#my real life is quite... desolate.

[mayonakano-archive]

hm.

[luvscnarios]

Heaven is a Bedroom ✩࿐࿔

Pairing :: Gallagher x fem!reader. Word Count :: 1.6k. Warnings :: one paragraph of smut 💀. Notes :: idc if Gallagher doesn't gain much traction on my acc, I still love my old man <3.

Usually, Gallagher wakes up to his dark and desolate room. The air is corroded with the odor of alcohol and potent tobacco, the curtains block out almost any sunlight, and the bed itself is threadbare with a single pillow and a few cheap sheets. It was a far cry from luxury, calling it comfy would be a stretch, but Gallagher was used to it either way. So when he opened his eyes to the blinding rays of dawn’s sunlight that streamed from the windows, he had never been more confused in his entire life. 

And if that wasn’t strange enough, he turned his head over to see you, a sweet-looking lady completely bare with your messy hair sticking up in all four directions and dark marks all over your skin. You weren’t even fazed by the fact he was in your bed, too busy sipping on water from a cat-print glass tumbler. He had to blink and rub his eyes a few times, wondering how the hell this was even happening. It wasn’t until Gallagher let out of those world-famous dad groans did finally capture your attention, tilting your head and giving him a curious look. “Good morning, sleepy. Did you sleep good?” 

You couldn’t be real. Here was a man who was in his late thirties, smelled like shitty cologne and booze, looked high half the time, and that is what you had to say? No screaming and kicking him out on the spot? Just asking him if he slept well? Gallagher had to be in heaven because you must be an angel. He sat up next to you and felt the chilly air hit his skin, realizing he was naked too. And after a good two minutes of being confused, the memories of last night finally floated back into mind.

A bar with flashing lights, blaring music, and sweaty bodies grinding up on each other. And poor little you, all alone in your tiny black dress and pink bows in your hair, left behind by all your friends. Gallagher was supposed to be bartending that night but how could he leave a vulnerable thing like you? It was painfully clear you were meant to be cozied up in the corner of a library rather than a crowded bar, too timid and quiet for your own good. So before he thought twice about messing with a young girl like yourself, he had you sat at the bar counter and chatted you up. Meaningless conversations he couldn’t remember were held and he started drinking, downing shot after shot. Not once did Gallagher realize you weren’t drinking with him, your cup of wine that he gave you for free barely half empty. Turned out that behind those innocent-looking eyes and creased brows, you were quite the charmer once in an environment you were comfortable in. Smiling, giggling, and letting the compliments spill from your lips were natural for you. And before he knew it, he was leaning in for a kiss. 

As if on cue, you turned your face so his lips landed on your cheek. Your bubbly laughter rang in his ears and all he vaguely remembered was you whispered in his ear. Something along the lines of “come home with me” and like a lovesick fool, he grabbed the nearest coworker he could find to take his spot as bartender. Sure, that probably wasn’t allowed and there was a good chance of messing up everything by leaving since he was the most skilled. But with a babe like you whose voice dripped with saccharine temptation, he was no better than a puppy. 

How he actually got to your house, he wasn’t so sure. Between the shots he had back at the bar and the darkness of the night, he didn’t know and frankly didn’t care. What he did care about was that once you guided him to your unlit room inside your quaint apartment, you were quick to strip him down. So much for those innocent eyes and timid persona, a facade to hide your appetites.

The only clear memories he had of the night before were the way you first rode him and how he watched in awe as you struggled to take him. How your mewls and whimpers filled the air along with skin slapping skin, the way you looked down at him with watery eyes for him to fuck you. The way you begged to get roughened up and how he flipped you over so he could have you in missionary. Not to mention how vividly he could recall the sensation of your legs around his waist, the skin of your neck as he gingerly kissed and nibbled on it, and your smaller hands in his large grasp. And most importantly, he remembered how you cried out his name as you came for the first time that night, his own orgasm following embarrassingly quick. 

However. That was all last night in the heat of the moment and recklessness fueled by alcohol. At least on his side. For Gallagher, he never would have thought he would so quickly hook up with such a young woman like yourself. But he thought you looked so cute, so inviting that he had to take the bait. Not that he regretted it. He would repeat last night a thousand times over if he had to. And as he sat next to you in your bed-with was soft with luxurious blankets and down pillows-he could stare at you with novel fondness. Out of all the occasional hookups he had in the past, Gallagher could confidently say you were his favorite. Whether or not you would tolerate his company now a day later was yet to be answered.  

“Err, yeah. I slept alright. How about you, doll? No soreness I hope?” He glanced around your room as he spoke, suddenly feeling very out of place. Your bed tucked in a cozy corner of your room, movie and artist posters adorning the walls. Pink shelves held lots of different houseplants and even the nightstand next to the bed had a lamp in the shape of a flower, a digital clock in pink, and several books that all had fancy-looking titles. There was your closet with sticky notes on them, no doubt serving as reminders for yourself. Your desk was on the opposite side of the room, a pegboard near it that held many trinkets and other things that you found useful. And like the cherry on top, the walls of your room were soft pink like the bows that were in your hair last night. Your room was nothing short of paradise, as adorable as you. And Gallagher felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb among the cutesy decor.  

And it also rubbed in the fact even though you were much younger than Gallagher, you managed to have your life more put together than him. That was a tiny slap to the face and a bit of a wake-up call. Even after having a messy one night stand, you went on with your normal morning routine. Before Gallagher could begin to question the direction of his life, you graciously responded to his questions as you set your water down on your night stand. 

“I’m a little sore but I don’t mind. Last night was fun.” There it was. That honeyed voice coupled with a little giggle at the end. It was crazy to even his own mind how weak that voice made him, how desperate became to hold you close. And that he did, carefully pulling flush against his side. Gallagher wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting, but he was uncharacteristically happy when you reciprocated his gesture by hugging his side. He pressed lazy kisses on your silly bed hair and let out an audible “awe” at the sight of you holding him so tight. 

His chest was twisting painfully. That never happens after a hookup. If anything, he’s gone before the other person wakes up. And yet, he felt so welcomed in the fuzzy blankets of your bed and your embrace. How he would give to fall asleep with your sweaty body clinging to him again with your cheek squished against his chest. To wake up in your darling little room with plants and posters all over. You were as fresh as springtime flowers, in the height of your bloom while Gallagher was nothing more than a dog running all over. But then again, the saying “stop and smell the roses” must exist for a reason. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to relax and stay a little longer. Brushing his lips against your ear he simply whispered, “Say the words and I’m gone. If not…I know a good breakfast place.”

You take a moment to think and his heart dropped at the idea of being kicked out so brazenly. Then Gallagher mentally kicked himself for thinking so ahead. The two of you met last night, shared one intimate moment and he himself could barely remember all the details. A very crappy way to get to know someone, but he still wanted to try. You were the younger one here but you made his heart feel like a schoolboy in love, even if he didn’t show it. 

Thank goodness you were a literal angel because you nodded at his proposal, sealing the deal with a kiss to his lips. It’s soft and chaste with your hand cupping his face, but Gallagher still silently reveled in the tenderness of it. You pull away and he admires your beauty: from those alluring doe eyes and tempting lips to the dark love bites he left on your skin. Something was growing within Gallagher, something he hasn’t felt in so long, but for once he was just going to let things run their course. 

“Sure, I’m down for breakfast. You pay, of course. And we’ll call it a date.”

[kykyonthemoon]

Till The Break Of Dawn

That girl was Death, and she came to see me on my twenty-seventh birthday.

── .✦ Zayne (Dawnbreaker) x MC (Female Reader)

── .✦ Tags: oneshot, angst, open ending, multiverse, AU, loops, MC is referred to as "Dawn" in this fic, first pov (Zayne's), side characters: Jas, Astra.

── .✦ Word count: ~3k

── .✦ Ky Ky's note: This fic is for my friend Le Juan, and all the Zayne's girlies out there. Happy Moonlit Orchid Day (or Qixi)! <3

It's also my very first time writing for Dawnbreaker.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

when death

takes my hand

i will hold you with the other

and promise to find you

in every lifetime

— commitment (Rupi Kaur)

Rain. Tiny translucent and frigid particles plummeted into this dark world. The rain fell from the opulent downtown area to the deteriorating, abandoned structures. Under the torrent of water, be it human or monster, it was all the same.

Slow, worn-out steps came to a halt in front of a building that had long since fallen asleep in nature's embrace. Blood trickled over the ground and spread a poisonous tint in the water, yet it had no stain on the pristine white jasmine blossoms flourishing in that desolate place.

Jasmine bid me farewell in my last moments. Perhaps this life was not that dreadful to me after all.

My body crumbled. The rain welcomed me. Cold. The sweet scent of jasmine soared throughout the wind. With my final breath, I extended my hand forward. The hand was smeared with so much blood, from both human and Wanderers, and I knew I was not deserving of it. But I had just the desire to touch it once. My pure jasmine petals.

I had simply sought for one favor; let me dwell in those tranquil dreams with the girl I had always revered.

It appeared as if I heard her voice in the breeze; such melodies to my ears, lulling me into somnolence. I was determined to find her this time, forever.

“Zayne?… Zayne?…”

Someone ran to me from the other side, behind the jasmine bush. She was waiting for me. Just a little more…

“Zayne!”

Her warm fingers connected with mine. I awoke at that very time. Was she calling me, or someone who looked identically to me in the dream?

I opened my eyes and saw her there. She donned a dark robe that swept above the street. She sat down beside me and turned my cold body over. That was her. It was truly her.

Each drop of rain landed on her hair, which had barely emerged from the hood of her cloak, wiping the blood stains from my face. My lips moved silently. I ached to tell her how long I had been waiting for this moment. I had always waited for her. And my wish came true.

That girl was akin to my dream. Her eyes fixed on mine, revealing a mix of astonishment and sadness. But her expression was cold. Where was the brilliant smile that brought luminescence into my otherwise miserable life? I desired it.

Trembling. My fingers moved towards her lips. I begged for her mercy  and to grant me this one wish. Yet she spoke before I could touch her: 

"Zayne." Yes, it was my name. But I knew she was calling me, not the Zayne she had loved in her dream. "Dawnbreaker."

This was the real me, in this world.

"I came here to take you away." Her voice was quite sorrowful. Had I disregarded her with my unkempt appearance and stained hands? This was not the meeting I had hoped for, but I was delighted to have found her. Or it was she who found me.

Winds. The bell chimed midnight. The cold seeped into my thick layers of clothing. The girl's scarlet lips parted again as she drew closer and murmured:

"Take my hand."

She seized mine. There was something in her eyes. Death. Then I suddenly realized something.

That girl was Death, and she came to see me on my twenty-seventh birthday.

It is said that when a person dies, their entire life flashes before their eyes. For me, there was more than just one.

Countless sights that resembled fractured, patched recollections flashed before my eyes. They were my life, yet not really. I knew them well yet felt as if we were complete strangers. I was once a foreseer on the icy throne, I was once a god hidden in the deep mountains, I was once a doctor in the modern day,... Among countless variables, there was only one thing that remained constant: her. 

In each piece of memory, I always found her, my girl. It was always her dying heart, and I was fighting against fate to save her. The instant my life ended, our jasmine flower withered. Then everything went back to where it started.

As midnight was also the time when a new day began.

At first, I could not comprehend what was happening. Everything happened in the same order: I met her, loved her, she was going to die, and I sacrificed my life for her. Our identities might differ, and our decisions might not be precisely the same, yet the ending never changed. I began to vaguely feel that a certain hand had intervened in the flow of our life, driving her and me to follow such a predetermined path.

And suddenly I was Dawnbreaker. In this life, I failed to find her. I had always assumed she just existed in my fantasies. It was not until my death that I discovered she had been seeking for me all along.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in the midst of a thriving jasmine garden. A person's fuzzy shadow appeared ahead of me. At first, I believed it was her, yet as I drew closer, I noticed it was a boy who seemed quite familiar.

"Georgie?"

No, that was not Georgie. The boy with that name had abruptly vanished before my eyes. The individual standing here was someone else who resembled Georgie.

"Hello, Zayne." The small child spoke. I had no idea who he was. However, I got the feeling that we had known each other for a long time, since innumerable lifetimes ago.

"I'm not Georgie." The boy added. "I only took the shape of someone you used to know so that I could communicate to you without causing any disturbance in this reality. If you don't like it, I can turn into a snowflake, a cat or something else.”

“You are?”

"Jas." He responded. "I am Jas. Perhaps you forgot about me. But I remember you, and her."

The name rang like a bell, reawakening something that had been asleep inside me. I asked:

“She… And you. Have we known each other before?”

Jas grinned mysteriously. “Shouldn't all the answers be right in front of you at this point?”

“Who are you exactly?”

The child went around the garden like a butterfly. A moment later, he replied:

“I am nobody. I am merely an illusion created by her and you a long, long time ago.”

“So… this garden is also an illusion?”

“It's all an illusion.” Jas replied. “This garden and all the flowers here are.”

I looked around. Each blooming jasmine brought back memories of a lifetime spent with her. I found myself ready to ask Jas a few questions about the flowers, but as if reading my thoughts, he immediately replied:

"That's right. Every jasmine here represents a life you once shared with her.”

I cast a gaze across the seemingly endless garden. There was no evidence of the girl anywhere. I wanted to find her, to call her name. Yet, I had no comprehension of what she was dubbed in this life.

"She is Death. In this realm, she has no name." Jas said as if he could read the thoughts written on my face. "But you may call her anything you want. She permits you to."

Hence, from that moment on, I decided that she would be my Dawn.

Dawn represented Death in this world. Her duty was to send the deceased to their proper resting place. She had seen me in the abandoned street, where I drained a soul out of torment before they were hauled into eternal darkness, and their body became a monster. She was always watching me, yet I could only see her when life left me. Dawn, like me, had spent her countless existences in this garden. 

Jas spoke again, directing my attention back to him:

“Stop looking. She's not here. But before you go mad and run to find her, listen to the remainder of the story first. Shall we?”

I had no alternative since Jas began shortly before I could say anything. Following along the boy's footsteps, I felt as if I were lost in another garden similar to this one, but in a distant timeline.

In the past, this jasmine garden was once the residence of a goddess. Although she was merely a minor deity, her fate was tied to the survival of that world. That divine being was Dawn.

She was born from the purest energies of heaven and earth. That was why, with each cycle, she would have to sacrifice her life, offering her flesh and blood to continue nourishing that world. Then she would be reincarnated in her former body, forgetting all about her previous life. Just as the end of day gives way to darkness, and the breaking of dawn marks the start of a new day.

Things were always going to be like this, then one day, she fell in love.

The person she loved was chosen by Astra - the god of creation - to inherit his power and pass on his will to humanity. She was originally sent by Astra to assist him in training, but in the end, she proved to be his greatest challenge.

"Zayne…" She cried out his name, the person who had always been at her side. They traveled the world together, battled side by side, and defended each other. In the end, they arrived at Mt. Eternal, which marked the boundary between the human and divine realms. Overcoming many obstacles, they learned the mystery that Astra had kept concealed for so long.

Astra, the deity that Dawn considered her father, turned out to want nothing more than to take away the power of heaven and earth that she possessed. Every time she died, he became stronger by taking her energies. Every time she reincarnated, he would bring her back and care for her as if she were his daughter, earning her trust until she ultimately sacrificed herself for a false greater cause. But in this existence, she met Zayne.

"If divine power can't protect those important to me, then I shall need nothing from it."

Zayne had made a decision. Dawn went with him to search for Astra, pretending that he would personally sacrifice her as a present to him while they plotted for the murder of the god. However, they were unaware that they were sliding into Astra's predetermined trap.

How did both of his instruments slip out of his grasp so easily? Astra separated the two, robbed their memories and encased those in jasmine. The new Zayne and Dawn began a new life, unaware of each other and with no memory of their preceding love.

But they still found each other. The thread of fate had long ago bound both of them. Dawn, like in her previous life, must die in accordance with Astra's wishes. And Zayne was always trying to save her. The moment he surrendered his life for hers, the flow of time halted. The entire world came to an abrupt end, then it started all over again.

Astra experimented thousands and thousands of times. The jasmine garden housed every existence of the star-crossed lovers, trapping them eternally in the cycle of love and death. They appeared to have discovered this secret after their first few lifetimes. Every time the flow of time was reestablished, their memories were erased. However, simply encountering each other again caused them to fall in love anew; and whether Zayne remembered or forgot, he would always give his life to the one he loved.

"Don't cry…" Zayne was lying in her arms. He was standing before her. He was leaning onto her shoulder... Their circumstances would alter, but there was always that final moment when she wept and grasped his hand.

They had just recently retrieved some recollections of their past lives before being forced to part ways again.

"Don't cry…" This time, Zayne had her in his arms. His back was against the debris of the collapsed research room. The blanket of snow sprayed over, bringing chilling temperatures. They were on Mt. Eternal in another timeline. Yet even this time, Zayne gave up his life to save Dawn.

She shook her head, tears flowing. They were so close to discovering the truth they had been seeking for so long. They had almost broken this curse of eternal reincarnation. Yet in the end, Astra was one step ahead.

"Hold my hand…" Zayne clasped hers. Death reached his remaining arm and froze it. "As long as you hold my hand like this… I will be able to find you… in the next life…"

"Do you promise?"

"Yes…"

Zayne had not once broken his vow to her. However, if she did not truly die, Astra could not obtain the power he sought. The jasmine garden grew wider with each new life and reboot. He must put an end to this.

As a result, he designed a life in which she became Death, and Zayne could only find her at his very last breath.

"Astra believes that if you die before meeting her, you won't be able to die for her anymore."

Jas' voice sounded out. We returned to the Jasmine Garden. Although the location was the same, this was not Astra's first garden. Dawn and I had poured our powers into this garden. Many eons ago, we had uncovered Astra's secret and secretly created this place as a safe haven away from the wicked deity. Jas was the spirit that guarded the garden and guided Dawn and me back here anytime we recalled something critical. Dawn discovered Jas before I did.

"There were two mistakes Astra made." He said. "First, he tried to control and take her power, unaware that each time she was reborn, the energy source within her grew stronger as well. Second, he was naive to believe he could separate the two of you. Even if you can't see her, the bond between you two still exists in a different way.”

At that point, I instantly realized something. "Our dreams?"

"That's right." Jas confirmed. "Even if the person you dreamed about was an alternate version of her, it seemed like all the versions in all of your lives knew each other in one way or another. She, as Death, has always dreamed of you and sought you out."

I halted to reflect on what I had just discovered, or recalled.

"Zayne, listen... Astra made another great mistake. That is giving her the status of Death. It implies she now has your life in her hands.

"Does that mean this time, she saved me?"

Jas' nod reaffirmed my doubts, my fears. "You should have died and Astra could have her again... However, she utilized the power of Death to stop your time. Zayne, you are still alive."

I already knew that. The truth was, my life only begun when she arrived.

"I have to find Dawn."

"Wait." Jas spoke up. Almost immediately, vines from the garden seized my limbs. "You cannot go yet."

"Why?"

"She used all of her current power to prevent you from dying. If Astra finds you, she will no longer be able to defend you. She brought you here to keep you safe, Zayne."

Dawn wanted to confront Astra alone. I expected this when old memories resurfaced. I told Jas:

“Then it’s another reason to find her. I cannot bear to lose her again.”

I strained with the vines that were becoming increasingly tight around me, even using Evol to break free of them.

At that point, the garden started to tremble severely. The pure blue sky above broke into fragments and decreased. The jasmine petals detached from the stems, drifted in the air and eventually vanished.

"Jas?"

“I have… completed my mission…” His voice seemed to resonate from far away. His entire body perished before my eyes. “I exist… so that one day… you and she can… find what you've lost… Now… you both have made your own decisions… So I will… disappear… and return… the source of power that you both… gave me before… But remember… If you and she fail in… this timeline… there will be no more Jas, no more… jasmine garden…”

Jas in front of me appeared as surreal as a mist. I knew I had to find Dawn before Astra made a move on her. This was the last chance we had.

“Go, Zayne… I can only… help you get to… her…”

In the middle of the garden, an archway made of plants and jasmine opened. I hurled myself through it, not forgetting to gaze back at the smiling boy Jas, whose body transformed into thousands of jasmine petals before vanishing.

I heard Dawn whisper to me at that moment of life and death: 

“This time, I will protect you…” 

My hand reached out to where she was waiting. My chest ached as I screamed with everything I had:

“Dawn, take my hand!”

And I awoke. Rain splashed over my face. Cold. I was lying on the roadside next to a jasmine with each flower falling and gently dissolving in the water. 

I lifted myself up. In the black of night, I went after her traces. I knew she was so close to me. I knew she was calling my name. And the world would awaken at dawn, once again.

I will find you, in every lifetime.

[ghostieblr]

the perfect star that hid

written for @sterekbingo square "soulmate au." kind of a new take on soulmate au? at least i haven't seen this particular type (if you have, please link them to me!! <3) also, my card is under the cut! at the very end. the full fic is here, but you can also read it on ao3 (where i'll post it when i get back home) if that's more your style.

The name unfurls on his wrist at the mall, filled with people, a scratch to his bone that goes unnoticed; he always wears full sleeves, a habit borne of shame and fury, fury at himself and his life and at the one who is writing it. He's 27 — older than the average population of those without someone by their side, someone who are made with dust and ashes that together make the perfect star.

He's celebrating his 27th birthday, actually, in this very mall. Friends that appreciate his appreciation for Star Wars, that don't mind him or pity him, who actually care about him — they booked an entire cinema hall for him, pulled certain strings to make it happen, and none of them had to pleaded or begged for it. They just love him.

He doesn't have his soulmate, yet, perhaps never will, but there is this truth as well: he has friends that love him like family, like their own. It might just have to be enough.

That's what he's thinking, the epiphany dredging up his past agony and mulling it over, layering it over with itself, a sort of aftercare that he's giving a try. And he's tired, too, of the heartache and the negativity — his own most of all. And he is tired of the day, muscles aching, and hey. It's a good time for a relaxing shower, now that he's home.

So he smiles at no one in the apartment but at himself in the mirror he's hung in the living room, a sort of statement piece that Lydia insisted on after taking one look at his at the time barely furnished abode, and shrugs.

"You don't need anyone, Stiles."

The words don't sound quite right as he hears them, the meaning of it turned desolate instead of triumphant as his thoughts become intangibly tangible, an epiphany to something he might just have to get used to. Still, he's said it, it's out there, and it's gonna have to do.

He picks the clothes off of himself, hopes the shower will help him pick himself up. Decides a bath would be better — but he's not got that now, has he? Perhaps he should start saving for a house, now. But it's just so much harder with one income only; he could move back to Beacon Hills? San Francisco isn't bad, but the prices of real estate are no joke.

The pros and cons of that potential scenario run through his head, his legs out of the jeans now, his hoodie off of his body next. Huh, he's almost out of toothpaste; he should go to the grocery store tomorrow. He should also see what's in his fridge and what's not but — later.

He's getting ahead of himself.

The t-shirt he's wearing comes off, too, a full-sleeved one, white, that looks rather good on him. Accentuates the lean muscle thing he's got going on from his years at the Track Team in high school and college. There's this scar he has on his left palm from falling once in the middle of a tournament. He turns his hand—

It's not bare, anymore. His wrist — it has a name.

His soulmate's name.

He stares. And stares and stares because what the hell. This has to be a joke, right?

It just has to be.

He has been within 100 metres of this person before multiple times. Has been to his childhood home, to the fucking police station he works at because hello — Derek Hale is one of Sheriff's Deputies, and Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

They've been within 100 metres of each other before.

But this has never happened.

But...

He rushes to his bedroom, naked, panicked, ecstatic. Picks up the phone from where he'd chucked it on the bed, opens the contact of a person he hasn't contacted since the last project they did together in high school.

Cora Hale picks up on fifth ring, when he's about to hang up and try again.

"Stilinski?" She sounds confused. "It's been a while. What's up?" A muffled voice, a male. Cora says, "Are you fucking kidding me? It can't be him — you've known each other for — it's impossible —" She's clearly not speaking to Stiles.

"Is Derek there?"

Cora stops talking.

"Cora, is he — did he get it too?"

Sounds of footsteps, labored breathing. Phone changes hands and then: "Are you Mieczysław Stilinski?"

Stiles stops breathing. It's real.

Derek is asking him the name nobody but his father and the people at the DMV know.

"I don't know any other Stilinski’s. Just your father and you," Derek is saying. He sounds confused, happy, breathless. "And I know your name starts with an M. I saw some papers on the Sheriff's desk once, by mistake but — how is it you?" A pause. "Not — I didn't — I mean like —"

"How is it me when we have been around each other for so long. I have been at your house, you've been working at the BHPD for... fuck, 3 years now?"

"Since I came back from NY, yeah."

"I don't know, Derek, I don't but I... you were at the mall today, right?" He just wants to be sure.

"Yes. Yeah. I was, I was buying a gift for my parent's anniversary."

"And today's my birthday, I was —"

"With your friends watching Star Wars. I know. I saw you and the Sheriff let the whole station know about it yesterday."

Stiles can't fucking believe this. And also... "I'm so fucking cold. I really should wear some clothes."

"What?"

"Long story short — Shower, saw the name, called the one Hale's number I had."

Derek's chuckle is sexy and seriously, how has he never heard it before? It's a crime. And Stiles should be in jail. At least then he would have met his soulmate earlier... but wait, that's a paradox. Isn't it?

"I thought you were short story long kind of person," Derek says, and follows up with, "And if you're free right now... I know it's late but, would you forsake your shower and meet me to figure out why he haven't met before?"

Stiles cuts the call.

Then calls Cora's cell again. Derek picks it up with an exhale that seems very anxious, so Stiles closes his eyes at his stupidity and admits, "That was a yes. My brain just jumped ahead a few steps. Please text me your number so we can let Cora have her phone back," Cora cheers in the background, "And I can end the call so that I can wear my clothes and you can text me whatever address and we can finally meet and I'm sorry for ending the call so abruptly and seriously why haven't we met before? It's so —"

Derek chuckles again, and really, it's such a nice sound. "Stiles, breathe. I don't want you to die just yet."

"I can absolutely do that, yep."

Silence.

"Stiles? Wear your clothes. I promise I'll help you out of them when —"

There's a sudden struggle at the other end, and then it's Cora's voice coming down the line, "Ew! No! Do it on your own phone. Stiles, I'm texing you my brother's number, so go! Now!"

She ends the call.

Stiles lets his own phone fall onto the bed, processes what happened for just a minute, and then smiles goofily when Cora makes good on her statement.

Somehow, even though they haven't interacted in all these years despite all the things connecting them to the same peg on the board, Derek texts Stiles: "Stop dawdling and come meet me at the diner on 5th. Remember to wear your clothes. For now."

It's all one block of text too, the dork.

Guess that's his dork now.

Greatest. Birthday. Ever.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there everyone! Thank you so much for everything that you do~

I was wondering if you could please recommend some fics that have absolutely beautiful prose? I couldn't find a tag for it but similar to A portrait in synesthesia or The Injury Of Finally Knowing You (unpack_my_heart_with_words).

Thank you and hope you're all having a lovely day❤

Here are some fics from my bookmarks that I have tagged "beautiful"...

Strawberry Wine by GaryOldman (NR)

Human AU Ineffable Husbands one shot. "You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you." - Richard Siken

Empty and Desolate, The Air by asparkofgoodness (M)

Ever a guardian, Aziraphale kept watch. Sliver-shafts of moonlight sliced ribbons across Crowley’s face. The emptiness of it unnerved the angel. Even in slumber, his expressive face had always told stories. Syllables shifted in the corners of his mouth; sentences found themselves punctuated with the movement of an eyebrow. Now, only still silence, even in sleep.   Heavenly forces decide the best way to get their once-dutiful soldier back is to slaughter his only real reason for rebellion. Their attempt leaves Crowley wounded and voiceless. Aziraphale tries his best to heal him and accept the soundlessness of this new verse of their song.

You Said Go Slow (I Fall Behind) by BlackUnicorn (G)

Further up, still, half-hidden by the branches of the trees and the leaves of the hedges, stood a cottage. It looked like any other cottage, really, with a thatched roof and a fainted paintjob and a garden out back. However, anyone who took a closer look would agree that this particular cottage was, in fact, quite extraordinary – the roses ranking up the stone arch in the front bloomed more lustrous than any roses ever seen on earth, the car in the driveway was almost antique and yet looked like it had rolled out of the factory no longer than a few weeks ago, the shelves inside held more books than should be physically possible, and the Mona Lisa sketch in the hallway was said to have been signed by dear old Leo himself. And there, in the first-floor bedroom, covered by piles of duvets and blankets, lay the Demon Crowley, alone, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, waiting for dawn. *** Sometimes healing and moving on is the hardest part.

Exit Wounds by racketghost (T)

“At least they were together for a time,” Crowley says, staring at the lit end of his cigarette, “maybe that’s enough.” Part 1 of Strange Moons series (G-E)

l’esprit de l’escalier by seekwill (M)

l’esprit de l’escalier: that feeling you get when you leave a conversation and think of all the things you should have said With his books and his clothes and other curiosities he’d collected since beginning his time in London, Aziraphale considered himself a curator of beautiful things. He found beauty in people too, in the way they moved and spoke and laughed. This man, who was very nearly past him now, almost gone, shook him. He couldn’t understand why. There was an impulse to reach out, to wrap his blunt fingers around the man’s skinny wrist on his handlebars, say “Hello there, might you have a moment to explore why I’ve fallen in love with you just now?” An adaptation of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's 2001 film Amélie, as part of the GO Romantic Comedy Event

Not a Human AU by maniacalmole (G)

Aziraphale knows Crowley has a crush and doesn't know what to do about it. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he considered himself ‘alive’ or not. What would he do if he had to live a life? We may not be people, Crowley thought. But I do—I do want.

And the two you mentioned...

The Injury Of Finally Knowing You by unpack_my_heart_with_words (T)

Once in heaven, the angels do what they always do— a kindness. The only blessing is that without his memories, Aziraphale has no idea what he has lost. It will end, as it began, in a garden.

A Portrait in Synesthesia by DiminishingReturns (M)

In the innocent time before the Fall complicated everything, one shy, studious chronicler and one curious, chaotic starmaker fell in love. They were left with no memory of each other, but the soul remembers what the mind forgets, and their experiences together left them with a unique kind of synesthesia— the emotional state, mannerisms, and voice of one having a paired physical response (smell, taste, or color) in the other. Follow Aziraphale and Crowley from the pre-Fall times to the Apocalypse as these heightened earthly senses continually pull them back together. At first, they meet tentatively under Halley’s Comet, the last thing Crowley created as a starmaker and an excuse to keep returning to one another’s orbit. But over the millennia, their relationship deepens and they find new reasons to seek each other’s company.

- Mod D

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Night in New Orleans

Normally the men Y/N is in charge of managing are the ones getting in trouble, not the other way arround. This time, while shooting in Louisiana for the second movie, it’s a bit of both.

Johnny Knoxville X Gn!Reader, Bam Margera X Gn!Reader (if you squint)

(Fluff)

5.7k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, crude language, heavy nudity, alcohol, drug use, fights, blood, hurt/comfort, flirting, stripping, fighting

An: Another manager Y/N fic!! I can’t seem to get away from this premise for the life of me! XD they’re just so fun to write for!! Also as proof of how much research goes into these fics, every location mentioned in this fic is entirely real and on Bourbon Street! I had an ex that went to New Orleans but I’ve never been there myself, so I could only hope it’s as wild as I immagine it to be! Also, this fic takes place ~2006 during the filming of Jackass Number Two because they filmed a good chunk of that movie in Louisiana! Anyways,thank you for sending in requests and please keep sending them!

Backroads seemed to stretch on forever as you ranted to Jeff on the phone, “MTV is not paying me enough for this shit! I mean, it's bad enough I gotta spend every day with idiots, now I’m the one who’s gotta find them when they run off?” The dusty road ahead of you was solely illuminated by the one working headlight on the van as you drove through the darkness, your only source of direction being the man you were on the phone with, “It's not my fault they decided to run off to some ranch in the middle of Nowhere, Louisiana!” You rolled your eyes, leaning forward against the wheel to try and see ahead as he sighed, “Listen, we gotta shoot in the morning so just get them back to the hotel. Manage the talent!” Click.

Fuckin Jeff, making you go out in the middle of the night in the stupid van that was bumbling allong on its last legs- you didn’t even want to immagine what went down in it based on how it smelled. The whole ‘manage the talent’ thing became almost a motto for when shit turned sour but calling them talent was an overstatement. This is what chauffeurs- better yet, the town dog catcher is for, not managers. Thanks to his amazing directions, you ended up at a ranch, sure, but it seemed practically deserted as you pulled up into the dirt parking lot. Squinting into the darkness, you could barely make out the carved writing on the wooden sign that hung over the front gate that read, ‘New-D Ranch’, whatever that meant. You waited for a few minutes, trying to catch a breeze from the one working AC vent while wondering why the hell you hadn’t quit already to find a job somewhere a little more sane before you heard the swish of the doors behind you opening.

You knew it was Johnny who called shotgun when you heard the slight twang in his grumble as he slid in the passenger seat, “Christ, for a nudist ranch you’d think there’d be more chicks…” Blinking, you turned to him, looking him up and down. Shoulders, chest, thighs- oh god he was naked. Well, naked save for those stupid sunglasses he never seemed to take off. The guys chattered amongst themselves in the back seat as you whipped your head around- yeah, them too. Knoxville must have seen how big your eyes got or the blush that spread across your cheeks, and judging by the way he chuckled a little and let his knees drift apart as he settled down in his seat, he didn’t seem to mind. Pervert. It’s not like you could help it that he was so shameless and all blue and glowy from the way the moon kissed his skin. Finally, you got your words out, yanking the van into gear as you peeled out, “Why are you all naked?”

Admittedly, you were speeding a little down the desolate road while Chris and Steve filled you in on how they heard about this totally rad nudie ranch from this guy at the hotel bar and were down to get with some really hot chicks that night, but all they found there were dudes and farm animals. Every now and then you would sneak a glance over at Johnny who was still wearing that shit eating grin he always had when he knew he was pushing your buttons. You didn’t want to debate yourself if this whole thing was turning you on or pissing you off, but you didn’t have a whole lot of time to consider it as you saw those flashing red and blue lights in your rear view mirror. Shit.

What a perfect time to get pulled over. Veering the car off to the gravelly shoulder, you did the routine. Yes officer. No, I don’t know why I got pulled over. My license? Oh sure! Right here, officer! He flashed that stupid little flashlight inside the car and audibly gasped as he gawked at the proud exhibitionists- that is, all except Bam, who was redder than a tomato and practically squirming in his seat as he desperately tried to cover up his junk. You could tell Officer Friendly got a little uncomfortable with the way Chris suggestively raised his eyebrows at him from the way he stuttered as he continued his police spiel, “May I ask why you are out at this hour with a- a van full of nude men?” Thinking for a moment, you tried to come up with a worthwhile excuse, “Well, I, uh- these are my brothers, officer, and they had a little too much to drink tonight, so they called me to pick them up from the bar!” Making eye contact across the center counsel, Johnny nodded with a very clear tone of amusement in his voice, “Yeah, brothers.” The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

All the cop could do was awkwardly ask for your license and go back to his car, leaving you alone in the oppressive humidity and near silence as crickets chirped faintly. Turning around, about to deliver the lecture of a lifetime, you noticed Steve eerily uiet and nevrous, of all things. Looking up at you from his nails that he was biting to the nub, there was a trace of panic in Steve’s eyes as he started, not even waiting for you to ask what was wrong, “I’m fuckin’ naked and I gotta warrant, man! I-I can’t go t’jail- not like this…” You rolled your eyes at his dramatics- really it wouldn’t surprise you if they all had warrants based on the shit you had to get them out of. As he stood up a little to get a better view out the front window, he anxiously bounced his leg, murmuring to himself, “Fuck, man. That’s it. I-I’m gonna make a run for it.” Your eyes shot open and you pushed him back into his seat. If there was anything you didn’t need tonight, it was a naked man under your care on the loose, so you shut that down fast, “Steve! Stay!”

When the cop returned, the guys turned to look in completely different directions so as to not appear suspicious as you got the news that everything seemed fine with your license. He let you off with a warning and a shake of his head, muttering something about you taking your brothers home to sober up and getting some damn clothes on them while you were at it. Yes, officer. Thank you, have a nice night, officer. As you started back to the hotel, Chris, who was previously distracted by looking at fireflies out the window, noticed something, “Woah, dude. What’s wrong?” Glancing in your rear view mirror as you pulled away, you saw Bam, in between Steve and Chris, white as a ghost with sweat just pouring down his face. Running a hand through his soaked curls, he shook his head, “Shit, dude! I was worried- like, I-I’m small and cute! And naked!” Johnny turned to face him and piped up, “And famous.” Bam disregarded any traces of sarcasm as he turned to you, “And famous! I’d get the shit kicked out of me, dude!” With how cool these guys were normally, the way they freaked out when a cop showed up surprised you.

By some miracle you made it to the hotel, a motel, if you were being honest, in the middle of bourbon street. The place was the definition of a shithole, but you’d stayed in worse and it was better than sleeping in the van so you made do with the used condoms under the bed and roaches in the bathroom because if they could survive this, so could you. Not wanting to leave the guys unsupervised for too long, you decided that your best bet at getting the guys from the car to the room would have to be something in the near vicinity, and while scanning the parking lot, you got an idea so good it made you want to ask for a raise. An assured grin crossed your face, ”I’ll be back.” Just as you were halfway out the door you heard Bam protest with an exhausted sigh, “Fuck it! I’m going with you.” He climbed over Chris to open the door, putting his hands up as he got over his previously held shyness at being nude in front of others, “I’ve been sittin’ between two naked dudes and I gotta get the fuck outta here.” Stopping just before an indecent exposure charge, he held his hand out to you, “Gimme your jacket.”

Begrudgingly handing over your hoodie to Bam, he casually tied it around his waist backwards to cover his crotch loincloth-style as you made a mental note to wash it before you wore it next time it got chilly. Decent enough, you thought, shaking your head as you walked towards the shitty hotel pool that glowed teal in the night. You tried to pretend he wasn’t there as he followed on your heels through the parking lot and through the metal gates that fenced the pool in. As you nearly dove into the big plastic green thing that housed the neatly folded towels, you heard Johnny wolf whistle from the van. Initially assuming that it was directed towards you, you flipped up, clutching an armful of fluffy white fabric, but before you could shout something back you very quickly noticed that Bam’s pale little ass was just completely out. Goddamn it. As you handed out the towels, he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest when Chris chuckled and said something about hating to see Bam go but loving to watch him leave.

Making sure to stay behind the group like a Border Collie to a herd of sheep, you marched the idiots through the lobby who were miraculously dry despite allegedly having come from the pool. As celebrities go, they didn’t attract as much attention as you would have otherwise expected, but that didn’t stop a few drunken women splayed out in the wide, red silk upholstered chairs in the lobby from loudly propositioning them. Steve threw up a ‘call me’ gesture and Bam dragged his feet, whining something about you never letting them have any fun as you nudged them along. You were so exhausted that you didn’t even bat an eye when Chris ‘accidentally’ dropped his towel and glanced back at you with a finger over his lips like one of those pin up girls. Humorously snatching the towel off of the ground, you shoved it into his arms as you all crowded into the tiny, rickety elevator that was surely over it”s weight limit. How strange it must have looked from an outsider’s perspective- you and four nearly naked men, all packed shoulder to shoulder into that tiny space. But you were too tired to care about any of that, leaning your forehead against the wall with a thump as the doors closed.

You were the one Jeff gave the keys to because you were the only one deemed responsible enough, so you tossed them to Bam as he passed you in the hall, but while the others were stumbling in and tossing off their towels, Johnny lingered in the hall as you went to unlock your room. The hallway was only maybe wide enough for you to stand on one side and stretch your arm out to touch the other side, so you really had to look up to talk to him, “Where’re you going?” Holding his towel up far too low with one hand, Johnny shrugged, leaning against the wall opposite to you, “M’goin t’our room.” Most people, if they were in your shoes, staring up maybe six inches away from this ruggedly handsome, partially nude man, would fold like a house of cards, but you were not most people, so you kept your composure. Shrugging, you unlocked your room. “No, this is my room.” The dryness of your words contracted with the playful tone in his voice, “You sure ‘bout that?” Tossing your keys into the bed, you turned to him flatly, “Yep!” Johnny shrugged, turning to leave before dropping his towel. He cackled that signature Knoxville laugh, picking it up only after he heard you snicker from your doorway.

After sending the kids off to daycare, you finally got a moment to yourself. Your day was mostly spent lounging about your room, trying to savor the peace and quiet however short lived it may be. But it came to a stop all too soon when your hotel room phone started ringing- it was Bam, who was apparently too lazy to just go next door and knock. He mumbled over the line, sounding a little embarrassed to ask you, “We wanna go out, n’Jeff says we can’t without you.” This premise never ends well. Hearing your sigh, he turned defensive, “Hey! We just wanna go get some food, okay? That’s it! Jeez…” In the background, you could hear Johnny say something about how the boys were starvin’ over there. “Okay, fine!” You relented after hesitating for a moment, “As long as it's just for food.”

The group walked through a blur of light and sound, dazzling neon signs flanking either side of the street: Bourbon Gifts Cigar Shop, Tropical Isle- Home of the Hand Grenade, signs advertising $5 Jager Bombs, but no restaurants. The guys seemed to have completely forgotten about looking for dinner, more concerned with what trouble they could get into than feeding themselves. “C’mon, Bam! I know this kickass voodoo lady that lives ‘round here- she’ll totally get us footage!” Steve’s excitement was met with a shudder, “No fuckin way, man. Like I wanna get hit by brooms’n play with snakes ‘n shit.” Maybe the fact that Johnny was holding the portable video camera from the hotel room should’ve tipped you off that they may not have been on the prowl for food. He chuckled, turning to Steve, “She sounds sweet. Think’y could get me her number?”

So far you had done a pretty good job at keeping the guys together, even if you had to grab their hands and tug them through the crowds like you were their mother when you caught them rubbernecking to peep into whatever strip club you were walking past. Suddenly, you saw Chris dart away from the pack. You weren't sure if it was the Penthouse Club, the Kama Sutra Cabaret, or Lary Flynt’s Hustler Club that he b-lined it into, but just as soon as he did, the rest of the guys followed quickly behind, leaving you stranded. Knowing how much shit you would get into if you lost one of them or god forbid someone got arrested, you went after them.

Given your line of work, you would’ve thought that, by this point, you would have gotten a little more familiar with the inside of one of these places, but nope. This place was on some real Girls, Girls, Girls shit, like the image of a strip club- mirror poles, velvet tablecloths, and women wearing barely more than a smile and nine inch heels. Averting your eyes from the ladies onstage, you let out a sigh of relief when you spotted Knoxville sitting at the bar. Hopping up onto the tall red vinyl stool next to him, you let out a sigh of relief as Johnny glanced over to you and let out a chuckle, taking a sip of his beer before reassuring you like he could read your concerns without you having to open your mouth, “If you’re lookin’ for the fellas, they’re out on the floor. S’not like they’re goin’ far”

Rolling your eyes, you kept your head low as you scouted the place out. “I thought we were gettin’ dinner.” This was not the kind of place you wanted to be found in, and you bet Johnny could tell from how entertained he seemed at your discomfort, looking you up and down, “Well, for these guys, this is dinner.” You couldn’t deny, you actually were kinda hungry, distracting yourself by eyeing the initials that were keyed into the countertop, “I don’t even think they have food here…” Knoxville nudged a glass bowl of peanuts sitting on the bar top toward you with a smirk. “Here,” He grabbed one himself, crushing the shell in his hand before tossing one in his mouth with a smirk, “Lemme buy you dinner.” Taking one from the bowl yourself, you scoffed, a smile ghosting over your face as you murmured, “Oh, you’re quite the gentleman, Knoxville. Strip joint and peanuts.” Laughing, he relented to you, “Alright, how about I make it up to you with a nice dinner sometime- one good dinner? I owe you.” Wait, was he asking you on a date? Before you could consider maybe taking him up on that offer, you felt a tap on your shoulder. “Hey, hey- Y/N!”

Turning around, you weren’t sure if you were annoyed or relieved to see Bam standing behind you, holding out a fifty, “Y’got any singles?” It was like a kid asking his mom for money to go to the movies. Johnny shrugged, turning to you to remark, “I mean, at least he’s tippin’ the ladies. Not like Steve-O over there.” He jabbed a thumb at the corner where Steve sat, a herd of women clustered around him. Sure, Steve never tipped, but every time you saw him at the club, he was never drooling over the strippers. Instead, he would be sitting over in the corner, just chatting up the ladies while they were on their break. Strangely enough, they always seemed to be more than eager to hang out with him, waving and blowing him kisses as they headed back onstage. It bewildered you, but it was kinda sweet in a weird way. “Wha- no! I don’t have any singles!” Bam shrugged at your reaction, turning to walk away, “Ah, I’m sure I can get some at the bar. Thanks though!”

The question you were about to ask Johnny, about where Chris was at, was answered before you could ask it. Just as Bam ran up to the edge of the stage with a handful of singles, excited to see some T and A, you could see his face just fall as he muttered to himself at the sight in front of him, “This is so fucked up….” You yourself stared slack jawed as Johnny snickered at the sight of Party Boy himself strutting out onto the stage wearing nothing but his silver mankini while the beginning riff of one of those cock rock strip club songs started up. Not one to miss this kind of thing for the world, Knoxville whipped out the camera to capture the wide eyed shock in Bam’s eyes that turned to disgust when Chris started his little routine, eyeing the fat stack of ones in his hand. He kept inching closer and closer to the edge of the stage- specifically, closer to Bam. Getting down on his knees, Chris wasn’t shy in the slightest about shaking what he had (which he had quite a great deal of), barely inches from his face. Even you couldn’t deny that he was pretty damn good up there, and it seemed that Johnny agreed as he got up to toss a couple singles up there with a whistle. As the song reached a crescendo, everything seemed to reach a fever pitch and Bam hurriedly shoved the bills in his arms onto the stage, unable to stand it any longer, “Just take my money- and get your junk outa my face!” Pontius smirked, tucking the cash in the strap of his mankini with a wink. He whispers something you couldn’t quite hear, but you assumed was some sort of flirty comment from the way Bam rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, this is how I wanna spend my night.” Johnny turned to you as you tried to speak up over the music, “Watching Chris strip.” He chuckled, leaning back on the sticky bar, drink in hand. “Yeah, me too.” The incandescent lights of the club looked so pretty in the reflection of Johnny’s glasses that you hardly noticed when Bam ran back to the bar in the stupid little way he ran everywhere, as Candy or Trixie or whoever was strutting out onstage. He just happened to cross paths with Chris, walking off the stage and flipping through all fifty two dollars he got. Bam stopped him in his tracks with a hand on his baby oil covered chest, “Dude. Gimme my money back.” Chris just gave him that stoner laugh and shook his head, “No way! I earned this. How about you go up there and shake your little moneymaker?” Bam turned a little red and debated arguing or just getting more money. Looking back up at the stage, he gave in, more concerned with what article of clothing the girl on stage was shedding than his own money.

But just a few moments later, it was him who was getting physically tossed out onto the sidewalk, landing on his ass. All you saw was this little dark blur getting hoisted up by this bouncer twice it’s size and going flying out the doors. Of course, all the guys followed behind, laughing as he stumbled to his feet. “Rookie mistake, man.” Steve joked, his hands in his pockets as a curious few of the ladies peered out the door after him. You should’ve known that of all people it would be Bam who got a little too handsy with the girls. Nobody on the street even stared at the spectacle as you fled outside after them. “Okay, that’s it- let’s just call it a night.” The guys collectively groaned about you being a killjoy and begged for just one more stop at another bar for a nightcap as you threw your hands up in the air, not easily swayed, “C’mon, it’s a sign. Let’s just get you all back to the hotel…”

You got them safely tucked away in their room for the night, but of course the chaos didn’t cease. Maybe an hour passed after you collapsed onto your mattress with the lights off, trying to get a few hours of shuteye before you had to deal with them in the morning when the shouting started. Chalking it up to some couple having a marital dispute next door, you brushed it off until you realized which room it was coming from. Oh. Oh no. Clambering to your feet, you jumped at the telltale sound of an appliance shattering against a wall and tried to run the numbers of how much that’d cost to cover as you scrambled out the door. Hoping it was just a coffee maker or something and not a repeat of the time Bam hurled an entire Zenith television out of a plate glass door, you barged in the room.

Now, you didn’t know what the argument was initially about, but you got the gist of it as Steve’s elbow made contact with your mouth, slamming into you. Everything froze. Just your luck to get caught in the crossfire of one of his drug induced fits. Bam, who was on the other side of the room, was completely shirtless, as was Steve, but significantly more all together mentally and seeming to be on the other side of whatever conflict was happening. Running your tongue over your teeth, you confirmed that none of them were missing, but that wet iron taste lingered on your lips. “Holy shit…” This quickly sobered Steve up, whose voice was barely a whisper as he watched the blood that got Jackson Pollocked all over your face drip down your chin and neck. That was one way to break up a fight.

Blood trickled down the drain as you held yourself over the bathroom sink in the guys’ room, blinking away the tears that swelled in your eyes. Everyone cries when they get hit in the nose- it’s probably a reflex or something, you thought, not that it hurt that bad. Glancing up to the mirror, you caught sight of someone standing in the doorway- Knoxville, holding this ice pack he fashioned out of a towel full of ice from the hall. It seemed that your waterworks had really gotten his attention, judging from the concerned tone in his voice, “Y’alright?” Taking it from him, you gently pressed it to your face, wincing at the cold sting. “M’fine.” He smirked but the tone of his voice was still present as he sat down on the lid of the toilet seat next to you, “You sure?” Johnny waved you closer, gesturing for you to lean down towards him. You did, and he reached out to gently grasp your chin, “Lemme see…well, that might leave a mark.” It was an oddly intimate moment, feeling his noticeably larger hand on top of yours as he went to move the ice pack. Leaning it to get a better look at your face, Johnny smiled just barely, “I think you’re gonna be alright.”

With the way the guys treated you the next day, you would’ve thought you were the queen of England. When you woke them up the next day, they didn’t whine or complain in the slightest, instead obediently getting out of bed and starting to get ready, avoiding your gaze. You felt like the headmaster at some British private school for undisciplined boys. As you stood idly in the doorway, perplexed at their sudden shift in behavior, you noticed something- Knoxville was MIA, and it seemed that nobody cared or was willing to say anything to you. Dipping your head in the door, you scanned the room, “Does anyone know where-“

Jumping a little, you caught your breath after the initial surprise when you realized it was Johnny who was standing next to you out in the hallway, maybe six inches away. He smirked at how easily he startled you and wordlessly handed you one of the two complementary breakfast coffees he had in his hands. Look at Mr. Suave-Cool, coming in with the apology drinks. Still, you weren't going to say no. Taking a sip and pondering how he could be the constant center of attention and, at the same time, so damn sneaky, you didn’t even notice when Bam sprang up from his bed, scampering to lean against the doorframe behind you. While all of the guys were quietly doing it already, Bam seemed the most eager to grovel, not even waiting for you to turn towards him before he started fawning with uncharacteristic earnestness, “Hey, I just wanna tell you I am so sorry about last night- I mean, it was totally Steve’s fault, but I feel so bad!” Immediately, you turned to Bam and looked him up and down, as did Johnny, who snickered at the fact that he was standing there without a care in the world, totally naked. At this point in the trip you were so desensitized to the male nudity that you didn’t even say anything. From behind him in the room Steve, who had his shirt halfway over his head, was clearly over his faux niceness by the way barked at Bam, “Oh, fuck you man!” But when you made eye contact with him, his ego shrank up like he just got into a cold pool as his voice dropped a decibel, “I-I mean, you looked pretty rad with all the blood and stuff...” Chris, who was totally unbothered by all of this, just smiled at you as earnest as ever, “Yeah! The blood was totally sexy, dude!”

“Is there anything I can do to make it up?” Bam looked at you with this eager to please look on his face, and you weren't one to pass up this opportunity. You thought that hell would freeze over before any of these guys would ask to do something nice for you. “Well…if you really want, you could grab me a danish from down front.” He started off before he glanced down and noticed the obvious. Quickly running back into the room to tug on a pair of jeans- no underwear, Bam slipped past you and ran down the hall in that same stupid way he did at the strip club.

While the guys were out for the day, you shot a call over to Ed the Medic, who was, as his name implied, an on set medic (if you could call him that) who they only really kept around because he really liked giving people pills, so this was maybe the first time anyone called him for a legitimate injury. He was nonetheless happy to pawn them off onto you. While you debated whether or not you should take them, the throbbing pain in the middle of your face failed to cease, so you gave in, throwing them back and hoping the high would wear off before the guys got back and you made a fool of yourself the same way they did with you.

For the first time that trip, nobody wanted to go out that night, not after the day they just had. Drenched in sweat from the hot Louisiana sun with sore muscles from a day of stunts, all anybody wanted to do was maybe have a beer and crash for the night. Nobody was more exhausted than Bam, who arguably had the worst day out of any of them. From getting locked in a trailer with snakes and racking his nuts to having to eat and by extension throw up a piece of cowshit- not even Johnny asking to take a gander at his sprained dick could bring any humor to the situation. So as soon as they got into the room they all fell onto beds or chairs or whatever they could find, content to call it a night before six. That is, until you came knocking on the door.

“Heyyy!!” Stumbling into the room, you were all giggles as you bumped into Johnny who had opened the door. He looked down at your purple, swollen face confusedly as you slurred your words, “Didn’t you guys wanna go out…? C’mon, let’s go. I wanna party!” Turning back to the other guys, they all reflected the same bewildered expression as his- never once had you ever expressed interest at partying, or at least their idea of partying. However, though he had arguably had the roughest day out of all of them, Bam’s mood shifted at your sudden change of opinion, getting up from his place on the bed with a grin and putting a paintball-scarred hand on Johnny’s shoulder, “Alright, you heard ‘em! Let’s party.”

The streets were nearly empty as you and the guys walked them. Hell, you didn’t even know you were on Bourbon street until you saw the street sign on the corner as you left the hotel, “Wait, this is that Marti gras place, right?” Johnny nodded as he walked close to you, making sure you didn’t run off or hurt yourself doing something stupid. He clearly wasn't doing a very good job at it, made apparent when you tugged your shirt up to your neck, squealing, “Oh! I’m gonna get some beads!” Imitating women who flashed for plastic at those parades, it seemingly didn’t occur to you that not only were you about three months late to the whole Marti gras thing, but you were doing it to nobody in particular. Johnny noticed, his eyes going a little wide as he grabbed the sides of your shirt, quickly but gently pulling it back down, “Woah, woah- Y/N,” There was this almost protective tone in his voice as he talked to you the way you usually talked to him when he had a few too many that night, “If you wait right here, I can get you some beads, okay? Just- just stay in this one spot.”

He returned shortly after with a handful of multi-colored strands of plastic beads, brilliant iridescent purple and greens under the gas lamps that lined the sidewalks. Your eyes sparkled, “Woah…you got these for me…?” Johnny nodded. Maybe instead of getting them from a float like you assumed he had ran into a gift shop and hastily bought the first bulk bag of necklaces he could find, but he wasn’t technically lying. As you happily pulled them over you head, Bam elbowed you in the side, raising his eyebrows as he leaned in with a grin, “I could get you some beads if you flash those titties again.” Before you could comply, which you would’ve been more than happy to do, Johnny put an arm between the two of you, pushing you apart. What a killjoy! Still, he gave you a good explanation, “You don’t need any’a Bam’s junky beads cause I got you the good ones- the fancy kind.” Looking down at the beads in your hand again, you weren't sure what made them so fancy as they just looked like any old beads to you, but you trusted him. “Besides” Johnny brushed Bam’s hand off of your shoulder, “Why don’t I take you out on that dinner I was talkin’ about?”

You spent half of the meal gushing to the guys about your shiny new beads you got, somewhat less high but far from sober. Chris and Steve found your predicament absolutely hilarious, sitting on either side of you with giddy smiles at their uptight manager who was finally getting in on the fun. The lot of you ate your dinner in that sleepy little twenty four hour cafe a block from your hotel (about as far as you had gotten) and afterwards Johnny took you back to the hotel and up to your room with an arm around your shoulders, preventing any further mishaps. Dragging your feet, you collapsed onto your bed in your jeans. He gently removed your shoes and tucked you in before quietly leaving to go back to his own room next door. If there was going to be another time you ever ended up high, he would be the man you would want to babysit you. Tomorrow would be the last day of shooting in New Orleans, and you would be mortified at the stories of your behavior, but for that moment that night everything was just perfect.

[ciaomarie]

ESCAPING INTO A SHIP

So what exactly made me latch onto the Sydcarmy ship like a leech on a water buffalo?

It was unexpected (for me)! Yes, the very first meeting between Syd and Carm did make an impact. I thought "Oooh, what's this?!" However, Carmy was/is such a mess that I quickly dismissed it. And Sydney just seemed to want his professional approval and a partner in making something great after the soul-crushing failure of Sheridan. So, the first season I personally didn't feel a mutual sexual/romantic tension, more like an automatic respect and shared goals/passions. Sydney nor Carm were obviously trying to flirt. Most slow burns on TV are 100% obvious like a Jeanine and Gregory (Abbott Elementary), Nick and Jess (New Girl), Jake and Amy (Brooklyn 99), Jim and Pam (The Office)...Until Braciole Ep. 8 that is.

S. 1 Episode 8- I won't get into everything but Carmy was desolate. Yes, he became a psycho chef and two people quit in Ep.7. However, he mourned Sydney more than Marcus. She was in his flashback/nightmare (?), then the way he told Tina that she looked like Syd (the poor pup), him texting her before opening the note from Mikey, and finally the most gorgeous locked gaze scene since Pride and Prejudice (2005). The soft lighting, the music, the colors, the mind-reading...magical. I still didn't get it initially. Silly, blind me.

Mentorship where??? Season 2 Carm and Syd's "mentorship" dynamic is pretty much over. They are true partners and spending more time together. They're dressing alike even when not in uniform, finishing each other's sentences or talking in unison. Sydney is opening up more of herself and Carm is asking to know more. They use the ASL sign for sorry with each other and no one else until ep 10. Then there's that locker scene in ep. 1 or 2, when they almost hang out just cause. However, Carmy misses the moment and there's the return of the kicked pup face. Before being on the ship I was delighted with all of their scenes and was looking forward to the food tour. They just ROCK together on screen.

Classic Love Triangle- Who's Claire? She's "Claire Bear", the prototypical "cool girl", who is willing to chase an socially awkward, wrong-number-giving man, despite being a pretty ER resident with no shortage of options. Did a CW writer get hired? Anyways, why was her presence used almost exclusively to put strain on Carmy and Sydney's relationship instead of The Bear generally? We could have had scenes with Nat, Richie, and Marcus arguing with Carmy about him being distracted due to Claire. They saved 99% of that for Sydney. They CHOSE to insert her in between or just after scenes with him and Claire. Showing Sydney's tattoos and her getting dressed with the stained chef's coat juxtaposed with them was WILD.

I LOVE that both believe their interpersonal problems are solely about The Bear/business partnership. In most "slowburns" the characters are far more conscious and actively work to keep things platonic. Jeremy might be a smidge aware that Sydney means more to him after the panic attack, but I bet he's shoved it down. All he knows afterward is that being with Claire feels wrong hence ignoring her call and recommitting to SYDNEY. He could of said "You all/This/The Bear deserve my full focus etc..." He was also nagged into greeting Claire at Friends and Family, seemed anxious when Fak brought her up right before The Table scene, and also while explaining that "she's great" to Sydney. He was at peace when focused on Sydney in the moment below.

The actors: Jeremy and Ayo's real life friendship is warms my soul and their chemistry onscreen is amazing. DON'T WASTE IT!!!

Jeremy smolders on screen. I want to see Carmy continue to stare, yearn, fall, then eventually confess and for Sydney to reciprocate his feelings. Anyhoo, does anyone else melt when Carm means business?! They do this twice in season one and it's not good for me. Whew, I need to clean my whole house or run a few miles.

Finally, there's so many other parallels between these two. They are fearful avoidants, have a missing or dead parent, jacked up stomachs, use sarcasm, but are generally very earnest, they struggle with anxiety, are compassionate, are perfectionists, peace-makers, give people multiple chances, are workaholics...so much more. A lot of that is also ME, lol.

Sydcarmy is my Roman Empire. I love them as much as you can fictional characters and they deserve the most tender, angsty, triumphant, romantic best-friends to more love story.

[dixonsgirl93]

Flashback

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader Word Count: 1k Warnings: Angst, PTSD, comfort Content Description: Daryl comforts reader after they see their abusive ex for the first time in years.

A/N & TW: This is mostly just for me because of what happened to me the other day. Short version - I saw my abusive ex after 5 years and almost had a panic attack.

Long Version (feel free to skip to the story idm): So we have a child together and the other day was meant to be an induction day for the child contact centre. They were running late so our time overlapped with his. We were never meant to meet that day or any day. I turned and saw him and my heart was in my throat from fear and shock. I had to choke back a sob because our son was next to me.

Daryl and I were out on a run in the city where once walkers owned but now it was desolate, overgrown with nature and rotting corpses. Still, it could be worse, I thought, as we made our way to one of the buildings that had medical supplies. The infirmary in Alexandria was getting low so I mentioned a building I know and Daryl was quick to offer his help.

So here we were, walking in near silence. It had me on edge, body tensed for attack. It could also have partly been to the knowledge that, despite 5 years passing since the outbreak began, my ex Ben, who subsequently ruined my life, was last known to live in this area.

I think it was just lingering anxiety from before, but it was so hard to shift and now being here 5 years later, those feelings rushing back. I hadn’t missed that. I never even thought I’d care about it in light of being stalked by the dead.

Subconsciously I was watching out not only for walkers but him too. Stupid as it was, the PTSD he left me with was all too real.

“You all right?” Daryl’s voice broke me out of my trance.

“Sure.” But I sounded anything but and I knew he knew it too. I felt his eyes linger on me for a moment more, probably deciding whether to pry or not.

“I used to date this guy.” I started with a heavy sigh. Me and Daryl had grown quite close over the years, understanding and trusting each other. I felt like I could open up to him about something I’d kept to myself all this time. Up until now there was just no reason to talk about it.

“Yeah?” He stopped walking, turning to frown at me. I heard the curiosity in his voice about where I was going with this and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, like 9 years ago. Left me with PTSD. Haven’t seen him in about 5 or 6 years. He used to live in this area. I know I’m being paranoid. I can’t help the anxiety though.” I was scanning around us as I talked, not bearing to see whatever expression was on Daryl’s face.

“He could be dead. And even if he wasn’t, if he was smart he sure as hell wouldn’t stay in the city.” Daryl’s voice was firm but reassuring.

“I know. You’re right. I’m just being silly.” I finally look at him and try to smile.

“The building’s just here right?” He points behind himself and I nod.

~~

We approach the building and go to turn a corner before Daryl pushes me back against a wall and then I hear it, voices.

Daryl turns me to walk around the other side of the building to avoid them.

“Hey!” An unfamiliar voice yells and my hairs stand on end. My body tensed once again for attack as I turned to face the one who called. “Who are you?” He asked.

“We don’t want any trouble.” Daryl held his hands up, crossbow on his shoulder.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Said the one who called again. He was tall and had short finger hair. He was also pointing a rifle at us.

My eyes fell on one of the men near the back and his face mirrored mine, my eyes wide. My heart raced and a lump formed in my throat. I turned my back on the group and fought the tears that stung my eyes, not wanting anyone to see my weakness.

“What’s up with her?” The ginger one asked.

“Nothing. We’ll be on our way then.” Daryl put his hand on my back and pushed me away from them.

“Hang on a minute.” He called as we neared the corner.

“Run.” Daryl whispered before shoving me out of the line of fire and running behind me, I headed for the alley on the other side, hiding behind stairs to a back entrance. I heard gunfire and yelling and footsteps. Daryl appeared around the corner and broke the back door entrance in. We rushed inside and put a thin wood board between the handles to hold them off. Together we ran up the stairs to the nearest room and hid and waited.

Gunfire stopped long ago and the voices faded. My heart was racing so fast and I couldn’t catch my breath.

“Hey.” Daryl put his hand on my shoulder as I collapsed against the wall, sitting and leaning over. That’s when the sobs I’d been holding back wracked my body in waves.

“It’s okay. I think they’re gone. Hey. Look at me, Y/N.” Daryl put his arm around me and gently tried to move my arms from my face.

Eventually I looked up at him, my eyes feeling puffy, my throat sore and dry.

“That was him.” I whispered, trying to steady my breaths.

“Who? Ginger?” He looked up at the door as if expecting them to come barging inside.

“No. He was at the back. He saw me.” My voice shook, his cold, dark eyes boring into me once more and my chest tightened.

“Hey. Seriously. Look at me. Please.” Daryl’s voice became a little less steady as my panic attack came over me again. The room felt too small and too dark and too warm. I clambered to my feet and leaned over on my knees. “Y/N? What is it? How can I help?”

“I need air.” I gasped, clutching a hand to my chest.

Daryl then took it upon himself to stand in front of me, hold my face in his hands and stand me up straight. He looked me in the eyes and I saw so much worry there that it broke my heart.

“Y/N, you’re with me. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him, okay? Breathe. Deep breaths. Come on, that’s it. Good. You’re doing good.” And then he watched as my breathing steadied, my chest relaxed and the room stopped closing in on me.

“Thank you, Daryl.” I whispered. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Don’t be sorry. I get it. But just know I got you. I always got your back, no matter what.” He gently pulled me into a hug and he stroked my hair. After a moment we pulled away and I smiled at him, wiping my face.

[k-slla]

Call It Fate

A/N: @beka-dreamer - This was supposed be ready by your Birthday but I am so sorry that this took me so long - It's now finished and as I warned, angsty (sorry for that too), but I still hope you'll enjoy it! 🤍

W/C: 1.7k | My Masterlist

Warnings: angst, Demon!Dean

All mistakes are mine! Feedback is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Rebekah wasn't sure how long she had been driving for. She was still not even totally aware of what had happened.

Dawn was breaking so few hours have passed at least since she left the Bunker in the dead of night, but she wasn't going to stop. No, she couldn't. Despite the growing ache in her limbs, stomach or in her heart, she floored the gas, determined to get as far as she could from him. She’d tend her wounds later when she'd have time to worry about anything else but getting herself hidden.

For a long time it was just her and silence in her car between the empty fields, dark forests or seemingly extinct small towns.

That's quite how she felt. Dark. Lifeless. Empty.

At least the wind coming in from the rolled down window was relieving the sting of the little cuts and scrapes on her face. Every little movement she dared to do, felt again like another punch she had gotten from Dean.

His laughter was still ringing in her ears. Cruel and taunting. His smile - another sight she wouldn't forget - so cold and diabolic.

“Do you really think you can run from me, Beka?” That nickname slipping past his lips now evoked goosebumps on her skin. He was much closer to her than she had hoped. Not getting ahead of him more than a corner, she still gathered all the strength she had left to even try to get away.

“Why are you still trying to escape? I could make the end for you real easy, maybe even borderline enjoyable, if you would just stop!”

Bunker had become a total maze of torture for her. Rebekah had no sense of direction anymore and the red emergency light made every hallway look the same. She was stuck like a mouse in a snake tank, with nowhere to run.

“Or on the other hand, I could drag it out, make it long and slow. You know I’d enjoy it. Whichever you’d prefer, sweetheart.”

She got nauseous. Rebekah pulled the car over at the side of the road. This was a mistake. Staying with the boys. Last few years she had gone through were all wrong. She shouldn’t have let herself fall for him. She should've known that she had no chance at happiness. She should've known that being alone was all that she would get in this world. No family. No Dean. No one.

Groaning loudly, Rebekah wearily climbed out of the front seat, and looked around her. In the middle of nowhere, only desolate fields surrounded her again. She leaned on the car, letting her tears roll freely as she slowly slid down and hid her face in her arms.

She sat next to the car, gravel pushing deep into her bruised skin. It hurt, but not as much as the burn on the inside. She was shattered. Heartbroken. And this time she wasn't sure if anything would help her heal.

The wind was warm around her, tousling her long brown locks, almost like an invisible embrace, it had her surrounded.

She didn't want to admit it to herself. That she missed him. That she still loved him after what he put her through. But she did. She loved Dean as much as she hated him, and after tonight Rebekah hated him more than anything.

She hated those green eyes that once had been her escape from reality, were filled with such hatred and coldness tonight. She despised that smile that once had the power to brighten her day in a split second, would now be the cause of her nightmares. She loathed the man who once saved her from that very same thing he had now become, was the one who promised to protect her with his life. She hated that she loved him.

She was sleeping when he came. After months of fighting with sleeplessness, trying to find Dean day or night, she had fallen asleep surprisingly quickly tonight, but it was still restless for her.

She was lucky she hadn't slept in their own room. That was the first place he had checked looking for her. But she didn't need any more things to remind her of Dean, so she chose a room a few doors down from it.

A door slammed into the wall, waking her up immediately.

“Sweetheart, I'm home!” A muffled voice echoed in the hallway, almost maniacal laughter following right after. Rebekah didn't think he'd come back voluntarily. Her heart started thundering. He must've been here for a reason.

But that wasn't her Dean, and she was alone with him in the Bunker.

She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been sitting by the road, but she was parched. Carefully she stood up and started to look for a water bottle in her car. She knew she had one somewhere. Every move still hurt, but she finally found it, and drank almost half of it.

The heat kept climbing and she decided to find a first motel on the road to wherever she was headed. But first, she'd need a change of clothes. She was still wearing her pajamas, and those had gotten ripped in the fight.

With shaking hands, she opened the trunk of the car, and started rummaging through the blankets and books and weapons in it to find her back-up clothes.

She has always been prepared for the worst, keeping at least two sets of clothes in her car at all times, both bags had also a burner phone, cash and some medicines in them.

She just never thought that the worst would be running away from Dean.

Rebekah took in two painkillers before she sat behind the wheel again. She felt a little more like a human at least, all she needed now was a shower and sleep.

About another hour later a “Jade’s Motel & Diner” sign caught her eye. Underneath it was small writing “Redfield, South-Dakota”.

She must've been so out of herself not to notice crossing two state lines.

She pulled into the lot and parked the car, but was unable to get out. For months she had tried to be hopeful of finding Dean and helping him. Even when everything had gone wrong, even when smallest traces of him disappeared and despair started to creep in, she never gave up. But now there was nothing for her to fight for. Now she was just tired of trying.

She loved Dean. More than anything, but seeing him being able to try to kill her so easily, that hurt more than any other punch she had gotten from him. She couldn't go back to that.

Rebekah stayed hidden behind a corner and Dean's low voice echoed somewhere in the Bunker. It seemed to her, he was heading the other way. She was wrong. As soon as she let out a little shaky breath and wanted to turn around to lean on the wall, Rebekah saw Dean behind her and barely had a chance to duck down before a hammer hit the wall right where her head was a second ago. She fell to the floor and there was a silence between them. But not for long before Dean pulled the hammer out of the wall.

“Dean, don't!” She was shaking as she turned her face away from him, expecting another hit, but it didn't come. Instead Dean squatted down in front of her and roughly grabbed her jaw.

He sneered, staring at her teary eyes and the bruises forming on her skin. But then to her surprise he caressed her cheek softly and pushed away stray hair from her face. It almost seemed like he cared, but she knew better. He was not the man anymore she loved.

“You know, what? I changed my mind. It's actually not that fun when you're just laying here. Get up!”

He stood back up and waited for Rebekah to do the same, but she remained on the floor.

“Why are you doing this?” She had no fight left in her.

“Well, the Mark needs to be fed, right?” He turned his right arm out, revealing her the red scar on it. “And I knew just the place where to find my next victim.” Dean waved his hands around him. “It's either you or someone innocent from the streets. Would you like that more?”

Rebekah glared up into his black eyes that had nothing left of the lively green they used to be. She won't give up that easily. She heaved herself up.

“You'll get a ten second head start, then we'll play.” Dean's eyes flashed green as grinned after her, watching her limp away. When she got right around the corner, she started to run. With her final strength Rebekah made her way to the garage. This was her only chance to escape.

Rebekah stared at herself in the rearview mirror and an unrecognizable face stared back. She didn't even realize that before, but Sam didn't know yet that Dean came back. She decided to deal with this a little later. He wasn't home anyway and Dean had probably run from the Bunker, too. She'd call him later sometimes, when she'd had time to sleep. Right now she just needed to lay down.

She gathered her stuff from the backseat and got out of the car. The gravel crunched under her shoes as she walked across the lot towards the motel. She didn't know yet what would be her next move or where she'd end up.

As she got closer to the building, Rebekah saw an older woman sitting behind a little desk. When the little bell above the door announced her entering, the woman looked up from the newspaper she was reading, smiling at her welcomingly.

“Hello, miss, how can I help you?”

She couldn't tell what tomorrow would bring for her, but Rebekah knew one thing - she would be alone and it'll be alright. She had been alone for years, before she met the Winchesters.

Maybe one day her path would cross with Dean again, but until that she would have to do what she was best at. She'd have to keep on hunting.

For now, she plastered on a little smile.

“Good morning! Room for one, please.”

Taglist (always open) @jackles010378 @nescavaneck @cevansbaby-dove @deanwinchestersgirl87 @winchesterwild78 @anundyingfidelity @suckitands33

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[petty-crush]

“Furiosa: a mad max saga”

-Wonderful deep dive into squalor, insanity and violence. The future medieval grimness of this universe is so strangely addicting.

-Whereas “Fury Road” covered three days in the life of Mad Max, this film notes 15 years of Furiosa’s journey.

+It is a very different headspace.

-the most surprising element was that, in this tale of a side story character(albeit a co lead one) the most delightful sections involved..brand new side characters!

-Furiosa’s mother, aptly played by Charlee Fraser is a real bike riding, sharp shooting, rooting tooting she wolf. She gets the film off like a cannon ball.

-But the glowing star is Tom Burke, who absolutely steals every scene he is in as Praetorian Jack. Just wow.

+his hair lip also reminded me of a super nova young Stacey Keach

-I could watch him and Furiosa tag team all day. Best bruiser buddies duo in a long time.

-The sequence where Furiosa first stowaways the war rig and helps Jack defend it from marauders is the best part of the film.

-in addition to revisiting this desolate world, the action is a prime reason to see this picture. Director George Miller always has really different ways of framing movement so I’m clawing my armrest and wincing at the impact.

-I think the score for this is a bit better than “Fury Road”. It has more of its own identity.

-I’m really back and forth on Chris Hemsworth performance. At times I think he brings in the weakest presence. But mostly is pretty solid

-it’s hard to describe, but this characterization feels a bit too Monty Python fey to really center the film. I get he’s a dweeb who turns sadistic, but it just feels like it doesn’t have enough power.

-I adore the scene where Immortan Joe sizes him up, wondering if the captive child Furiosa is really his daughter. His cold bartering of her is really quite intoxicating.

-Anyone else think that one brown haired war boy looks a bit too much like that live action butt-head from a certain comedy show? Oddly amusing

-I wonder if knowing how Furiosa got from the green place to Joe’s army is all that necessary. It way over delivers, so it has no fault with me.

-Really the only thing I didn’t like was clips from “Fury Road” over the end credits. It just fell flat for me. Especially using the “coming at ya!” steering wheel shot. No buys.

-Ana Taylor Joy is wonderful in the scenes she shows up in.

-I like how the chapter breaks imply a much bigger world, of which we see only fragments.

-Oh man, the tree comeuppance is truly wonderful.

-Glad to be back, glad to get high on the fumes again.

[mirixmoya]

hello friends welcome to GRADING TORTURED POET SOCIETY SONGS BASED ON HOW EASILY I COULD TURN THEM INTO A HAYFFIE FIC (PART TWO) i hope u enjoy.

(you can find PART ONE here, for anyone interested!)

i. the black dog: 8/10. excellent directly-post-war hayffie song. captures a moment when they haven't quite re-connected yet, but they're both dying without eachother. "my longings stay unspoken, and i may never open up the way i did for you" "six weeks of breathing clean air, i still miss the smoke" is all very them. a really effective illustration of how the world feels like a different place in heartbreak, it's desolate and aching, which is all very very hayffie.

ii. imgonnagetyouback: 9/10. this song is bananas crazy, but so is effie. so it fits. it reeks of the turbulent, on-again-off-again, boundaryless, situationship parts of hayffie. once again, i think this could be a VERY good directly-post-war vibe. "i can tell when somebody still wants me" "you'll find that you were never not mine" "even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you" are all crazy thought processes which i can 100% imagine effie having.

iii. the albatross: 7/10. i know everyone is really stuck on this being a lucy gray / katniss / snow parallel song, but i see the hayffie vision! i think it would be a good song to juxtapose all of effie's relationships with capitol men against her relationship with haymitch. how is she made to behave by love? how does her fame + position loom over her relationships? effie is mythologized by the men in her life, almost made unreal by their perceptions of her, and it's haymitch who makes her real again. if any of that makes sense.

iv. chloe or sam or sophia or marcus: 8/10. EVERYONE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE, but i have this vision of really angsty post-canon hayffie where they try to make a proper relationship work, they really do, but they just... can't. but there is an ache to this failure. a regret. they thought that they would always be able to come back to this, to eachother, but they discover that life is actually a series of closed doors. things change over time. they're forced to grieve this past version of their relationship that they simply don't have access to anymore. "you turned me into an idea of sorts, you needed me but you needed drugs (ALCOHOL) more" "could it be enough to just float in your orbit?" "if you want to break my cold, cold heart, say you loved me" ... yeah, the angst potential is endless.

v: how did it end?: 7/10. ONCE AGAIN, excellent bones for an angsty post-canon 'well, it didn't work out' hayffie vibe. good general thg imagery with "lost the game of chance, what are the chances?" + "the empathetic hunger descends" etc etc. "we were blind to unforeseen circumstances" very very them.

vi: so high school: 5/10. i feel like i could twist it to be hayffie if i tried really hard. like maybe a post-canon movie-verse traumaless fluff vibe where everything just falls into place. "no one's ever had me, not like you" is a very good line for hayffie tho.

vii: i hate it here: 8/10. excellent potential for a pre-canon / during-canon hayffie where effie uses their relationship as her refuge from the rest of the world, it's the only place she can truly be herself. the precocious child stuff, the debutant stuff, "i'm lonely but i'm good, i'm bitter but i swear i'm fine", all feels veryyy effie. this song would also be a good framework for effie being incapable of articulating her relationship with haymitch to other people, the magic of it is lost on them, it comes out clunky and awkward. but SHE knows it's real.

viii: thanK you aIMee: 2/10. not a hayffie song. but i feel like i could make it about effie & The Other Escorts if i really tried.

ix: i look in people's windows: 6/10. listen, this album is just an post-canon hayffie gold mine. "i had died the tiniest death" (the war) "i'm afflicted by the not knowing" (her relationship with haymitch) "what if your eyes looked up and met mine, one more time" (they can try again, can't they?). the anxious, almost neurotic ruminating is very effie to me.

x. the prophecy: 10/10. THE HAYFFIE SONG! if you saw the twitter edit before it got taken down, you KNOW. "don't want money, just someone who wants my company" "i'm so afraid i've sealed by fate" ... devastating. i think the illusions to prophecy & fate & this lack of control all play into her role in The Games really well. the idea that she's being punished for her sins by this lack of love. so much of effie is controlled and precise, i think the fact that this one thing (her relationship with haymitch) is sooo out of her control would drive her insane. perhaps insane enough to beg on her knees...

xi. cassandra: 4/10. not really hayffie focused, but good potential for one of my more politically focused fics. maybe the year of the 75th, leading right up to the rebellion. cinna & portia strike me as very cassandra-coded.

xii. peter: 1/10. not hayffie. maybe seneca & effie relationship study, but def not hayffie.

xiii. the bolter: 10/10. PERFECT EFFIE SONG! NO NOTES! SHE IS THE BOLTER! a precocious child with a "quite bewitching face" who is "splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless"??? welcome back effie trinket! the chorus is very hayffie to me. i'm thinking pre-canon early affair vibes. we get all the fun contrast between her relationship with haymitch and her relationship with the capitol "trophy hunters". the bridge could not be more effie if it tried, "hearts are hers for the breaking, there's an escape in escaping". she falls through the ice (the war) but don't worry folks, she comes out alive!

xiv. robin: 0/10. i genuinely have no idea what i could do with this song. sorry.

xv. the manuscript: 3/10. potential for post-canon living-happily-ever-after hayffie but with effie reflecting on her past relationships with capitol men. there's lots of illusions to grooming and the imprint that age-gap relationships leave behind that i think could really work.

[ups3tti]

Assigning the ninja (+ some others) Magnus Archives entities to be avatars of for my own enjoyment specifically

If you wanna add more/disagree please do I just think this is neat to look at and some of them don't fit neatly in to just one

Kai - Desolation. Come on. 

Cole - Lonely. This is solely because of his ghost arc and the fact that he was nearly completely forgotten by everyone he loved AND ended up in the land of lost things thats all incredibly lonely coded. 

Lloyd - Pretty difficult to place but went with Web. My guy has been trapped and controlled far too many times for it to NOT be the web, sorry dude. Honestly? Could give him spiral too. If we’re going by real TMA logic he’s been marked by almost everything. 

Zane - Really wanna give him Lonely or Slaughter, both due to the ice emperor arc. Lonely in a palace for decades accompanied by senseless violence. He was practically an avatar. Not sure on this one though.

Jay - The Vast, sky edition

Nya - The Vast, sea edition. She quite literally became an avatar I mean come on. 

Morro - The End. His entire villain arc was trying to carry out a ritual to summon a being that would cause the end of all life in ninjago i mean come on. by this logic he's an avatar already. I do think he gives Buried vibes too with how he died, twice. 

Bonzle - There's several choices but I settled on Spiral vibes, she contains the nether realm which is like the most spiral-esc-zone I've ever seen.

Euphrasia - The Vast, sky edition pt. 2 Cory (OC I rarely talk about) - Corruption :]

[imaginedreamwrite]

Entirely Unconventional

Part 10: Once, And Again

Enjoy the show? Have a fun night? Did you and König recover?

Nicht so süß und unschuldig kleines Kätzchen

Damn fucking brat

“Hey LT!” He felt pain behind his eye, the sudden sharp twitch had come within seconds of his mind registering Soap McTavish’s voice, and the weight of another trip back to that hell-hole in the middle of the same desolate state.

That armoury and artillery compound they’d invaded had been secured, everything inside was transported. But the man who was funnelling money into the operations in the middle of God knows where, was still hiding. Captain Price had given the objective, for the two of them, to head back to that place and flush him out.

The man who had funnelled money into this compound, this storage facility for munitions and artillery, was squirrelling himself somewhere in the backwoods and rural properties of the villages and farmlands. It made him both an easy target and a little rat bastard hiding in the crawl spaces of abandoned farmhouses.

“Looking forward to going back, sir? S’been nearly two months since you saw her last! You wanna make a stopover?” Soap’s suggestion was as much of a jest as this emotionless exterior as it was a genuine attempt at getting the cold Lieutenant to relax.

It was your fault, you had done this. You had started this fucking problem with your fingers, and your moans. The sound of your pleasure had centred itself in his mind again, a reminder of the passion that was thickened by the bond of being each others soulmates.

You, and your damn masturbation habits, had broken the straw that kept their own hunger at bay.

It was one too many bands that had snapped, and that pressure led to both Ghost & König experiencing the first rolling snowball of desire. The first initial shove that made them crash into each other, devouring the other with lust, all because you couldn’t keep your fingers out of your pussy.

And now, all Ghost could focus on was the need to have König pinning your hands above your head, trapping you. Giving you no room to leave, so Ghost could return the favour and devour you wholly.

His traumatic past couldn’t stop him from wanting to unleash his deeply seeded desire to fuck, to crave and taste and unleash his fated passions upon you.

“Fucking hell, you don’t fucking quit.” Ghost’s ire was vehement, his eyes stormy and dark. “Goddamn wanker!”

Soap held no more fear of Ghost than he did König, knowing that both his commanding officers were feeling the effects of their little soulmates late night excursions. The late night hours that had driven them crazy, has made the two men cantankerous, although Soap was more amused than not.

“We got leave soon, LT. Heard my little bird Em say your American spitfire is coming to visit for a few weeks.” Soap grinned in the way he usually did, like he had no real care in the world or any real-world consequences waiting for him.

John Soap McTavish was the kind of man most of them wished they could be. He still wasn’t jaded from what they saw, he wasn’t bitter and closed off. He had this natural youthfulness to him that had followed him all his life. He still had the ability to feel like a kid, like someone who wasn’t battered, bruised and dragged through hell.

Johnny was one of the lucky ones, one of the soldiers who had someone waiting for him at home when he went on leave. Johnny had someone who was writing him letters and caring for him with the intensity of a well-known lover. No matter what happened, Johnny had his wife to lean on.

Ghost was bitter, he was closed off and inflexible to love. Even when he was awarded two soulmates who could be everything he needed, he was still unable to see how he deserved them. In his mind, he was damned, and they were damned with him. He didn’t think he would ever feel free enough to endure such love.

“You got somewhere to go, Johnny.” Simon’s voice was less guarded now, more honest and natural. “Don’t take that for granted, don’t fuck it up!”

“You do too, LT!” Soap called back, nodding his head in Ghost’s direction as if to extend the invitation without having to say it.

Ghost was silent, he had revelled in the silence that stymied them both. He had endured the quiet and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his knife. He squeezed and let go, squeezed and let go, until he felt his resolve regaining itself.

There’s no where for a place like him; like them. They’re phantoms, shadows more than people now.

No you’re not, you never have been. Your voice countered his, and Ghost verbally hissed from the gentility. It was unwarranted, it was a direct attack on the shell he had surrounded himself with.

Damned fool, you’re gonna burn with us

We’re connected, whether you like it or not. You’re mine, I’m yours.

And you’re damned for it. You’re breakable, it’s inevitable. He was condescending, of himself and of König’s dependency on you, the three of you all meant to be twisted and broken together.

It was innate, it was their future.

What you want, we could never give you. We could never give you the future you want. Ghost’s voice went through your head, and König’s. We’re not meant for it. We’ll only break you.

It all felt like a step back, like he was land-sliding further from this new openness. You had broken off pieces of their guard, and Ghost in his fear of losing something real and true, again, was trying to shove it all back together.

You were silent, for a moment, and then your voice echoed in his head. Soft like a bell or whistle, yet with the ability to further crack that detrimental shell around his heart.

It's amazing how someone can break your heart, and you can still love them with all the little pieces.

Silence rang out, the bridge that bonded the three of you was silent.

And Ghost remained in that silence, his eyes staring ahead as he fixated his attention upon the wall of the helicopter. Transportation back to the States, back to that hellhole had begun, their task to track down that little worm was started.

You wouldn’t be an ocean away, you wouldn’t be across the world. You would be within his fingertips. And Ghost, irregardless of how hard he wanted to keep you at a distance, was drawn like a moth to a flame.

Damn him, damn himself to hell, he had to see you.

To spite himself.

To spite every damn bone in his body that hated you, that absolutely loathed you, he wanted and had to see you. It was innate, it was incredulous.

Simon Riley could’ve cursed you, he could have damned you with every breath. He didn’t need you, he didn’t want you, he had no use for you.

Yet, your ability to make the ice around the old soldiers heart chip away was beyond what he could control. If it were up to him, to Ghost, he would have frozen his heart in a cryogenic chamber away from yourself and König.

But damn you, damn you American woman with all he had in him, Simon Riley couldn’t turn off from you.

He was driven, by an unseen force, to find you. Despite the warring denial that they required you, that they wanted you, Ghost thought about Soap’s advice.

“You know you’re thinking about it. About seeing her. Trust me, LT...showing up to see her is exactly what you need.”

“Not happening, Johnny. We have a mission.”

Still, the thought was tempting.

Fuck, you better be around. His thick gravelly voice echoed in his own head, a thought shared with you as he let that shadowed and tiny piece of him have a small victory.

Regardless of how scared shitless, he was over letting that tiny little piece of hope win.

************

Simon Riley was not damaged, not like he had thought. Rather, he was traumatized from events of the past, and the cruel hands of fate handed to him.

You knew that, you had been warned of that, but you’d never fully understood to what extent he had hated any chance of happiness.

It was clear that of the two, Simon & König, König had been less physically damaged a than Simon.

You had seen more of König than you had of Simon. You’d seen more of his memories than Ghost had allowed you to see, with much of König’s thoughts and memories centred around his home life in Austria & Germany.

Not only that, but you’d seen the memories he had of his mother, the blood sweat and tears that she had shed for her little boy.

Young König, who wanted so desperately to go on school trips, leading his mother to prevent herself from eating food to save him money. She had done everything she could to give him the ability to go.

You had seen his memories and the bullying he suffered from being a poor boy who was bigger and taller than all his classmates. The kind of bullying that made König develop social anxiety that followed him all his life.

You saw his memories, and he had seen yours. He had seen your love of being on the water on a sandy, smooth beach and the crystal-like water that stretched for miles.

It was Devonshire Beach, someplace that had you had adored and craved to be at, a place where you were endlessly wishing to be at every chance you got.

You had been able to communicate your love for that place, the place where you were most comfortable and happiest. That place where you had longed to be day after day, week after week.

König had seen your memories of your short-term relationships that never gone anywhere for your fear of being taken too far emotionally into something that was doomed to fail.

You and König had created a new level of this bond; Ghost and yourself were still at a crawling point.

“I can’t wait for you to get here! Ugh, there are so many places I want to take you!” Em’s excitement bled through the phone as you’d pinned it between your ear and your shoulder.

“Three weeks in Scotland away from work, what a dream.” You were ragged, you were tired, and you wanted to go to bed.

Upon approaching your village townhouse, you dug your keys out from your scrub pockets, twirling them around your finger twice before you stepped up the porch.

Though it had been more than 12 hours since you left, you’d felt as if it were just seconds ago since you stepped outside for your shift.

Your keys were stuck in the lock, as usual. You jiggled the keys in the lock, grunting your irritation and annoyance, your ire for the damned thing.

Your frustration grew, and you’d just managed to turn the key to unlock the door when you heard audible footsteps behind you. You turned your head and cast your speculative gaze behind you, a squeaky shriek ripped from your lips.

“Y/N-” Johnny Soap McTavish was less than three feet behind you, with one half of your soulmates in tow.

Your immediate reaction was to strike him, your fist balled as tightly as you could manage, and you’d driven it into his shoulder. Though it hadn’t actually hurt him, Johnny still cursed under his breath and rubbed his arm. His blue eyes were narrowed, annoyed at you for striking him, and causing him minute pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! What are you doing here?!” You screeched at him, panic and fear rushing through you at the sudden appearance of them on your porch. “Do you have a death wish?! Do you know how many people have guns here?! You could have been shot!”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” You were only aware of Em still talking when she raised her voice through the phone, reminding you that she could hear everything.

“You almost became a widow!” You struck Johnny again, anger coursing through your attack on your best friend's husband.

“Johnny! You didn’t shoot him did you?” She chirped with wonder, while you glared heavily at the two men.

“You got a minute?”

“You could’ve been shot, you idiot!” You struck Johnny again, only once being aware of Ghost’s eyes on you, and the striking blue eyes alight with amusement.

Strike him again, love

“You—!” Your eyes darted from Johnny to Ghost, your soulmate looking deadly and intimidating, like a demon at night.

He had stood behind Johnny, wearing that familiar skeleton mask and the black eye paint around his eyes.

He was dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, starting with a thick Kevlar vest and a balaclava beneath the mask. He hadn’t gotten rid of his weapons, not a single one, but rather he had kept them on to give himself a more intimidating appearance.

Honestly, despite his aggressive look, having Ghost appear on your doorstep wasn’t even close to the most negating experience of your night. Despite his intense distaste that he seemed to have for you, seeing him here was almost relieving. It had almost heartening to see him, to have him this close.

Even if he would rather not adhere to this bond, you were happy to see him again. Regardless of how they scared the shit out of you, having Ghost here was almost exhilarating.

Being in the presence of your soulmate, irregardless of his feelings for you, was affecting you almost as intensely as it had the night you met them.

“What,” your voice had taken a hard edge, your eyes narrowing in on them, “are you doing here?!”

Johnny grinned, boyishly, in a manner that made you irritated. His natural penchant to be a man riddled with good-natured humour, and humour at others expense, had been vexing to say the least. But no more than his ability to also make you forget your qualms with a man like him.

Johnny would have been a good friend, but you couldn’t have handled someone like him continually trying to get under your skin.

“I guess we need another favour.” Johnny’s voice first caught your attention; however, it was Ghost that had kept it.

Another look at him, and another remembrance of his size, was yet again capable of producing a sort of enchantment that took hold of you. He was at least 6’4” if not 6’5” and seeing him in person, for only the second time, had reiterated your feeling of being a sprout compared to him.

Between Ghost & König, you felt like a little sprite, a little gaiety creature surrounded by giants and beasts. Hell, even compared to Johnny, you felt short.

“Ghost.” You spoke his code name, far more airily than you wanted to.

You were captivated by him, and his aggressive nature. He was your soulmate despite denying you and attempting to push you away, and want was only natural. The desire to be around each other, to hear each others voice and grow deeper connected, was only natural.

Fate was not to be ignored, fate was not going to let any of you, not the three of you, part from the other. You were, and always would be, connected and bound together.

You were watching Ghost, and he was watching you, his chin tucked ever so slightly. His eyes had narrowed, minimally, and his fingers flexed around the gun he held in his hands. The tension between you was skyrocketing, thick and heavy, and bubbling over with desire and mutual need.

“You want some privacy-“ you struck Johnny again, as hard as you could with everything you could.

“Y/N! Did you kill my husband?!” Em’s voice was far more panicked than before, concern for her husband's well-being at your hand was not understated.

“Not yet.” You reassured her, though you felt tempted by the idea of murdering her husband. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“We had to deal with something—“ Johnny trailed off, ending the half-sentence abruptly. You thought it had been the end of it, and then you heard him speaking again. “Gonna let us in, love?”

“You don’t call me that.” You grit your teeth and bend down to gather your thrown items, ultimately standing and bundling them in your arms. “Why are you here? Didn’t think they allowed stop-offs when you’re doing the military’s work.”

“Got a job, went sideways. We only have an hour, two at max. Can we come in?”

Your eyes had been caught by Ghosts’ again, and your heart racing. There was such a draw to him, beyond the fear and the apprehension, you just wanted to be around him.

“You wanna come in?” Your question was aimed at Johnny, but looked at Ghost, and then turned back. “Your cut looks good, healed okay. You have another?”

“Not me. Got time?” Johnny’s grin seemed permanently affixed to his face, another layer to the charming Scotsman.

“I do now.” You mumbled under your breath and turned back to your door, opening for the three of you.

“If you murder me...” you looked back at Johnny, your stomach flipping end over end. “... I’ll haunt you.”

“So paranoid, lass.” Johnny’s retort was airy, and he was clearly amused, though you hadn’t seen the humour in it at all.

“Are you allowed to be here? Aren’t you on a time constraint?” You questioned them both as you stepped inside and waved them in.

There was hesitancy on both, parties, neither of them immediately wanting to step into your house.

Though Johnny was more receptive to coming in, even he had waited a moment before he stepped over the threshold and entered your place. As he had, you dropped your bag down onto your floor and kicked off your shoes. You flicked on the light switch and cast another look back at the two of them.

Both were wearing tactical gear, although Ghost seemed to have more, and while you could see the flag of their respective home countries on each of their uniforms, you were drawn to the UK flag on Simon’s.

“You can come in, maybe explain why you thought it was okay to give me a heart attack.” Your invitation was both ambiguous and intimate, depending on the two men who heard it.

Johnny had spared no effort to step into your townhouse, almost needing to step sideways with his gear; however, Ghost hadn’t been so eager. He stood on the other side of the door, staring you down with piercing blue eyes that struck deep into your soul.

And as you got a better look at both of them, you noticed the distinguishable sight of blood. Soap had seemed to be better off than not, with the man only receiving specks of the hemoglobin on his arms and forehead; however, it seemed like Ghost had a gash on his arm.

It didn’t look deep, but it was open, and it needs to be taken care of.

You didn’t want to know the details of how it happened, you didn’t think you could stomach the idea of it; however, you knew it must’ve been a sporadic event. His sleeve was ripped, torn or cut to find the wound, and there was already dried blood around his gash.

“Shit.” You winced at the sight of it, knowing that this was the explanation for their sudden appearance at your house. “You need that looked at, and it needs to be sewn.”

“Thought we should make a house call. Em gave me your address.” Johnny set the rifle in his hands down, much like Ghost had, and started undoing the Velcro straps of his Kevlar vest.

It is unclear to you why you didn’t notice before, why you hadn’t seen the wound on his arm and the missing portion of his sleeve, but now that you had, you knew you needed to fix it.

You didn’t need details, you hadn’t wanted details, and even if you had, you doubted they would tell you. Or at the very least fabricate a lie like Em.

That’s what you expected, that’s what you had anticipated, however you were once again surprised when Ghost had stepped forward toward your couch, littered with folded clothes you had forgotten about, and spoke with a gruff thick accent.

“Dealing with leftover shit, damned bastard set traps.” His gruff British accent had a surreal affect on you, the visible tremble of your hands and the definite acknowledgment of how attractive you’d found it, mentally at least.

It came naturally to your mind, and settled into your thoughts warmly.

An innate desire to hear it again, whispering the same kind of sexually fuelled words that had been uttered on the night that you had gone out drinking. It had been a turn on for you that night, the uttered sounds fuelling your need to find self-pleasure, and that had been shared with the two of them.

And you’d just as easily found yourself captivated by his thick British accent, and König’s German one.

“I have a habit of asking doctors for extra supplies just in case. I have surgical thread, I can sew it up.” You spoke quickly.

You were far more anxious being in your house with these two men, one being your soulmate, than you were in the hospital room with a crowd of them.

There, you felt standoffish.

Here, it felt intimate.

“I’ll just...” you glanced at the folded clothes, thanking your self-preservation for hiding your underwear in stacks of scrubs instead of keeping them out.

Still, you’d felt momentarily embarrassed by the state of your clothes folded and left out, and you’d quickly picked them up and set them back in the basket.

You’d wanted to put them away before you’d gone to work and never had the chance, your morning starting chaotically by your phone alarms failing.

“I’ll be right back. Umm...sit, make yourselves....just sit.” You turned away from them and headed toward the stairs, grabbing hold of the railings. You held onto both as you climbed the steps to the bathroom, stepping inside and opening the cupboard to the left.

You grabbed your first aid kit from the bottom shelf and tucked it under your arm, using your free hand to grab the antiseptic and gauze. With everything you needed, you headed back downstairs and to the living room, side-eyeing the two of them as they were in very different positions.

While Johnny was unceremoniously draped across one of your second hand armchairs, Ghost was standing near the couch, however he wasn’t sitting. He was staring dead on at a picture of you when you were younger that was taken at your favourite spot in the world.

Devonshire Beach was at the cusp of a massive lake, one that stretched for miles upon miles. The water was warm and relatively clear, with a sandy bottom. The lake had remained shallow enough to touch the bottom for what seemed like a mile before your feet wouldn’t reach, and the soft sand had continued well onto the shoreline.

In the picture you were seven or eight, covered in wet sand with a wide grin on your face and the sun at your back. You had just come out of the water after spending all day at the shoreline, and in the water, and there was no shortage of happy weeks there.

Devonshire Beach was one of the only times and places you’d actually enjoyed being in your dad’s presence. Every other time, you’d found ire for the man who would rather spend time with his girlfriend than his child.

But when he took you to Devonshire Beach, and let you run wild, you were truly happy. When you were in that water, on that beach, your father's indiscretions didn’t matter. You had the water, you had the sand, and you had the endless lake to spend your time in.

“That’s my favourite place in the whole world. I spent weeks there every summer when it was my dads turn to take me.” You set the first aid kit on the coffee table, talking to both of them, but mostly Ghost, as he had looked at your picture.

“I try to go back once a summer for a few weeks. Honestly, if I could live there, I would.” Your small conversation attempt with the roguish soldier was one-sided though you knew he, and König, acknowledged what you said and thought, when you felt that flourish of warmth in your body.

You thought of it, of the lake and the beach that you loved. The untouched source of happiness you experienced with your divorced father, and the soft glow of the sun. You were sharing that memory with them, all while Ghost was studying the coutures on your walls and Johnny looked like he was sleeping.

“I have the first aid kit, I can fix your arm.” You broke the silence and drew his attention away from the pictures on your wall, back to yourself.

His eyes had been striking, impossibly bright against the dark around his eyes and the bleached skeleton mask. He had turned further to face you, only taking two long strides to the couch, and sitting down almost silently.

“This might hurt,” you reached into the first aid kit for the kit of needles you had, as well as the gauze and wipes, “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Ghost was silent but observant.

He had extended his arm to allow you access to the gash, and a better look at the tattoos he had on his arm. You had taken a brief look at the ink marking his skin, the story of each tattoo simultaneously cohesive and almost.

Although you knew there was some meaning to them, to him, you weren’t going to ask.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” You apologized prematurely and dabbed the antiseptic wipe against the edge of the wound first, watching him carefully for any indication that it hurt.

“Does this feel okay? Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?” His answer, predictably, came through your mind.

Doesn’t scratch the surface, love

“I don’t have any numbing gel or cream, so this might hurt more—“ you were cut off, rather abruptly, by his thick accent verbalizing his state of mind.

“I’ve been through hell, this is nothing.” His blue eyes bore into your own, and there was a cathartic minute where your gazes had been locked on each others.

Heat, intense and deep, had struck you like lightning. It was powerful and all encompassing, an internal combustion that was directly rooted in your fated bond.

Soulmates intertwined with each other in every captivating way.

Eventually, you dropped your gaze and finished cleaning the gash on his arm.

You had exchanged the antiseptic wipes for the surgical thread you’d taken from one of the doctors there. While there was no trauma bay, nor really, or any surgery rooms, a few of the doctors that worked there also worked in the city.

And they had known you wanted to stock up on your own miniature medical stash at your place. All it took was a conversation, a simple favour the next time they were in the city hospital, and at least one would try to abide by your request.

As you threaded the needle, you hummed a song under your breath. You worked quickly to tie and cut off the excess, only to hesitate before you made the first mark.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Your concerns for him, about hurting him, were high. You hated the idea of not having some numbing cream or gel, and without freezing it could be incredibly painful.

With his silence, you had started the process of stitching his wound, weaving the needle and the medical thread in and out of his skin to close it again. You worked in silence under the weight of his icy gaze, a slight tremble to your hands as you worked.

You hadn’t been this close to him in months, not since you’d first met him, and he was intimidating. He was built like a mountain, with his height and weight relative to his thick size and strength. He could easily kill you with his hands, and everything else about him was just as pertinent to terrifying anyone he came across.

“Are you okay?” You questioned Simon again, doubling down on your insistence that you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. “Simon..?”

You sat up on your haunches and reached for his mask, fingertips grazing the hard shell before he stopped you. His hand snatched your wrist and squeezed enough to make you startle. His eyes narrowed, and though you couldn’t see his mouth, you figured he might have been scowling at you.

In exchange, you had tried to tug your wrist away, stumbling forward as he held you firm. He had leaned down, drawing himself closer and allowing you to see the darker flecks in his blue eyes.

“I never take my mask off.”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice was tight, squeaking almost. “I won’t touch it again.”

Johnny, to his credit, had noticed the shift in tension and flipped himself right, placing his boots on the ground. His own wondering gaze had flitted between the two of you, and his lips had become pursed.

“Y’okay, Y/N?” There was a protectiveness, a kind that would be present between a brother and sister.

“I’m fine. I’m almost finished.” Your hands shook, and you felt real fear, real apprehension. You worked as quickly as you could, tying off the rest of the stitches and giving it a final wipe with antiseptic.

When you were done, you threw everything back in the first aid kit and zipped it shut, hastily returning it back to the bathroom.

You’d almost hoped they’d have been gone by the time you returned, both were still present however they were getting ready to leave. You shuffled into the living room, still on the edge of fear, with your heart racing.

“The stitches need to stay in for 4–14 days, depending on how fast you heal. You could cut them yourself, but if you have a medic or doctor on your...base or wherever—“

“Thanks, Y/N. You’ve said our asses twice now.” Johnny had finished securing his Kevlar vest, and the Velcro that kept it in on place, and then he picked up his gun. “Three weeks in Scotland, yeah?”

“Mandatory time off. I haven’t used my vacation hours and they won’t give me anymore.” You explained softly, not being able to look at Ghost for longer than a few seconds. “Plus it's been almost 4 years since I’ve seen Emilia.”

“You mean for more than 12 hours.” Johnny added, stretching his arms above his head. “She’s excited for ya, been talking nonstop about you and her going out for your birthday.”

I forgot about that, your thoughts betrayed you, 25 in two weeks

Birthday? When is your birthday, schätzchen? König’s voice had crackled in your mind, his question softened.

“Apparently 25 is a big deal.” You furrowed your brows and crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t celebrate my birthday usually.”

“Please for the love of God, humour my wife.”

Johnny practically begged, teasing her endearingly. “Let her take you out.”

“Mhmm.” You nodded and hummed, watching Johnny leave your house first, stepping forward to clsoe the door behind them. “I promise I’ll let her drag me out.”

“I love my wife, I’d die for her, but sometimes...” Johnny grinned, only minutely serious, and then he glanced back at Ghost. “LT...?”

You watched him standing just outside the doorway, his eyes once again boring into yours. As you stepped forward to close the door, one solid hand had pushed you back against the doorframe, and another cupped your chin.

His hand was large, fingers partially obscured by gloves that were cut off at his first knuckles. He had stepped close to you, trapping you between his body and your door. With one hand cupping your chin and his unrelenting eyes keeping your gaze hostage, you were breathlessly waiting for...something.

Tension was climbing, and it felt as if everything else surrounding you had become dull and stagnant. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, you were unable to stop your heart from beating wildly.

Slowly he leaned in, closer and closer until his voice was nothing more than a whisper to you.

“Shouldn’t have scared ya, love.” It was as apologetic as you imagined he could get. “Fixed me good.”

“Don’t....get shot or anything. At least not before you get to an actual doctor.” A dry, humourless sound was heard between you, and then his hand tightened on your chin.

“LT! We gotta go!” Johnny called out from the front steps of your place, urging Ghost to leave.

Another moment, brief as it was, and then he pulled away. “Have a good night, love.”

He stepped away from the front door, watching you with intensity until you closed the door behind them and switched the lock.

[fifteenth-entity]

Surprised no one is talking about Tulin

Or at least not that I have seen, because just Rito village as a whole was so depressing to me, and I just feel the overwhelming urge to talk about it.

This is obviously for pre-Colgera stuff, but let me tell you, as someone who did all of the other main quests before Rito village and left it for last (cuz it's usually my favorite to do cuz I like flying and archery), going to Rito village was so horrifying at first.

It's the only place so far in TotK that I feel mimicked the feeling of desolation and abandonment as well as BotW did, because in BotW, the Rito are all so friendly to you and while they live in fear of Vah Medoh, they're not in immediate danger, which makes Rito village as a whole quite sunny and enjoyable to be around, that alongside the fact that it's a relatively easy to traverse landscape and the Rito aren't needlessly cruel to you, just rather dismissive. And then in TotK, you enter, expecting the sunniness (in attitude at least) of Rito village, only to be met with a silent, snow-capped landscape with zero life in sight.

And then you go to the market and you see it's being manned by a child. And then the only demographic you see manning the village is children. And then you realize all the adults have abandoned ship while they wait for you to come help and the children had to step up to the plate of supporting the village.

And then you meet Tulin.

In the beginning, I was slightly relieved to see Tulin be with Teba - finally, I thought, a supervised child, a child that doesn't have to take up the mantel of being an adult to survive.

And then Teba talks about the Stormwind Ark's song, a song originally sung to children, who by the way still believe in the existence of the Stormwind Ark, and how all the adults believe that the Stormwind Ark exists. And Tulin dismisses it as just a fairytale.

That crushed me. Of course Tulin has grown up, he's not the same fledgling he was in Breath of the Wild, he can hold his own. He doesn't need fairytales anymore. But even Genli, who looks to be around the same age as Tulin, believes in the Stormwind Ark. Every child and every adult believes in the Stormwind Ark, except for Tulin. This child has had to take his role as protector of the village so seriously that it has disillusioned him. Disillusionment isn't a good feeling even as an adult, but a child should not have to be disillusioned, especially when it comes to a higher protecting force like the Stormwind Ark is supposed to be. Tulin should still be allowed to believe in the existence of a Stormwind Ark. But he doesn't, and he speaks about its nonexistence with such conviction, with such confidence, that it's depressing.

Which, then, puts into context why Tulin was so dismissive of Teba's tutelage. Teba still believes that there is someone who will come save them, so the man who taught Tulin to take initiative and fight for the village's safety, isn't doing anything to help the village. Instead, Tulin's tutor sits around and waits for a saving grace that, in Tulin's eyes, is not real and will not come to save them (because why wouldn't it have come already if it were real?). So, when Teba is stressing the importance of stuff such as training and teamwork, Tulin is quick to dismiss him - Teba believes in something as fake as the Stormwind Ark, why wouldn't he believe in other fake concepts? (Yes, this mindset is extremely juvenile, but Tulin can't be more than 12.)

Link doesn't start out the BotW/TotK duology as an adult but when he joined Tulin, I was so relieved that someone more experienced would be there to take some of the burden off of Tulin. And when he got the secret stone and had to vow to help Link save Hyrule, that pained me. I didn't want to have a child accompanying me in a mission to save the world because no child should have to do that (Riju included, honestly, but Gerudo values muddle that conversation a little bit). And then I remembered it's only a ghost of Tulin that follows Link, not Tulin himself, and I felt slightly better about it.

But when you look at the wider picture, pre or post Colgera, Tulin is a child soldier, essentially, and I'm surprised I haven't seen people talk about him more as a character. When people call into question how dark TotK is, I just... immediately think of Tulin. This kid is forced to live in a dark and disillusioned reality because of the wider circumstances, and he's conditioned by those circumstances to be alright with that. I don't know if this was intentional or not, but that's quite dark on Nintendo's behalf.

And when I put it this way, there's also some parallels to draw between Tulin and Link here, but that's a different conversation for another day.

I just think this part of the story is depressing, and Tulin is my favorite character. And just to reiterate the title of the post - I'm surprised I'm the first person I've seen bring it up. I don't know if this is a bigger conversation, but if anyone has anything to add, I'd love to hear it because, owch :")

[dracofeathers]

Calling Fic Writers! Story Idea? -Angst-

If this is already something someone has made, ya'll need to link me ASAP cause its been rotting in my brain all week (if not longer) and I very highly doubt I'd ever be able to write it properly LOL. Art? Maybe...

Please excuse my scatterbrained explanation. I'll probably be adding to this as my little angst-loving brain thinks of more details.

-----

So, after x amount of time, Aziraphale returns/escapes to the bookshop from Heaven and being Supreme Archangel....just completely defeated, dazed, exhausted and just about broken/verge of breakdown. I've pictured the scene with or without his wings. Crowley and Muriel are there (or at least Crowley) and are understandably surprised/confused.

He just collapses in a sobbing heap muttering and crying "I'm sorry" "Please" "You/we can't do this" "Why" "I don't want to fall" among other unintelligible words, but doesn't seem to quite be with it enough to attempt to explain whats going on. Maybe he'd gain very slight, brief clarity upon seeing Crowley (who has also been a mess), keeps apologizing, begging for forgiveness (from him? Her? Both? Maybe) until finally passing out.

Of course Crowley steps up and tries to take care of him, and figure out whats going on. Because no matter how mad he might get at Aziraphale, how hurt he was by the end of S2, he'll always return and help his angel, because he loves him. Also I'm positive Crowley already knows Aziraphale didn't make that choice easily, that he hurt the angel as well. Bountiful soft, care-taking Crowley here because I live for it.

Eventually when Azi is a bit more stable, (as he would often rotate between quiet desolate/defeated shell shock, and near hysterical crying in fear and grief) Crowley gets bits and pieces of what happened out of him.

The "Supreme Archangel" position was merely a sort of placeholder/fake title, not an actual promotion. Because why would they want to actually give Aziraphale that kind of power to potentially use against them and their plans? He was dangerous enough

The Metatron (and other angels) lied/manipulated Aziraphale the whole time to get him to do what he/heaven wanted. And to of course separate him and Crowley. Possible eventual threats towards Crowley and others to keep Azi "in line". Book of life?

Plans of course include the second coming as it was mentioned, but I'm sure there are others mixed in. More apocalypse starting schemes etc. Never really give the full details and kept the real plans secret. Jesus only mentioned, never seen (very suspicious). Azi tries to investigate but keeps getting interrupted or thwarted. Kept a very close eye on.

Much gaslighting/mental and emotional abuse and manipulation, slowly wearing Aziraphale down in order to break and better control him. No erasing/changing of memories cause its over done to me.

God is still MIA and no one knows whats going on with Her. The Metatron says he speaks with Her, but lets face it he can't be trusted. Definitely scheming on his own with others, maybe Hell as well?

Aziraphale never falls of course, I couldn't do that to our precious angel. He'd be traumatized enough anyway.

Aziraphale tries to be a good angel so bad it hurts, wants to believe in Heaven and "The Great Plan" but is only ever hurt and betrayed for all his efforts up there.

I WILL MAKE THESE TWO WILL HAVE A PROPER TALK I SWEAR

--------

I just really love hurt/comfort, angst and them taking loving tender care of each other. They would have a happy ending of course. This is how I cope until season 3, don't judge me xD

Also, what I was listening to during this ramble:

[diddybok]

born to die | minho

all characters depicted in my writing are from my own imagination and do NOT in anyway represent nor reflect the people in real life :)

➩pairing: minho x gn!reader

➩genre(s): ANGST, fluff, smut, non-idol!au, switch!minho

➩warnings: death, smoking, pet names, sexual themes (18+) sex (unprotected- pls use protection!), explicit language, people watching (not sexual!) [anything else i have missed]

➩summary: a story based on the song ‘born to die’ by lana del ray. minho was the chosen victim i’m afraid.

➩wc: 5k (5,046)

➩author’s note: i am so sorry.

don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry.

Cold, wet, miserable. The transition from autumn to winter makes itself known harsher than it has ever done before. As the wind cries, an acrimonious chill soars through the air looking to communicate with the souls that are derived of their light.

Minho walks down the desolate street playing with his lighter. A custom made lighter; a muted grey with the engraving of a peacock feather on it. A gift he got on his birthday from an old friend. It packs quite a punch he must say.

He takes one last long drag from his cigarette, taking back the nicotine to fill his lungs before freeing the smoke to dance through the smog. It feels familiar, the taste of nicotine on his tongue. It has been a while since he has smoked. He didn’t miss it per-say, but fuck did it have its way of ebbing the pain.

A brown weathered bench comes into his line of view. He sits at this bench so much that he has assessed the best and worst parts of it to sit on. He collapses down, slightly off-centre and releases a long sigh.

Dawn is his favourite time of the day. The route he can walk with his eyes closed allows him to pass by the type of people he finds pleasure in watching. Minho was adroit at reading people. He much preferred to observe rather than enter a conversation in which he would need to cue his laughs and pretend to be sympathetic towards people who, he concluded, deserved nothing but to get castrated.

05:29am, right on time. Paul flits around the corner and continues down the path. Minho monitors the morning runner closely, counting his steps. Usually Paul does four hundred down this path before he is out of sight. His strides are longer today, seems he wants to get his run over and done with.

Minho likes Paul, though he’s never interacted with him. He needs not to, him watching from afar every dawn for the past ten months has made Paul the closest person he can refer to as a friend in his life currently.

Sad? Far worse. Depressing.

Things in his life changed drastically when you left him. You…your name leaves a vexatious taste in his mouth. It ire’s him just how easily you ruined him. He didn’t think he could possibly hate anyone on this planet as much as he does you. All because you broke the promises you made him.

He hates you. He doesn’t think he will ever stop hating you. He can’t, he won’t.

The friends he did have, he casted them aside. Dropped them like a tree ridding itself of its leaves. Every now and then one of his old friends, Chris, checks up on him. Whether it be sending him a letter -Minho had blocked his number- or a care package. He can’t deny the fact that it really pisses him off.

There goes Vanessa, or as people formally call her, Miss Phillips. He discovered that she is a teacher who specialises in helping children with special needs. Minho is quite fond of Vanessa. He usually likes to guess what style her hair will be next. She untucks her hair from her coat, braids. He hisses and shakes his head slightly as he guessed wrong again.

Minho reaches for the cold flip lighter and runs his thumb over the engraving. Never one to believe in superstitions, he thinks about the argument on whether a peacock feather brings good or bad luck.

It attracted the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in this world. For that, he was beyond grateful for this small object. Until the thing that was so beautiful became cold, unknown, and cause him the worst ache of all. Ache from the heart that shattered into many, many minuscule pieces. One that he knows can never be meticulously mended.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that, about you. His therapist strongly advises against such and directs him to remember his two little people he keeps an eye on. ‘Paul and Vanessa, just think about Paul and Vanessa. You have formed some sort of relationship with them in which you have developed a fidelity. They aren’t any the wiser, but they are a reason for you holding on and gravitating your mind to moving forward.’ His therapist had said.

Minho’s hands start to shake and not due to the cold air. He curses to himself as he opens his cigarette box to find it empty. He was perturbed by his thoughts and needed to rid his growing anxiety before he has an attack.

The universe astutely discerns the situation, for a small friendly body rubs against his calf. Purring fills his senses and he looks down to see the stray cat staring up at him.

The cat seems to mimic his every move. He lifts an arm, the cat lifts its paw to touch his leg. He tilts his head, the cat does the same. If Minho clenches his fist tightly in his lap, then the cat rubs on his calf to soothe him.

It doesn’t take long for a decision to be made, for he and the cat coalesce. He gently picks it up and continues his journey home. The cat immediately becoming the third most important thing in his life.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

come and take a walk on the wild side. let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain.

“Honey?”

“In here!”

Minho follows the sound of your voice, finding you snuggled up in a blanket snacking on some popcorn and listening to some music. You turn to acknowledge him and he physically feels his heart swell. The way you look at him with such light and love is enough for it to be his main source of oxygen. God he is painfully in love with you.

“Hello my darling, how was work?” You ask with a tilt of your head. His heart skipped a beat.

“It was irritating,” he moves to lay on you, resting his head on your stomach as your hands find their way to his head, “Chris is annoying me again.” He says with a roll of his eyes. You chuckle lightly at that.

“Did he put his lunch in your designated spot in the fridge again? Or was it that he offered you an iced latte instead of an Americano? Oh! Maybe he asked whether you were free this weekend and asked you to hang out? Or-”

You are cut off with a rambunctious groan that makes you erupt in a fit of laughter. Minho goes to roll off you irked by your teasing, but you trap him with your legs and apologise by smothering his face in kisses.

Hearing just some of the things that he relayed to you about his days at work made him sound ridiculous for even being annoyed at such things.

You have an extraordinary way of doing that. Reminding him that he’s being too pessimistic about life without explicitly saying so. He realistically doesn’t need to be pessimistic anymore. Not when he has you in his life, you are warm sun to shine through his cold grey skies.

It’s astounding just how long he was able to survive before you. You have moulded him unknowingly into a man capable of loving someone to an extent which is unearthly. He is your paean to how beautiful love can be and you are his saviour.

“What’s going on in that pretty head?” You ask, rubbing your hands up and down his back. It should not surprise him how well you know him.

“Do you know how much you mean to me? I can’t breathe without you Y/n. That’s frightening. I never thought I could genuinely be so happy. I never knew what love was until you y’know?” Minho says.

He can feel your breath quicken and your heartbeat increase, but you’re silent. So he continues.

“I truly think, no, I know you make me a better man. I don’t know why I am being sentimental right now, I think you have me in a lifelong trance.” He lifts his head up, resting his chin on your chest. He watches a tear fall from your eye. He wishes in that exact moment, that he could read people’s minds. Read your mind.

“Why must you do that to me unprovoked?” You sob. It’s his turn to comfort you as he manoeuvres his way out of the position you both currently hold. He lifts you gently and places you on top of him to which you bury your face in his neck.

The pitter-patter of rain starts to make itself known as the weather mimics your mood. Minho enjoys the rain though, it soothes him. Much like you soothe him. It’s strange, he can see the similarities between you and droplets of rain. Both refresh and cool him down when he’s too hot. Both make sounds that immediately puts him into a tranquil state. Both necessary to the world to make the flowers bloom and the grass look greener.

You are his rain.

He runs his fingers along your spine as you mutter incomprehensible words. If he had to guess you are telling him that he’s a villain for making you feel such a way randomly in the day. You referred to him as such before.

Minho is a prick, albeit a lovable one; a prick nonetheless. He loves the way you react to his spontaneous outbursts of reasons why he loves you. Maybe it’s the way you look so adorable when you cry. Maybe it’s the way you will always cling to him after he does so. Whatever the reason, it only makes his heart grow fonder.

The room is filled with your sniffles here and there, low music, and the sound of heavy rain hitting the window.

Minho lays with you, his eyes closed, swaying you gently.

“Do you want to go and play in the rain?” He says breaking the rhythm of sounds.

“Do I want to go and play in the rain?” You echo, laughing, “No, I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

“You can wear my hoodie and my raincoat?” He suggests. You look up at him, sitting up fully. He just smiles at you, awaiting your response.

“You really are serious…wow.”

“It’ll be fun, come on!” He exclaims picking you up with him as he gets up from the sofa. He goes to grab a hoodie of his, one of your favourite ones to wear. He tucks your hair inside of the hood and pulls the drawstrings to tighten it around your face.

He laces the string with a bow and kisses the tip of your nose. He then runs to get his raincoat and swiftly encloses you inside of it. He laughs at you.

“What?” You say feigning annoyance with a tilt of your head.

“Nothing…” He hums with laughter. “You just remind me of an Ewok” He laughs pinching your cheeks. You scrunch your face up due to the attack of his fingers and try to bat him away.

“You basically just called me a tiny bear.” You groan.

“My cute tiny bear. Come.” He grabs your hand and leads you towards the front door so you can both put on your shoes. He glances you way, shooting you an ‘Are you ready?’ look, to which you just roll your eyes at him.

He doesn’t give you another second to change your mind, him basically lifting you off your feet and into the empty street. You squeal as the rain comes down hard, instantaneously soaking both Minho and you.

Minho closes his eyes and raises his head to the sky, letting the rain trickle down his face. He laughs and then looks down at you. Staring up at him, you look at him like he is the only person ever. He scans your face, taking in your beauty. He is too in awe to speak, instead choosing to try and contain his smile by biting his lip. It doesn’t work.

“I’ll love you forever.” You say loudly over the rain. Minho’s heart stops beating for several moments.

“Promise me that, my love.” He says, cupping your face in both of his hands. His thumbs rest just beneath your eyes and he wipes the water away from them.

“I promise.”

He kisses you deeply, lovingly, passionately. And the both of you stand there in the pouring rain, smiling through your kisses and failing to suppress your laughter.

It was in that moment, that you two were the only people in the world. The two brightest of stars, conjoining to rival the sun.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

choose your last words, this is the last time

Minho paces back and forth in front of your driveway before approaching your door. He messed up big time, so he keeps being told by your friend Jeongin. He has always found your friends tiresome. Why being sent a paragraph long text of middle finger emoji’s is warranted for his jealousy? He will never know.

He isn’t quite sure how to say he is sorry for what he did. He trusts you. Of course he trusts you, it’s you. You would never do anything to hurt him, let alone in spite of his childish moods.

He musters up enough courage to knock on your front door. Yet as he was about to, he retracts his hand. What if this is something you will never forgive him for? That can’t possibly be an outcome of all this. Can’t it?

He backs away from the door, pacing again. To any of your neighbours, he must look like some creep trying to talk himself into breaking into your house. It’s best he just be brave and-

“Minho?”

He freezes in his tracks as he sees you in your pyjamas, carrying a trash bag. If your face didn’t hold that nasty scowl directed towards him, he would have thought you looked cute in the set he got you for your birthday. You clear your throat. Right, he is here to plead his case.

“Hey…bin collection day tomorrow?”

An awful start.

You brush past him, throwing the bag into the bin. He watches you awkwardly, placing a hand on the back of his neck.

You walk back inside, but open the door wider. Taking that as his cue to go inside, he scurries in, sure to be quick as to keep the warmth inside.

You immediately head to your room and he sheepishly follows, acting as if he doesn’t know the layout of your house by memory.

As you both enter your room, you go off to the bathroom to wash your hands. He sits and waits for you on the bed. His attention momentarily drawn to the window where he sees drops of rain run down the glass. He smiles softly before returning to his solemn state.

The bed dips beside him and he has to force himself not to stare at the side of your head. The remote control to your television gets thrown into his lap. He looks down, then up at you confused.

“Pick something. Give yourself a couple of minutes to calm down and then say what you have to say.” You speak assertively.

He does as you say without question. Even if you are mad at him, you still know that he can struggle with righting his wrongs. Oh how he loves you.

A few minutes pass and Minho does indeed feel calmer. Enough to start the conversation he is still, slightly, scared to have.

“I am sorry. I had no right to tell you what to wear that night. I also acted like a dick to every single person that approached you, even your friends. That was not cool of me. At all.” He starts.

His eyes meet yours and it takes everything in him to not cower away in embarrassment. The reality of his actions settling in.

“You are beautiful. I know that, everyone else knows that. I think I just got annoyed by people gushing to me about you and how they would love to be with you.” He turns to the window again, watching the rain as it gets heavier.

“It triggered a protective side of me, well, a primal one.” He looks towards you now as you sit against the headboard, waiting for him to continue. “You’re mine and I didn’t want people to think they even had a chance with you.”

“Surely you would only think that if you didn’t completely trust me.” You argue, raising an eyebrow.

Minho starts to fiddle with the remote. Casting his eyes away from yours in embarrassment.

“That, would be a viable response to that yes. But I do trust you! I promise. You haven’t given me any reason not to trust you I just-” He cuts himself off, holding back on what he truly wants to say.

He hears you sigh and you move to place your hand on his forearm. You stroke his arm softly with your thumb, letting him take his time. He really appreciates this side of you.

“I haven’t been feeling like I am enough for you. I don’t feel good in my body as of late and I think those insecurities translated through my actions of how I ministered to our relationship,” Minho takes a long, drawn out breath before continuing. “I think I was trying to drag you down with me into the same state of mind. For that, I am sorry Y/n.” He finishes looking up at you as his eyes shimmer from the fresh tears that threaten to fall.

You two stare at each other for a little while longer, the silence making Minho more panicked. You crawl over to him and straddle his lap, taking him by surprise. Your hands finding their rightful place in his hair, stroking softly.

“Thank you for apologising to me. Make sure to also apologise to the many of my friends you rubbed the wrong way,” You chuckle lightly. “But thank you for opening up to me and telling me what has been troubling you.” You take a deep breath and release with a sigh. “It doesn’t mean that I am completely happy with you, but I do want to show you that you are beautiful. You are everything and more to me Min.” You say smiling softly.

Minho swallows, his eyes blinking rapidly as he listens to you. He places his hands on your hips and strokes them softly. He may not be able to respond right now, the words caught in his throat. So he wants to let you know that he hears you.

“This is a conversation that needs to be finished when emotions aren’t as strong. However, I have failed as your lover to not make you feel like you’re enough. To not make you feel as if you are the sexiest man I have ever laid my eyes on.” You tantalisingly move your hips on his crotch.

The way his body responds to you will never cease to amaze him. All it takes is you sitting on top of him, hell, one look when you stare at him with those eyes and he is ready to go.

Gyrating slowly and pressing down on his now evident erection, a small whine escapes his lips. You smile at that and lift your shirt up off your body. Grabbing his hands, you lift them up to your chest for him to pay attention to your nipples.

He immediately began pinching and rolling them between his fingers. Your moans elicits a thrust of his hips up into your heat. Wanting more, you grab his head and he understands what you want of him. His eyes flutter closed and he attaches his soft lips to the bud, sucking and swirling his tongue. Releasing beautiful moans, he gets off to the salacious image of you using him at any given time to make him suck your nipples.

“I love the way you love my nipples Min. Love the little sounds you make.” You throw your head back in pleasure. “All reasons why you are the sexiest man I know.” You mewl softly.

He switches nipples frantically. Always eager to please you. Only you. He craves every little thing about you. The way your lips taste, the way you taste. The way your body shudders around him as he takes you whenever you let him.

He is love drunk off of you. You are like a drug to him and he wishes to consume you ‘til his dying breath.

The way you grind your hips down on him is unholy, it is like you are trying to make him cum in his pants. He is close, so close. His moans turning into desperate high pitched whimpers.

You halt your movements and hover above his lap. Swallowing the noise of disappointment with your mouth on his. Your tongue claiming the entirety of his mouth. You are so filthy and he loves it.

You catch his bottom lip between your teeth, dragging it slightly before gazing up at him with those eyes. You run your hands from his shoulders down his body, painfully slowly.

His head falls back into the pillow as he looks up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to just pull his pants down enough for him to free himself and fuck you senselessly until he is a shaking mess.

He knows better than to do that though. He wants to be good for you. Your good boy.

You pull down his joggers and his underwear and he shivers slightly. You hum in approval and kitten lick the head of his cock.

“Y/n, bunny, please don’t tease me!” He squalls. He thinks maybe he is being punished for his behaviour. It’s the only way to explain the way you stroke him at a leisurely pace.

“Hush, let me appreciate you. M’gonna make you feel good love” You mumble more to yourself than to him.

Before he could protest anymore, he sharply intakes a breath. The way your lips mould around him so deliciously. Taking him down your pretty little throat. How did he get so lucky to find someone that riles him up as much as you do?

His hands reach down to lightly tug your hair, using it as a handle as he guides your head up and down. Your mouth felt so good. It always feels so good.

He simply can’t control the needy whimpers and whines that are released from his throat. The sound doing so much as to turn him on even more. He has to be careful, he doesn’t want to finish like this, not before you anyways. That is just selfish, what man doesn’t let his gorgeous little pet finish before him?

He pulls you off of him, catching you by surprise. His eyes are dark now, as if a switch was flipped. He comes to his senses, his mission to grab back the reigns and take control. He inhibits you wiping the drool from your mouth as he pulls you into him and crashes his lips into yours.

You moan into his mouth and he is sure to swallow every one. He flips you onto your back, lightly pinning your arms in place. You are breathtaking. Just looking at the way your body glistens with sweat in the moonlight. Looks so tempting, so inviting. Like he wants to create a masterpiece with your empty canvas.

He kisses every part of your body, painting a picture with the little marks he leaves in his wake. His mouth hovers over your heat, breathing softly before planting a chaste kiss.

“Oh kitten…you are dripping.” He says with a devilish grin. “Is this all for me?” He asks tilting his head as he now looks up at you. He concludes that your mewling won’t satisfy him with the answer he wants to hear.

He squeezes your thighs roughly, causing you to look down at him. He just looks up at you with those gorgeous black eyes, his smile charming.

“I believe I asked you a question. Is my darling already too fucked out? I haven’t even touched you in the place you so desperately need me yet. Did you have your fun, having the control hm?”

“Yes, yes it’s all for you Min.” You whine attempting to squeeze your thighs together, but he is quicker than you. Spreading them wide his kisses litter just around your centre. His teasing merciless as you writhe beneath him.

“Min please, no more teasing. Need your mouth on me.” You beg, pushing your hips up to meet his face. He moves back, amused by your neediness.

“Well if that’s what my little kitten wants, then it’s what my little kitten should get hm?”

Your body shudders as he goes down on you. Lapping up your juices like a man who has been starved for weeks. He feels your hands in his hair and it turns him on. He can’t help but to rut against the bed to relieve some of the tension. The sounds, the sight, it is all truly so vulgar. Yet he loves nothing more than to please you.

After all, his name does sound prettiest when it is you moaning it in frantic desperation.

He makes you come undone three times and before he could get to four, you had pushed him away. Catching your breath as he knelt beside you and admires you. Admires the way the sweat trickles down the valley of your chest. The marks that colour your skin so deliciously. The way your eyes are closed tightly and your mouth open, no doubt getting a little dry.

He places an open mouthed kiss to your lips, his tongue providing the moisture that was being lost due to your heavy intake of air. He releases your lips and you make a noise of surprise as he opens your legs and situates himself between them, pushing into you slowly.

He has to still himself or else he will quite literally combust. You feel so good wrapped around him. You always feel so good. He opens his eyes to you already staring up at him Your eyes are overflowing with desire and he has to take a mental picture.

“You intoxicate me. How is it I feel such burning passion whenever I am around you?” He starts to move within you, slowly, intimately, as he takes a deep breath. “I belong to you Y/n. I promise that I will never live a day without telling you that.” His strokes get deeper.

You are a babbling mess. He can’t decipher anything you say, so he swallows your attempt with his mouth on yours. It isn’t until he can taste salt that he realises he is crying. So much for keeping the control. He pulls away and places his arms beside your head, his pace still slow and deep.

“Look at me my darling,” He says with a shaky voice. He watches you flutter your eyes open. “Promise, mmh, promise me you will never leave my side.”

“I promise you.” You say, your own voice faltering no doubt being consumed by a ray of emotions. He drops his head into the crook of your neck, his tears now flowing down your neck. He feels your arms tighten around him. One hand on his back, one hand in his hair, stroking softly as you mutter ‘I love you’ over and over again.

He made love to you that night until the sun graced the sky. Never falling short of telling you just how much he adores you.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

we were born to die.

It’s been a year now. A year of watching Paul and Vanessa, two months since he brought Dori home. Other than those three main factors in his life now, Minho is still miserable.

Much like the weather this morning as it downpours. He’s learnt to hate the rain since the end of his relationship with you. There isn’t much to like, not anymore.

He walks the same route he always does. His shoes are getting muddy, the path littered in grass clippings collated by the water. It proves to be extremely bothersome to see the grass stick to his shoes. Especially on a day like today, if grass is the thing that sets Minho off into a fit of rage; so help anyone who pisses him off on his way home.

Life is cruel. It will give you one thing you wish to cherish forever, to love until you can’t love no more. Makes you feel found when you were lost for so long. Gives you happiness, makes you feel alive like you can accomplish anything the world throws in your direction.

Then it takes it away. Just like that. The thing you had wished to cherish, perishes. Strips you of your ability to love. When you were finally found, you become lost again. Takes your happiness, makes you feel as if you’re rotting inside like you can’t will yourself to try and overcome the obstacles the world throws in your direction.

Living a life like that is revolting. A life in which you feel your only purpose of being born was to die. Minho laughs bitterly to himself. Born to die. Ironic because no matter what people tell you, that is always going to be the outcome of all life.

As he stands with the flowers in his hand, he isn’t sure whether it’s his tears or the rain. Perhaps both as they start to trickle down the petals and collate in the pistil.

He kneels, unbothered about the grass and mud stains he is to get on the knee caps of his trousers.

Resting the flowers against the polished marble, his fingers journey over the name etched in the stone.

Your name.

His hand falls from the gravestone and situates themselves next to his head that has now pressed itself firmly into the ground. He sobs as he bows over you.

He loves you. He doesn’t think he will ever stop loving you. He can’t, he won’t.

ʚ hope you enjoyed ^.^ you can support me by liking, commenting and reblogging! it is heavily appreciated ᵕ̈ ɞ

i do not permit my work to be translated or reposted in any way, thank you.

© 2023 diddybok