in the pantry.” 

“Laundry day?”

Yes, laundry day. The most taxing and annoying chore of all. Laundry day, where you have to haul your drawstring bag of clothes down the stairs, out of the apartment and into the hallway, all the way down to the elevator. It’s a mission, it’s quite serious. 

Jeno stares up at you from the foot of the stairs, eyeing you with humor as he sees you lug around that giant sack of clothing. Oh, how helpful he is, only making you more self-aware as he stands with his fitted undershirt and notorious gray sweats. How lovely of him. 

You try coping with the close proximity by turning your attraction to him into annoyance, only your brain does this wicked thing where it gets so annoyed you cannot help but notice all the other handsome, kind, inviting things about him to get annoyed about.

You do not, by any means, have feelings for Jeno. He’s more like that hot friend that you are so sure is out of your league that you simply give up. Yes, he’s hot. Yes, you know nothing will come out of it. Yes, you are one hundred percent okay with that. It’s just difficult when he’s got a pair of eyes and you aren’t looking your best. Human nature to feel a little self conscious, you guess. 

“Let me come with,” He offers as you finally reach the bottom of the steps, mindlessly taking the lump of clothes and bringing it into his arms like it were the weight of a newborn baby. 

“Eh?”

“I will help you,” He starts again, this time speaking slowly to mock you. He’s trying to stifle a shit-eating grin from coming up on his face. He’s so unbearable that you lightly smack at his arm. 

You don’t understand why he would offer to tag along; the laundromat is one of the worst places to spend your free time at. The one you go to has a corner store right next to it, which is nice, but it feels boring again after you collect your snacks and choose a chair to sit in while you watch your clothes spin around and around. It’s even worse when the wall-mounted TVs play nothing but a loop of all the songs that reached top 10 on Billboard in 2013. 

But Jeno doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind a lot of things, you think, as you reach the building and hop out of his car. He’s got so much patience in his heart that you’re not sure what could ever bore him to death. 

The two of you pick your washers and start dumping your clothes in. It’s pretty quiet, save for the low rumbling of the other machines and Katy Perry’s Roar playing softly from the TVs. The bell on the entrance door jingles as an older lady walks in with a little boy who's got a candy bar in hand. 

When you finish loading the washer, you turn to Jeno swiftly. “Want anything from next door?”

He tilts his head, thinking. “Any sour candy.” 

While you head out on your mission to bag the snacks, Jeno picks a table by the window to sit at. He zones out, mindlessly watching the music video play out on the tv, but the sound is muffled in his ears. He's not sure if it's from his lack of focus or the overpowering sound of the machines running. 

He’s pulled out of it when the little boy speeds by. With the whole laundromat to himself, he weaves in and out of the rows like it's a maze, yet dutifully obeys his grandmother’s commands to pass him the little detergent tablets on the drying table. After he passes them to her, he starts running again. 

He’s about to pass Jeno again before he trips over his own shoelaces and tumbles down to the floor. Jeno automatically perks up, worry flashing in his eyes as he looks at the boy and then to his grandmother. Her eyes are busy on the laundry, sorting out the colors and the whites, and while Jeno is internally panicking about the wellbeing of the child, the little boy simply laughs it off and gets back up on his feet. He’s a little bashful due to having an audience, but after Jeno wordlessly sees that he’s okay, they both relax. 

The candy that he was holding had slid across the floor, so Jeno takes it upon himself to pick it up and give it back. He silently inspects it of any damage, earning a laugh from the little one as he hands it to him. 

The boy carefully unwraps it then breaks off a piece to give to Jeno. 

“Oh,” He starts immediately, taken aback. “No no, you have it.” 

The boy hums a short mm-mm while shaking his head, insisting that Jeno take it. 

With a weary smile, his big hand meets the small one in front of him and he gently takes the piece of chocolate, slow and careful in case the little boy has any doubts. 

As you’re walking back to the laundromat, you can see the entire interaction through the huge windows in the front. The look that’s on Jeno’s face as he interacts with the boy is enough to make your knees weak. It’s so soft, almost loving. 

When you step back inside, you try to be as discreet as possible, but the bell on the door alerts everyone that you’re there. The two boys look at you curiously before recognition crosses Jeno’s eyes. 

You slide him his bag of sour gummy worms, and without any hesitation, he tears the corner open and spills a few into his hand. He offers his open palm to the boy, who at this point, is giddy and glowing with this new established friendship. He happily takes the worms and nods his head very firmly, “Thank you!” 

The boy isn’t there for much longer as his grandmother finishes loading the clothing and calls him over so that they can get ready to leave. He stuffs all the worms into his mouth so that he can hold the box of detergent tablets for her. 

It isn’t long before your clothes are done in the wash so that you can dump them into the dryer. You and Jeno pass time by making fun of the music videos playing on the TVs and showing each other viral cat videos. 

If there is one thing you know about Jeno, it’s that he loves cats. He’s always making comments about them in passing, showing you cute videos, texting you that he’ll be home in 10, he’s just busy looking at the cats that are up for adoption. 

He wants one desperately, it’s just that… 

“You know there’s no room.” 

He sighs, leaning back into his chair and it squeaks. “We could, like, take it for walks to get the energy out. If anything, we can get an older, lazy cat. I think it would like the space between the window and the couch.” 

You laugh, turning your head to check the time left on the dryer. “The non-existent one?” 

He throws his head back and groans. Your eyes stay focused on the way his adam's apple bobs for a second too long. “Jeno, living in a space that small feels like a crime against myself sometimes. I would not want to put an animal through that type of pain. Hell, we’re the hamsters in the cage!” 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, giving you the stink eye, but it’s all in good fun. Deep down he knows that you’re right. 

The buzzer on the dryer goes off and catches the attention of both of you. You unload everything and dump it onto the folding table, a sigh slipping out of your mouth. 

Silently, Jeno offers to help you fold. You two split the pile of clothes in half and get to work, an awful Imagine Dragons song filling the silence. 

The entire situation isn’t quite ideal. The music is bad, the laundromat’s a little too cold, and you’d very much rather spend your time doing something else like ordering food and picking a thriller movie or challenging your roommate to a game of zombie COD. 

But that’s what life is all about, isn’t it? Doing mundane and annoying things with someone that you care about. Folding your laundry with Jeno right next to you, tackling the boring tasks in life with someone by your side. He didn’t have to come help you, but perhaps he offered because he didn’t want you to suffer by your pile of clothing alone. Yeah, that’s what it’s all about. 

It’s a little domestic. Okay, it’s painfully domestic. Everything about Jeno is- you live with him, for heaven’s sake. It’s an entire domestic fantasy playing out right before your eyes. 

At this point, you’re folding all your clothes on autopilot and you don’t even realize that the both of you are done with your piles. Jeno places every article neatly in your big drawstring bag, keeping it tidy before pulling at the string. He keeps it in his arms as he guides the both of you out to his car. 

“Let’s pick up some food, yeah? And search up some good thrillers in the car?”

Upsettingly domestic. 

When something, anything, occurs in Jeno’s life that requires him to tell another person so that he can get it off his chest, you are the first person to come to mind. How can he not think about you, when you’re the first face he sees in the morning? The one he makes dinner with, the one he discusses the houseplants with, the one he has to watch get ready in the bathroom, toothbrush in your hand as you sloppily call out to him to please remember to take out the trash. 

The two of you share a life together, you share practically everything together. Your living space, tidbits of your interactions with others, news that’s spreading around the city; your unmasked heart and soul shines through every single day. It’s so candid it could almost be romantic, yet it’s anything but that. 

Well, sometimes… 

No, Jeno doesn’t go there. But he can’t help but think… 

When something happens, you’re the person he wants to tell. The most basic and foundational characteristic of love. Sharing. It transcends the physical- of course, you do find yourselves splitting dinners and breaking the last cookie in half so that the both of you can enjoy. But it’s more than that, now. You and him break apart your own beings so that the other can understand, listen, and console. It’s love, he thinks. 

Platonic love, he quickly corrects. 

He’s been so busy thinking about it that he’s barely realized he’s been staring at the one piece of paint that’s chipping off the wall for too long. The sound of the shower water hitting the tub brings him back, and he looks to the closed bathroom door. 

He rushes to it, knuckles knocking on the wood. “Can I come in?” 

“Huh?” You practically holler. He laughs to himself, imagining your confused, scrunched up face. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Oh, yeah. Be quick because all the cold air gets in!” 

So he does just that, opening the door just a crack and trying to squeeze in his muscular form so that the air doesn’t rush in.

Jeno closes the door and leans against the bathroom counter, all the heat from the shower coddling him close. It could almost make him sleepy. 

“Taeyong wants to promote me.” 

“Huh?” You call, hands freezing in your hair as you wash it. “Are you serious? To what?” 

“Assistant Manager.” 

“Assistant Manager? Are you gonna take it?” 

“I don’t know, it’s just… I’m kind of nervous.” 

A beat of silence. He calls out your name. 

“Yeah, sorry. My face was in the water. Anyway, why? Scared an old geezer is gonna chew you out for the ‘new generation’s music’?’

He laughs. You’re lucky enough to hear it over the water. 

“It’s just a lot of responsibility, you know? Like, I’m so used to just doing what I’m told but now, it’s like, I gotta be in charge and tell the employees to get off their phones when they're on the clock. It’s betrayal, you know? How can I look Jisung in the eye and tell him that this is his first warning? I can’t do that.” 

You shut your eyes and try to stifle a laugh. It’s a laugh of endearment, though. Jeno cares so much about the people around him- even if it’s his younger coworker who works part time at the record store and barely even sees him more than three times a week. 

You shut the water off, voice clear. “Jeno. You worry a lot.” You pull back the shower curtain just a little to peek out, “Can you hand me my towel?”

He obeys, holding out the towel to the edge of the shower with his eyes closed. As soon as he feels it slip past his fingers and the sound of the shower curtain rings clink together, he opens his eyes. You’re still behind the curtain, drying off. 

“I think you should go for it. You’ll get more experience. Plus, from what you’ve told me, the record shop isn’t crazy unmanageable and unorganized. And,” You add, dragging out the ‘a’, “You’ll get a raise.” 

You’re right, he thinks, tilting his head and staring off. The shop is pretty calm, the customers are mostly older regulars and the occasional teenager in search of a Harry Styles vinyl. Plus, a raise would be nice. Really nice. 

“Did you tell Mark and Jaemin? What did they say?” 

Jeno hesitates. No, he hasn’t told them yet. You’re always the first person he wants to tell. 

“No,” He starts, honest. “I was gonna tell them right now, but I wanted to tell you first. I think I’ll follow your advice anyway.” 

Your heart stops in your chest. God, that made you feel so special. You’re at a loss for words before you feel the water drip from your hair down your back. 

“Good. Now step out ‘cuz I gotta dry off.” 

He smiles and follows your every word. He remembers not to let the cold air in, too. 

Jeno is your roommate. He is also your friend, a companion, a confidant. He’s nothing more, nothing less. 

People have eyes. They’re allowed to look. In fact, it is their god given right to let their eyes linger a little longer on someone as attractive as Lee Jeno. 

Why are you so upset? You can’t just shield him, carry a curtain around and charge a fee for people to look his way. He’s a free man. A free, good looking man. 

This party was a mistake. Watching Jeno be tonight's entertainer has planted a seed of bitterness and disappointment in your stomach that you have never felt. The bitterness is towards the situation- you’re not sure if you’re disappointed in yourself for feeling this way or for how the universe has laid out the cards. You long for something to happen. You wickedly hope for that girl to spill her drink on herself and be forced to walk away. You wickedly hope for Jeno to come to his senses and ask you if you wanna go back home and crush some random 12 year old in a shooter game. 

Come to his senses? What are you, his mentor? God forbid the man has fun for one night. He’s not even doing anything that bad. Just dancing with some girl you have never seen before, lifting his hand and caressing her jaw. He’s so unbelievable and so, so, so horrible when he gently tucks her hair behind her ear. You want to vomit. 

“You okay?” Jaemin asks, making you jump as he slips into the spot right next to you. He’s got a red cup in his hand and you hold back from snatching it and downing whatever the fuck is in it. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m kind of proud, actually. I’ve never seen Jeno interact with a woman before. Not like this, at least. I always thought he’d bring girls home every night, yet he never does.” 

Jaemin’s eyes flash with something like confusion, tenderness, sorrow. You don’t see it though, busy focused on the way Jeno leans into her and talks gently by her ear. She’s giggling and sliding her hand up his chest. You’re positive she can smell the cologne you helped him pick out earlier. 

“He’s just being courteous of you.” 

“I guess,” You say with a lazy shrug. Deep down you know you’re only trying to convince yourself that you see him and support him as a friend; strictly a friend. And you seem to play that part pretty well, because Jaemin does not question you at all. 

“I think I’m gonna head home,” You start, checking the time on your phone. Jaemin whips his head to look back at you, “Tapping out already?” 

“Yeah. I don’t really know anyone here, only came because Jeno invited me. Plus, he recently bought some new maps in COD, so, I think I wanna try those out.” 

“You sure? I think I could introduce you to someone, help you get that midterm stress off your mind.” 

You practically snort at his offer. He’s considerate, you think, but you cannot betray your own feelings. You’d be a fool to try and trick yourself into thinking a fling with some rando will make you feel better. 

Well… you’re still a fool. Yearning from afar, not doing anything about it. 

“Nah, I’m okay. Thank you, Jaem. Get home safe, okay?” 

He nods and the two of you part ways. 

You find yourself in an uber, shooting Jeno a text that says hey, i really wanna play COD so im heading home early. please be safe lol. :_)

You’re dropped off and you walk up to your apartment, trying your hardest not to wallow in your own feelings. You head straight to the bathroom to remove all your makeup and get ready for bed before pulling yourself up the stairs. 

Your mattress awaits you like it’s got its arms open. Cozy, warm, solid enough for you to cry into. 

Your home feels your pain. It’s like everything looks a little bit darker, the cream white walls seeming to be gray, the little light fixtures and hardware looking like frowny faces. The walls absorb all your feelings, reeking of longing and hope and something else that is usually paired with those two feelings. Something so captivating and large, dark and light, something so scary yet you just have to have faith in it. Something that you would rather die than confess to yourself. 

So it sits, pent up in the walls of your home. It haunts you. This stupid apartment haunts you, traces of the life you live with Jeno everywhere. You can’t hide. You can’t run to the other side of the hallway and lock yourself in the room in the very back- it’s not there. Your life and your feelings are right in front of your face, everywhere you turn, everything you touch. It stings, it burns, and god, this home will kill you. Your close and unavoidable proximity with Jeno will kill you. 

You’re so busy moping that you almost miss the sound of the door opening. It’s quiet, slow, and you bet to yourself that Jeno is trying his hardest to be kind, to not wake you up. 

You’re scared that you’ll hear the giggle of the girl, but it never comes. Just Jeno making his way around the shoebox, using the flashlight on his phone to light the way instead of switching the lights on so that he doesn’t disturb you. Curse that stupid boy. 

Jeno shuts the door to the bathroom and turns on the shower. The sound is so calming that it lulls you to sleep. 

He lets the warm water caress at his back, lets it help him relax. He replays every single thing that happened at the party. 

He regrets leaving you alone. In the back of his mind, he knew Mark and Jaemin would take good care of you, but shouldn’t he be doing that? Taking care of you. 

He’s not obligated to, of course, and he knows that if he ever mentioned that to you, you’d snicker in his face and tell him to shuddup and let loose. But he can’t. He tried and didn’t even get that far. 

Jeno got into the bedroom and onto the bed with that girl, his body slowly pushing against hers so that she could lay down. The top few buttons of his black shirt were already popped open and his mind was so foggy he almost didn’t hear his phone buzzing in his pocket. 

He felt bad, but he knew he would’ve hated himself even more if he ignored it, so he had pulled back and checked the screen. In his heart, he knew it was you. 

Luckily, you hadn’t seemed upset, but it was like guilt took him hostage as he realized you left the party without him. You got home without him, and you spent the night alone. Jeno suddenly felt so upset and so… gross. Grossed out with himself. He tossed you to the side just like that. And for what? A fling that wouldn’t fulfill his heart like you do? Yeah, no. 

“I’m sorry,” He starts, looking from his screen to the girl’s face. She’s got a look that tells him she already knows what's coming. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah,” He says automatically, then falls quiet for a beat. “Well, kind of. I have to go.” 

“It's okay,” She says gently, and it hurts even more because she's genuinely nice about it. “Get home safely. I hope everything’s alright.”

So now Jeno’s home but he’s a little too late. You’re already tucked away in bed and he wishes he would've just come back with you, play a few games and then crash. It's odd not to hear you tell him goodnight; it's become like a ritual between you two. Some nights the two of you stick together like packed sardines in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and poking fun at one another with a quiet and subtle joy in your hearts. 

Jeno’s finishes showering by the time he’s done thinking over all the details. He dries off fast, feeling slightly uncomfortable and alone. Every space in the apartment is so silent that it’s unnerving. 

Before Jeno slips past the curtain to get to his bed, he stands at the foot of the stairs, making out the shape of your sleeping form, face smushed directly in your pillow. The sight is so you that he cannot help but chuckle quietly to himself. 

He sees you there, at the top of the stairs, and for a second it feels like you're waiting for him there. Patient and resting as he navigates through how he feels before making his descent upwards. 

Quickly, he realizes he's too sleepy to be plaguing himself with these thoughts. Jeno pulls back the curtain and sinks into his bed, subconsciously falling in a position that would fit against your body so perfectly if the two of you shared a sleeping space. You feel so close and so far from him. It's the last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep. 

How do you tell someone that you want them without actually telling them? 

Your relationship with Jeno is built on something so fragile that he’s afraid to mess up, trip and let the glass shatter. You’re friends– real close friends, if he thinks about it. You share a home together that’s small enough to make him think that it certainly violates a number of human rights. You cannot go a day without seeing or speaking to each other. 

It's so sour and it's so, so sweet. Spending everyday together, reading each other, communicating in small ways that mean the most– his heart swells and gets clogged in his throat. He’s so close to you it's like your fingertips are brushing against his as you sit on opposite sides of the couch. And, if all goes well, he could unabashedly take your hand in his and spread kisses on the back of it. Even better, he could pull you right into his lap and smush at your face, kiss you there too. So many possibilities… 

Along with those possibilities comes the ones that are on the other end of the scale. He could open up (more than he already has) about his feelings and unintentionally make you uncomfortable. Oh, he would hate himself if you felt uncomfortable in your own home. Then it would really be bad, because you'd both need time and space but you practically share a goddamn bunk bed and a kitchen that feels like a toddler’s first real-life toy. It pains him more to think that you'd be unhappy than how he would feel to be rejected. 

Instead, Jeno’s feelings manifest into actions and touch. When you get up from putting on your shoes and your hair's a little astray, he’ll reach over and fix it for you, keeping his touch light and gentle. He insists on helping you button up your coats and tying a bow on the back of your dresses. When he sees that you’re especially tired, he’ll wash all the dishes even though it was your turn. Sometimes, when the apartment feels especially warm and the lighting is cozy and you feel so lethargic yet blissfully happy, you’ll tell him about your day with his thumb caressing your cheek. And sometimes, you’ll lean into the palm of his hand and he’ll keep you still. 

It’s not until the day where he finds you knocked out on the couch that you slip up. He had come home late from work, the shop buzzing with people looking for a Christmas gift for that one vinyl collector of a friend. He had told you he’d be late, but you thought you’d still have enough energy to stay up and wait for him so that the two of you could eat dinner and call it a night. 

Unfortunately, you did not have the energy. Finals had been consuming your life and now that it was finally over, you ended up knocking out on the couch like a baby, leaving the lights on and everything. Jeno smiled softly at your sleeping form, a familiar type of warmth crawling into his heart and nestling inside it. He quietly slipped off his shoes and made his way straight toward you, calling your name softly as a test. 

You didn’t wake at all. You were gone. 

It kind of makes him laugh; a laugh of adoration, not amusement. It’s one of those things that’s a little funny in its own way. 

It happens, he supposes, when your heart and life is so full of love that it has to escape somehow. In touch, in kisses, in laughter. 

For you, it escapes loud and clear- verbally. 

After Jeno decides to take a risk and lift you into his arms, you automatically curl into him, trusting him even in the depths of your sleep. He’s slow to walk up the stairs, careful to not let your head hit the wall as he makes his way upward. 

And it’s when he lays you down on your mattress tenderly, hands lightly pushing away all the hairs that fell onto your face, that you stir just a little bit. 

“Goodnight,” He whispers to you, using his body to block out the light he hadn’t turned off. A dopey little smile creeps onto your face. You’re euphorically sleepy, the feeling of slipping in and out of it feels so good. 

“Thank you,” You rasp a little, turning over. “Love you.”

Then you’re gone again, and Jeno is frozen in place at the top of the stairs, shoulders stiffening as the words swirl around in his head. 

Firstly, he’s upset he didn’t get to say it back. But the disappointment washes away quickly and he’s overcome with joy, practically buzzing as he descends down the steps to shut off all the lights and get ready for bed. He’s got a stupid smile on his face that he can’t even put away as he brushes his teeth, and if any medical professional were to see him right now, he’s surely be diagnosed with lovesickness. 

He whimsies all the way to his room, pulling back the curtain and plopping down on his bed like it’s a cloud and he’s in heaven. He falls asleep thinking of all the ways to say I love you. 

Winter break is lovely. It’s an abundance of warm drinks, wooly socks, sleeping in, and having an excuse to wear corny pajama sets. Your heart is at ease and the cold weather feels so nice when it bites at your cheeks- especially when you feel yourself grow a little warm around Jeno. 

For Jeno, it’s even better because there are a plethora of Christmas parties. 

And, usually, there’s mistletoe. 

“Alright, don’t get too excited. Close your eyes!” 

He obeys, shutting them and even bringing up his hands in front of his face so that you don’t think he’s pulling any tricks. 

You’ve got him sitting on the couch in anticipation as you dig through your shopping bags to find what’s so important. After a few moments of rustling and humming under your breath, he hears you sigh in relief. 

You hold up two sweaters in front of you, side to side. One is clearly bigger than the other. They’re thrifted and it’s very obvious that they were previously owned by elderly people; maybe they scream vintage a little too much, earth toned with eye-catching patterns like stripes and triangles running across the entire sweater. They’re only a little bit outdated, but painfully cute, and perfect for the season. 

“Okay. Open!” 

Jeno lays his eyes upon the sweaters and immediately breaks out into a smile, eyes forming crescents. Really, he doesn’t even look at them for long. His gaze lands directly on you. 

“You like ‘em?” 

“Very much,” He affirms, with his eyes still set on you. He’s not really talking about the sweaters. 

“Good! We’re wearing them at Hyuck’s party this weekend.” 

So the two of you wear the matching sweaters to Donghyuck’s party. When the both of you step in, Jaemin automatically makes a face at Jeno, an expression that silently screams Finally? but Jeno shakes his head. He doesn’t look solemn, though. In fact, his eyes are hopeful and bright as he nods his head at everything you say. 

He doesn’t budge from your side, either. 

(He wants everyone to see that you’re matching). 

It pays off because Renjun tells you both that you look like an elderly couple, to which he quickly corrects himself and says ‘duo’ instead. It’s kind of embarrassing with the way that he rushes off after, face a little red. You’re not sure if it’s because of the fact that he’s tipsy or because he’s worried he’s crossed a boundary. If anything, his comment makes you have to hold back a smile, and from the corner of your eye, you see Jeno biting at his cheek too. 

Renjun’s flushed cheeks inspire you. “You want anything to drink?” 

Jeno contemplates for a second before shaking his head, “Nah. I’ll drive us back home.” 

But he follows you to the kitchen anyways, where it’s quieter because everyone is in the living room talking over Jingle Bell Rock. You swear you can hear Donghyuck break into laughter at some point; you can already envision his happy little glowing face nuzzling up to Mark. 

Jeno leans against the doorway to the kitchen, fingers playing with the edges of his sweater as he observes you moving around to get yourself a drink. He’s thinking about a hundred things at once, and somehow, you both calm and excite him. 

You approach him, steadily holding your glass so that nothing sloshes over and spills. “You wanna try? Just a sip.”

He nods and takes it from your hand, bringing it up to his lips for a second before he evaluates the taste. You wait expectantly, and then Jeno gives you a solid nod before looking back over his shoulder and extending his arm to place your glass on the counter. When he turns back around, his hand comes up to gently rest on your arm. He very, very carefully pulls you closer. It’s gentle, slow, and so subtle you almost don’t even realize the proximity between you two getting smaller and smaller by the centimeter. “It’s pretty good.” 

“Just pretty good?” 

“Yeah,” He replies, tone so soft and far away that you immediately realize he doesn’t really care about the drink all that much. And then you realize that he’s got these beseeching love-me eyes that make your heart twist in such a pleasant way that you know you can’t escape. 

You can’t go back to how it was before. You’ll never be your old self, coexisting with Jeno in your tiny home with no care or feeling in the world towards him. You can’t go back to the days of trying to sneak past him, trying to go through the days without making eye contact and conversation. You won’t even be able to go back to the days where you merely saw him as a friend, a casual buddy that you’re glad you have a good dynamic with because you happen to share a home together. You can’t ignore how you feel, what you feel. It’s so heavy and it lingers in the air between you two now. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Look,” He nearly whispers, gesturing towards the ceiling with his chin. 

Mistletoe hangs at the doorway, green and white with a red ribbon adorning the stems. It’s so predictable and awful and overall so corny that you can’t help but laugh. Your tongue pokes at your cheek as your eyes trail from the plant back down to Jeno, who looks at you expectantly. He’s mindful enough to leave enough space for you to make a getaway if you want to. 

“Well,” You start, though it sounds more like a question, prompting Jeno to lean into you. 

He dips down and slots his lips against yours, pulling a wanton sigh out from you. You’re quick to have your hands on him, fingers tightening around the fabric of his sweater and you swear you can feel him smiling within the kiss. It’s almost enough to make you pull back so you can see the look on his face, but he holds you in place, fingers softly trailing through your hair. He hums contently, the deep sound of it making the tips of your ears warm. 

Your hands travel, sliding up his chest, and the two of you break apart before you end up devouring one another at the doorway of Donghyuck’s kitchen. 

Jeno smiles down at you as I’ll Be Home For Christmas starts playing. 

You’re a little nervous, the fear that comes with love pestering you at the back of your mind. You’re scared this’ll be a big unspeakable thing, a thing you’ll have to avoid in the house with Jeno. A thing that’ll never happen again, a thing to blame on the tiny sip of the drink he had and the consequences of spotting mistletoe. 

But Jeno’s eyes ask you to trust him, that he wants this just as much as you do. Perhaps this can be a reoccurring thing, except you don’t need mistletoe or drinks. You can do this in the comfort of your own home, when he gets home from work, after you both finish brushing your teeth, when you’re both making breakfast, or maybe in bed right after you wake up. 

You dive in again, hands sliding farther up till your fingers tousle through his hair, thumbs brushing against his ears. It tickles him a little, body reacting and caving into you a bit more, his hands cupping your cheeks. You tip your head back just the slightest and he follows, looming over you. He looms over you in a way that is so warm and loving and consuming - I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. 

Yes, he’s here. Holding you tenderly, your bodies shaped so nicely against one another at last. You’re no longer sitting on opposite ends of the couch, looking at each other from the top and bottom of the stairs, eyes lingering as soon as someone turns away. He’s touching you, and this time you don’t have to shy away or cough and he doesn’t have to play it off as a mistake, a mindless brush of skin that doesn’t mean anything. No, it means everything now. 

[sinsandsweetness]

drunk tank- part 2

cw- vulgar language, drug and alcohol use, slight angst and pining for the reader, references to sexual acts. about 2.6k words that aren’t proofread:/ sorry loves.

notes- i started writing and i don’t know what happened. hopefully you guys don’t hate it? way more plot than i intended but… much smutty goodness to come, i promise (no pun intended)

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! i live for your feedback and love hearing your opinions <3

Fuck.

You don’t even want to look around the house. You already know it’s gonna be a fucking mess. You can hear it. Feel it. Hell, you can smell it. Booze and weed and sex. Sweaty bodies packed into a 3 bedroom trailer on the wrong side of town. Coke on the bathroom counter that’ll have you wishing you’d never let Merle move in in the first place.

You stop at the end of the driveway, wondering whether you should even go in. Or if you should get back in the taxi and tell him to take you away and never come back. Go work at some diner in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. Leave everyone else behind.

But Daryl’s face flashes through your mind. You can’t do that to him. Not after all he’s been through.

Growing up with the Dixons was a bit of a challenge. Merle being well… Merle. You and Daryl always ending up in some kind of dangerous and even disturbing situation. Creeps who smelled of Jack Daniel’s, with wandering hands and no sense of personal space. Having to put on a smile for Merle who desperately needed to finish the deal before you could even think about sneaking off to the truck. You were leverage. Sometimes even Daryl. Though you knew he hated it. Fried hair, rotting teeth, meth head bitches who thought he was trash enough to stoop that low. He wasn’t. Or at least he didn’t want to be.

You should go inside and find him. Get him to drive you to Shane’s to spend the night. It’s not like you’ll get any sleep tonight with this ruckus going on. Not after the shift you just had. And you’ve learned to really love Shane’s middle class, suburban townhouse with a California king and a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. It was… different. Unfamiliar. A perfect little escape from the chaos of your typical day to day life. Of your piece of shit trailer that’s already falling apart and definitely wouldn’t pass a health inspection no matter what kind of construction worker you were to hook up with.

Besides, Shane was a good fuck. Not that that’s all that matters in a relationship. It’s not. Merle was a good fuck too. You’re not that hard to please. But Shane is sexy. Charismatic. He treats you like a Princess. And honestly… as much as Daryl makes fun of you for it… you’re starting to really like him. He pays for meals. Takes you out. Isn’t afraid to show you off or introduce you to his friends. And, the biggest part; he’s safe. Steady. A fucking cop for Christ sake. So much different than the guys you’ve been with before. You weren’t at risk of any stray needles or guns when you stayed at his place. The only gun he kept at home stayed locked up in his office and is used strictly for emergencies.

And his sheets are clean and his fridge is full and his best friend is a hunk who happens to be going through some minor marital issues that you can’t say you’re not excited about. For once in your life, things are starting to look up.

Well… not from where you’re standing. Dreading the pounding bass and music that you can already hear pouring out of the windows. Praying that Merle had the decency to lock your bedroom door, but it was unlikely. You pulled a blanket over his passed out body on the couch before you left for work, so the likelihood of him remembering what you gently whispered in his ear was extremely slim.

Be safe. Lock my door. Don’t do anything stupid.

He clearly hadn’t heard you. Or if he did, he didn’t listen. Because the sounds and smells coming from the house as you walk barefoot on the gravel with your heels in your hand are proving to be the latter.

The door is open. Coats and purses thrown about. Stares from the girl and the guy flirting away in the front entrance. Red solo cups in their hands presumably filled with whatever the cheapest keg that your ex could find at the value liquor across the diner. At least that’s what you have to assume. Cheap beer. Sticky and sweaty and- holy shit.

It’s Daryl. On the couch, with a girl.

It’s no surprise that he’s over. It’s not like he has any other place to stay.

It’s the girl on his lap that has you stopping in your tracks. Bright blonde hair and fishnets straddling his thigh. Blowing smoke onto his, thankfully, annoyed and unimpressed expression. She’s almost naked. That’s why you’re so shocked. It’s not like Daryl has ever had an issue getting with girls. But the fact that her skirt looks like a belt and there aren’t even any panties under her tights… well It’s just… a bit of an eye sore if you were honest.

He catches your gaze. The sight of you rolling your eyes at the pathetic little show in front of you. Turning down the hallway and knowing he’s probably already shoving her off and jogging to catch up right behind you. Down the hall and to your room where you’re unsurprisingly forced to kick a couple of sleeping stoners out of your bed. At least they still have their clothes on. Most of them anyway.

“Who was that?” You ask, not turning around but hearing the door latch and lock behind you. Daryl’s smokey, leather scent coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

He knows better.

“No one,” he mumbles into your neck, his breath smelling of the rum and coke he chugged and threw to the side before chasing you down the hall.

You can’t help the way you shake him off. He’s drunk for Christ’s sake. Not like he didn’t have a warm and willing body out there on the sofa. Probably desperate to get any of her slutty holes filled and fucked by your childhood best friend.

You slump down onto the bed. Unmade and definitely not from you. The thought makes you wince.

You run a hand over your face and think about the clean smell of pine sol and laundry detergent that now reminds you of the handsome, dark haired officer you’ve recently gotten to know.

Daryl sits down beside you. A nervous tic in his hands as he picks at his cuticle. Unsure of what to say or what to do. It’s not like he should feel bad. He was right, she is no one to him. He won’t even remember her name in the morning. But he still feels a twang of guilt. Wishing you hadn’t seen her string covered cunt grinding on his thigh in the middle of the living room.

“Where are the keys to the Chevy?” You ask, ending the awkward silence brewing between the two of you.

“No way.”

“I’m sober, Dare. There’s no way I can sleep here. Plus I work a double in the morning. Just hand em over.” You turn to face him. He sees the bags under your eyes and knows he should just hand them over. Let you get some beauty rest in officer Walshes big and beautiful bed. Where he’ll be sure to fuck you right tonight and make you a delicious breakfast in the morning before sending you off with a kiss and tap on your perky little ass. But that’s also exactly the reason why he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to be the one sharing your bed tonight. He wants to make you some scrambled eggs in the morning and drop you off at the diner. Him. Not some asshole cop that fucked you right in front of him at the station a month ago. Hard and fast and really fucking good. By the sounds you were making and the twisted look of pleasure written on your face, it was good. And even Daryl could see that.

“Stay here. Please.” Daryl's hand makes Its way to your thigh.

“Daryl-”

“Don’t. Don’t fuckin- don’t leave.” He’s pleading with you. Can’t stand the thought of you moaning and writhing underneath his burly competition.

“Please.” His voice cracks but you pretend not to hear.

You shake your head. You need a shot. And an Advil.

“I’ll just call Shane.” You reach for your bag, ready to wake the poor guy up to come grab you from the trailer you refuse to let him enter, let alone see. Guess you gotta deal with it tonight.

“Fine- hey-“ he reached for your bag. Stopping you from grabbing the phone you’re rummaging for. “I’ll drive you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I had one drink. Seriously. Look at me.” You do it. Maintaining the heavy eye contact that’s burning into your irises. He’s telling the truth. You can see it. The way he’s holding your leg and the expression on his face. He’s always been a terrible liar.

“Okay. Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, hushed and you know you sound like a bitch. But you’re just really fucking tired.

He pulls you by the hand the whole way out to the door. Dodging the blondie from the couch and pushing your ex out of the way when he sees you, wide eyed and calling your name. Pupils blown and clearly coked out. Part of the reason he’s your ex. Among a plethora of other reasons you’d rather not get in to.

Merle’s truck sounds like shit. Stuttering a few times before it roars to life. A weird clicking from the glove box that you’re just too tired to check out. Smokes and a used condom thrown about the passenger side floor. Unsurprising but still disgusting.

You grab your phone and send Shane a text. Making sure it’s actually ok that you do crash for the night. Not that he’d ever say no. But you want to be polite.

Mind if I swing by? A bit crowded at mine.

It only takes him a few stoplights to answer.

Of course, Princess. You need a ride?

You answer immediately. Thumbs tapping fast on the tiny little buttons of your blackberry.

Nope:) 5 mins away.

Perfect. See you soon gorgeous

You can’t help the smile creeping up on your expression. Curling on your glossy lips and catching the attention of your best friend in the drivers seat.

“Pfft-” he rolls his eyes, turning the corner a little sharper than you’d like.

“Oh, shut it.” You snap back. Daryl has never liked any of your boyfriends. You don’t blame him. Most of them were real pieces of shit. Using you for your body. Your money. Not that you had much to spare.

Merle and you never dated. Just a couple drunk hookups that you didn’t enjoy.

Daryl never liked that either. Knowing his brother had seen the most sacred parts of you. Touched you and held you and watched your eyes screw shut as you came all over his cock.

Daryl wishes he could be the only one who’s ever seen that. The only one who knows the sounds you make when you’re close and the way you’re breath hitches when he kisses that spot on your stomach. It fucking kills him. Thinking about you gripping Shane’s dark hair while he discovers that same exact same spot. Going lower and lower until you’re squirming and writhing and-

“Dare?” You repeat. Grabbing the attention of the scowling young man who’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s about to fly away from him.

“Huh?”

“You missed the turn.”

“Shit, sorry.”

He circles around and shifts into park. Right across the street. The tree in Shane’s yard blocking the light from the front porch.

“Thanks,” you say dryly while reaching for the door handle. Ready to crawl into a warm bed. One where the only sound that enters your ears is the crickets in the backyard and the soft inevitable snoring from the handsome deputy holding you nice and close.

“Wait, just-” Daryl’s hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you pack. Snaking His hand around the back of your neck and crashing his lips against yours. Leaned right over the middle console to pull you in even closer. Tongue tracing your lips and deepening the kiss. The faint taste of tobacco and the familiar warmth of his mouth clouds your judgment. Kissing him back despite your relatively steady and semi-serious fling waiting for you on the other side of the red door across the street.

You pull away, eyes still closed and resting your forehead against his.

“Dare…”

“It’s fine.” He whispers. Nose nudging your own as he connects your lips for one last kiss that lingers just a couple seconds too long. A pained, broken look in his ocean eyes passes through when you finally pull away and scowl.

“Don’t. You can’t- you don’t get to do that.”

His jaw clenches and you’re sure he wants to spit some petty ass insult at you. Years of daddy issues and unresolved anger issues catching up to him with every little argument that crosses his path. But he finds it in himself to bite it back. Well not entirely. Just… a little less vulgar.

“Wear a condom,” he sneers, pulling away and falling back against the headrest. A deep sigh leaving his lungs as he chews on the inside of his lip. Already regretting his comment both due to the sheer cruelty of it but also because of the subtle admission of jealousy that he would fucking kill to have flown right above your head. It doesn’t. But the crimson painting his cheeks tells you he really fucking wishes it would. So for his sake, you ignore it and mutter a goodbye as you hop out and shut the car door. Heels clacking on the cement while you make your way to the front porch. Duffel bag in hand and a flutter of butterflies starting to swarm around in your belly.

You don’t even have to knock before the door opens and you’re met with the scent of a musky cologne and those beautiful brown eyes looking you up and down. Plaid pajama pants and a clean black tee shirt pulling you in for a quick embrace as he eyes the old Chevy still idling across the street, Daryl inside, ensuring you actually made it into the house.

“Hey, beautiful,” Shane kisses your cheek. Eyes still fixed on the man gazing over from the tinted truck window.

With a strong, guiding palm on the small of your back, you brush past the officer and head on in. Giving him a moment to set the alarm and lock the door behind you. Oblivious of the way Shane decides to wave at Daryl. Sending him a silent thank you for dropping you off all safe and sound. And maybe a very slight reminder of what he’s about to do to you as soon as that door closes.

And though he doesn’t see it, whether it’s from the tint of the truck or the clouds blocking the moon in the middle of the night, Daryl waves back. A pained, stomach dropping, shaky little wave that he didn’t even really want to return.

Daryl drives home as it starts to rain. Windshield wipers scraping on the cracked glass in front of him as his mind wanders, thinking about how nice it would be to stay in one of the nice, picket fence, suburban homes you’ve always wanted. Thinking about you in a big backyard, sipping on some white wine with a chunky little toddler on your hip. Your husband flipping some burgers and talking to the neighbors about football or the weather or the preschool you’ve been scouting.

It hurts his heart that in his little daydream, it’s not him who’s standing there barbecuing on that deck. It’s not him making small talk with your coworkers or reaching for the babbling little kid in your arms, asking for his daddy.

It’s Shane.

And for a split second, even though it physically hurts his heart. He knows that Shane can give that to you. And that, that simple little revelation is the whole reason he knows why he needed to wave back.

-

taglist- @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @miinbun @ankhmutes @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @grimesthinker @whatthefuuuck @olive3oil @taylormarieee @virtualreader @lust4lovee @fanngirl19 @movidita @flomrpus @summergirl37 @dylanisstilladumbass @dixonslvr @aangelbabysworld

taglist form is in my pinned post- let me know if I’m missing you<3

[lizzardthing]

uhm uhh i started talking about this and then i thought about it too much so i’m writing a post now about dethklok members and their childhood trauma and what it means to me yeah ok sorry it’s long, tw for basically like everything i guess

I really like how aside from animals and forces of evil and stuff each of the boys represent a very specific kind of childhood trauma that makes fucked up adults. And it’s not super explicit in the show but yeah we get into it.

First of all, Pickles is smart. And his entire problem is he’s too damn smart for his surroundings. He’s not book smart or school smart. His family has this plan lined up for him- you go to school, you get a job, you get married etc because that’s what NORMAL people do. But he’s not normal and that makes him not good enough. He’s not an addict because he’s stupid, he’s an addict because the kind of intelligence he has isn’t valued by his family or community, he’s a middle class midwestern average looking guy. He’s supposed to follow a set of rules. Being able to play basically any instrument? That’s not a VALUABLE skill. So he drinks. Cause that’s what you do in suburban hell, when there’s nothing left to do. And in Dethklok, the reason he finds true family is because they’re the ones that tell him in their stupid way, fuck that! We think you’re fucking smart! It doesn’t matter if you’re not good enough for those normie douchebags. You’re good enough for US. Fuck those assholes. You are valuable. I think Pickles represents people that were really devalued their whole lives because they were in the wrong place, with narrow-minded people. If you’re in his shoes, you need to remember, you do have value. You just need to find the family that sees that in you. You aren’t nothing. You matter.

Toki obviously has a lot of religious trauma, but also isolation. He’s made to believe from the beginning, it’s your job to serve. You will NEVER be important. You’re a worker. You lift heavy stuff. You organize. You pray. You lay down and take it because it’s what you deserve. You aren’t god, so you don’t deserve love. You should be seen and not heard. You should be invisible. And he’s so desperate to escape it that he never really gets to be a kid. He’s just a workhorse, and being childish or having fun is something that he can only do in secret, ashamed, his personality just stuffed down as small as possible. And when he finds Dethklok, this family that bullies him, yeah, but they LAUGH while they’re doing it, and they call him lazy, but yeah, they’re lazy too, he just. Wants to be a kid again. And then after he’s kidnapped he fully regresses because that experience fully threw him back in the hole he crawled out of, unexpectedly, back to the place where he feels he should be punished just for existing. He’s a good representation of how exhausting it is to be forced to be an adult before you’re ready. How much people don’t realize they should value their freedom to just PLAY and be SILLY, because not every kid does.

Skwisgaar has a couple things going on. He doesn’t have a dad, but that’s not really the issue. He thinks it is, but really, it’s more like he’s never experienced that people can care about each other without sex being involved. That’s why sex means nothing to him. He’s an endless void of sexual dissatisfaction, because he can’t actually connect with anyone he bangs. It’s just like playing his imagined frets- just energy he needs to get out, one way or another, anxiety and anger that needs any kind of release. Skwisgaar just loves music and being able to play whatever he wants, but also, I think Dethklok are the only people he can really care about, because they’re the only people he would absolutely NEVER have sex with. He’s forced to actually value them as people. He has no choice but to connect with them. He’s pretty narcissistic too, even more than the other members, and I think a lot of that comes from not being given enough attention as a kid. He has to put himself first because even his own mom was never going to. It wouldn’t really fit with the show, but I think Skwis is a good representation of people with sexual trauma, especially people who’s trauma makes them hyper sexual instead of the reverse. And Dethklok is a good family for him because they really don’t care how much he fucks, as long as he can play. His sexual prowess has zero value to them.

Nathan’s kind of fascinating because his trauma is just. One really messed up thing that he saw happen. That’s it. But that’s REAL, like it happens to a lot of people. You just experience one thing that was really horrible and it messed you up for life. You watch one accident or one train crash and it fills your mind so much, replaying over and over, it totally consumes you. He also has visions, which I think is a good metaphor for OCD or other disorders that mostly manifest internally. I think Nathan represents everyone that’s gotten sucked into darker stuff without really understanding why. Or people who are just born with depression or anxiety and there’s no “reason” behind it. And Dethklok LOVES that darkness in him. He’s the king, baby. He releases all that darkness into his lyrics, and because he has that release, in his regular day he’s able to be somewhat normal. He has an outlet that’s actually pretty healthy.

Murderface has my favorite backstory of all the boys, because his trauma is poverty. He lives in a trailer park in New Jersey with his grandparents (great-aunt-and-uncle? i don’t remember but it doesn’t matter.) He says that his big traumatizing event was his parents murder-suicide, but that’s not really what messed him up, he was an infant. He’s messed up because of how his life played out after that, totally out of his control. He had to with his geriatric family that completely didn’t want him. He was bullied in school because his grandma didn’t do laundry. He was gross and rude, because no one taught him proper hygiene or how to talk to people. He was a little shit because everyone treated him like shit. He never had a chance. He isolated himself because it’s easier to be alone, when you’re pretending that you chose to be alone. And he’s the best in regards to his found family arc, because he hates himself so much he fully didn’t realize until the very end of the story, that’s WHY Dethklok loves him. He sucks! He’s negative and bitchy and they need that! He has a home with them. They value his grossness, his whinyness, his bad attitude, how much he just hates everything. He’s such an annoying asshole that it’s actually really nice. He has a perspective that none of them have. He SUCKS. No one else in the world sucks the way he does.

Anyway. I just. Really like them. I really like that they’re all fucking messed up weirdos that found each other and love each other only the way that people who really can’t stand each other do.

[cookstorys]

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎

___________

Character- Joe Goldberg

Show/Movie- You

Warning- Murder, mentions of murder, covering up a murder, Psycho husband, dad reader!, loosely inspired by the show Ginny and Georgia, lowkey might make this a series

Females dni

_______________

Perfect. That’s what you and Joe faked to be, just for this life. A fresh start. The perfect family, The perfect couple, the perfect dad, the perfect house, even the perfect town. Joe had worked his ass off to make it here with you and your son, Henry. He’s done things he isn’t proud of. You both have but look where it leads you. In a nice suburban neighborhood filled with rich people. You both had gotten away with so much and you could practically taste the sweet victory. Well, you almost tasted the victory.

__________________

“Have a good day champ.” Joe smiled as he ruffled Henry’s dirty blonde hair. He let out a short pout before turning around to walk toward his elementary school. Joe still couldn’t believe Henry had recently turned 4, time flew. “ It’s crazy how fast they grow huh?” There appeared a random guy that Joe definitely didn’t know. Possibly a friend of [Name]?

“Definitely, seems just like yesterday I was changing his diapers.” Joe chuckled. He didn’t want to entertain this guy but you both promised to give this new place a try, which meant sometimes entertaining randoms. “Well, he looks very well-raised. Who’s the lucky mom?” Aw, there it goes. The assumption of the other parent. Happens a lot more than you think. “Lucky father.” Joe corrected. The man sent a stern yet apologetic look. “Sorry for assuming, I just figured he was probably Guinevere Beck’s, or Candace’s, hell maybe Love Quinn’s. Who knows with your past.” He stated nonchalantly.

Hearing those names made Joe’s blood go cold. Who was the random man and what was he planning? The unwanted memories started to flood in and Joe couldn’t take it. “I’m sorry but you must have the wrong guy. I have no idea who any of those people are whatsoever. Now if you don’t mind, I have some cookies to buy.” Joe left without saying a word.

He slammed the door to his newly owned SUV. He thought he covered his tracks so well. Sure, there were a few bumps in the road, some bigger than others, but he always cleaned up well. So he thought at least. The car began to shrink into itself as Joe struggled to take his belt off. The smaller the car got, the more squished he was within the car. Until a notification pinged on his phone…than the allusion suddenly stops. It took a while for Joe to recover but when he did he checked his phone he saw that his husband had called and message him multiple times.

[Desired Contact name]

[name] - Did you drop Henry off yet?

[name] - Where are the cookies?

[name] - I need those cookies for the neighbor’s party

[name] - Joe?

[name] - Are you ok?

[name] - Text back as soon as you can

Joe mentally screamed at himself in the mirror knowing he was going to get his head yelled off when he gets home. He sent a quick text back and then started the car. He’s fucked.

__________________

Joe pulled into his new driveway in a hurry. He rushed towards the trunk to get the bags, got his keys, and ran to unlock his door. After putting down the bags of groceries he yelled throughout the empty house, “[Name]?”. “Upstairs!” Is what he was met with. Before he could even open the door fully he was immediately bombarded by your mess. “Where were you? You know what that doesn’t matter right now. Did you get the cookies? What are you wearing? What took you so long? Should we match? Did you find a job yet? How was Henry's drop off? Did he cry?” You continued your pacing around the room while doing random tasks still waiting for joes answers.

“I went to our local Walmart. I did indeed get the cookies. I’m wearing what I got on now. The lines and traffic were a lot longer than usual today. No, couples that match publicly are weird. I, unfortunately, have not. The drop-off was amazing, Henry took it like a champ. And no he did not but,” Joe dragged as he reached out for your hips to stop your pacing and for you to focus on him “You need to stop for a minute and breath.” He chuckled and you followed along. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve been a mess recently.” You laughed. Joe's smile slowly started to fade.

“Speaking of mess..” Joe sat on the bed ready to take whatever reaction. “Mhm.” You questioned slowly and suspiciously. “Well, this man walked up to me today, and… he knew about my past.” Joe finished. [Name] gave him a blank stare at first then bust out laughing. “Joe anyone can know anyone’s past just by a simple Google search.” You rolled your eyes and walked down the stairs. You were one of the few that knew your husband's past and a normal person would’ve been worried for the sake of your family, but you were far from normal. The family you come to practically foreshadowed your future. So it wasn’t surprising that you ended up with a serial killer.

“[Name] he shouldn’t have been able to find me unless he’s been looking for a while.” You wished he would just drop this already, it was honestly ridiculous. “Listen, Joe,” You inhaled loudly out of frustration. “We have this nice house, great cars, and a wonderful family. We built this perfect life from the ground up and you’re over here stressing about some wack job that knows a little bit about you.” Joe’s eyes found their way toward the ground. “Let’s just go to the party and worry about this later. As in tomorrow.” You reasoned and Joe shook his head yes at that idea.

You grabbed the cookies and neatly placed them in a layout tray as if you did them yourself. The walk over to the house party was quiet. Thank god it was just next door. Joe went to knock on the door lightly and waited for someone’s arrival on the other side. When someone finally did both of your mouths immediately dropped for different reasons, however. Your mouth dropped since the man that stood before you was one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life. You couldn’t tell if that was a bruise or a birthmark on his eyebrow but what does it matter? He was still hot both ways. Joe's mouth was wide open because this was the exact man from earlier today and after a glance at your facial expression he knew this mysterious man was going to be a problem. A problem for the life you built here, a problem for the things Joe had done in the past, a problem for you.

“Hi, I’m Elliot.”

[ink-flavored]

Writerly Questionnaire

Taking advantage of the open tag @vacantgodling offered, thanks !!

Tagging everyone ahead of time because this is long: @foxys-fantasy-tales @noblebs @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @damageinkorporated @srjacksin @wyked-ao3 @duelistkingdom @void-botanist @ink-enchanted @sigridhawke and anyone else who feels like it!

About Me

When did you first start writing?

I’ve been doing some form of writing for basically my whole life. I kept approximately one hundred journals as a child, I would tell improvised stories to my younger sibling, I wrote my first fanfiction in an email when I was like 12. I don’t really think there was ever a time in my life when I wasn’t crafting some kind of story, or creating some kind of art.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

I’ve been reading a lot more non-fiction these days than anything else, so I guess in that sense not really (unless you count poetry as non-fiction, in which case eeehhhhh it depends). When I do go for fiction, it tends to be fantasy, sci-fi, a smattering of contemporary fiction, and softball horror like House of Leaves or the Welcome to Nigh Vale novels. I definitely write mostly fantasy, I’m more of a dabbler in sci-fi, I usually only write contemporary fiction if it’s romantic or urban fantasy or both. I don’t really write horror, nor do I read much of it, so that tracks!!

I used to read a lot more romance novels than I currently do, and I’ve been meaning to pick that habit back up. Also erotica, since those are the two genres I’m currently writing the most these days.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Emulate, not really. I do take several truckloads of inspiration from Christopher Paolini, though. Reading The Inheritance Cycle over and over again is basically why I know how to write at all—it’s what taught me about formatting dialogue and paragraph breaks. Emulating his style is how I got started writing, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I ever got called out on it in the future. Especially in some of my high fantasy writing, it’s only a matter of time.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

I got a laptop desk this past Christmas, so I do most of my writing on the couch now! I sit with my tiny Windows Surface Pro and clack away with a cup of tea or a snack. Until the battery dies on this poor thing, and then I go back to my desk.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Extremely detailed daydreaming while my brain is melting at work. Usually if I do that long enough, I’ll have to write the scenes in my head before they start leaking out of my ears. Failing that, though, I’ve found that you can’t force it. If I can’t write today, I can’t write today. When that happens, I try to read something instead.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Probably! I don’t tend to write about suburban America specifically because it’s where I grew up and I think it’s boring as hell. My dad was a huge fantasy buff and is basically 60% of the reason why I’m like this, so that checks out.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Opposites Attract is a big one, and it surprised me a little when I noticed it, but not that much. I think it’s compelling when people from completely different backgrounds are forced to find a common cause. And maybe kiiiiiss? 😳

Redemption, I guess? I write a lot about the idea that nobody is unforgivable. You can grow and change and become a better person no matter how shitty you used to be, and you don’t need anyone else’s approval to become that better person/forgive yourself/etc. It’s not surprising to me at all, because it’s one of my most deeply held beliefs in real life.

Struggling With Religion/Religious Identity. This one is because of my issues 👍

Way more under the cut!

About My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

Saying it’s Pride feels predictable, but yeah, it’s Pride. He’s my current brainworm.

I created Pride in a way that’s much more intentional than most of my other characters, which means there is far too much I can say about him. I invented him from the bottom-up instead of from the top-down, if that makes sense.

The transgender/demon metaphor is obvious I think—the whole of his arc is that he needs to learn to forgive himself to heal instead of wallowing in his pain, and he gets to craft a version of himself he loves, with people he loves, and no longer needs approval from the God that cast him out. Deeply metaphorical there, but when I was creating him, I was also struggling with gender issues in real life! I was living in Florida at the time, had no idea if I would be able to get HRT, I didn’t even know if I wanted HRT in the first place because I was nervous about the changes and if I would even like them. I really did craft Pride as a sort of… subconscious test-drive. He’s very much a Gender Envy Projection on my part, but I didn’t realize that until I thought about it later. I made a guy who looks the way I’m nervous about looking, and it turns out people still love him, and he loves himself too. Crazy how I’m on T now.

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

I really want to be friends with Hayden, because he has 5 pet dragons and I desperately need to know someone who has 5 pet dragons. Also, he’s a nice guy! I’m sure he’d also be happy to have another friend who’s 1) willing to believe that dragons exist and 2) willing to help out with the 5 baby dragons in his small Chicago apartment.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Honesty. She is the exact kind of old white lady who needs to get a grip that I dread interacting with and am not excited to see at my cousin’s wedding next month. Anyway,

Tell me about the process of coming up with one, all, or any of your characters.

Every character that spawns from my brain got there in a different way. Sometimes they come to me in dreams, sometimes I make them up on purpose, sometimes they just show up one day and are like, “Hi, I represent something about your subconscious you won’t realize for a few months,” and I go, “Sure, whatever you say, little buddy.”

Most of the time I have a silhouette or a role in the story that needs to be filled by someone with [x] personality trait, and then craft them around those details. Like, in Pride’s case I needed him to make a human friend, but it would also have to be someone he would respect enough to be friends with. Boom, Olivia was born, the exact kind of person who would never take Pride’s bullshit lying down, but is understanding enough that he doesn’t just hate her right off the bat. I made her trans because it gives them something to connect over besides his Issues, and then from her I crafted the rest of his friends to balance out his inner circle. Most of the time it’s very “domino effect,” where I decide one thing, and the rest just happens, as if it had always been that way.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

The Struggling With Religion of it all, surely. Most of them are striving to do good for others, or to become better people, whether they know it or not. A lot of them are emotionally suppressed in some way, which probably means nothing.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc)

Well, one of my girlfriends (@/auroblaze) is a gem and an artist who just draws my OCs for me, because she is the best. Even if she hasn’t drawn whatever character I’m thinking about, I picture them either in her style or as close to real life human people as my brain can conjure.

About My Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

Honestly, because I have never been able to imagine myself doing anything else. It is so hard to picture Future Me doing anything except writing. That’s the one thing about myself I know will remain constant, from now until I’m in the ground. I will write. I must write.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

I am a huge fan of when people spot my literary devices. The people who pick out the foreshadowing or metaphors or symbolism or intentional repetition, those are my favorites. Like, yes!! I put those there for you to find!! Someone found them, awesome!!!!!

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it. I just want to inspire people. The highest honor I can think of is being called “the author who got me into writing.”

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Prose! Description! Love that shit! And character writing, I think I’m good at writing dynamics between characters and I can build a damn good character arc.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

People have often told me that my work makes them feel very intense emotions (crying, intense rage, laughing embarrassingly loud in public, etc.) so I would say, according to my readers, I am an “affecting” writer. I can Getcha.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

After most of my life and a degree, I am confident that I’m a good writer. I’m not a genius or anything, but I’ve been doing this too long to think I’m bad. I know what a compelling story needs, I’ve developed my writer’s voice, I have a good grasp on how to put all the pieces together to create a solid piece of work. I think at worst, I am competent but over-confident in how clean my first drafts are. At best... I'm fuckin’ epic babey 😎

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Well, all the ancient files on my flash drive certainly aren’t being seen by anyone now! I think I would probably be less motivated to write, but I don’t think I could ever completely stop myself from telling stories. Even just to myself.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

Ehhh, I try to write mainly for myself. I don’t think it’s practical to be chasing trends or what you think people will like. Audiences are fickle, they hop from one thing to the next all the time, and often don’t know what they want until they have it.

I have the outlook that, “If I enjoy writing it, someone will enjoy reading it.” There’s no point in writing something I hate, or even just think is kinda boring, because a lot of people can tell when you’re not invested in the story you’re telling. It’s hard to hide contempt in something as personal as art. I do, ultimately, want people to like the things I write, but my priority is making sure I like it too. There’s no point in writing it if I don’t want to be there.

[oddballwriter]

Vintage Cooking

Summary: You and Marc decide to make a vintage meal from the 60s for fun because it looked awful. Turns out it is awful and making jokes is the only way to get through it. 

Warnings: Jokes about being a miserable housewife and mentions of the '60s drugs era, all of these of course being jokes. Gender-neutral reader. 

Author’s Snip: I got this idea from watching this video with Tyler Williams and Safiya Nygaard where they make this abomination of food and just thought "That's great, I'm using that for something.".

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 602

Marc looked down at the array of ingredients on the counter. They seemed like something for a simple normal dish until his eyes landed on the box of jello powder in the collection that made him cringe with regret for what you and him are about to make.

"What the hell are we doing?" he pondered to himself out loud. "We're cooking like it's 1960, Marc." you laughed. Marc looked over at the reference image that you had on your phone, seeing it in all its should-have-stayed-in-its-era disgrace. "And why are we making this?" he asked like he wasn't originally on board with making it for kicks. "Because it looked disgusting and we both agreed that it would be funny to make it and try to eat it." you explained in a polite matter-of-fact voice as you pulled up the recipe and instructions, first of which being making a boiled chicken broth to make into jello.

After being assaulted with the smell of the broth after boiling as instructed straining the water into a bowl, and setting the chicken aside, you gave Marc the honor of making the jello part.

"What were these people on?" Marc mutters under his breath as a stirs the pot with a whisk. "I want to say drugs but that was the mid-60s. This was made in 1962." you mention, "Suburban nonsense." you settle on using as an explanation. "This is just complete suburban nonsense." you say. Marc laughs, "Suburban fuckery, you mean." he says.

As Marc kept whisking in the pot, he speaks again, "There had to be some housewife back then who was wondering how the hell someone comes up with this.".

"I think they were all too fucked up on wine to care." you joke. "I think you need to be fucked up on alcohol to do this without regretting your life choices." Marc comments back.

After having banter about the lives of people in the 60's, and making the chicken broth into a chicken stoke, it was time to build up the actual forming of this awful dish. You both place the pieces of veggies and other things into their assigned layers laughing about having a weird desire to get the placements right and not have the pour of jello ruin it.

After a few hours of layering, pouring, and repeating till the pan was filled, it was time to release your vintage abomination and take a slice. "I'm regretting everything." you laugh nervously as you cut into the gelatinous creation. "This is a bonding experience but in a we-are-both-regretting-this way." Marc said.

"Okay," you say as you set the two plates down with their slices, "Do you want to feed them to each other all cliché newly-weds style?" you ask. "I would love nothing more." Marc says as he cuts a piece from the slice and you mirror him.

Finally tasting it was truly something. You chewed it for a bit before abruptly stopping and just letting it sit in your mouth because you didn't know how to react. Meanwhile, Marc kept chewing it, but still looked displeased with the end result. After swallowing he looked at you, finding that you took the trash can and spat into it.

You both stood there in silence before smiling then grew into laughing.

"That was the worst," Marc said. "If I were a husband coming back from a long day of work and you made that shit I would have just left." Marc joked through his laughing. "Maybe they were on something more early on in the 60's after all." you joked as well.

[vagabond-umlaut]

Heyyy Kit 💗💗 Congrats again on your milestone 💗💐I would love to join your event please! My fave is Sukuna ;) And I adore about our ship that we are each other’s safe space where we can let ourselves fall because we know we will catch each other 😭💗 I love that Sukuna, who is usually so tough, shows me a softer side of himself that no one else is allowed to see. That we can laugh so much together and just enjoy being around each other. And that he helps me be less anxious and do more fun things because I know I will always have him by my side to protect me. I always think of us as one of those "it’s us against the world" couples. I need him and he needs me and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about us. At the end of the day all that matters is that we have each other 😭💗

I am so excited to see what you come up with for Kuna and me!! Thank you so much for doing this cute event 💗💗 I love youuuu 😘

tyyy for the wishes, winter my loveee 🥰🥰 and ofc, u may join the event! and, ofccc, sukuna is ur fave, baby 🤭🤭 UR SHIP W SUKUNA IS SIMPLY SO SWEET & SO VERY COMFORTING, BABE 🥹🥹🥹 the "it's us against the world" part is so precious... i'm cradling u both in my palms, and leaving a sweet little kiss to both of ur foreheads... U TWO DESERVE THE WORLD 😭😭😭❤️❤️ @yuujispinkhair

AU for winter x sukuna: bounty hunter AU where you are the bounty hunter and sukuna is the infamous dacoit, responsible for robbing the rich of millions worth in notes and precious gems and priceless antiques— honestly?? it is the kind of mission, you can do half-awake, in the midst of battling a very terrible hangover— but something tells you, this mission of capturing one ryomen sukuna will be different— the difference hitting you in the face when you walk into the slums he is supposed to be living in as per your research. and find the opposite of the word 'slum' there— it seems more like a pretty posh, pretty well maintained suburban middle-class locality... you know damn well the government doesn't even know the whereabouts of a remote place as this, so of-fkn-course, it wouldn't have done these developments... if that is the case, then the money for all these must have... you don't get to finish your thought process, however— being simply plumelled to the ground by the difference you never could have seen, not even in your wildest dreams: as you pick the locks to your target's house and step into it... fingers ready on the gun. ready to arest him— only to see the big bad scary [self-named] 'king of curses' shouting in pain with a crying toddler in one arm, who is crying just as noisily, his chubby little hands determined to rip out the man's hair— while their entire kitchen is rapidly being obscured in smoke and the awful smell of burnt eggs and pancakes... your research has never been wrong before, but seeing this scene in front of you... "just who the hell are you, ryomen sukuna?"

share w me facts you love abt your selfship and i'll assign you & your fave(s) an AU (closed now)

[chicgeekgirl89]

Happy Campers

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Paul Strickland, Judd Ryder, Mateo Chavez

Rating: T

Summary: When the boys of the 126 decide to spend a weekend camping in the wilderness they're sure they are well prepared for any challenges they might face. Three firefighters, a paramedic, and a cop. What could possibly go wrong?

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt: Poison/Venom

Read on AO3

“Hey! Mateo! D’you put the blue cooler in here?” Judd yelled, eyeing the back of the SUV.

“Yeah, that’s what you said to do,” Mateo said, popping his head up from the bag of fishing gear he was arranging. 

“Yeah, I know what I said, but you gotta put a towel down or something first in case it leaks,” Judd said, pulling it back out again and reaching for a spare beach towel. “See? Keeps it from ruining the floor mats.”

“I thought the point of floor mats was to keep the floor clean,” Mateo said. “What’s the point of covering up the covering?”

“Dude’s got a point,” Paul said, bringing his duffle and fishing rod over. “Where does it end?”

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is, Grace very graciously offered up her car for the weekend so we could all drive together and we need to be respectful,” Judd said, carefully placing Pauls’ duffle alongside the cooler.

“So she doesn’t murder you?” Mateo asked.

Judd nodded. “Exactly.”

“Seems like a good choice then,” Carlos said, handing Judd one of the tent kits so he could continue his game of car packing Jenga. 

This camping trip had been an offhand idea at the bar one night and steadily gained steam as they all managed to find time off to get them an extended weekend out in the wilderness. They had prepped and planed for weeks and they were all excited to hike and fish and sleep out under the stars. 

“Whoa, whoa whoa,” Judd said, holding out a hand as T.K. started to climb in. “You ain’t bringing coffee in this car.”

T.K. looked down at the travel mug in his hand. “It’s herbal tea.”

“Water only. No snacks,” Judd warned them all.

“No snacks?!” Mateo cried “What’s the point of even going if we can’t have road snacks?”

“Listen, unless you’re going to pay for the detailing, nobody is eatin’ or drinkin’ anything other than clear liquids in this car,” Judd said firmly.

“Judd, let the man have his tea,” Grace said as she came out the front door, work bag in hand. “Lord knows he’s gonna need some sustenance for this weekend.”

“I keep telling you we’re gonna be fine,” Judd insisted.

“Mhmm,” Grace said. “So, no ladies this trip?”

“We asked,” Mateo said with a shrug. “They all said ‘hell no.’ I think has to do with the bugs and the dirt.”

“Yeah judging by the character of your ladies, I’m gonna guess it was less about that and more about them not wanting to be around you fools in the wilderness,” Grace said knowingly. “Carlos, you’re going to keep these boys in check the next couple of days, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Carlos said. “I’ll make sure they get home safe.”

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Paul said closing the trunk of the SUV. “We know exactly what we’re doing.”

“Uh huh,” Grace said skeptically. “Forgive me if don’t think a bunch of city boys can handle themselves in the wilderness.”

“Hey,” T.K. said, “I spent six summers at camp.”

“And some of us ain’t city boys,” Judd said.

“Oh, baby, I know you think you are Bear Grylls, but you grew up in a suburban neighborhood with a white picket fence just like the rest of us. Just cuz you’ve lived in Texas your whole life doesn’t make you a country boy,” Grace said, patting his chest and giving him a peck on the lips. “Ya’ll be safe now, I’m serious.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Paul assured her. “It’s a state park, there will be plenty of other people around. Safe as can be.”

“It better be,” Grace said as she gave them a wave and hopped into Judd’s truck to head to work.

“All right, let’s load up,” Judd ordered. “If we’re gonna make camp before nightfall we need to get a move on.”

“Shotgun!” Mateo yelled, barreling through them all to get to the front seat.

Even with the extra space of the SUV they were a little cramped. Carlos had volunteered for the middle seat and T.K. and Paul were squished in on either side of him, their knees all knocking around as they tried to find a comfortable position.

Carlos ended up pressing his thigh firmly against T.K.’s in an effort to give Paul a little more personal space, but from the look on his boyfriend’s face, he didn’t seem to mind. 

“Should we be offended that your wife thinks we’re not going to survive?” Paul asked as they pulled out of the driveway.

“Nah,” Judd said. “She just underestimates our wilderness skills.”

Personally Carlos was also dubious about their collective wilderness skills. He and Judd had both spent time on family ranches growing up, but the rest of the group were full blown city boys. None of them were truly outdoorsmen in any sense of the word. But the park was well known and they weren’t planning to camp in a particularly remote area. They had a first aid kit and nearly thirty years of first responder training if you added them all together. Nevertheless, Carlos couldn’t help but feel like they might end up calling it quits early.

Despite his trepidation he was looking forward to the weekend. He and T.K. hadn’t seen much of each other lately, work had been crazy for both of them, and his dad had sprained an ankle, so he’d been spending extra time helping out at his parents’ house. It would be nice to have some time together, even if their friends were around too.

“Anybody want jerky?” Mateo pulled a bag out of his backpack, wiggling it back and forth. 

Judd glared at him. “What did I say about snacks in the car?”

“Jerky’s not a snack, it’s sustenance,” Mateo told him calmly, offering the bag to the backseat. 

Paul eyed it warily. “I’m good.”

“T.K.?” 

“Not sure it goes with my tea,” T.K. told him, holding up his mug.

Mateo looked expectantly at Carlos who dutifully reached in and took a piece. He took a bite and immediately regretted it. The thing tasted like dog food, and he had an immediate urges to spit it out, but he forced himself to chew instead. “What do you think?” Mateo asked. “Made it myself. Learned how on TikTok.”

Carlos swallowed. “It’s uh, an interesting flavor.”

Mateo smiled and took a big bite of his own piece. “It’s my proprietary spice blend.”

“Well it smells like ass, so close it back up,” Judd told him as he pulled onto the highway.

“Our friends are fun, aren’t they?” T.K. asked with a smile.

“Pretty sure they were your friends first,” Carlos teased, stealing a sip of T.K.’s tea to try and rid his mouth of the jerky flavor.

“And now we’re family, so you’re stuck with us,” Paul told him with a grin.

Lots of teasing, a few arguments about music choices, and one bathroom stop later they arrived at Bastrop State Park. Judd insisted on parking as far away from everyone else as possible to try and spare Grace any dings or scratches, which resulted in an extra long hike to their campsite with all their gear.

“Nuh uh,” Paul said as Carlos began setting up the tent he’d brought himself and T.K. “You put that tent on the far side of this clearing. We don’t want to hear any shenanigans ya’ll get up to tonight.”

Carlos felt his face flame but tried to laugh it off. “Paul, we’re out in the wilderness and we just spent an hour dragging all this gear in here. I don’t think anybody is going to be up for anything tonight except going to sleep.”

Paul paused putting up his own tent and put his hands on his hips. “I’ve only known T.K. for about five minutes longer than you’ve known him, but the dude is definitely always ‘up’ for you.”

Carlos had thought his face was red already but now it felt like the surface of the sun. “I—“

“Hey babe.” T.K. appeared, his hand immediately going Carlos’ shoulder. “Did we bring sunscreen?”

“Yeah it’s in my backpack,” Carlos told him. 

“Oh, great,” T.K. said, leaning in and capturing his lips in something that was far more than a polite peck and definitely not quite appropriate for the company they were in. T.K.’s smirk was at a ten when he pulled back. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said, his head a little fuzzy as T.K. went in search of the backpack. His eyes found Paul, who sent him an I-told-you-so look. Carlos swallowed and reached for the tent poles. “I’ll just…”

“Mmhmm,” Paul smiled and pointed. “All the way over there.”

The got the tents up and the campsite settled as darkness began to fall. Mateo had started a fire; it turned out the two years of boy scouts he’d participated in during middle school were handy for something after all. 

Dinner was courtesy of Grace, packets of meat and cheese and vegetables wrapped in tin foil and cooked in the fire. Paul and Judd were busy wrangling some sticks to roast marshmallows and T.K. was cuddled into Carlos’ side, a blanket wrapped around them both to ward off the chill of the night air. 

“I am not singin’ Kumbaya with you,” Judd said as Mateo mentioned it for the third or fourth time, clearly trying to get a rise out of him.

“Just one round,” Mateo said. “It’ll be a bonding activity.”

“I’m about as bonded to you as i want to be,” Judd told him. “Now take this stick and start on some marshmallows.” 

Before long s’mores were in production and they were swapping tales of their most ridiculous calls, each more wild than the last. 

“Bees?” Paul asked incredulously as Carlos finished up a story he would never have believed if he hadn’t seen it himself.

“Bees,” Carlos confirmed. “It was terrible.”

“I once had a teenager who tried to deep fry his hand,” T.K. told them.

“His hand?” Mateo asked in horror. “I mean I did some stupid stuff back in the day, but nothing that stupid.”

“It was very stupid,” T.K. said. “Kind of put me off corn dogs permanently.”

“Yeah I can see that,” Judd said, pulling another gooey marshmallow off his stick.

“I had to save an alligator from a four story walk up,” Paul told them.

That got everyone’s attention. “An alligator? In Chicago?” Mateo asked incredulously.

“Illegal pets are big business,” Carlos said knowledgeably. “Is that what happened?”

“Yep,” Paul said. “Building was on fire and the dude refused to leave unless we took the ‘gator with us. Called her ‘Cookie.’”

Judd shook his head as they all laughed. “Some people are just plumb crazy. Ain’t a thing you can do about it.” He checked his watch and got to his feet. “All right boys, time to turn in,” he said. “Fish are gonna be up early. And I would like to take this time to remind everyone that these tents are thin and nobody should do anything that’s going to cause anyone to feel uncomfortable in the morning.”

Carlos was completely mortified, but T.K. grinned. “They make headphones for a reason Judd,” he said cheekily.

“Mhmm,” Judd rolled his eyes and zipped himself into his tent, Mateo and Paul following suit.

“What do you tell them about our sex life?” Carlos asked, infusing his tone with some heat.

“Nothing,” T.K. said as he zipped up their tent. “Well, nothing explicit. What they make up in their own minds is totally on them.”

“Right, the fact that you’re King of Innuendo has nothing to do with it,” Carlos said with a roll of his eyes as he stripped off his pants.

He was busy unzipping his sleeping bag when T.K. tackled him, lips tasting like campfire smoke and marshmallow. It was sweet and warm and Carlos let himself get lost in it. It had been so long since they’d had time together where one of them wasn’t completely exhausted or trying to catch up on things around the condo. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed his boyfriend until this moment.

When T.K.’s hands began to wander Carlos reluctantly broke it off. “Babe we can’t,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. 

“Why not?” T.K. asked, a pout on his face. “It’s been so long, we’re finally alone…” He smirked as his fingers found a very particular spot and Carlos’ breath caught. “And you clearly want to.”

“Everyone will hear,” Carlos managed. “You can’t be quiet.”

“I can’t,” T.K. grinned wickedly. “But you can.”

It turned out Paul had been right. T.K. was always up for Carlos.

XXX

Despite his late night Carlos was the first one up in the morning. The sun hadn’t even risen yet as he crept out of the tent and got the fire started for coffee. It seemed like kind of a waste since they’d have to put it out again before they left, but he knew his night owl of a boyfriend wasn’t going anywhere without it. And he didn’t think anyone else would mind either.

Judd appeared after a few minutes, giving Carlos an appreciative nod as he poured him a cup. He could hear Mateo and Paul stirring as he filled a mug with creamer and just a little bit of sweetener and let himself back into his own tent. 

T.K. was still completely sacked out, an arm thrown over his face, mouth open, ever a chaotic sleeper.

“Hey,” Carlos said softly, giving him a little nudge as he carefully sat down next to him, somehow managing not to spill coffee from either cup. “Time to wake up.”

T.K. let out a groan. “S’too early.”

“Yeah, this is when the fish are out. Come on, everybody else is already getting ready.”

T.K. managed to open an eye and looked up at him. “Let’s just stay here. We’ll be all alone, we can finish what we started last night.”

Carlos shook his head, an amused smile on his lips. “We could. And I would love to. But Judd is really looking forward to showing us all how to fish. It would hurt his feelings.”

“What about my feelings?”

“Your feelings will still be there when we’re actually alone,” Carlos told him. “Come on. Coffee. You’ll feel better.”

It took a lot of cajoling, some promises of things for later, and more coffee, but eventually Carlos got a rumpled, grumpy T.K. up and dressed and ready to head off for a morning of fishing.

Judd turned out to be a good teacher and they managed to catch a half a dozen fish, Paul being the most successful with three decent sized bass. Carlos, Mateo, and Judd caught one apiece and, predictably, T.K. caught nothing but a cat nap against Carlos’ shoulder. 

They grilled their catch for lunch and spent the afternoon in an intense game of corn hole that had to be abandoned for cards when T.K. began to spout accusations of cheating and needed to be physically removed for a half hour to cool off like a toddler.

He was still grumbling about it hours later when they tucked into their tent for the night. “I still say Mateo was cheating.”

Carlos sighed. “T.K. let it go.”

“But—“

“I don’t know how you think someone can cheat at corn hole anyway.”

“His feet weren’t behind the line!”

“It’s a game T.K. Just a friendly game among friends.”

T.K. mumbled something unintelligible from where he’d grumpily wrapped himself up in his sleeping bag. 

“What was that?” Carlos asked.

“Nothing,” T.K. said and Carlos had to bite back a laugh. T.K. was generally such a cheery person that it was funny to see him worked up and in a mood. 

Carlos turned down the lantern and shuffled around until he was lying down on his side next to his boyfriend. “Hey,” he said quietly.

T.K. exhaled through his nose and then turned his head to look at him. “Hey.”

“This trip was a good idea,” he said.

T.K.’s face softened. “You’re having fun?”

Carlos nodded. “We needed this.” He reached over and ran his fingers through T.K.’s hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” T.K. said, leaning forward, seeking his lips.

It was slow and soft, and they let it linger to the point that Carlos was pretty sure T.K. was half asleep when he finally pulled back. “Feel better about corn hole now?” he whispered.

“Mhmm,” T.K. said, eyes closed, burrowing as close into Carlos’ chest as the sleeping bags would allow.

Carlos let his own eyes drift shut, feeling T.K. breathe against him. “Good.”

XXX

Their second day wake up wasn’t nearly as early as the first. The sun was peeking out through the trees by the time they made coffee and munched on granola bars and trail mix. Their plan was to hike before the heat of the day and make it back by noon to go kayaking.

Carlos squeezed T.K.’s hand as they began to walk the trail, elated as always by the smile he got in return. Before T.K. he hadn’t known love was stitched together by little moments like this. Holding hands, walking side by side with their friends like it was the most normal thing in the world, this type of moment had become sacred to him. 

The trail was quiet at this hour of the morning and they laughed and joked as they wound their way through the trees. What had started as good natured ribbing about Paul’s dating life had snowballed into talking about Mateo’s lack thereof. Much advice was being shouted back and forth, some of it good, most of it bad.

They rounded a turn, the sun bursting forth, setting the area around them on fire with gold. Carlos let go of T.K.’s hand for a second. “I’m just going to take a picture,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

T.K. nodded and kept walking, yelling something about pick up lines and how they definitely worked if you used them right.

Carlos rolled his eyes, mostly at himself, because he’d love to tell them T.K. was wrong, but his boyfriend had definitely used a few on him, and clearly they’d been effective.

He snapped a couple photos, playing with the angle a little. “Gettin’ a good shot for Instagram?” Judd asked, startling him.

He hadn’t realized Judd hadn’t moved on with the rest of the group and he startled, his phone slipping out of his hand and landing in the brush next to the trail. “Whoa, sorry about that,” Judd apologized. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos said. “I was just lost in my own head I guess.”

He bent to pick up his phone, hoping he hadn’t accidentally shattered the screen or the camera.  His fingers closed around it and then there was a sharp pain in his wrist. He jerked his hand back, letting out a surprised shout.

“You all right?” Judd asked.

That was when they both heard the tell tale rattle and saw something slither off through the bushes. Carlos looked at Judd in wide eyed surprise. “Was that—“ 

Judd immediately swung into action. “Here let’s sit you down, all right?” he said, gently taking Carlos’ elbow and guiding him onto a large rock before turning and bellowing down the trail after the rest of the group. “T.K.!”

Carlos looked down at the two bloody puncture marks on the back of his wrist and felt his heart begin to race inside his chest. This couldn’t be happening. This was not happening.

There was crashing nearby and T.K., Paul, and Mateo all appeared in a rush. “What happened?” T.K. asked, slightly out of breath. 

“Carlos got bit by a rattler,” Judd said, his voice much calmer than seemed appropriate for the situation.

“What?” Paul asked in shock.

“I dropped my phone,” Carlos said, still stunned. “I bent over to pick it up, it was so stupid, I never even checked—“

“It’s not your fault,” Judd told him. “Coulda happened to anybody.”

T.K. dropped to his knees and examined the wound. “It might have been a dry bite,” he said, looking up into Carlos’ eyes. “What are you feeling?”

“Um, my heart is racing,” Carlos said. “My chest is kind of tight.”

“Okay, that could just be the adrenaline,” T.K. told him. “We’re going to clean and bandage the wound and then we’re going to get you out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Carlos said, feeling shaky, but trying hold onto his boyfriend’s calm. A dry bite would mean no venom in his system, which would mean no reason for concern. This might not be anything more than a scare.

“Mateo, I have bandages in my backpack. Paul get me a new water bottle.” T.K. doled out orders, speaking very fast, belying his concern. “Judd, keep an eye on him, okay?”

The team found what he needed in seconds and T.K. began to clean the wound, drawing a circle around it with a pen to mark the area of redness so they could see if it spread. 

The tingling started slowly, Carlos barely noticed it at first with the way his heart and mind were already racing. “You all right there Carlos?” Judd asked.

“Um,” Carlos swallowed hard. “My arm is kind of tingling and my mouth is dry.”

Judd and T.K. exchanged looks. “Mateo, get the radio and call dispatch. Ask them to meet us in the parking lot with an ambulance,” T.K. said. 

“On it.” Mateo was up in a flash, pulling the radio from his pack. “Dispatch this is off duty Firefighter Mateo Chavez of the Austin 126, do you read me?”

“Babe, I want you to tell me the second anything changes, okay?” T.K. told Carlos. 

“T.K.” Carlos couldn’t keep the shake out of his voice, panic running through him like a river. This was bad. Really bad. You started learning about rattlers in Texas as soon as you could talk; how to recognize them, how to avoid them, what to do if someone got bit. Right now all of that knowledge seemed to have fled Carlos’ mind, replaced by pure panic and he thought he might be sick. 

“Hey.” T.K. paused his ministrations to cup Carlos’ face firmly in his hands. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, all right? Do you trust me?”

Carlos managed a nod. “Good. I need to immobilize your arm, so I’m going to bandage it against your chest. That should help slow the spread of the venom. Judd,” he looked up and Judd immediately moved to action, helping pull the bandages up and around Carlos’ shoulder. 

They made quick work of strapping the arm into place. By the time they were done Carlos’ heart was pounding in his ears and his entire body had begun to feel shaky, his chest getting tighter with each passing minute.

“How you doing babe?” T.K. asked as he finished securing the bandages in place.

“I’m uh, I’m a little tired,” Carlos told him, his eyelids feeling heavy

“That’s normal,” T.K. told him. “But I need you to try and stay awake, all right?”

“Ambulance is on its way,” Mateo said, rejoining the group. 

“Yeah we still gotta get him off this trail though,” Paul said.

“I can walk,” Carlos said, although his knees felt like they were turning into liquid.

“No, no,” T.K. said quickly. “You need to stay as still as possible.”

“Paul and I’ll carry him out,” Judd said immediately. “It’s only half a mile or so, we got this.”

T.K. hesitated, his mind clearly still running through scenarios and options. “If we wait for a rescue team it’s going to cost us extra time,” Mateo pointed out. “If you want him outta here fast, we should go now.”

T.K. nodded. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

“Don’t try to help,” Paul said as Carlos shifted around. “You let us do all the work, all right?”

They made it down the trail in twenty minutes, Judd and Paul moving astonishingly fast even while carrying Carlos’ substantial frame. They could hear the sirens before they reached the parking lot, and paramedics met them at the base of the trail with a gurney.

They immediately put Carlos on oxygen and fluids, T.K. watching their every move like a hawk, tense, and clearly wishing he could be the one doing it. In five minutes flat they were ready to pull out. “We’re gonna meet ya’ll at the hospital, all right?” Judd said. 

Carlos shook his head from where it was pillowed against the gurney. “You all should stay,” he said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Are you crazy?” Paul asked incredulously. “We’ll break down camp and be there in an hour.”

“You just relax and let them take care of you,” Judd directed. “T.K, get in touch when you can.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you soon,” T.K. told him as he pulled the ambulance doors shut.

The heart rate monitor was beeping fast, Carlos’ heart working overtime as the poison slowly spread. His entire body was tingling, mouth numb and dry like he’d spent too long at the dentist, everything hot and feverish. Funny how the thing that was bothering him least was the bite itself; it seemed inconsequential compared to everything else that was happening. 

“We’re almost there,” T.K. told him. “They’ll get you started on anti-venin, probably some antibiotics, something for the pain if you want it. It’ll be fast, probably another hour or so and you’re going to feel a lot better.”

Carlos sucked in a painful breath and tried to speak through the oxygen mask. “I hate…that voice.”

“Which voice?”

“Your…,” he swallowed thickly, “patient voice. It’s…detached. I hate…when you use it on me.”

T.K. smiled and gently carded his fingers through Carlos’ hair. “Don’t get hurt and I won’t have to.”

“You’ll call my parents?” he managed. 

T.K. nodded. “As soon as you’re stable.”

For as anxiety inducing and worrisome as the situation was, their arrival at the hospital was fairly calm. Certainly everyone moved quickly, Carlos wasn’t sure he’d ever been admitted for treatment so fast, but it was all with relatively little fanfare. An exam, some blood work, a lot of questions, and several intense looking bags of IV fluid, and that was it.

Carlos did freak out a little bit when they unwrapped his arm and found the redness and swelling had moved far beyond the pen line T.K. had drawn. The heart monitor spiked and he got extremely dizzy as panic joined the venom in his bloodstream, creating a heady cocktail that made him nauseous.

His good hand found its way into T.K.’s and stayed there, squeezing more tightly than was probably comfortable, but T.K. didn’t complain once. He just leaned closer to explain what the doctors were talking about in that calm, quiet, paramedic boyfriend voice, occasionally speaking up to ask the medical staff about dosages and timing. 

It took a couple hours, but the medication began to do its work and Carlos’ symptoms slowly eased. The nurses checked in pretty frequently and eventually Carlos let go of T.K.’s hand long enough for him to go outside and call their parents.

“What did they say?” Carlos asked as soon as he came back.

“My dad said he hopes you feel better soon and to call if we need anything. Your parents are worried. I told them that you’re fine and they don’t need to drive all the way out here, but I’m not sure your mom is going to listen,” T.K. said.

“Yeah probably not,” Carlos sighed and sank back against his pillows, his good hand coming up to rub his eyes.

“Do you need anything?” T.K. asked. “I can go down to the hospital gift shop, pick up a book or something.”

“No, no I’m okay. I just want you here with me,” Carlos said.

T.K. smiled and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You got it.”

Carlos studied him for a moment and T.K. raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I don’t know how you can be so calm,” Carlos said. “When you’re hurt I am an absolute basket case.”

“I went in the bathroom and cried after I called your parents,” T.K. said bluntly. 

Carlos felt an immediate squeeze of concern, now searching his face even more thoroughly for puffy or reddened eyes. “You did?”

T.K. released his hand, giving it a gentle pat before leaning back in his chair. “And this is why I don’t tell you these things. Because now you’re all worried about me instead of yourself.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I know. But when you get bitten by a rattlesnake miles away from civilization, I’m not sure what other feeling I’m supposed to have.”

“I’m so—“

T.K. cut him off. “No. Do not apologize. You don’t apologize for things outside of your control.”

Carlos mulled that over for a minute, things still not sitting quite right. “Can I say thank you then?”

T.K. rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can say thank you.”

Carlos lifted his good hand a crooked a finger so that T.K. leaned toward him, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. “Then thank you.”

There was a knock on the door and Judd, Paul, and Mateo poked their heads in. “Hey, do we get thank you kisses too?” Paul asked cheekily.

Carlos laughed. “You guys carried me half a mile. I will thank you in whatever way you want.”

“Cookies,” Mateo said immediately. “Those ones you brought to the 126 a couple weeks ago.”

“Okay, maybe we let the man recover before demanding baked goods from him. You up for some visitors?” Judd asked.

T.K. looked at Carlos, as if he were judging whether or not Carlos could handle it. “Yes, come on in,” Carlos said, ignoring his concern. 

“Looking pretty good there, buddy,” Paul said as they gathered at the foot of his bed. “Feeling any better?”

“Yes,” Carlos said. “Much. Thank you guys again for all your help out there. I’m so sorry this is how our trip ended.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Judd said, then he chuckled. “Just nice to see someone other than T.K. in a bed like that.”

It made them all laugh and T.K. took the ribbing good naturedly. “Seriously though you had us a little worried there. Glad you’re doing okay,” Paul said.

“I wasn’t worried,” Mateo said.

Paul rolled his eyes. “You cried back at the campsite probie.”

“I did not cry!” Mateo exclaimed. “It’s my allergies. They’re bad yo.”

“Well there’s certainly no need for tears,” Carlos told them confidently. “The doctors said it’s something like what, five people a year die from rattlesnake bites?” He looked at T.K. who nodded an affirmative. “And I do not feel the need to defy the odds and be one of them.”

The guys stuck around for a bit, chatting and keeping them company. Carlos started to flag, but tried not to show it. He’d already ruined the end of their trip, he didn’t need to kick them out so he could take a nap. 

“We’d better be gettin’ back,” Judd finally said, clearly reading the room and the drooping of Carlos’ eyelids. “Although if you don’t hear from me again, it’s cuz Grace has buried me in the backyard for not gettin’ you home safe.”

“You did get me home safe,” Carlos said sincerely. “Tell Grace to give me a call. I’ll vouch for you.”

“You take it easy,” Paul said, giving his leg a pat through the blankets. “T.K., keep us posted.”

“Will do,” T.K. told him.

“Aw, come on, one group hug before we go,” Mateo said, holding out his arms and advancing on Carlos.

There was a lot of grumbling, and it was kind of awkward with all of the IV lines Carlos was hooked up to, but they managed something close to a group hug in the end and then Judd, Paul, and Mateo headed out.

“You should try and get some rest,” T.K. said, fussing with Carlos’ blankets and checking his IV’s yet again.

“They’re still in there T.K., I promise,” Carlos told him, his words slow and slippery as they came out of his mouth. He was fading fast, two nights of sleeping on the ground probably not helping much.

“Sorry,” T.K. said, sitting back down in his chair. “I feel like I should be doing something. I’m not used to being on this side of things.”

“I don’t need you to do anything,” Carlos told him, trying to force his eyelids to stay open, “except maybe hold my hand.”

T.K. smiled softly and reached out, intertwining his fingers with Carlos’. “That I can do.”

“How long do you think until my mom shows up?” Carlos mumbled, losing the battle as his eyes drifted shut.

“I give it about another two hours.”

“She’s going to be worse than the rattlesnake bite.”

“I’ll head her off. Don’t worry.”

“M’kay.”

[psyduckappears]

Sore throat for Steve & Robin?

read it on ao3

I did it!!! I wrote something under 2K words!!!! thanks for the prompt love x

It starts as little more than a sore throat, which Robin never meant for him to find out about in the first place. She’s been feeling a little under the weather, not unusual for an asthmatic during allergy season, and she doesn’t really need Steve to go into his conservative-suburban-mom mode on her. It just wouldn’t look good with the ‘Just Say No to Nancy Reagan’ bumper sticker she’s trying to get him to put on the BMW.

(Steve insists that bumper stickers are something for suburban moms, so maybe they’re just coming full circle on something, here.)

Her plan of deception works fine for a few days, but when they're on the phone on Thursday night, Robin's parents long gone to bed, Steve surprises her by noticing after only a few minutes the way she keeps having to clear her throat as her voice keeps failing her. Damn Steve and his sneak-attack moments of perceptiveness.

She can practically hear his concerned frown, the one that has the kids calling him mom behind his back with way more adoration than any of them can hope to hide. One day, she will prove it to him, and then he will finally have to admit that he is, in fact, a suburban mom and yield to her bumper sticker. For now, she has bigger issues.

“You alright?” Steve asks her, voice low. Robin pictures him on his bed, head propped up on his pillow where he’s staring up at the ceiling. He does that a lot.

“Sure,” she says, and as if to spite her, a cough slips out. She thinks in the depth of her petty mind that it must be the ghost of Nancy Reagan herself, punishing her for the blunt she used to corrupt oh-so-innocent Nancy Wheeler, and for trying to turn Steve against her after his parents did such a good job of voting for her bastard husband.

“Shit, are you sick?”

Maybe she should stop internally monologuing about politics and focus on Steve for a few seconds.

“Just a bit of a sore throat,” she tells him, and it’s not a lie. She really does expect this to be the end of it, for the cough to disappear in a few days and for her throat to stop hurting at every sip of water.

She doesn’t make it to work on Saturday.

Steve shows up in the afternoon, markedly half an hour before the end of what would have been their one shared shift of the week, with a bag that’s stuffed beyond advisability and a determined set to his mouth. Dear God. The beast has been unleashed.

“What are you doing here, dingus?” Robin sniffs. Her attempt at an unaffected demeanor fails somewhere between the fact that she barely has a voice and the thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she stands, hunched, before him.

“You’re sick,” Steve states.

“No shit.”

“And you told me your parents would be gone for the weekend. Which, I assume you probably played down this whole thing so they wouldn’t get any ideas of staying home, but if you’re feeling bad enough to call in sick after you just complained last week that you need to save as much money as possible for your nerdy band thing –”

“Steve,” she cuts him off. Actually, she tries to cut him off like that, but her lungs clearly decide that she’s spoken enough for now and send her into another coughing fit, instead, on that sends her bending over and that feels so deeply rooted inside her chest that she’s scared she might throw up something vital.

Steve ignores her pathetic excuse for protest (though it’s quite possible that he didn’t even recognize the garbled syllables that she managed to get out as his name) and ushers her inside, a hand between her shoulder blades as he sits her down on the small, well-worn loveseat in the living room.

He keeps rubbing her back over the blanket until she calms down enough to straighten her back and force some air into her lungs.

“What the hell, Robin,” he mutters as she slumps back into the cushions, her eyes closed to the shine of the ceiling lamp. She has a headache. It’s pretty nasty. As if he can hear her thoughts – or maybe he can just see the small crease between her brows where the tension seems to sit – Steve gently holds a hand to her forehead. It’s pleasantly cold, which is weird, because Steve never has cold hands.

Before she can comment, the hand is regrettably gone again, and Robin hears Steve rustling through his bag, setting an assortment of things down on the coffee table before making a sound that sounds somewhat like triumph.

“I brought Motrin, since you can’t have Advil,” he says by way of explanation. She’s grateful because it means she gets another second of not opening her eyes. She’s also deliberately ignoring how warm and mushy and fluttery she feels because he somehow remembered that she can’t have Advil. “You have a bit of a temperature, and it’ll help with the pain, too. Which you know, obviously. You know what Motrin is. Some ginger ale to wash it down with because for some reason everyone always tells you that you should drink ginger ale when you’re sick.”

“Pretty sure that’s a myth,” Robin mumbles, but she grabs blindly for the bottle, anyway. Steve gives it to her only when she has her eyes open and busies himself freeing a tablet from the new Motrin pack as she takes a sip from the bottle. “Thanks, mom.”

“You sound like shit,” Steve tells her. “I mean, you also look like shit, but –”

He is appropriately interrupted by another coughing fit.

“Yeah. My point exactly,” he sighs, and his no-nonsense tone from before has morphed into something warmer. He gently rubs her upper arm as she gets it out, then hands her a tissue for the mucus. Gross. “You see someone about this yet?”

“Don’t be silly.” She waves him off, but she still leans into his touch. God, but she’s tired. Hurts all over. “It’s probably just a … mild chest infection, or something.”

“Mild.”

“Well, yeah, it would be without the asthma,” she deadpans into another sip of ginger ale.

“Asthma?!” Steve shrieks, and it hurts, shit, those painkillers really need to hurry up because she’s starting to feel like her head might explode if she has to be awake like this for much longer.

“Yeah, dingus, I got asthma.” It occurs to her, then, that she’s never mentioned it to him. To be fair, she rarely gets proper attacks these days, but it’s also weird considering everything else that he does know about her. She guesses it’s just easy to forget that they haven’t really known each other for that long. “Now will you leave me alone so I can sleep until the end of time?”

Steve laughs at that, just a little huff that tells her he thinks she’s being ridiculous. He’s one to talk, she thinks to herself, but before she can make a snappy remark about it, she is being hoisted off the couch by an arm around her back.

“Ngk,” she says, unhappy about the sudden movement.

“You’re not gonna sleep sitting up on the couch, Buckley,” Steve tells her. The bastard doesn’t sound like he finds it at all exhausting to drag around a fully grown woman, isn’t even a little out of breath by the time they get to their room. Stupid rich boys and their stupid, functioning lungs. “Here. That’s your bed. You can sleep in it, and when you wake up, I’ll heat up some soup, and we can do that thing where you hold your head over a bowl of steaming water if you promise not to be a clumsy dork and burn yourself.”

“You’re a clumsy dork,” Robin shoots back, but it doesn’t really land. Not when she’s already star-fished across her bed, mumbling into her pillow.

“Turn over, you’ll suffocate yourself.”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“I’m saying no,” Robin mutters even as she complies and turns onto her side. It is rather hard to breathe with your face smashed into a pillow, and she knows how awful it feels to cough while lying on her back. “Saying ‘no’ to Nancy Reagan, as God intended.”

Steve laughs at that, and she thinks he’s started piling blankets on top of her, but she also thinks she’s falling asleep already, so it might be a dream. What she definitely doesn’t dream is Steve sitting next to her against the headboard, on top of all those maybe- blankets, the mattress dipping under his weight, and muttering with a hand in her hair, “If you get better soon, maybe I'll think about your stupid sticker.”

“Mhm. I’ll hold you to that, Harrington.”

[lirondellee]

I guess it’s time to tell a bit more about my OCs and the universe my stories take place in. All of this info (and more) is already on my Twitter (for now only in Ukrainian, sorry) but now I’ll also post it here, on Tumblr in ua and eng

ENG

I’ll start with the New Age Inc itself

So… in short, there is the mortal dimension, that is our generic normal Earth and other normal totally not supernatural planets, and there is the Veiled World (the subtle world), where all kinds of creatures from various mythologies and legends live, as well as half bloods (children of Immortals x mortals or Immortals x Immortals of another species) and souls of the dead (who also become inhuman creatures with time, they’re called neo-immortals: neo-demons and neo-angels).

All this mad house is ruled by the so-called Immortals — basically the local elite, that is, angels, demons and gods from various mythologies, who one wonderful day concluded the "Non-interference Treaty". The mortal dimension was fenced off by the Veil, which cannot be crossed by either mortals or Immortals (later the latter will ofc find a way to do it tho) they made peace and no one from the Veiled World can now directly influence people and openly show themselves to them (why they had to do it in the first place is a long story, there was a whole series of absolutely crazy events, but ooof, that’s spoiler zone).

The universe still needs to be controlled somehow. And that is why they built Mythopolis. That’s a huge metropolis that unites all the dimensions of the immortals (Heaven, Hell, Asgard, Vyriy, Olympus, and many others, and these are all separate states with their own government, infrastructure, economy, legislation, etc etc etc), except for Purgatory, because thaaat, my dears, is a whole separate topic (and it kinda looks like a huge suburban weirdcore-ish landscape with the vibe of Will Wood songs). And then all these guys cooperated and built the Citadel, a skyscraper, each floor of which is a portal to one of these dimensions, and created New Age Incorporated. It controls destinies, where each department (domain) is responsible for something from people's lives (like really anything, from the weather and natural phenomena to feelings and some material things), and one of these beings is responsible for each such thing and has respective abilities.

That’s just the suuuuper basic lore info but I’ll get into more detail later, I guess :>

UA

Отже, якщо вже розповідати про свій всесвіт, почну з самої Корпорації Нью Ейдж.

Якщо зовсім стисло, то є вимір смертних, тобто наша рідна звичайна нормальна Земля та інші звичайні нормальні планети, а є Потайкрай (Світ за Завісою, тонкий світ), де живуть всякі істоти з різних міфологій і легенд, а також напівкровки (діти Безсмертних і смертних, або Безсмертних різних видів) і душі померлих (які також з часом стають нелюдськими істотами — нео-безсмертними: нео-ангелами або нео-демонами).

Заправляють всією цією дуркою так звані Безсмертні — місцева еліта, тобто ангели, демони та боги з різних міфологій, які в один пречудовий день уклали між собою «Договір про невтручання», тобто по-перше, вони укладають мир і більше не мають права між собою сратися, по-друге, ніхто з Потайкраю тепер не може напряму впливати на людей та відкрито показуватися їм, а по-третє, вимір смертних відгороджується так званою Завісою, яку не можна перетинати ані смертним, ані Безсмертним, хоча пізніше останні таки знайдуть спосіб це робити (для чого це все — довга історія, там ціла низка всратих подій, але то вже спойлери).

Та всесвіт же ж все одно якось треба контролювати. І тому був побудований Міфрополіс — місто-метрополія, яка об’єднує всі виміри безсмертних (Рай, Пекло, Асґард, Вирій, Олімп, та інші, і це все окремі держави зі своїм урядом, інфраструктурою, економікою, адміністративним поділом, законодавством і т.д, т.п, ТАК, Я ЗАМОРОЧИЛАСЯ, ДУЖЕ ЗАМОРОЧИЛАСЯ), окрім Чистилища, бо то окрема тема (і все це чудо природи виглядає як величезне вірдкорне передмістя з вайбом пісень Вілла Вуда). А потім вся ця різнобарвна тусня скооперувалася і побудувала Цитадель — височенний хмарочос, кожен поверх якого — портал до одного з цих вимірів, і утворилася Корпорація Нью Ейдж. Вона контролює долі, там кожен відділ (по-місцевому, домен) відповідає за щось із життя людей (реально будь-що, від погоди й природних явищ, до почуттів і якихось матеріальних речей), і хтось із цих істот відповідає за кожне таке явище і має відповідні здібності.

Це тільки супер базова інфа, пізніше розповім детальніше :>

[andmaybegayer]

Let's say, hypothetically, for the sake of argument, that someone wanted the benefits of upgrading their computer but Fucking Hates Hardware, and is also frustrated that lots of major guides hedge everything by saying to Check For Yourself (reasonably! there is a lot of variability), but not how to sift through and synthesize the technical stats gained by Checking For Yourself to get an answer, and also has an eye-glaze-over reaction to the gobbledygook names of different computer parts and cannot trust themselves to remember such a name for even a few seconds. Let's also say this hypothetical person is an idiot partly in denial about their usage patterns but mostly completely ignorant of how to assess what they need, what counts as heavy usage and what counts as dicking about, whether what will count as dicking about in several years will be commensurate with what is considered heavy now, or what the bottlenecks in their current system are. What would you recommend to this person I made up?

You mentioned a few things that get to the heart of the Upgrade Question which is: what do I actually need?

Ultimately, the first thing you must ask is "Does my current system do everything I want to do." In my experience, future proofing is mostly a fool's errand, and I could write a lot about why that is, but let's just say don't worry too much about what you might be doing in five years, don't really look more than a year forward for performance estimates. Whatever you're doing now plus whatever you want to do but can't because of your current system.

(The other question is "where am I putting this", if you live in a tiny Tokyo apartment or you don't want to dedicate permanent desk space to a desktop, or this is going to be your only computer, a good laptop may be a better choice even though you're sacrificing some performance. If you live in a bigger apartment or suburban house, you can probably find space for a desktop. Hell, laptops come with a screen and keyboard built in, that's a cost a lot of people don't price into buying a new desktop for the first time.)

If your current system is doing everything you want it to do at an acceptable speed and noise level, you're done, no upgrade required. If, say, you edit video and you notice that since you moved from HD to 4k it's starting to take forever to render out, or you picked up Elden Ring and it's not running as smoothly as you would like, then it's time to upgrade.

Knowing what to upgrade, especially in-place on an existing system, is unfortunately pretty much impossible without getting into the weeds of performance and hardware, so your best bet if you are dissatisfied with your current setup is probably getting some kind of mid-range prebuilt system from a reputable company within your budget and performance constraints.

In general, most people will be moving from an old mid-range system to a new mid-range system every 3-6 years. You dont want to be upgrading with every new release, and really not even for every second release, unless if the actual tasks you need to do have changed since you got your system. In that case, you'll have to step up a budget increment since you need something faster than you use to have by a significant amount.

Budget-wise in USD, you kind of have these steps and the tasks the correlate with.

$2000: professional, "this is for my dayjob" workstations, performance machines for doing heavy compute

$1500: amateur workstations, high end gaming machines.

$1000: sensibly balanced gaming-optimized machines that'll handle most light workstation tasks, an hobbyist machine.

$500: utility laptops, for handling basic desktop and document handling tasks, programming, image editing, very light workstation tasks.

ABS out of NewEgg and Skytech from I forget who owns them make reasonably priced performance machines with all-new hardware, and while I know people who have had machines arrive with issues, the majority of the stories I hear are positive. The quality of various prebuilt manufacturers varies wildly in terms of cost to performance and level of customer service, but absolutely sight-unseen if I had to recommend some desktops and a laptop for a stranger I've never talked to I would say get one of these and it'll handle almost anything you can throw at it well enough not to annoy you.

These are not the best options per se, even in their own budget ranges, but what they are is solid all-rounders that I would not be mad about if someone told me to use them as the only computer I had for the next five years.

This is the summary of my advice on buying a new computer for people who don't like shopping for computers. The biggest weakness is the price:performance list up there, whcih assumes that you're getting fair pricing on the hardware. Lots of prebuilt companies charge super high markups on old hardware, which is an easy way to get screwed, so I'd advise checking what the latest generation of hardware available is and only using that if you're upgrading.

Annoyingly there's a new CPU release cycle happening right now, so the two things I recommended above will be one generation out of date by the end of October.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Apocalypse/Dystopian Masterlist

All This Hurt Can Finally Fade, Promise Me You'll Never Feel Afraid (ao3) - onceuponatime M, 1k

Summary: The zombie apocalypse has happened and Luke has been bitten.

angels choking on their halos (ao3) - aliciaxadrienne michael/luke M, 10k

Summary: Fame and notoriety mean nothing when the dead are coming back to life. Or; the zombie apocalypse happens at the worst possible time and things go haywire.

Colors In The Blur, He's There To Fight The Highway.... (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke T, 1k

Summary: It was when Luke went to touch the wet area on his shoulder when a jolt of pain and horror shot down his spine. He drew his fingers and looked at them, his crimson blood drying quickly in the sunlight. His stomach dropped and he knew exactly what happened while he tried running from the zombies.

or the one where Michael's worst fear comes true

Crossfire (ao3) - cthink michael/calum, luke/ashton N/R, 9k

Summary: Today was the day. There was no going back on the plan now. After months of preparation, they were finally going to escape. They were finally going to be free.

Or an apocalypse au where Ashton, Calum, Michael and Luke escape a corrupt containment camp only to find that the world outside is so much worse. Based on the song Crossfire by Stephen.

Drag Me Through Hell (ao3) - veinmichael (AvannahSay) michael/calum, luke/ashton N/R, 3k

Summary: Or theres a massacre being conducted by the government, Michael tells Calum he loves him at the worst time, and storm troopers who have flame throwers blow up about 15 seconds after you shoot them. And everyone is hoping Luke makes the fucking shot

if the world was ending, you'd come over (right?) (ao3) - thethingaboutashis michael/calum N/R, 6k

Summary: When the earth begins to tremble, Calum and Michael can only think about each other.

Life As We Knew It (ao3) - mtvluke ot4 T, 2k

Summary: This is when it began. The sun’s gleam began to show in the sky, like water colors faded into one another the colors blended so beautifully and perfectly. They decided the roof was the best place to die, taking in the beauty and excepting their fate.

one last time (i need to be the one who takes you home) (ao3) - Delenaley michael/luke G, 1k

Summary: "What would you do at the end of the world?"

I'd spend it with you, Luke had thought, but didn't have the nerve to say it out loud.

(or an au where all that Luke wanted to do at the end of the world was to be with Michael and actually gets his wish).

Run. (ao3) - JetBlackSunshine M, 18k

Summary: Late one night in the pouring rain a train creaks to a halt altering the course of the life everyone once knew. Suburban streets become battlegrounds and passing strangers become allies. Sometimes all you need to do is run.

Run (ao3) - XxKeyvethebluebunnyXx T, 3k

Summary: Run, just run. That’s what they’ve been doing for the past year and a half, after the disaster hit. They were just a bunch of kids, all under the age of 16. There were nine of them in all, just nine school boys minding their own business, living life until all the adults turned into mindless, shambling, bags of rotting skin and disease. They couldn’t do anything but run and fight, there was nowhere to go. All the buildings were burned or destroyed in the early riots when the disease first hit. They had nowhere to go, and they wouldn’t have met, or even crossed paths if it weren't for the disease.

Or the one where One Direction and 5sos are all under sixteen and are in a world where a disease turned all of the adults into zombies.

Survivor's Guilt - @daydadahlias​​ (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) calum/ashton T, 9k

Summary: No one's left but the three of them. Just Ashton, Calum, and his tiny yappy dog.

Oh, and all the zombies, obviously.

The Day the World Ended (ao3) - insomniacwriter17 ot4 T, 10k

Summary: “Reports state that people are experiencing incredibly high fevers, intense pain all over the body, and a state of delirium. Government officials have issued a warning: if you feel ill, seek medical attention immediately. If you do not feel ill, stay inside if at all possible and make sure to wash your hands often.”

the empty white (ao3) - asymmetric ot4 E, 33k

Summary: (People all over the world start vanishing into thin air. Calum is one of them.)

The Sun Has Not Died (ao3) - nintendoswitch N/R, 1k

Summary: The deadly virus spreads like wildfire, and when they finally find a safe place, after all this time, only two of them are left to see it.

[taissaswifelowkey]

Bittersweet Symphony

a/n: the second chapter IS HEREEE this one's been sitting in my drafts since summer vacation. this is relatively slow, i want to try to set the pace and offer a different twist to the actual plot. proofread, not sure where we're going with the release of chapters but we're going!

also "finn" can be any gender you want ;) fionna, finn, or finnegan it's your call 🗣️‼️‼️

w/c: 2.2 k words

warnings: swearing, mentions distress. let me know if i missed anything

it starts below the cut

a/n: thank you for wistfulwatcher for making this gif, they're so adorable

Chapter II: The Reflex

Four days in your three-long week break and you’re on your twentieth episode of Dance Moms. You went out for a jog in the forest to clear your head, fed the neighbourhood stray cats, read a book you bought but never bothered opening and settled for staged reality TV. Anytime you felt like defying Chief Munoz’s orders, you take a long minute to think, rather than just march up to the man’s office in your uniform.

It’s a fate better than…nothing. You still get your checks. And maybe he is right, some time might be good. 

The more you try to convince yourself of that idea, the more it seems to work.

Settling into the couch, letting your eyes drift shut you allow your body to catch up on the sleep you have been lacking, the sounds fading away at the back of your mind.

⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰

“Are you even sure she lives here? This place doesn’t seem like her. It’s too…homey.”

“I have to admit she was a teeny bit harder to find. But this looks like the right place. Besides, the blinds are open and we checked every other corner.”

“...A suburban home with a huge “Welcome Home” mat? I say we’re better off going back to the cabin again. Get some information out of that ranger guy.”

“That’s a great idea but I still think we can fish for information. We know this is the right neighbourhood so whoever lives here might know her, right?”

A buzzing noise keeps resonating in your head putting a brutally quick stop to your rest. Jolting up, clutching your chest and trying to calm your beating heart, you slowly inhale and exhale. It’s a doorbell. Just a doorbell.

Whoever keeps ringing is pretty damn insistent. Is it that Jessica Roberts person? How the hell does she know where you live? Clenching your jaw, You rise from your seat, not even taking the time to fix your appearance. Following you at the grocery store, a damn Trader Joe’s is one thing. But your home? This is stepping into the border of harassment.

Swinging the door almost violently, the words escape your lips.

“Ms Roberts. I couldn’t care less about your job but I have a right to privacy. Either you leave me alone or I swear I’m going to-”

“Good afternoon to you too. Long time no see.”

“Hey, it’s been a while! I brought you some cookies to catch up.”

What the…how…

Your eyes land on a woman with her hands in her pocket, her eyebrows peeking out of her shades and with a subtle smirk on her face. While the other smiles brightly.

“Huh…”

What are they doing here?

“Are you going to let us in, Ranger?”

Natalie asks in what seems to be her trying to be patient, but she lets her way in with Misty. This is all happening very fast. Wait how does she know that-

“Where did you get that from?”

You step aside and let them enter, leading them to the kitchen, thinking of what to say. What do you tell people you haven’t seen in years? Or rather avoided for years. 

“Misty kept track of all of us. You can thank her for that.”

Natalie takes off her glasses, sighing as she sits down. Misty shoots her a look and she shrugs her shoulders.

“What Nat kindly means is, now that we found you, we have a problem we need to discuss.”

She hands over the plate of cookies. Swallowing hard and nodding, you thank her then look for plates. 

You’re starting to regret not enjoying your given break sooner.

“What kind?”

“A reporter problem.”

Nat answers, with an edge of annoyance to her tone. Looks like you're not the only one who has been dealing with…wait. Why are they looking at you like that? They don’t think I said anything, do they?

You serve them plates and sit down opposite the two, looking between them. One looks sceptical while the other…looks afraid of being disappointed.

“A Jessica Roberts problem? That reporter? I swear I didn’t tell her anything. I even thought it was her ringing on my door, I was about to gently remind her to leave me alone.”

A small exhale leaves Misty’s lips, almost of relief while Natalie furrows her brows. 

“I can ask you two the same thing. Did you?”

“God, no. She tried to give me some book deal, telling me how I would make a lot of money out of it. But I wasn’t buying anything that she tried selling me.”

“She tried to bribe an answer out of you?”

They nod, all of a sudden looking uneasy. Natalie dwindles her thumbs and Misty leans forward and drops her voice to a whisper, even though you’re the only three people in the house.

“We think someone talked. Or someone is, I don’t know, spying on us. We tried to look for the other girls but so far, you were the first one on our list. We needed to stop by.”

Her eyes search your face. Visibly stricken. You don’t know if it’s because of the shock of revealing the news. You lean back into your chair as Natalie grabs a cookie and scrambles it down.

“Of course, that was before she did something to screw up my car. Next thing you know she’ll break yours, might as well keep it hidden.”

“Natalie, aren’t you just funny today?”

“Very. Now, tell me Ranger. Any loose lips recently? You must have talked in your sleep about it to whoever was with you. Misty found someone by the name of…Finn. It couldn’t have just been a lovers’ quarrel right?”

Just how much information do these two know? Finn is not even considered as an “ex”. Merely just a failed relationship.

Misty brings her fingers together, the clogs visibly turning in her brain. Whatever words she is communicating through the daggers she shoots at Natalie must work, because she turns around to look at you.

“Look, this situation is weird. It concerns us. If we don’t put a stop to it then she will keep on fucking with our lives. Literally and metaphorically.”

You cross your arms and weigh her words. It’s not like you can exactly blame her, or even them, either for having certain doubts. 

“I swear I didn’t tell her anything, and I never plan on telling her what went on in these woods. I mean, she knows what I do for a living. Probably even knows where I live. I want to find out the truth as much as you.”

Natalie gives you this look. This long, look. Trying to look for the slightest ticks or anything in your face that makes her think you’re lying. Misty doesn’t say anything, her eyes finding the wooden table interesting. So much for someone who tried to defend you just a few seconds ago.

“Fine…but if I find out there is something, then-”

“Do what you must, Natalie.”

Your voice is firmly affirmative as you hold her steely gaze. After a couple of seconds, she finally lets down, raising her hands in surrender. Misty clears her throat, lifting her voice.

“Okay, now that it’s over can we finally work again? As in, a team? You’re a Ranger, right? That will bring us a lot of help. With your sense of responsibility and leadership.”

Misty is adorable but calling you a “team” is an exaggeration. Even though the sight of Natalie’s eyes rolling at the term makes you stifle a chuckle.

“Technically I am. My boss thinks I’m going through something, I don’t know. He put me on a three-week leave.”

She smiles brightly, extending her hand at your crossed arms. You glance down at it and lightly shake hers. Natalie just clears her throat and takes another cookie before approving.

“This reunion was sweet and all but we have to go. I’ll let Misty leave our contact info. Misty, I’ll wait for you in the car.”

Nat gives a tight-lipped smile before leaving you and Misty in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about Nat, she’s just…I mean, it’s…”

She tries to find a way to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t sound outrightly hurtful. To be fair trust issues are bound to arise so…

Shaking your head you smile warmly at her. You stand up to grab a sticky note and a pen, handing it back to Misty.

“Yeah.”

You whisper, barely even audibly, your mind still racing. She pulls back, fixing her glasses in a way only Misty Quigley ever could. After she scribbles down two sets of numbers she gives it back to you. 

“Those numbers aren’t only for investigation purposes, it’s also a support group.”

“Investigation purposes” Like how she basically stalked y…wait. If she knows about you…then she must also know about the others. 

“Hey…I just have a question. If you found out about me…do you…do you know about the rest, or were they good at covering up their tracks? I’m just curious. Y’know. Harmless curiosity.”

Her ears perked up and if it were anyone else but Misty, you don’t think you’d support this cheerfulness and optimism. 

“Of course. Besides, pretty much all information that is out there is public knowledge so I didn’t really “find” you. Who do you want to know about? Randy? Ooh, maybe that girl who took your jacket and never gave it back to you-”

“Ty. I mean, Taissa. I want to know about Taissa.”

That was too much of a quick interruption. Her eyebrows furrow and her lips are brought into a smile. Whatever remark she is about to make is quickly shut down, again.

“It’s just, y’know I heard she was running for Senator. That is major. Really major.”

“Well yes, that is part of it. She is also married and has a child. That is pretty much about it? I mean, it’s not like I can tell you what her favourite ice cream flavour or meal is.”

Pecan. Shrimp alfredo.

She smiles wholeheartedly and shrugs. Right. Married. You don’t exactly know what it is that you were hoping for, anyway. It’s not like you were ever really a first option either so…

The car outside honks, stopping the beginning of a spiral.

“Right. Well in any case thanks, Misty. Drive safely.”

“Don’t mention a single word about it. And do watch your back…we don’t know who or what we’re dealing with.”

A couple of hours after they left, you stared into nothingness. After twenty-five years you’d think everyone will have a smidge of normalcy in their lives. Stirring macaroni, your eyes shift from the pot to your computer. Activities to do when you’re bored and Jessica Roberts.

What still gets you is this nonchalance. 

She’s obsessive. It is her job but she is strangely, weirdly, bizarrely obsessive. Whatever reason does she have to know about your past life? Everything is out there for her to know already. Everyone knows or at least has some idea of what happened. 

Abandoning the stove to scroll through your computer, you look for anything that will give a clue. There is nothing much useful but her education, her accreditation…

“I’m on your case now you bottom feeding bi-”

A postcard flies right past the window, landing in the sink. What the…? You peer over it. At a glance, a simple, innocent postcard. Turning it around, all the colour leaves your body, ignoring the smell of the pot burning. Exactly what you were afraid of. 

“We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with” are now famous last words.

⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰⟰

“There is no fucking way this is happening.”

You set the now-burnt macaroni aside, your brain circling back to the symbol on the back of the “I miss you!” postcard. 

“What if it’s- it’s laced or something and I’ll get sick in a couple of hours and- for all we know she can be some fucking deranged mentally ill serial killer who’s wanted by the FBI and-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I promise nothing is laced, alright? Focus on the sound of my voice and slowly inhale then exhale with me. Ready?”

Misty softly speaks, guiding and helping you breathe regularly again. The ringing in your ears is slowly dissipating and your legs don’t feel like giving up on themselves anymore. 

“Good, good job. Just take your time.”

“Are you alright to continue the conversation?”

Natalie exasperates. Like you're a child who woke their parents up to tell them they’ve pissed the bed again. 

You take a final deep exhale, your voice slightly breaking. You grab a bottle of water from your fridge and take a few sips.

“Yeah, yeah I’m…I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, don’t apologise. Anyone would have had the same reaction as you, Ranger. Never know what could happen these days. All kinds of freaks are running around and ow- Misty I’m trying to assist, here.”

“Thanks Natalie. That…helps. A bit.”

Weirdly, surprisingly, you’re comforted by her words. You would have expected anything but that given her lack of trust at the beginning. 

“So with Nat we’re thinking that it’s either Jessica’s own doing, or someone’s working with her.”

“Hmm…and if you had the same card as me then that means…”

“...There is a chance the others must have received it.”

They complete your sentence at the same time, still trying to make sense of this entire situation. Is Jessica Roberts a family member like you’ve doubted before? Or is she working with someone to try and fish information out of us to extort us or something Like Natalie said? That or she’s a con who is efficiently covering up her tracks. 

Your hands fiddle with the loose strings of your flannel, the only thing that brings you back to reality and refuses your brain the idea that it is a state-like dream. 

No one says anything for a couple of seconds, turning into minutes. The only sound that fills the silence is the soft hum of their car radio. Until Misty speaks up again, a strange lilt to her voice for this situation.

“I think it’s time we bring the team back together.”

[why-its-kai]

is it weird that i don’t feel like taking a walk unless it’s specifically to do something. for example: go to laundromat and do my laundry, go to library to return book, go to post office to mail a letter. it’s nice temperature out today and i kinda want to walk i know i could use the exercise but bc i have no reason or destination in mind, i just cannot justify doing it. i know the point is to get fresh air and exercise. but i feel like i need to be either getting something done or be going somewhere with a clear destination. there’s nothing else to do but walk past ppls homes and churches and so many businesses irrelevant to my interests (like offices and funeral homes and banks and hair salons and doctors offices and restaurants) while cars rush past constantly. what’s the point of going anywhere when there’s nothing for you to go to. always experience this feeling of “i shouldn’t stay here long i need to keep moving” when i go out for a walk, like an urgency to get somewhere else bc if i stay here too long it’ll be suspicious bc i’m in front of someone’s house or a business i don’t plan on entering. there’s few places around here where you can just exist without feeling like you’re intruding on someone else’s property/business. i don’t feel like i live in a community i just feel like i’m intruding on private property no matter where i am. from my experience living in the same area my whole life, communal spaces barely exist in the suburbs unless you’re a student in school or part of a religious congregation. even with the library it feels like majority of events they host are oriented towards kids/families or retired/older people. i don’t know where to even go within walking distance to just exist and feel like i’m allowed to exist there without spending money !! i’m too tired to constantly drive to get anywhere where i could potentially find a feeling of community (also public transit barely exists out here) !! what even is there for me here !!!! isolated in a suburban hell babey !!!!!!!!

[thegreencanary]

Karen Wheeler Hate Club

Based on this request!

Paring: Billy Hargrove and Female Reader (established relationship)

TW: Cursing, Smoking, ADULTS BEING FUCKING GROSS. Minors this is a DNI cuz the adults are nasty. So go find Joyce and Hopper and get a story from them. A good safe bedtime story that doesn’t involve bored suburban moms who need to be in jail.

A/N: This is my work and I give no one the permission to post it on other sites or claim it as their own or do both of those things. Also Karen is gross for hitting on Billy and I will not take any questions at this time.

Also please take the Trigger Warnings seriously!Mental health first babes.

It’s a short one, just a little one shot!

Fuming wasn't a word that would describe you often, but today it fit perfectly. The sun was out but the fact that Karen Wheeler was trying to pick up your boyfriend was making you burn. Billy didn't mind, and at first he really liked it but once the two of you started dating he had backed off the flirting. Sure he was older and hotter than the high school boys at Hawkins, but Nancy was literally his age and she even got on her mom about it. You huffed as Karen tossed her head back laughing at something Billy said. He was just being nice, which means he was being a huge flirt. That boy had two settings, mad as hell and flirty as fuck. .The past few months you'd seen a different side to him with the Upside Down showing you different things about all your friends, you eventually developed feelings for Billy. No matter how sweet he was to you, he knew how much you hated Karen Wheeler. Grabbing your bag you almost jumped out of your lawn chair when you saw Steve enter the pool. He could take over watching the kids, you weren't going to stick around and watch someones MOM hit on your freaking boyfriend.

"Hey Y/N! Wh--"

"El is in the bathroom, everyone else is in the deep end. Have fun. Bye."

You cut Steve off and he looked so confused. His eyes followed yours and the sight of Karen looking up at Billy while he was on the lifeguard chair was all he needed to understand.

"See you later."

"Yeah."

There was some commotion behind you as you stormed out, only to feel a strong hand on your arm; stopping you.

"Where are you going babe?"

"Home...or maybe to Nancy's house to tell her dad that his wife is a pervert."

Billy sighed, he thought your jealousy was funny and a little cute but now it was clear that you didn't find it either of those things. He lit a cigarette and tried to talk to you.

"I get it, I can't exactly tell her to fuck off at work thought."

"It's fine Billy. I get it. Hot mom and everyone wants her. Well you can fucking have her then."

You ripped your arm away from Billy and stormed off. You heard him cussing behind you and saying you were over reacting but you didn't care. Later that night you got a phone call from Billy. He wasn't one for apologizing but he talked to you a bit about everything and you explained your side as well. The two of you made up under the rule that he wouldn't entertain Mrs. Wheeler at all. That was what was supposed to happen, yet Karen didn't seem to get the message that he wasn't interested. Every damn day she was at the pool waiting for Billy, wearing new swim suits and makeup...who fucking wears makeup to go swimming? You reached your limit when you went on your lunch break from work to eat with Billy and there she was, standing too close to Billy and trying to put her nasty hands all over her. The rage you felt carried your feet to Billy and you stepped in front of Karen, placing a big kiss on Billy's lips. He smirked and wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you in tighter.

A moment or two passed and you separated, looking at Karen with spite in your eyes.

"I'm sorry, was I interrupting?"

"Not at all baby, Mrs. Wheeler was just asking about swim lessons."

That fucking bitch.

"Huh. Mike and Nancy swim great, just like their mom!"

A deviously innocent smile crawled across your face as you saw Karen step back in defeat.

"Yeah...its for a friend. She never really learned..."

"I'm sure she would fit right in to the group classes. After all, it's a little weird for someone your age to be spending alone time with teenagers, isn't it?"

Billy squeezed your side playfully. The smile on this face was of pure awe. You were a force to be reckoned with and he fucking loved it.

"I...I suppose so. Thank you for the information Billy. I'll see you around."

"I'm always at work."

He responded nicely but it was clear there was NOTHING more to feed the delusional Karen Wheeler. Once she was out of sight, Billy picked up where you two left off from the kiss and a blush reached your toes.

"Billy! People can see..."

"That didn't stop you before baby. You're so fucking hot when you're mad."

"Well don't make me mad like that again or you'll be the one I'm bitching at."

"You're cute when you think you can scare me."

He smirked and grabbed your ass. This lunch was going to be very quick.

[s1ater]

missing shoes.

pairings. frat!adam banks x fem!reader

about. fulton’s shoes have been missing for weeks now and the ducks unintentionally find them in the strangest place

warnings. swearing, alcohol, tipsy!adam

ricky rocks. aye adam!

you heard the horrid screams all the way out in the garage where you and dean sat, analyzing old rhonda. the ‘88 red suburban passed down to fulton from his father. the old automobile had a long run, one that seemed to be coming to an end by the way you and dean not being able to find the true problem of why it wouldn’t start up.

the screams soon turned into straight loud yelling that made you clench your jaw, sharing a look with dean. the two of you soon raced out of the garage rather fast toward the entertainment area where the commotion seemed to have been resonating from.

you immediately frowned to see fulton scouting around the room, his hands in his hair, tugging at it roughly. you once again shared a look with dean who looked just as lost as you. in this situation, you were expecting blood, maybe even a stab wound, something that represented physical pain. but instead, you saw fulton, someone who hadn’t been off the couch in days, someone with no stab wounds nor blood on him, causing you to roll your eyes.

“where the hell is my beer?”

“what?”

“my beer,” his hands released his hair, lifting in the air aggressively, “i got up to go to the bathroom and when i came back.. it was gone!”

you squinted at him, trying to find the relevance and need to scream over a missing beer, “maybe you drank it all,” you tried to reason, shrugging lightly.

“i did not drink it all,” he gave you a pointed look, making sure you understood, “the can would still be here anyways, i haven’t cleaned up my pile in weeks.”

that’s when you cringed once he motioned to the pile of beer bottles collecting dust by the side of the couch. he was making use of his spring break.

“maybe they’re where your shoes are,” dean suggested, shrugging innocently but deep down suppressing a smile.

the comment made you laugh while fulton fully glared at his friend, his shoulders going slack from being reminded, “that’s not even funny, man.”

you laughed again. fulton had lost his shoes about two months ago, causing quite a problem since they seemed to be his only pair of shoes. when asked why they were his only pair, he reasoned they were lucky and he found no reason to buy another pair.

you all looked at him like he was crazy.

he had practically turned the frat house upside down in search of these lucky old sneakers, but never found anything except a couple of fives and a lawn gnome hidden under his bed.

“god, fulton, no wonder you lost your shoes,” connie had cringed, her face wrinkling up as she stared into the boys room. “your room is an absolute pig sty.”

after a week he had given up and bought a new pair of sneakers, leaving the lucky ones in the past. but it was still a burden on his mind.

“what’re you laughing at?”

“nothing, fulton,” you shrugged helplessly, a snide smile on your face. “i just think you got a problem.”

“i’ll fucking kick your ass.”

“hey, don’t be talking to my girlfriend like that,” adam appeared out of nowhere with a slight smile on his face while he drunk from a glass beer bottle. “not nice, man.”

fulton glared before coming to realization, “hey, is that my beer?”

“is it?” adam raised the beer as it closely examining it after slinging an arm around your shoulders. “i could’ve sworn this was mine.”

“do you have my shoes too?”

you rolled your eyes while leaning closer into adam’s warm body. he held you closer despite bickering with fulton some more.

the four of you were the only ones home due to julie dragging part of the team out for a hike since everyone had been sitting in on their asses most of spring break.

you and dean denied due to needing to fix rhonda, adam stayed because you stayed, and fulton… fulton wouldn’t have lasted on the hike for five minutes due to his diet now only consisting of beer and eight day old fried chicken. he was a couch potato.

the phone suddenly rang, drowning out part of adam and fulton’s arguing, but they still continued, having no reason to stop.

“y/n,” dean yelled after you, “it’s for you.”

you unhinged from adam, heading towards the crappy green home phone that was probably as old as the house. you nodded to dean before taking the phone, “hello?”

“y/n, you’ll never guess what.”

“julie?”

“you have to come down here,” the girl rambled on, an obvious grin on her face despite you having no ability to see her. “everyone’s losing their shit, you have to come.”

“where are you calling me from?”

“a pay phone outside of west river.”

“is charlie still with you?”

“yeah,” julie bit her nail, “he’s the one who found it,” she pauses, you can hear her breathing lightly before a cautious sigh sounds, “we also need you guys to come out here anyways.”

“why?”

“we kinda ran out of gas..”

you sigh, scratching your forehead, “hand the phone to charlie.”

you felt arms go around your shoulders as you waited silently for julie to hand the phone to your praised captain charlie. your lips were pressed tightly together as adam sunk his head into the crook of your neck, but you smiled as he begun to sway the two of you back in forth in his patient tick.

you could tell he was slightly tipsy and probably had more than one of fulton’s beers by the way the smell of booze curled up in the curve of your neck from his breath. you leaned into him while your one arm that wasn’t holding the phone reached up and held his arm sweetly.

“hey, y/n/n!”

“hi charlie,” you hummed, continuing to sway with adam.

“you need to get down here right now,” charlie yelled, “fulton will love this. plus our cars out of gas, so we kinda need you to pick us all up.”

you sighed but nodded, “alright charlie, but rhonda’s not exactly working right now..”

“that’s fine!”

you weren’t exactly sure if charlie had heard you correctly but you shrugged, mumbling an ‘alright’ before hanging up the phone, trying to process why exactly charlie was so excited.

°•

you were finally on the road after twenty minutes of trying to get rhonda up running. twenty minutes of dean raging, twenty minutes of adam acting as if he were some car expert, and twenty minutes of you smacking at the both of them.

it wasn’t until fulton decided to make an appearance explaining everything you all were doing was wrong and then rhonda finally worked. and it was the stupidest thing ever. he had smacked the hood of the car five times before it finally started.

it pissed you off.

“where are they again?” adam was leaned and stretched out against you in the middle row, another beer in his hand, drinking the day away faster than fulton was. your hand were in his hair, soothing and making him relax even more than he already was.

“outside of west river… somewhere.”

“great,” he mumbled, taking another sip of his beer, “that could be anywhere.”

“we’ll find em,” fulton mumbled surely before his hope sunk down once they passed the ‘now leaving west river’ sign, seeing no broken down car on the side of the road. “eventually.”

about ten minutes passed before adam’s back straightened, his finger tip knocking against the window lightly, catching all of your attention, “julie’s car. that’s julie’s car, right?”

fulton hit the breaks fast sending you all forward in your seats, “it is!” the boy pulled to the side of the road in front of julie’s red subaru; a shit car she could barely afford. you all got out rather quickly before the inspecting begun.

her car was completely empty besides the small wrappers and pieces of trash that cluttered the floor and the air freshener hung from her rear view mirror. adam tried the handle of the drivers side door, discovering it was locked. he shrugged before all four of you decided silently to head into the woods, calling out your teammates names.

“how do you think they even called us,” fulton’s eyes wandered and analyzed that anywhere he looked there was a tree. “there couldn’t possibly be a phone booth this far out in the woods.”

“with things we’ve seen, i wouldn’t be surprised,” dean mumbled. “let’s just hurry this up, the sky’s starting to get dark.”

“what, you scared?” adam smirked as he tipped back the can of busch light he held.

“no, i just don’t want to be out here any longer than i have to.”

you had to agree with dean. the darker it got outside the colder it would get and the four of you had no idea where you were going, for all you knew, the rest of the team wasn’t even within the woods but maybe farther up the street trying to hitch hike.

“you know what this reminds me of,” adam hiccuped, interrupting the five minutes of silence that had slowly taken over you all. “that one time we went scouting for an alien up at oregon.”

you smiled, thinking of how you had all piled into adam’s parents rv and drove 33 hours for a stupid museum that supposedly had actual alien bones goldberg had heard of but ended up being a hoax. the weather was horrible, preventing you all from doing any other planned activities and you ended up renting a motel room due to connie locking everyone out.

the trip would have overall sucked if it weren’t for the front desk man informing you all of the old abandon mining site that used to be an active alien spotting area. everyone’s cheer had been restored after that and not even the rain could stop all of you once you all had your galoshes and rain coats on.

you hadn’t found anything, but the rest of the night spent in the motel room with adam didn’t have you disappointed.

“you guys finally made it,” charlie appeared out of no where with his hiking pack on and his face sunburned. “you guys need to see this.”

you shared a look with adam before following charlie who trekked in what seemed to be a memorized path by the way he glided around the trees so easily and found the rest of your friends without a sweat. they were all camped out by a rundown looking telephone booth making you frown as you tipped your head slightly.

“does it work?”

“who cares, this is what you all made a big deal about?” dean scowled at charlie and julie who was leaned against the pealing red painted wood of the booth. “let’s get out of here man, my legs are aching.”

julie rolled her eyes before pushing herself off of it, “just look,” her finger raised toward the sky where all your eyes followed to what you assumed was where their actual surprise was; a long line of brass hung from tree to tree, decorated with multiple pairs of shoes, something you were surprised you hadn’t noticed.

your eyebrows lifted in surprise as you examined the multiple kinds of shoes that varied from condition to color to style to brand.

and then- “no fucking way.”

your eyes landed on a ratty pair of sneakers that looked familiar and your guess was proved right when you heard fulton’s gasp.

his long lossed sneakers were finally found.

navigation | taglist

@cc13723things @ishwiya @uselesssapphickitten @schnapp-my-neck @black-rose-29 @instabull @lukewearingbeanies @sunflower-liz @extremesadnerding @sh-tposter2021 @i-love-scott-mccall