#station vu

[stationk17]

trying to find comfort in something you don't remember

[Image description: digital art of Taako from The Adventure Zone. He's seated beneath the Umbra Staff, frowning slightly. He conjures a plume of vaguely hand shaped fire from his finger, with an almost lazy gesture. Taako is a slender elf, with light brown skin and a very long blond braid. He wears a wizard hat with a star pattern, purple eyeshadow, and laced-up boots. End ID.]

[honeyvenommusic]

❗️NEWGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSANIMALSGLASSAN-

[oldtvlover]

Hey E! Gang,

and another round of Gifs from me. Yeah, well ...

Oh man, here I liked how Johnny came up with the idea to use the ladders and I could have strangled the husband. And for Johnny it seems to be like a deja vu. lol Cactus and Johnny. *grins*

P.S. Three to follow!

[tomnielson]

Ever had a life experience that repeats itself over and over again? Check out our latest 10-minute podcast, “Groundhog Daze,” at https://alookbehindinrewind.buzzsprout.com, Apple, Pandora, or wherever you get podcasts. Features a flashback to the hit Bill Murray comedy that started it all.

[coffee-without-anesthetics]

fuck it we ball (harder this time)

[jackal-202]

so I had a dream that I had just finished a lesson(maths), and like every week I was trying to meet up with my friends, but my friends were being idiots and we were trying to meet up in London so it was harder and I had to go home first. And I bumped into the most beautiful women I've ever seen, like she was Wow, the ends of her hair looked like they was covered in pollen ya know, she was on a bike that was attached to a van and she was cycling this van around and I wasn't really paying attention and I crossed a road (cycle lane) and she almost ran me over and we apologised and I went on my way, then I was waiting at a bus stop and she CAME AND FOUND ME and started a conversation and she was interested in my life and I was trying so hard not to lie to her but I didn't want her to know anything about me (stranger danger) but she was the most beautiful person I've ever seen and had a conversation with, she noticed how carefully I was saying things and then I woke up, it's like it was more her dream then mine, mine was so normal but she realised something was wrong and I woke up, do you understand what I mean? Anyway, really she wasn't that beautiful appearance wise, she was beautiful because she went out of her way to talk to me and she was kind, the whole idea of love rendering your loved ones beautiful-- like they might only be beautiful because you love them, it doesn't really matter and I hope you understand what I mean

[haeryna]

the sadness we shared is my clarity ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ↪ fushiguro megumi x reader

summary: it's spring when fushiguro megumi finds you. it's summer when he realizes he loves you. but as the days shorten, and time runs out, megumi realizes you're slipping away.

tw: angst, as per usual. mentions of gore, and sexual tension but nothing explicit or nsfw. you and megumi are both idiots. half of this was churned out in a day so please give the author grace. not proofread. arrangedmarriage!au and friends to enemies to lovers. megumi is Mean. mutual pining, so much that i want to throw up. mmm yummy clan politics

notes: banner by the lovely @/cafekitsune! title taken from txt's deja vu. had this fic rotting in my head and in my drive. dedicated to riko, for being one of the first mooties i ever had. love you @riaki !!

also i'm sorry everyone for vanishing off the face of the earth pls accept this fic as an apology :'))

part one/??

It’s summer, and the air in Kawasaki is miserably hot and oppressive. Tacky skin clings to thick cloth, and Megumi grimaces at the feeling. Gojo had finally decided to send all the first years together on a mission to deal with a group of Grade 3 spirits, deeming his pupils “worthy to finally make their debut!” To celebrate, Nobara had corralled everyone to a small cafe, located near the train station. “Cmon, this place has air conditioning, and Ijichi won’t be here for at least another hour,” she insists, fingers wrapped around the curve of your wrist. Begrudgingly, Megumi follows along, heavy with the knowledge that where you go, he'll follow.

He can’t help but sneak glances over, as you and Nobara fawn over the icy desserts and drinks the cafe has to offer. The soft swoop of your neck is revealed as you lean in closer to peer at the deserts hidden behind the glass. A bead of sweat trickles down into the hollow of your collarbone, and Megumi swallows hard, forcing himself to look away. The flush on his cheeks is from the summer heat, he tells himself. He can’t quite bring himself to believe it. 

“Fushiguro!” you call out, and he forces himself to look at you. “What is it?” 

“Aren’t you going to get a drink?”

Megumi hesitates, before grumbling an affirmative. As the other three move to secure a table, he turns to face the cashier. She seems younger than him by a few years, makeup done even in the hot weather with mascaraed eyelashes batting at him innocently. She misses the proffered bills, running her hand along his, before apologizing a bit breathily. “It’s fine,” Megumi sighs. His thoughts wander as the cashier chatters away mindlessly. You were favoring your right side. Were you injured? Had one of the curses somehow reached you before he could stop them? Your technique had seemed to wane towards the end of the fight. Were you overexerted? Did he have to speak to Gojo about how hard he’d been training you? 

He pulls himself from his thoughts just in time to notice the cashier leaning over the counter, watching him curiously. “Would you like a receipt, sir?” 

“No,” is his curt reply, shoving all of his traitorous thoughts of you deep down inside of himself. The cashier pouts. “If you fill out a survey, you can get five dollars off on your purchase!” 

Megumi can feel himself grimacing. Nobara would kick his ass if he didn’t at least take it and offer it to her. “Fine then.” As he turns back to the table, he scowls at the too-bright smile on Yuuji’s face. “What’s that look for?” 

“Fushiguro, she was totally hitting on you!” 

He swats away the eager high five. “Did the curses fuck with your brain or something?” 

“No, seriously, look at the receipt she gave you!” 

Megumi can feel the heat of your gaze as he unravels the receipt. Under the printed text of “FIVE DOLLARS OFF AFTER SURVEY COMPLETION!” was a line of neatly printed numbers. Scowling, he shoves the offending piece of paper in your direction. “Here. Take it.” 

“I don’t want your leftovers,” you shoot back, eyes blazing, and his traitorous heart wrenches. “It’s not for the number, idiot. Weren’t you and Kugisaki just complaining about spending that much money on drinks? Take the survey and stop whining.” 

He lets himself fall back in the familiar rhythm of bickering with Nobara as she swats at him. He’ll do anything to avoid the way your offended gaze turns thoughtful, how you seem to study his face as he forces himself to continue the lie he’s let himself live. You cannot be his, Megumi thinks desperately, even after the four of you depart the cafe, and after you toss the crumpled up wad of paper into the trash can. Even as you fall asleep in the backseat of the car, head perched onto his shoulder, he fights down the growing panic and nausea. He would rather break his own heart in the process than let you suffer from his affections. 

Cursed, he thinks. There’s a reason his mother passed, his father killed, and his sister stolen away. He’s as cursed as the shadows that seep from his domain with their tendrils that wrap and curl over every inch of light. Megumi has already accepted that the feelings that grow by the day can never be revealed. You, with your sunshine laugh, whose tender hands would always reach for him after a mission. Fushiguro, you’d say, kindly. You’re hurt again. Let me grab the first aid kit. You, with your hands that are soft and gentle, as much as Megumi’s hands are calloused and stained. 

I love you, he finally admits, as he carries you from the car back to your room. Yuuji had an ankle injury, and Nobara couldn’t handle hauling your weight up the stairs leading back to Jujutsu Tech. At least, that’s what he tells himself, as he shifts your weight in his arms, feeling the way you subconsciously pressed yourself closer to him. I love you. Your eyelashes flutter in your sleep, brow crinkling ever so slightly. Gently, Megumi smoothes it over with his thumb. I love you. 

Fushiguro Megumi was by no means a religious man. He’d known that there was no god in the battlefields of a sorcerer, no mercy in the torturous death that only curses could offer. And yet, as he lowers you down to the comfort of your mattress, he finds himself praying. I’ll do anything, he thinks, as he watches you in the depths of your slumber. I’ll give up my body, my soul, my life. Just please let her live. Please let her be happy. 

Please give her someone that could take better care of her than I ever could. 

Fushiguro Megumi found you in the first rainfall of spring. 

You hadn't noticed him, quietly watching the droplets fall on the sakura trees planted near the perimeter of Jujutsu Tech. The edges of your kimono were stained with mud, with a chunk of your haori ripped out on the left side. Megumi frowned. Silk, he noted, and gold. You’re dressed too well to be here, but too oblivious to be a threat. Just to be sure, he let his fingers curl around the handle of one of his tonfas before he spoke. 

“Who are you?” 

Startled, you turned to face him, and his scowl deepened. You were pretty, even with your eyes rounded in shock, and the undignified noise that had escaped you when you realized you weren’t alone. When you told him your name, voice hesitant, Megumi couldn't help but hate the way his heart reacted as you spoke. 

“I’m looking for Gojo Satoru,” you finished, teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip as you waited for his response. Megumi swallowed hard.

“A lot of people do.” He kept his tone steady, forced himself not to let the heat in his chest rise to his face. “What’s a Kamo doing here, looking for him?” 

Megumi had heard of you, of course. Gojo had raised him with at least a basic understanding of the three Big Families, and their prominent figures from both the past and present. The half-sister to Noritoshi Kamo, you had been held behind while your elders sent him away to the sister school in Kyoto. Women, Gojo had said, tone playful but eyes cold, are seen as nothing more than breeding stock and political pawns. They’ll probably keep her there until she’s married off. 

Something seems to settle inside you, and Megumi can’t help but watch, ensnared in the web you weave. Your hands smooth over the creases in your kimono as you exhaled, shoulders rounding back. Even covered in grime you radiated elegance, though you were betrayed by the still-skittish look in your eyes. “I’m here to make a deal with him.” 

A few days after the four of you had returned from your assignment in Kawasaki, you realized that Megumi was behaving rather oddly. 

At first, he seemed moody. Tired, you assumed. With promotions coming up, Gojo-sensei had been training the four of you even more rigorously than usual. Your mornings were filled with research, analyzing the few texts that Jujutsu Tech had recovered on cursed techniques that were even remotely similar to your own. The evenings were spent sparring, with thick dust kicked up under the lukewarm breeze, and the faint howls of Megumi’s shikigami in the distance. 

Sighing, you squat down, calling softly into the woods until one of his Divine Dogs trot out, tongue lolling out happily. You can’t help the wistful smile that tugs at your lips as you run your fingers through soft, black fur. They’d taken a liking to you, after you started carrying a few dog treats in your gear to give to them. Megumi had always complained that you spoiled them, babied them too much. You couldn’t help it. You loved his shikigami dearly. 

What did that say about you? The thought makes you lightheaded for a moment. The heat, you think, a bit desperate. It was all the heat. 

“You’re late.” 

You tilt your head backwards, startling at how close he’d gotten to you. He’s dressed for the summer heat, ditching his uniform for something more practical. Linen pants brush by you as he reaches your side, and your heart seems to convulse when you realize you can see the slight ripple of muscle under the fabric of his shirt.  Heat flares in your cheeks and you look away. Stormy eyes study you, a flicker of something predatory passing through them before he turns to his shikigami. 

“And you. Stop running off like that.” 

The Divine Dog whines, and you crinkle your nose, turning back to meet his gaze. “I was calling for it because I couldn’t find you. You weren’t where we normally spar.” 

“Gojo wanted us to use the other fields.” 

“Fine, fine.” Petulant, you reach for his wrist, hoisting yourself up off the ground. Before you can even speak, he’s tearing it from your grasp as though you’ve burnt him. “Hurry up. We’re losing light.” 

You follow after him quietly, ignoring the sting in your hand from the phantom contact. He’s probably overwhelmed with the work we’ve been doing, you remind yourself, yet you can’t help the slight feeling of dread that runs up your spine. His dog noses at your palm, whining softly, as thought it can sense your distress. Its owner however seems none the wiser. 

“Why did you want to spar today? Didn’t Gojo-sensei say we could take today off?”  

“The next mission is the one that the higher-ups are sending us on to see if we should be recommended for a higher grade. That means it’s going to be more dangerous than usual.” 

The trees clear to reveal a clearing, grass matted down from hours of sparring. “I hate when you’re right.” 

Megumi spares you a sharp glance but says nothing else. “Warm up quickly. I want to be back before it gets dark.” 

You stretch out under the waning light, letting your technique run through your body for a few moments. Cheating, Yuuji would insist, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t eager for a fight. The upcoming mission loomed over you, anxiety building as you thought about the uncertainties of it all. You hadn’t trusted the higher-ups from the beginning, and you especially didn’t trust them in any circumstance where Itadori Yuuji’s life was at risk. You exhale, feeling the familiar buzz of your cursed energy flow as you move. “Okay. I’m ready.” 

Sparring with Megumi feels like a dance, more than anything else. He was your partner long before Yuuji and Nobara had even transferred to Tokyo, and your body has been trained to move as seamlessly with him as possible. Every step forward he takes you step back, and with each swing of the staff, your katana rises up to meet up. You lose yourself in it for a moment, watching the way his jaw clenches in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as you narrowly avoid a pointed elbow. A sharp jab of your blade, and Megumi is suddenly right in front of you. The air leaves your lungs in his presence taking in the scent of his laundry detergent and the slightest tinge of the soap he uses. He takes advantage of your distraction to disarm you, flipping you neatly into a hold. 

“Yield,” he says, pressing his knee down into your stomach a little more firmly. You try your best to ignore the sight of him kneeled between your legs as you try to kick out from under him. His eyes darken at the sight of you, pinned and struggling to free yourself. 

“Yield,” he says, once more, and you do, letting your body rest against the ground as you stare up at him. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, the veins of his slender hands raised as he holds his staff. You let your hand curl against the wood of it, feeling the pressure of it resting on your throat. 

“I yield,” you say, and in that moment you know that you have. Fushiguro Megumi has stolen your heart from the day you met him. I’d give you everything, you realize, as Megumi helps you to your feet. There are 35 trillion blood cells in the human body, and every single one of them runs for you. You let your fingers intertwine with his for the briefest moment before forcing yourself to pull away. I would do anything to have you. My greatest sin and my holiest salvation wrapped into a single body. 

“That was a good fight,” he tells you, taking your silence for sulking. Maybe I wanted to lose. Maybe I did want to fall for you. Would that be such a sin? 

“Thanks,” is your stilted answer, the setting sun sealing your fate. You’re in love with Fushiguro Megumi. And you don’t quite know what to do about it. 

The mission is simple enough, until it isn’t. An abandoned hospital, Ijitchi had said in the car ride over. Residual curses had been spotted clinging to the interior, feeding off of an unknown source within. Intel had suggested that it was a Grade 2 spirit at most. You watch as Nobara takes a bit too much pleasure in nailing the swarms of weak curses that had greeted you at the entrance, Yuuji laughing at how easily his fists send them to a rather unpleasant demise. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you. This is too easy for a promotion mission. What were they hiding? 

Then Megumi opens the doors to what would’ve been the emergency room, and all hell breaks loose. 

Bloodstains, bright red, catch your eye first. They’re splattered all over the room, on the floor, curtains, and on the hospital sheets yellowed with age. You see the bones next. Human; skulls, ribcages, femurs, all picked clean and white enough to shine under the fluorescent lighting. The light flickers. A tumorous mass sits in the center of the room, a conglomeration of hair, teeth, and eyes that blink slowly at you. Your spine stiffens, and immediately, you pull Megumi towards you as a ropelike strand of hair tightens around the spot where he was standing. 

Those fuckers. A Semi-Grade 1? 

“Megumi,” is all you can make out. In the hallway, you can hear something more menacing, something equally as terrible as what sits in the room inside with you. You can hear Nobara’s cry of pain as a nauseating crack rips through the air. They won’t survive without him. “I’m sorry.” 

His eyes widen in understanding a fraction too late as you gather all your energy and shove him back out into the corridor as the curse flings a file cabinet at you. It crashes into the door, and you can hear Megumi calling your name with something that sounds like desperation. The hinges rattle as he throws his weight against it, but the cabinet holds firm. When you turn to face the curse in front of you, the look in its eyes is amused as you draw your blade. A cavernous maw opens, splitting it down the center as misshapen lumps of flesh spill out. Smaller curses, remnants of the innocents it had lured and devoured. A sudden chill goes through your body. 

This isn’t a Semi-Grade. This is a full-fledged Grade 1. 

There’s something vicious in the way you move, tearing through cursed spirits as though they’re paper. Ichor stains the ground around you, as red as the blood you channel through your veins. Dimly, you think you’re screaming. It was a set up, you think desperately. Of course the higher-ups would try to kill Itadori Yuuji at any cost. They didn’t give a fuck about you, or Nobara, or Megumi. Fury fills the cavern of your chest as you lunge for the hulking Grade 1, as it grotesquely pushes out the corpse of one of its victims into something far more sinister. You rip it to shreds without a second thought. 

The sound of steel on flesh makes the hair of your arms rise as you finally manage to cut a nasty gash into the misshapen curse in front of you. It howls in pain, tendrils reaching for your body as you leap away. Instead, the tendrils open the serrated wound a bit further, opening a new pocket for its children to crawl out of. That was the first blow you’d been able to land; ten minutes have passed since you trapped yourself inside a room with it. Will you make it out alive? You shake the thought away angrily.

Gritting your teeth, you increase your blood flow, shooting it down to your legs and the fibers of your muscles. Your blade shines as it cuts down curses, the Grade 1 merely watching with a demeanor that you can only describe as bored. It’s toying with you, you realize, but what pricks your heart isn’t fear, but resignation. Your foot catches on the rubble for only a moment, and the Grade 1 moves, slamming you into the wall with enough force for you to feel your ribs shatter. Blood fills your mouth and you choke, lungs heaving. Punctured, your technique tells you, a liter gone. The air tastes like iron and salt, and you realize with a start that you’re dying. 

You feel oddly calm as the world spins, watching as the ropes of hair approach your prone body. The last thing you see is the door shattering open, and the look in Megumi’s eyes as he sees you. There’s terror in his normally stoic expression, his arm outstretched towards you as Nue dives for you. Nobara and Yuuji are moving, but all you can see is him. His hands are bloodied at the fingertips, as though he’d been clawing at the door with his own hands to pry it open, his lips moving soundlessly. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the toll of death that signals your end. His hand cups your face, and you allow yourself to lean into it for a moment, reveling in the touch. I could die like this, is your final thought as you succumb to your injuries. I’m happy that you’re holding me, Megumi.

The world around you feels muted, when you finally awaken. Your vision is blurred as you peel your eyelids back, and you wince at the sensation. How long have you been out for? Slowly, the blurred tinges of light start to focus. A lamp, dimly lit to your right on the nightstand next to a pitcher of water and an empty cup. A punctured lung, a liter gone. Your hand drifts to the bandages that wrap your chest, carefully letting your cursed technique scan your body. A few lacerations, but for the most part you were fine. Crisp sheets rustle as you sit up, examining your surroundings. The hospital in the infirmary. Somehow, they managed to bring you back. 

Megumi’s eyes, so desperate and lost as his hand reached for you. 

You try not to think about it, as you carefully test your body. Your limbs ache, but that’s to be expected. Your hair has been neatly pulled away from your face; Nobara’s work, no doubt. Her screams from behind the door, the dread in your chest when you realized they might not survive without Megumi. You watch your fingers shake as you reach for the water, letting it soothe away the pain in your throat. Did she even make it? Did they live? 

The door opens, startling you from your thoughts. Megumi stands in the doorway, hand pushing through his hair. You take a moment to examine him, noting the dark circles under his pale skin, and how his long hair seemed mussed. His eyes scan the room, passing over you before focusing on you with startling clarity. 

“You’re awake.” 

Hesitantly, you nod, as he drops into the seat beside you. “Did…did they…”

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence. “Kugisaki and Itadori are fine.” 

You stare down at your hands, letting the silence wash over you. Yet, you’re dimly aware of how suffocating it feels, how your shoulders were unable to relax even with the knowledge that your friends were alive and safe. Megumi continues to watch you, but before you can say something, anything,  his voice fills the air, terse and clipped. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

Startled, your eyes meet his. “What?” 

“Did you think I was too weak? That I couldn’t handle it just because you’ve been a Grade 2 longer than I have?” The eyes that normally watched you with a hint of affectionate exasperation were cold, and hard. “You behaved recklessly. Did you even think about how it impacted the rest of us? Because of you, Kugisaki broke her leg, and Itadori almost had his arm cleaved off. You did all of that just for the rest of us to find you half dead in a puddle of your own bones and blood.” 

“Stop it,” you whisper, but Megumi’s voice only twists into something far more cruel. “You thought you were being so brave, sacrificing yourself, only to realize that you weren’t that special. You couldn’t even take down that Grade 1 alone. Kugisaki had to save you, even as she was practically screaming from the pain.” 

“Megumi,” you whisper, and he pauses, clearly unused to his name falling from your lips. “Why are you so angry at me?” Your voice breaks ever so slightly and you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, ashamed at the wetness in your eyes. “Where is this coming from? I don’t understa-” 

He slams his palm against the wooden surface of your bedside table, rattling the drawers. “Are you really that stupid to ask what you did wrong? You fucked up. I thought you were different, but in reality, you’re no better than the rest of your clan, are you? You’re just another filthy Kamo.” 

Your hands shake as you twist them into the off-white infirmary sheets. “What are you talking about?” 

Megumi laughs, but it’s jaded, sharp. “Congratulations. You’re being promoted to a Semi-Grade 1, all because of your little stunt that landed the rest of us into hospital beds. Even though we all had to help you finish it off, they’re only choosing you. I wonder why.” 

“Megumi.” Your voice rises, as your heart finally shatters. “I did it because I thought you would die, you know that. I don’t give a fuck about the politics of the higher ups, or my clan, or even my grade. I just wanted to protect you all. You know that.” 

He rises from the chair next to your side, expression indifferent to the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. “As if I’d believe you.” 

“Megumi,” you call out, desperately, as he walks away. “Megumi!” 

He doesn’t look back, and you’re left alone in the dark with only the moon to bear company as you sob. I don’t understand, you think, deliriously. Can’t you see that I love you? Can’t you see I’d rather die than watch you break in front of me? 

Megumi barely makes it to the lawn before he retches into the bushes. Bile rises in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as he replays the moment over and over and over again. For five days, he’d held vigil at your bed. For five days, he realized that your love for him would get you killed. For five days, he’d wrapped his heart in iron, knowing that what he was about to do would break the both of you. I would’ve only gotten you killed, he thinks, numbly. It’s what landed you here in the first place. 

Yet, Megumi can’t stop recalling the exact moment the relief in your eyes had turned into betrayal, how your lips had trembled and your hands shook. Your voice, desperate and pleading, calling his name as he forced his legs to walk away from you. How he can hear your sobs faintly trailing from the windows above, matching the tears that are trailing down his cheeks. 

You’ll hate him forever, he thinks, dazed, as he forces himself onto his feet. You’ll hate him forever, and by god it’ll be the most painful thing he’s ever experienced, but as long as you’re alive he can bear it. As long as he never has to see you there again, laying in a heap of your own blood, eyes dazed and unseeing, he will carry the sins that it takes to keep you alive and away from him. 

I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry that someone like me ever fell for someone like you. I love you so much that the thought of being without me tears me to shreds. I love how you take care of my shikigami like they're your own. I love how every touch you give me heals something that I didn't know I was missing. I love you, and I need you to live more than I need air to breathe.

I love you, and even though I don't think you'll ever forgive me, I'll always follow wherever you go.

[czache78]

thinking about pony dying at that fountain.

Johnny sitting covered in blood, Pony’s head resting in his lap as he begs him to wake up, it’s not funny anymore, just breathe again.

Darry and Soda collecting the gang by the time it’s morning and neither of them have seen Johnny or Pony since last night, conducting a search of the entire town.

Darry being so worried as they search, because what if Pony didn’t even want to see him, what if Pony really hated him now. And what makes it worse is Soda won’t even speak to Darry, not after he hurt their baby brother.

When they find Johnny, he’s sitting against the fountain and by now, he’s freezing but he can’t get up, he can’t even speak to Dally when he grabs his arm, because Pony is gone, Pony’s not breathing.

Soda immediately kneeling down by Pony, thinking he’s asleep or something, and then seeing his unblinking eyes, his blue face, his cold hands, and just sobbing.

Meanwhile, Darry is just standing there knowing what’s happened but not knowing what to do, and he’s just numb, he can’t move or speak or even breathe.

Dally having to go to the police station, and the cops hardly believing him because of his record, but he looks so desperate and broken that they hear him out and follow him to the park.

Steve, Dally, and Two-Bit having to literally drag Soda away from Pony, sobbing and screaming, and it hurts them so much to see essentially their little brother dead, and the rest of their friends breaking down.

Dally having to practically carry Johnny back to the Curtis house, because he can’t speak or walk or do anything but think about Pony’s eyes that he would always watch, so cold and lifeless now.

Darry retreating to his room because they all must hate him for this as much as he hates himself.

Soda still sobbing and clutching onto one of Pony’s sweatshirts while Steve just sits next to him and rubs his back, trying not to cry himself. Dally’s eyes, somehow even more cold and hard than before, as he makes sure Johnny is okay, even though he’s not gonna be okay, none of them ever will be.

Johnny not being able to speak for weeks, months after Pony’s death, and still struggling with it after that, because Pony was the only one he could really talk to and now Pony was gone.

Darry getting huge flashes of deja vu from his parents death— immediately after, he’s thrown into planning. At his parents death, it was a way for him to calm down and organize his thoughts, but now he’s just too tired, it’s just the routine that he has to do.

Them all pitching in for a gravestone with his name on it. It’s not even his full name. Pony Curtis, 1953-1967. Them not even having a funeral because the cops won’t hear them out, why should they care about some greaser?

The cops ruling it a suicide and none of them quite believing it, but there’s always that thought in the back of Darry’s mind— what if Pony just got too fed up when he hit him? What if he riled up those Socs on purpose?

All Dallas can think is— he’s 14. He’s only a kid. (He can’t bring himself to use past tense.)

A week later, the social worker appearing at their door. Soda hasn’t spoken to Darry for that entire week, but he looks back at him with tears in his eyes as the social worker takes him away, going to ship him off to a boys home.

Darry breaking down as soon as he leaves, holding onto Soda’s old flannel and Pony’s stuffed bunny that he used to claim he was too old for, just sitting on the couch and crying until he falls asleep.

Two-Bit finding him the next morning and trying to hug him but Darry flinches away because the last time he’d touched someone he’d hit his little brother, who’d then gotten killed.

Steve watching his best friend going from a happy boy who’s always smiling to someone barely able to respond to his hugs or words of comfort. Steve knowing that Soda will never be the same, and he can’t do anything about that.

Steve joking that he won’t be competing for Soda’s #1 best friend spot now, and immediately regretting it when Soda breaks down in tears. Steve, who usually can just be there and Soda will be comforted even if Steve’s not good at that, standing there helpless as Soda cries.

The gang jumping at the opportunity to have a rumble, and even when the Socs start retreating they keep running after him because they need somewhere to get this energy out, to get some sort of revenge.

Darry having to be pulled off of Paul long after he'd passed out, and just falling apart refusing to let anyone touch him because that's what caused Pony to run away, to get killed, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone else, to cause anyone else's death because of him.

Darry just sitting in the corner of their living room afterwards unable to look at anyone because he's never cried like that in front of them, especially not his brother(s). Him feeling horrible when Soda gets up, still injured, and tells them it's way past his curfew and that he's gotta get going.

Soda, as he walks home, passing by the park where Pony died and just breaking down in tears. Him not making it back until the next morning, because he's crying so much he passes out. Him wishing maybe some Socs could come and jump him too, because he deserves it more than Ponyboy did.

Two-Bit drinking that night, more than he had before, because he just doesn't want to think about it anymore. He's had enough of tragedy and misfortune and pain, and drinking will make him forget about it, if only for a little while. Him regretting it when he wakes up even worse than before, but getting drunk again and again because the good parts of it overweigh the bad.

Dally turning even more cold and hard, and not trusting anyone except for Johnny. Him jumping Socs anytime he comes across them even if he's outnumbered and comes back more injured than victorious, because he's doing this for Pony, he's doing this for his gang.

Darry taking Johnny in as a little brother, and he knows it's not the same but it's as close as he's gonna get to having his normal routine, and that's pretty much the only thing that will calm him down. Darry finding a book of ASL in his parents' old room. Him trying to learn some of it so he can communicate with Johnny, knowing that Johnny and Pony learned it, but giving up after a few tries because he sees the hurt in Johnny's eyes.

Soda getting a letter while he's in the boys' home, and hoping against all hope that it's someone from his gang, wishing that it was his little brother even if there's no way. Him opening the letter and it's from Sandy, saying that she's moved to Florida and is breaking up with him.

Soda nearly throwing up when he's finished reading it, because he's lost everyone. First his parents, then his little brother, and with him the rest of his friends, and now his girlfriend. Soda not being able to talk about the letter for months afterwards, even when Darry finally finds a way for him to come home.

Steve sneaking into the boys' home one day and getting shoved away when he tries to put a hand on Soda's shoulder. Him feeling horrible that he's not good enough, that his best friend will never be the same, but shoving a chocolate bar into Soda's hands before he leaves, because before Pony died, Soda would always feel better after he ate one.

Darry eyeing the knife on the counter while he's cooking, or loosening his hold on the ladder just a little bit at his roofing job, because it's his fault Pony's dead. Darry not eating until he absolutely has to. Darry launching himself into getting Soda back or caring for Johnny, because he's worthless otherwise.

Darry flinching whenever someone tries to touch him, or anytime he feels the slightest hint of anger, because he doesn't want to hurt anyone else. Darry panicking when Two-Bit slams a bottle down on the counter, because loud noises remind him too much of hitting Ponyboy. Darry wanting nothing more to hug Soda when he finally gets home, but not wanting to lose his other brother, too, at his fault.

Just... Pony dying at the fountain.

[pennyblossom-meta]

"I think of him as a quarter Japanese, a quarter English, a quarter Russian, a quarter French or Italian, like that." - Tsugumi Ohba

How L is described in Another Note:

The station entrance had just come into view and standing in front of it was an awkward, uncomfortable-looking man. A young man, with an intense expression. There were lines under his eyes so dark she wondered if they were actually done with makeup. Like he hadn't slept in days-no, like he had never slept in his life. Like his sense of justice would not allow him time to sleep, since he had so many difficult cases to think about, battling unfathomable pressure on a daily basis.

He wore a long-sleeved white shirt and blue jeans. His bare feet were crammed directly into beaten sneakers. "??" She had a strange sense of deja vu. Like she'd seen him or met him once before. There was something about him that reminded her of Rue Ryuzaki-of Beyond Birthday But the resemblance was backward, like this was the original, and the other had been a copy. (...) The man looked up at her, his eyes in shadow as if two holes were staring at her.

-----

Had some fun with artbreeder months ago. I really wanted to create a more realistic rendition of how I think L would look like according to canon.

[dead-ringer-if]

DEMO (TBA)

The Wardens, stationed within the bustling city of Seattle, were the first proof of what could come from The Scourge, a cataclysmic event that had set off a chain reaction that would forever echo throughout time: Los Angeles falling into the Pacific, New York City being partially taken over by water, the Sahara Desert sweltering in intensity which killed off native fauna in record amounts, were among the most prominent. Years of misery, of fear, transcending over a century, wherein every remaining government strived to figure out a solution.

Which they found in the form of Titan— the first meta-human, Patient Zero, whose natural abilities were enhanced by various procedures. Titan started a new wave, hope beginning to appear, as more and more meta-humans were found— mainly due to the efforts of the Rose Family— and their naturally honed abilities, seemingly derived from the Scourge itself, being able to combat the effects until there’s only fractal remnants of it left.

From there The Wardens were formed, with Titan leading them, a new period of peace fell over the world once more. Of course, that never lasts as more and more villains began to pop up out of the woodworks, threatening the sanctity of the New World. However, without fail, The Wardens were there to answer the call and defend those that couldn’t defend themself.

Titan persevered, The Wardens went on, until a fateful day a decade ago on this date— wherein Titan lost Peregrine, their sidekick and protege. It’s a day that will forever live in infamy, as it’s a day that Titan lost Peregrine, but the world lost Titan.

— Excerpt from the Seattle Times.

The world was your oyster— at least that’s what you were told. By who? You’re not quite certain of that. Everything could be possible if you just strived to reach it… They just never tell you how to deal with the harsh reality of it forever being unobtainable.

Maybe that’s why you fell into a life of crime? Well crime is a stretch, you’re more a prisoner in a heavily guarded fortress than anything else. You’re not quite sure, not being able to remember the majority of what brought you to this moment; only fragments of what used to be visits you in your sleep. Of course, working for Diego Ruiz, the local crime boss in downtown New York City, wasn’t the worst possible job, barring the imprisonment, not that you were truly part of anything nefarious to begin with, but you still saw things you’re never sure you’ll be able to unsee.

When he gets arrested, you can’t say you’re too surprised— after all he took a lot of gambles while not having the intellect to back up such moves— but you are concerned about what the future could mean for you.

Nothing you ever imagined could prepare you for what’s in store, however. Never could have imagined The Wardens would have such a vested interest in you. You’re nothing special, haven’t been for as long as you could remember.

And why the hell do they keep calling you Peregrine?

Play as an MC that doesn’t quite remember their past life. Is it possible that you’re Peregrine? The protege that had been killed in a surprise raid a decade before? Or is something more nefarious going on and you’re simply caught in the middle of it? Why are you suddenly developing powers that you’ve never had before? And why the hell do you feel like you’re in a constant state of deja vu?

Please note that this story is rated 18+ for depictions of explicit language, alcohol consumption, potential drug use, sexual themes, mentions of death, blood, torture, and grief.

Customizable MC: name, nickname, appearance, sexuality, hobbies, bits and pieces of what occurred in the last decade, and more! (The MC has a slightly semi-set personality.) You’ll also be able to partially design your Avian friend: name, gender, and feather colors (it’s a Peregrine Falcon). The MC is 28.

Bond with The Wardens and discover, or potentially rediscover, your found family. The people who thought they lost you.

Uncover the seedy underbelly that lurks beneath the surface of the New World. Will you be able to discover what exactly happened to you? Uncover if you’re truly Peregrine or someone, or something, else entirely.

Romance 1 of 4 romance options— from the newest initiate within the Inner Circle to a suave, if slightly broken, billionaire villain.

Cultivate your powers that are both new and old.

You’re a dead ringer for a hero the world thought it lost… Just make sure you don’t lose yourself too.

Camilo/Camila Osorio — M/F

Age: 29

Power: Chlorokinesis — the ability to create and control plants.

Alias: To the world they’re known as Verdant, partner to Frostbite, a superhero within the Inner Circle of The Wardens.

Appearance: Of Colombian descent, they have richly tanned skin with piercing dark brown eyes to offset it. Ash brown hair is naturally slightly wavy— Camilo has his to his jawline and Camila has hers to her shoulder blades— which brings out the elegant contours of their face. An alluring presence all around, partially due to their powers, they stand at around 5’5” with a lithe body type.

Personality: While not being completely unkind, they’re not the most welcoming person. They don’t detest you, but it’s clear that they’re barely able to be in the same room with you. After all, they were best friends with Peregrine (with you?) and being near you only brings back painful memories. A wall of apathy, and sometimes cutting remarks, separate you from them, but at times, when they think you’re not looking, grief flashes through their gaze— latent pain rising to the surface that they’ve tried to bury for years.

Romance Route: Ex-Best Friends to Lovers, Slightly Rivals to Lovers (in a roundabout way), Lost Love, Finding Each Other Again, and Second Chances.

Airan/Aira North — M/F

Age: 26

Power: Cryokinesis — the ability to create and control ice, while not being affected by the cold.

Alias: To the world they’re known as Frostbite, partner to Verdant, the recent addition to the Inner Circle of The Wardens, a prodigy in the making.

Appearance: Ebony ringlets, that’s strewn with arctic blue and white, fall to just beneath their jawline, complementing the dark brown tone of their skin. Sapphire blue eyes shimmer with warmth despite the coldness that always seems to follow them. With a slender physique, they’re not one to get into fist fights but that doesn’t negate the danger level they could present. They stand at around 5’8”.

Personality: With the warmest smile and a boisterous laugh, they’re the embodiment of a golden retriever. Always wanting to make other people happy and stress free, with a genuine quality that surrounds them. They may be one of your “caretakers” to help you get acclimated with the world once more, and your growing powers, but they truly wish to be your friend too. No matter what they’d always be there to lend a hand if needed, or a shoulder to cry on.

Romance Route: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Golden Retriever, Stuck Together, Gentle Compassion.

Damon/Diana Ambrose — M/F

Age: 45

Power: Widely regarded as the most powerful meta-human, partially due to their past that’s still shrouded in mystery, they have multiple abilities— flight, invulnerability, enhanced senses, and super strength (to name a few).

Alias: They’re known to the world as Titan, the old leader of The Wardens. An individual that hasn’t been seen in nine years and rarely, if ever, leaves the comfort of Warden Tower.

Appearance: Fair, perfectly unblemished, skin is complemented by the raven black color of their hair. Piercing green eyes, that look almost unreal due to their brilliance, brings out the chiseled features of their face— high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, well defined nose, and full lips. They were made for perfection, but is it truly all that it’s cracked up to be? With a toned/well muscled body, they stand at around 6’3”.

Personality: With a softly compassionate nature, paired with a presence that could silence an entire room by simply appearing, they were born to be a leader. Born to guide and help any that needed it. With a loving demeanor, wherein they have their heart on their sleeve, it’s no wonder that they took Peregrine in, at the ripe age of fifteen, in order to help train the young person that was clearly trying to find their way in the world. It’s also no wonder that they completely lost themself when losing Peregrine, something that they believe could have been completely avoided, and they’ve forever blamed themself for it. The last decade has brought with it a slew of darkness for them, their smiles not coming as easily, their anger at themself growing, and their hope slowly fading. Maybe with your reappearance things will be okay?

Romance Route: Old Mentor, Age Gap, Second Chances, Reunion, Forbidden Love (on their part), and Slow Burn.

Morgan/Morgana Rose — M/F

Age: 38

Power: Shapeshifting.

Alias: They’re infamously known as Silhouette. The leader of a criminal enterprise known simply as Syndicate.

Appearance: With sharp gray eyes, that seemingly stare right into your soul, and honey beige skin that’s complemented by their wavy auburn hair. They have an aura of danger consistently surrounding them, giving many the impression that they shouldn’t be trifled with. With a lean body type, they stand at around 6’0”.

Personality: Being called a variety of names within the tabloids: “The Lost Rose” or “Wilting Red”, to name a few— due to their abrupt departure from their rather famous family. They’re infamously known as Silhouette; a master manipulator, cutthroat in their dealings, and refusal to backdown over something they want. Of course, that’s simply gossip from individuals that have never truly met them— much like the tabloids that speculate on the life of the lost Rose Heir. Despite what you may think of them, they’re your best bet at discovering what happened to you in the last decade.

Romance Route: Enemies to Lovers (in a sense), Slow Burn (slightly), Age Gap, Villain/Hero, Misunderstood.

[toournextadventure]

movie night pt.v

Summary: Sam doesn't distrust you quite as much and Tara scares you. Guess that means it's time for them to meet the family.

Word Count: 6.4k Warnings: Excessive swearing, suggestive themes, Scream levels of violence/mentions of violence Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (pt.i) (pt.ii) (pt.iii) (pt.iv) (pt.v) (pt.vi) (pt.vii) (pt.viii)

“One more attack and I’m takin’ you to Mercy,” Aunt Sherry said as she finished cleaning the dried blood on your neck. “Conscious or not.”

“I understand,” you said quietly. You supposed after another 17 stitches, you couldn’t really argue with her.

“Your Ma never wanted this life for you,” she said, her hand resting on your shoulder.

You knew she meant well, but this conversation wasn’t helping. Clearly Ma never wanted this for you, she hadn’t even wanted it for herself and Pop. Trouble was always quick to follow your family, and you were more than adept at figuring out how to navigate it. This was a different obstacle, sure, but you were clever, you could make it work.

None of you had been taught how to keep others out of trouble, though.

“I’ll see you at Mass,” you said with a smile before hopping out of the ambulance for the second time in 24 hours.

Anika had already been rushed to the hospital. As far as you knew, they were confident she would pull through. Damn, she was one tough sonofabitch. You would need to make sure you sent flowers or chocolates or something. What would she even like? Maybe you should ask Mindy.

“Who knows where you live?” Sam asked once you shuffled your way to the group. All these Ghostface attacks were giving you major deja vu.

“No one,” you said when you stopped beside Tony. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Course not,” he scoffed, “I know the family rules.”

“Well he found out somehow,” Chad said.

“Well it wasn’t from us, smart guy,” Tony said defensively. “We don’t tell nobody where we live.”

“Only ones who know are Garret and the lot of you,” you said. “And I only called Tara.”

“And where is Garret?” Mindy asked as she held her now-bandaged arm.

“His dad’s house up in the Hamptons,” you said with a shrug. “Not gettin’ back till next weekend.”

“And you’re sure he’s up there?” Tara asked.

“Yes I’m sure, now quit with the interrogation,” you huffed. “Got enough of a headache as it is.”

Tara didn’t say anything but reached down and grabbed your hand, slotting her fingers between yours. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze. It was starting to become abundantly clear why she had kept her distance. Was this going to happen to anyone that got close to the Woodsboro gang? Because that was enough to have anyone on edge.

“So what now?” Tara asked.

“Chad and I are going to the hospital with Anika,” Mindy said softly, her eyes hazy.

“Quinn is already being escorted to the police station,” Sam said.

A phone rang.

Everyone’s eyes darted to Tony, who was already digging in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and showed you the screen, and you gulped. Oh god, this was so bad. You couldn’t do this again, you were barely holding it together as it was.

“Is it him?” Tara asked.

“Worse,” Tony said as he handed you the phone.

You watched it ring two more times before closing your eyes and answering it. The moment you held it up to your ear, you heard the static on the other end. It didn’t matter how tough you were, you weren’t prepared. Hell, nothing could have prepared you for it.

“Hey, Ma,” you said in the sweetest voice you could muster.

“If the two ‘a youse don’t get your sorry asses over here in the next 20 minutes, I’m chainin’ your ankles and throwin’ ya in the Hudson.”

“Just calm down-”

“-don’t you dare tell me to calm down, you don’t even call me to tell me about this bastard?”

You sighed. “No I don’t because you start actin’ like a wise guy!”

“Get your asses over here, Y/N.”

“Ma-”

“-Now.”

You exhaled through your nose and looked over at Tony. He mouthed a “sorry” before he shrugged. Lot of good he was. Sam and Tara were still looking at you with a mix of concern and… were they laughing?

“Can we bring two visitors?” You finally asked.

There was a bit of silence.

“Only if you follow the rules.”

“We will,” you said.

“Then yes.” A beat of silence. “And hurry.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said. “We’ll see you soon-”

-the call hung up and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Well, that went well. On the other hand, you had been on the receiving end of worse calls from your Ma. This honestly wasn’t all that bad, at least she didn’t curse your bloodline. Well, not that time.

“You threw me under the bus,” you mumbled as you handed the phone back to Tony.

“I ain’t puttin’ up with her rage,” he said even as he slid the phone back into his back pocket.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“We’re goin’ somewhere safe,” you said. “Well. Safe for you.”

“She’s gonna kill ya,” Tony mumbled.

“Shut up, I know,” you mumbled back as you placed your hand on Tara’s lower back and started guiding her down the streets.

“Shouldn’t you make sure the police don’t need anything?” Tara asked, looking back at your crime-scene of an apartment building.

“Absolutely not,” you said, “they let this happen, they can do it on their own.”

You all bid goodbye to Chad and Mindy before everyone went silent as you and Tony led them through the streets of New York. It was late, the lights were blinding, and the grating sounds of sirens faded into the usual chaos. There was something comforting about it; you didn’t think you’d ever be able to live somewhere that was quiet. How Tara had managed to live in Woodsboro forever was beyond you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t keeping an eye out for suspicious characters. Namely a certain motherfucker who had quickly moved to the top of your shit list. Oh if he just gave you the chance, you were going to make him pay. No way on God’s green earth were you going to let him get away with any of this bullshit.

“Where exactly are we going?” Sam asked when you took them into an unassuming bakery in the Bronx.

“Can’t tell you,” Tony said.

You made sure to wave at Chris when you walked by the counter and guided everyone through a back door. It was a bit suspicious, you wouldn’t lie. Come to think of it, you didn’t think your family had invited anyone over since… well, since Dicky had brought Carol over a few years ago, actually. Oh man, maybe you all needed to reconsider your rules.

“It’s not as sketchy as it seems,” you said when you turned to look at them. “But I need you both to close your eyes.”

“Excuse me?” Tara asked.

“I said it’s not as sketchy as it seems,” you huffed.

“I’m not letting you lead us into some back room,” Sam said with crossed arms.

“If you don’t close your eyes, I can’t take you in,” you said. “It’s family rules.”

“Really?” Tara asked.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. They both looked at you in silence. “I know how it sounds.”

“If we close our eyes will you quit floundering?” Tara asked. “You’re going to catch flies.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “Please just follow the rules, I’m tired of just standing here like a psycho.”

Sam and Tara shared a look, opposite of the one you shared with Tony. You both knew it was a bit sketchy, you knew. But when Ma and Pop made the rules, they made the rules. How were you supposed to argue? You weren’t, that’s how. Besides, if Ma and Pop found out you were breaking the rules they would have your heads.

“Fine,” Sam said with a sigh before closing her eyes. Tara quickly followed suit.

Both you and Tony shared a sigh before guiding the two girls through the back door. You each held on to them to make sure they didn’t trip over something as you took them down through a cellar and into one of the underground tunnels. Most people didn’t know about the tunnels under New York City, but your family had memorised them as if your lives depended on it.

Which, sometimes they did.

You took them through a dizzying amount of turns until you got to the door that led up to your house. If the family was smart, they would’ve locked it. And unfortunately for you, it was locked. Damn, you had hoped they would’ve lost their mind for a few seconds, you weren’t in the mood to dig around for the new location of the spare key.

The tip of your ear started to throb when you bent down to look for the key under the crate of bootleg whiskey.

“Found you,” you mumbled to yourself when your fingers brushed against the ridiculously oversized skeleton key.

“Can we open our eyes now?” Tara asked.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “We gotta get you inside first.”

“This is how people die in horror movies,” she continued while you shoved the skeleton key into the similarly oversized keyhole. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, Tara, I know that,” you bit back, finally pushing the door open. “Now come on.”

You held Tara’s hand tightly as you helped her up the stairs to your house. Well, it was your parents’ house, but that didn’t really matter. Only once you and Tony had brought both girls up to the living room did you finally pull them to a stop. The blood rushed in your ears. You hadn’t ever brought anyone home.

“Okay, you can open ‘em,” Tony said before you found your voice again.

Both girls opened their eyes slowly; you almost wanted to laugh at how wide they got when they looked around. Sure, maybe the brownstone was a bit extravagant. All the exploits of the past were on display; trophies, if you would. From the old paintings, to old newspaper clippings of heists, to the Tommy gun your great grandfather had owned before he passed down the mantle. You supposed it was a bit of a shock to the average person.

“Are you…” Sam trailed off before looking back at you. “Are you-”

“-yeah,” you said with a nod. “We’re Italian.”

“Y/N Vitale, you be nice to those girls.”

“Oh shit,” Tony said as the four of you turned around quickly.

Your eyes went wide - much like Sam’s and Tara’s - when you saw your Ma walking towards you with violence in her step. Oh, you were in trouble. You were in deep shit and no one was going to be able to save you. Maybe you should’ve just taken your chances with Ghostface; he scared you less than your mother.

“Hey Ma-”

-you were cut off by her harshly gripping your jaw and pulling you down until you were eye level with her. She twisted your head and looked at the injured ear you were sporting. Everyone flinched when your neck popped. What was one more injury in the long list of injuries you were starting to get?

She turned your head again until you could look her in the eyes. As much as you feared your Ma - respectfully, of course - you knew concern when you saw it. It never came off the way normal people did, but you knew it. It was in the crinkles around her eyes as they checked every inch of your skin.

“Are you ladies hurt?” Ma asked as she let go of your face. You rubbed your jaw as you straightened back up.

“No- um, no ma’am,” Sam stammered.

“We’re okay,” Tara followed.

“Good,” Ma said, turning to look at them and putting on her motherly smile that you certainly never got to see. “Then welcome home.”

“How come they get a welcome and I get a once-over?” You asked.

“Because they stayed safe and responsible and you didn’t,” Ma shot back. Tara snickered while Sam turned her head to hide a smile.

“As if that’s my fault,” you grumbled.

“And what did I say about tracking blood into my house?” Ma asked, raising her brows at you.

“I didn’t!” You argued. “But I’m sorry, they don’t let you grab clean clothes out of an active crime scene, Ma.”

“I’m talkin’ about your feet,” she said with a gesture down.

All five of you looked down at your feet, and you flinched when you saw the tracks you had left in the house. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, you hadn’t even noticed you hadn’t grabbed shoes. But as you lifted one of your feet and checked the bottom, all the pain you had ignored came rushing to the surface.

Glass, dirt, and who knew what else was embedded in the skin. When you looked back, it seemed you had been leaving bloody footprints for who knew how long. Part of you figured you hadn’t tracked them through the Bronx, but you had most definitely tracked them through the tunnel. Damn. Pop was going to make you clean it all up.

“I put some spare clothes in the bathroom,” Ma said. “So get your raggedy ass upstairs and clean up before dinner.”

“Yes ma’am,” you muttered as your shoulders fell.

You ignored Tara’s barely-concealed laughter as you pushed past her to head upstairs to your bathroom. Well, you supposed technically it wasn’t your bathroom anymore, it was Ma’s, but she could suck your dick. The nerve of that woman, to call you raggedy. You were the perfect gentleman, it wasn’t your fault some psycho had decided to target you.

Just as Ma had said, she had left a folded set of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. It looked a little too formal if you were being honest, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And you certainly couldn’t afford to be a chooser. Ma would have your head if she found out you had even thought about different clothes.

The stitches of your ever increasing wounds pulled tight, leaving a throbbing sensation around the jagged skin. Aunt Sherry had done a wonderful job, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. In the end, you grabbed a pair of hair scissors and just cut your shirt off. It was old, torn, and blood soaked; you could get a new one.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the shirt as you managed to wriggle out of your sweats. Not all of that blood had been yours. Some of it had been Mindy’s, and a lot of it had been Anika’s.  Your friends’ blood was soaked into your shirt. Each breath you took felt laboured as you wallowed in the thought that the very thing that kept your friends alive was staining your shirt.

With a shake of your head, you put the thoughts aside. This wasn’t new, you had seen blood before, you were fine. One step at a time. Finish getting out of your clothes, start the shower, wash your feet. And the rest of the dried blood that was becoming itchy. Oh, Ma was gonna kill you for dirtying up her shower.

The water was steaming by the time you finally stepped in. You let out a hiss when it hit your skin, creating more than just a throb in your wounds. It stung, bad. But surely it would clean you right up, right? Sanitisation, yeah, that’s what it would be. You get clean and fight infection; two birds, one stone.

By the time you were down to your feet, you were sitting on the edge of the tub while the water fell on your back. Your hair dripped into your eyes and you were constantly trying to push it back so you could see. The pair of tweezers in your hands was slick from water and you just needed to get a few more pieces of glass out so you could finish up.

You weren’t looking at the door when you heard it open.

“I told your sorry ass I’d be out in a minute, this is delicate work,” you called out.

A small hand appeared in front of your face and, without lifting your head, you looked up to see Tara standing in front of you. She, too, had been given a spare set of clothing that looked a little too big. Whose shirt was she wearing anyway? Her hand never moved until you sighed and placed the tweezers on her palm.

“You’re shit at this,” she said as she knelt down and started looking for the few remaining pieces of glass.

“Don’t have to be good, just have to be effici- ouch.” She swatted your hand away when you went to stop her from hurting you again. “You’re so rough,” you grumbled.

“Don’t have to be gentle,” she said as she looked up at you, “just have to be efficient.”

“You’re so mean,” you whispered even as you shifted your position to ease a certain… uncomfortable feeling.

Maybe you liked when she was mean. Maybe you liked it a little too much. Oh god, your family was going to see how whipped you were for a girl you hadn’t even properly been on a date with. Bringing Tara to the house maybe wasn’t such a smart idea on your part.

“Do you have gauze?” She asked, setting the tweezers down in the sink so more blood than necessary wouldn’t get on the floor.

“Underneath the sink,” you said with a gesture of your head. “Got a whole first aid kit.”

You watched her as she got up and checked under the sink. It only took a moment, it was a giant metal kit, no one could miss it. In fact, when she brought it out it was almost bigger than she was. You bit the inside of your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at her. If your body wasn’t at her mercy, you wouldn’t have been so polite.

She quickly dug around and got to work finding everything she needed before getting started. Her hands moved expertly as she started cleaning and bandaging your feet. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve guessed she had been a nurse in a past life. Unfortunately you did know better, and the scar on her hand just reminded you of how she knew so much.

“I never said thank you,” she said after she finished wrapping your left foot.

“For what?” You asked as you leaned back to turn the water off; you weren’t going to need it anymore.

“For saving Mindy and Anika,” she continued.

She wasn’t looking up at you. Quite the contrary, it was almost like she was avoiding your eyes. Why would she thank you for such a thing? It wasn’t like you were going to leave them behind to die. You weren’t always the sharpest tool in the shed - Ma made sure to remind you of that every now and then - but you weren’t that selfish.

“You don’t gotta thank me for that,” you said softly.

“I just did,” she said as she finished wrapping your right foot. “You’re done.”

You placed your feet on the ground and stood up slowly, easing your feet back into holding your weight. It hurt, ached even, but at least they were clean. How you hadn’t noticed the injuries before Ma, you had no idea. But quite frankly, Tara did a phenomenal job of wrapping them securely. 

“Hurry up and get dressed,” Tara ordered, and you looked up just in time to catch the towel she had thrown in your direction. “Your mom is torturing Sam by giving her a lecture on street safety.”

“You should’ve listened to it too,” you said, but you quickly started drying off. “You hippies can’t handle these streets.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said through gritted teeth as you pulled your pants up. It hurt your feet to be moving on them so much. “Notice your bunch weren’t even here for a few months before getting attacked.”

“And you know so much about street safety?” Tara asked. “The one who got shot at a protest?”

You hesitated. “Yeah, I do.”

You were facing the mirror as you started buttoning up your shirt, and you could see Tara staring at you with furrowed brows. Maybe you should’ve just kept your big trap shut. It wasn’t exactly the greatest time to be getting into backstory now, was it? No, it most certainly wasn’t.

“You didn’t get shot at a protest,” she said slowly. “Did you?”

You turned around as you finished tucking your shirt into your pants. “Sorry, doll,” you said with a smile, “only girlfriends get to know that information.” With a wink, you gently pushed past her and exited the bathroom.

“Oh you dick,” you heard her say even as she followed after you.

You waited at the bottom of the stairs before placing your hand on her lower back and guiding her through the brownstone to the dining room. Everyone’s obscenely loud voices reverberated off the brick walls. Seemed the whole family was invited for dinner. A little unusual considering it was a Thursday night, but given the circumstances it could be forgiven.

A wide variety of “hello”s deafened you when you and Tara walked into the dining room. Everyone was dressed well - the same dress shirt and pants as you, which was typical - and they had pulled out a few extra seats for Sam and Tara. Gale was sitting beside your Pop; she gave you a smile and a small wave, which you returned.

“Oy, Street Rat,” Mitch called, “be a good pup and show your girl to her seat.”

“Shut up,” you shot back, but nonetheless led Tara to one of the two empty seats next to each other.

Out of pure mercy, you let her sit between you and Sam so she wasn’t having to deal with any of the other family members. The others heckled you when you helped push her seat in. You could feel your cheeks heating up while you grumbled and plopped down in your own seat, refusing to look up at any of them.

“Quiet,” Pop said, and the room immediately fell silent. “Who’s gonna say grace?”

“Can’t be me,” Joel said with a shrug. “He clearly don’t listen cause Y/N is still here.”

“You really wanna be a wise guy tonight?” You asked. “Cause I still got a lot of pent up anger.”

“Enough,” Ma said quietly, but you all listened. “I’ll say grace.”

"Yes, Ma," everyone said in unison.

"Bow your heads," she said, and everyone slowly did as instructed.

You cheated a little bit. While Ma was saying grace, blessing the food and yours and the Carpenters' lives, you looked at Tara out of the corner of your eye. If you looked a little harder you almost thought you could see a flush on her cheeks. For what, you had no idea, but you made the split decision to reach over and take her hand.

She linked her fingers with yours right before Ma finished.

"Amen," each person said before all normal talk resumed.

You helped Tara and Sam get their food, making sure everyone behaved. They did, they all knew the family rules, but the Carpenters didn't and you knew the lot of you could be… a little chaotic. Eight kids, two parents, sometimes the spouses and nieces and nephews. Lucky for the girls, it was only the immediate family.

"Oy, show me the ear," Dicky said right as you tried to start eating.

"So you can point and laugh?" You asked. "No way."

"I just wanna see," he said.

"I got it," Alfie said around a mouthful of food.

The look on Tara's and Sam's faces was comical when Alfie reached across the table, gripped your jaw, and turned your head. You did your best to smile at the two of them to let them know it was normal, but they didn't seem to believe you. If anything, it almost made Tara look a little frustrated. Maybe even angry.

"That's it?" Dicky asked when you snapped at Alfie and he let you go. "All that hubbub for that?"

"What do you mean?" You asked. "I got a notch outta my ear, I was gonna get that part pierced."

"All he's sayin' is you took on Ghostface twice, and that's what you walk away with?" Joel butted in. "Pass the salt, wouldya?"

"It's more than you ever walked away with," Martha defended you. "Don't listen to a word he says."

"The two 'a youse walk away with any cool scars?" Mitch asked, turning to look at Sam and Tara.

You could see them squirm in their seats.

"Watch it-"

"-fuck off-"

"-none of your business." Martha, you, and Mercy all said at the same time.

You felt Tara squeeze your hand once.

“Hey Street Rat, you down to make a run for me?” Dicky asked.

You didn’t bother swallowing before you answered. “I’m kinda in the middle of somethin’ this week.”

“I didn’t mean this second, jackass.”

You glared at him and swiped your tongue over your bottom teeth. “Sure,” you finally said with a shrug, “just give me a week and I’ll be back in action.”

"So," Sam started, wiping her mouth off on the napkin before looking around the table. “What do you all do for a living?”

“Accounting,” every single one of you said at the same time. Pop squeezed the bridge of his eyes as you all looked at each other sheepishly.

“All of you?” Sam asked.

“Mercy’s a doctor,” Tony chimed in.

“Accounting’s a family business,” Dicky said with a gentle nod.

“Right,” Sam said with her own nod and a polite smile. Something told you she didn’t exactly believe him.

Conversation continued as normal, with everyone talking over each other. Thankfully, they all started asking Sam and Tara normal questions, and you could visibly see them start to relax. You wondered when the last time was that they had a family dinner. Not including Chad and Mindy; they were family, but they weren’t family. There was a bit of a difference.

“Ladies,” Pop said once Ma had brought out the cannoli. Everyone froze, only their eyes moving between him and the Carpenters. “It’s been a pleasure to have you, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The girls stiffened in their seats, and Tara squeezed your hand again. You tried to give Pop a look that said to calm down, but he wasn’t even looking at you. His eyes were trained on Sam and Tara, and you couldn’t blame him. Hell, you didn’t know when non-family had been over last. Hopefully he was going to behave.

“You might not understand the gravity of this statement, but Vitale blood has been spilled for you two,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in front of him on the table.

“Oh brother,” you whispered.

Tara looked at you and you shook your head lightly and rolled your eyes. This was going to be ridiculous.

“One of us,” everyone looked at you, “felt you were worth dyin’ for.” You sighed. “We don’t take that lightly.”

“We greatly appreciate it-”

“-we have a family rule,” he interrupted Sam. “If one of us voluntarily spills blood for someone, we all follow suit.” He leaned forward on the table and waited until both Sam and Tara were looking him in the eye. “We’ll put that Ghostface character at the bottom of the Hudson.”

“Tone it down a smidge,” you whispered and gestured down with your hand.

Pop opened his mouth and closed it once. “We’ll, uh, protect you with our lives.” You gestured again. “Welcome… to the family?”

“Better,” you whispered with a scrunch of your nose that was followed by a gentle smile.

“We really do appreciate it,” Tara said.

“It’s nice to know we have, um,” Sam inhaled deeply and looked around, “Italians on our side.”

“Atta girl,” Mercy said.

“You catch on quick,” Martha agreed.

Dinner finished soon after, and everyone went about collecting the dishes and cleaning. Martha, in all her pregnant glory, kept Sam and Tara at the table, talking their ears off. At one point, you took the still-full coffee cups from in front of them and heard her talking about… something. You weren’t entirely sure, you just knew the word “family” was being thrown around a lot.

Tara looked at you and mouthed “help me.” You just smiled, shook your head, and mouthed “no” in return. The glare she gave you… it was no question she and Sam were related, they both had killer eyes. Tara’s were particularly beautiful at that moment though, did she know that? They almost reminded you of a warm hazelnut-

“-You’d best keep movin’,” Martha said. She was watching you with a ridiculous smirk. “She’s got a look that could kill.”

“Would you like some tiramisu?” You asked. Tara’s eyes softened, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes please,” she said.

“I’ll go get it.”

“You’re whipped!” Dicky called from the kitchen before you could even stand up straight.

“Give it a few days, Dick,” Joel said as he leaned on the doorframe. “Tara’ll have ‘em on a leash.”

“Shut up,” you shot back as you pushed past them to get into the kitchen. “It’s called bein’ polite.” You carefully plated the tiramisu. “Somethin’ you clearly know nothin’ about.”

“Seems our little Street Rat’s turnin’ into a Guard Dog,” Mitch chimed in, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Your family really came out of the woodworks, they did.

“Next time Ghostface calls, I’m givin’ him your address,” you said as you walked back into the dining room and placed the plate down in front of Tara. And Sam, you had made her a plate too.

Maybe you were whipped.

“Do it,” Dicky said. “Matter ‘a fact, give him my phone number too, he and I need to have a talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t tolerate that shit on my turf.”

“That’s enough,” Pop said, and everyone quickly shut up. “Go home, the lot of ya.” He looked down at Sam and Tara. “We’ve got beds made up for the both of you.”

“Thank you,” they both said with polite smiles.

“Gale stayin’ tonight too?” You asked.

And just like that, she came in at the mention of her name. Speak of the devil.

“Yes I am,” she said with a smile. “I have something I want to show you three tomorrow when it’s day time.”

“What did you find?” Tara asked quickly.

“We’ll have more time tomorrow,” Gale answered. You watched as Tara slumped back in her seat in defeat.

Everyone finished cleaning up their stuff and started leaving the brownstone. You could see the gears turning in Tara’s head when they all left through the front door, but you shook your head at her. It wasn’t something she needed to know at the moment. It was late, dark, and everyone just needed to get some sleep. If she really wanted to know more later, you would tell her.

Probably.

“She gonna have you in a muzzle next time I see you?” Joel asked as he blocked the doorway.

“Keep movin’,” Tony said as he pushed Joel out. “Call me if ya need somethin’,” he said to you with a smile.

“You got it,” you answered. “Now get out, I’m exhausted.”

Mercy gave you a kiss on the cheek and Martha gave Sam and Tara hugs, but then everyone was gone. You were left with the Carpenters, Gale, and your parents. It was… disturbingly quiet, if you were being honest. You almost missed the chaos of having everyone over. Well, you would see them all at Mass, it would be fine.

“All of you get upstairs and get to bed,” Ma said with a gentle nod of her head. “It’s late and I know you all must be tired.”

“Come on, Sam,” Gale said with a gesture, “I’ll show you to your room.”

“Good night,” Sam said with a polite smile and wave. A chorus of “good nights” followed her as she similarly followed Gale upstairs.

“Tara sweetie, you can sleep in Y/N’s bed,” Ma said before looking at you. “I made you a pallet on your floor.”

“Thanks, Ma,” you said, leaning in to leave a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, you two.” You leaned over to give Pop a kiss on the cheek as well.

“Good night,” Tara said with her own small wave.

You placed your hand on Tara’s lower back as you gently pushed her in front of you up the stairs. Unfortunately for you, your room was right beside the two guest rooms that everyone else was staying in. Not that you necessarily had anything planned, but even if you did, you wouldn’t dare risk Sam or Gale hearing you.

Sometimes life was rather cruel.

“She left you some pyjamas on the bed,” you said once you showed Tara into your room. “Bathroom is down the hall, we’ve got spare toothbrushes in the top left drawer.”

“Thanks,” Tara said softly.

You watched as she grabbed the pyjamas and promptly exited the room, leaving you alone for the first time since your shower. And now that you were alone, you could feel all the wear and tear of the past two days weighing heavy on you. Anika was still in the hospital. Was she even alive? Surely she was, someone would have let you know, right? Or they at least would have let Sam or Tara know.

And what about Quinn? She would be safe at the police station, you knew that much. They didn’t care for anyone else in the city, but they did care for their own. There was no way in hell they would let anything happen to a Detective’s daughter, especially when that daughter was Quinn. No, Quinn was safe.

Chad and Mindy were safe at the hospital with Anika. There was no doubt about it. Your family had people up there, and Pop had already said he told them to stay close and keep their eyes out. They would die before they let anything happen to those three, so they were actually safer than any of you.

When Tara came back into the room, looking mighty adorable in the oversized t-shirt and sleep pants, you gave her a smile and made your own way to the bathroom. You needed to get out of those clothes pronto before you lost your goddamn mind. The clothes were comfortable, but you were starting to feel constricted.

You left your toothbrush hanging out of the side of your mouth as you unbuttoned the shirt. Each inch lower revealed still-forming bruises and the few bouts of stitches. With a grimace, you finally let the shirt fall to the floor. You didn’t mind scars, really you didn’t, but you hadn’t wanted to get them this way.

Maybe that’s how Tara feels too, you thought with a frown as you finished brushing your teeth and cleaning up. You hadn’t entirely planned for it, but you had known it was a possibility. But Tara? She hadn’t had any idea. And it had all been done by her girlfriend’s hand. What kind of havoc did that wreak on a person’s mind?

You were still thinking about Tara and Amber when you walked back into your room. Tara was already on the bed, her back to you. The door closed with a soft *click* and you turned the light off before plodding over to the pallet. There was an art to pallet making, and your family had perfected it. But as you laid down on the floor and tried to pull the blanket up to your chin, your injuries started to throb and sting.

It wasn’t going to be the floor that kept you awake all night.

There was no way you could lay on your right side, you had that cut on your hip and your right ear was missing a piece. But you couldn’t lay on your left side either because you had that cut on your bicep. Maybe if you tried to lay on your front- nope, not that either. If you had to sleep sitting up, so help you god, you were going to snap-

-something shuffled on your bed, and you quickly stilled yourself. Shit, you hadn’t meant to wake Tara. You were practically holding your breath as the shuffling continued, but then you heard the creak of the bed and someone walking across the room. It was dark, but you didn’t have to use anything more than common sense to know it was Tara who was lifting your blanket and crawling into the pallet with you.

“Not a word,” she said softly as she carefully wrapped an arm around your waist and rested her head on your shoulder.

It hurt. You would rather die than tell her that. Instead, you just pulled her closer and tried not to shift when her fingers rubbed the skin on your hip. It was obsessive, incessant, and it was almost becoming uncomfortable. But you weren’t going to tell her to stop, not when something was clearly on her mind.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this,” Tara said softly.

“I’ve been dragged into worse situations,” you said flippantly. “And never by a pretty girl.”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” she said, almost as if she hadn’t heard what you had just said.

“I don’t plan on it, sweetheart,” you chuckled.

Her hand left your hip and you felt her grab your chin and turn your head. You couldn’t really see her, not properly at least, but you knew she was looking at you. Studying you for something; you wouldn’t pretend to know what. It strained your neck, but you kept your mouth shut.

You felt her pull your face down until her lips were on yours. Soft but firm. It wasn’t a kiss that was going to lead anywhere, she wasn’t trying to move any further. But judging by the way her bottom lip quivered, you knew it was important. You held her tighter to you until she pulled back and let go of your jaw, resting her head back on your shoulder.

“That didn’t mean anything,” Tara said softly.

“I know,” you said with a nod of your head that no one could see.

You both knew she was lying; you still fell asleep easily.

[ivegotyourbackbuddie]

Waiting for them to do another episode about the hot firefighter calendar. Specifically focusing on how supportive Buck is of Eddie, so much so that he insists on not entering the contest and also taking all of Eddie’s pictures this time around.

Of course, Eddie tells him No, you’re not going to not enter just because you think if you do I’ll lose, asshole. But he still allows Buck to take his pictures just to make him feel better.

So they do the photo shoot, and Buck makes sure to get all the right angles while cheering him on with constant, “Come on, take off the shirt, eight pack. Don’t be shy… Amazing, you’re a natural… God, Eddie, you’re going to make all the ladies go crazy…” and Eddie does the same for Buck, cheering him on and making him flush unphotogenic shades of red from the praise.

And after it’s all over, Eddie promises to sort through the pictures on his phone and send them to him later.

During their next shift, Buck walks into the station , eyes catching on Eddie pulling his shirt over his head, and Buck feels a familiar sensation in his gut and for some reason the song Whatta Man rings through his head.

But what truly gets to him is later, while he’s in the gym with Eddie, Chimney interrupts their workout to ask how their photos turned out. At this point, neither of them have seen the pictures because after taking them, they had gotten lost in talking about random stuff then watched a movie that was so long, Buck ended up crashing on the couch.

When Eddie pulls up the photos and starts scrolling through, Buck gets a sense of deja vu and then is hit with a sudden raw wave of jealousy, as intense as it was when he first met Eddie.

Only… that’s not jealousy. No, Buck knows himself better now.

That’s pure lust.

And Buck nearly about dies on the spot, but nobody notices because Chimney chooses that moment to clear his throat and awkwardly say, “Wow, those are… intimate.”

It’s only after he walks away that Buck can truly focus on the pictures and realize Chimney was right. The pictures are… extremely intimate. And maybe it’s morbid curiosity on both their parts, but Eddie keeps scrolling and Buck doesn’t stop him.

There’s one point where they both slightly gasp and have to ask who thought it was a good idea to take pictures of them kneeling, or biting their lip, or sprawled out on Eddie’s bed, or wearing wet, white tank tops, or… really the list goes on.

After one particular picture of Eddie that Buck is going to sear into his brain permanently, he can’t help but comment, “I’d definitely buy this calendar.”

After scrolling to the next picture which happens to be of Buck, Eddie replies, “Me too.”

They both silently agree that they can’t send any of the pictures in, and ultimately they’re happy when Ravi wins.

But in true Buck and Eddie fashion, they end up privately saving all the pictures, trying to convince themselves that it’s okay to find their best friend this hot and to stare at their pictures late at night.

(But don’t worry, Maddie ends up finding the pictures on Buck’s phone and gives him a harsh reality check.)

[ohmerricat]

actually actually… buckle in for some more unnecessarily detailed baseless speculation*. because it’s fun and there’s still 2 weeks to go (*stop accusing me of TJLCery i’m going to cry)

so, since rogue is the pre-finale episode… as a pattern those tend to begin in the manner of your average doccy who story, but finish with a devastating plot twist denouement to segue into the two-parter at the end. best examples of this are utopia and (gotta hand it to s12 here) the haunting of villa diodati. “it’s a celebrity historical! byron and the shelleys are here! oh and oops… what’s that? that’s the sound of the doctor making a fatal mistake that will inevitably lead her to the narrative climax…”

now what i’m getting at is. what if we’ve all been looking in the wrong place and rogue, not TLORS, is the episode by the end of which the doctor figures out that they’re stuck inside a TV show that’s been remixing old stories from their former adventures? “bridgerton! regency era! jane austen! flirting! ballgowns! dancing! oh and oops… what’s that? that’s the sound of doctor making a tragic discovery that will inevitably lead him to the narrative climax…”

here’s how this ties in to the popular “jonathan groff = recast harkness” theory. now, i USED to be an ardent proponent of it, but i no longer believe he’s actually playing pre-TEC/TDD captain jack, or any era captain jack at all, really. what he is playing, or so i gather apropos of crumbs and wisps of information, is a remarkably harkness-like character. just alike enough to make us (and the doctor!!) wonder: am i getting deja vu?? has rtd devolved into a hack who’s been reusing his old ideas and hoping we won’t notice?

no. look at the sneaky incorporation of The Doctor Dances’ title in the DWM paragraph above. he’s hoping we do.

it’s been pretty much confirmed by ~inside sources~ (read: leaks on reddit from ages ago) that groff’s playing either a time agent or former time agent — judging by the description above, it’s “former time agent turned bounty hunter”. charming, handsome rizzlord fella from the future (what’s that blaster in this hand? could it be from the villengard factories?), adept at blending in with a british historical period despite sounding noticeably american, actively involved in the social life of that historical era, morally grey and antagonistic towards the doctor at first, yet strangely alluring… sexual tension heavily implied… we’re supposed to feel like we’ve seen all this before. this man is a Not-Harkness.

change the doctor’s life forever is the key sentence here. as the doctor realises how remarkably similar groff-“rogue” is to jack when he first met him, and how the circumstances of their meeting almost rhyme too, he’ll notice some more odd things.

he’ll notice. he’ll notice how ruby looks like clara, waited for him while she aged like amy did, called her mum from a future space station looking down through a panoramic window at a planet like rose had, how their relationship is a best friendship/sibling-esque like with donna … he’ll notice how many of their adventures together seem to retread steps already walked. and then the puzzle will click into shape and it will “change the doctor’s life forever”: he’ll discover that this is a puppet show and go searching for whoever’s pulling the strings.

Not-Harkness “Rogue” Groff is the catalyst. the final straw.

or maybe not. maybe this is complete waffle i pulled out of my arse. only time will tell

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Ghost Of You

[jungkook x reader] [2.3k+ angst, supernatural-ish!au??]

A/N: I've been MIA for months and while I've been logging on from time to time to read fics, I never really had the energy to write one. But I'm back with the second part of Bad Omens. I just hope I was able to write something worth reading! Not proofread—whoops.

Anyway, part 3? >> Read Bad Omens

-

Your husband complains at the long drive, stretching to ease the building fatigue in his muscles.

You knead his thighs. "Why don't you let me drive for a while?" Jungkook turns to look at you with stars in his eyes and shakes his head. You smile back with a nod and look out to the road.

"Did we take this highway this morning?"

"Yeah, I think so. This is the fastest route to the city." Jungkook briefly looks at you with a worried expression. "Something wrong?"

"Huh. That's weird..." You pull up your phone and open the web app.

Eyes glancing back and forth between you and the road, he asks you again what's wrong.

"Just.." you trail, thumb still scrolling through your search results. "I don't remember seeing the gasoline station we just passed this morning."

Jungkook hums, "Wanna stop by? You were probably asleep when we passed by earlier," he offers as an answer.

"No. I just got this strange feeling of like..," you mumble, trying to think of the right word. "Like deja vu." Brushing it off despite the gnawing strange feeling.

Jungkook extends his arm across the console to cup your cheek. Affectionately, you lean your face—the warmth of his palm is a welcomed comfort.

"We'll be home soon," he assures you as you close your eyes.

-

"Hey, sleepy head," Jungkook teases—lips centimeters away from your ears and his thick hot breath tickles you awake.

Your lips stretch to a smile, but your eyes refuse to open. "You're up early," you groan.

He chuckles. You feel the right side of the bed dip as Jungkook moves around you. "Baby, it's 11 A.M. already," he coos. Alarmed, you shoot up from the bed before he could finish his sentence, your shoulders almost hitting his cheek.

Regret quickly follows as you feel a sting of pain in your neck. "Fuck, I think I slept on my neck wrong." You stretch your limb sideways, trying to ease the tension.

Jungkook's warm hands were quick to help. His fingers gently run in circling motion as he noses at your shoulder. "Where are you rushing off to, anyway?"

"Uhh, work," you respond as if stating the obvious. But you're met with a raised brow from Jungkook.

"But it's Saturday today."

You mirror his confused face as you quickly search for your phone on the nightstand.

"What? Nuh uh, it's Friday." You shake your head as your legs swing off the bed.

Jungkook jumps to cross the bed and snatch you by the waist, pulling you back under the covers. Soft gasp and giggles erupt from your mouth as he tackles you in a bear hug, restricting you to leave again.

"C'mon, I'm going to be late for work." You pry his hands on your waist, but he refuses to give. And so, you wiggle around to face him.

"Hi," your husband chirps before kissing your lips.

Between your kisses, you call his name in broken syllables. You tap his shoulders, "I really have to go," you insist.

Jungkook's brows furrow in mixed confusion and mirth, "Baby, it really is a weekend," he insists and shows you his phone.

And he was right. Sure enough, the bold SATURDAY on the screen glares back at you.

Disoriented, you free yourself from his hold. You suddenly feel like the walls are closing in on you. Did you sleep through the day? You swore yesterday was just Thursday.

"Everything okay?" Worried eyes assess you and you feel even more anxious.

"Yes-no. I don't know. I think I'm having a deja vu?" You press the heel of your palm to your eyes. You think you feel an oncoming migraine.

"Deja vu?" Jungkook asks as he stands. "Like you've already experienced today?"

"No, not exactly," you stutter. Your brain lags to find an explanation. How do you verbalize the missing feeling inside of you?

"I feel like..." you trail off and see Jungkook's eyes are fixed on yours, patiently waiting for you to explain. "Like I skipped days? You know whenever I whined about the weekdays and hoped it was already the weekend? It's like I got my wish? But like today had already happened."

At your poor explanation, Jungkook giggles. His bunny teeth peeking and it was hard not to awe at his bright face.

"I think you're just hungry," your husband teases. "How about we get breakfast and go for a drive? Nothing too far, just until the scenery changes."

You hum in agreement. "If today's really Saturday, I might as well do something relaxing, right?"

Jungkook kisses your cheek before dashing away to the bathroom.

"You joining me in the shower?"

-

The moment you awaken, you feel the warmth of the sun rays piercing through your windows and a light breeze sweeps in every second and so. Yet, as perfect as the morning seemed to start, you're bugged by the feeling that something was amiss.

You couldn't shrug off the feeling that you're forgetting something. Jungkook's not beside you and you assume he's in the kitchen. You call for your husband and soon hear his footsteps padding across the wooden floor. Jungkook's head pops through the door frame, "You called for me?"

You meekly nod in his direction, "What day is it?"

Jungkook laughs, his obliviousness from your predicament has him amused in your state. "It's Saturday. Do you have plans for today?" he answers as he enters your room.

"How could it be Saturday again today?" You ask your husband, though the question was meant to be rhetorical, he didn’t miss the panic in your voice. "It was Saturday yesterday, and now you're telling me, it's still Saturday today?"

Confused eyes scan your face. "What are you talking about, Y/N? It is Saturday today and yesterday was Friday."

"No, Jungkook!” You exclaim as you jump off the bed. Your misdirected frustration directed at him. “If this is one of your pranks, you better own up now. It isn't funny."

"What? It's not," his hands quickly engulf your face. Yet somehow, the action gives you no comfort. "I swear, it's not."

You tear up out of frustration and your hands grip the table for support. You hear Jungkook call your name but somehow your mind is floating away.

Something's wrong.

Something's very wrong. You're forgetting something important. And anger and frustration rises inside you as you struggle to pinpoint what it is.

Next thing you know, you're hyperventilating. "I'm scared," you force the words out of your mouth.

Jungkook rushes to your side, quickly soothing you. "Breathe with me, Y/N. Focus on my breathing and follow, yeah?"

You still hear Jungkook talking, but everything is muffled. It isn't until you spot the mole just below his lips and focus on it that you regain your control.

Slowly, you feel his hands on your cheeks.

Then, your eyes travel from his lips to his eyes. Gradually, you register his voice, then his words. And you breathe with him.

You lean on each other as seconds turn to minutes. When you think your emotions are stable, you ask your husband again, "Jungkook, please just tell me now if this is just some stupid joke of yours."

A beat passes then another.

Jungkook looks like he's internally struggling with something, so you squeeze his hands to let him know that if it is a prank gone wrong, it's okay. You're not mad.

Jungkook visibly gulps and you worry. "It's really not a prank, but…” he cuts himself off. As if he was unsure of what to say. The look of confusion on his face slowly morphs into guilt.

"But what?" You urge. Confusion, anger, and fear are starting to rise inside you again. If it wasn't Jungkook standing in front of you, you would have already been impatient.

He remains pensive and quiet. And yet, his eyes look at you so lovingly, as if he yearns for you.

"Jungkook, please," you whisper. "What is going on?"

"I also don't know what's happening. But that Friday night after Jin hyung's party, something happened.”

Your anxiety grows as you see your husband start to tear up, his eyes downcast as he tries to hold back his tears. “Y/N, we got into an accident. Right after our stop by the lay-by..” Jungkook—your husband, the love of your life, the man who always toughened up for the both of you was suddenly crumbling to your arms. His words are barely coherent as he holds back sobs and tears. “I got better but..”

Your intertwined hands catch Jungkook's tears and somehow you know. He didn't have to say anything but his pained sobs told you what his mouth could not utter.

"At first, I thought I was dreaming or that the accident was a dream but I had cuts and bruises and when Jin hyung visited me he couldn't see you..."

You stumble back into the bed as you try to process what Jungkook just told you.

"Are you saying I'm—"

You couldn't even think of the word. Tears were quick to return and you looked up to your husband.

"Am I? What do you mean Jin couldn't see me?"

Jungkook kneels in front of you, his body slotting between your legs. "I tried to look for an explanation but I just accepted that this was a cruel blessing. It didn’t matter that they thought I had gone crazy and maybe they’re right. But baby, it doesn’t matter to me because you’re here. So please…” Soft hands firmly grip your own as if he was already pleading you to stay; accept your situation as it is.

Jungkook hated it when you cooed at his eyes, but he always knew when to use it to his advantage. And right now, as two doe glistening eyes plead for you and his lips pouty as he begs you to understand, you feel yourself melting to his whim despite being lost.

Still, you can’t help but cry at everything—it’s too much. And as always, Jungkook hastens to wipe your tears. He leans his forehead towards yours and hopes he can take whatever unwanted feeling you’re having right now.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes and starts to softly graze his nose to yours for an eskimo kiss—one of his ways of silently apologizing.

And it works. It was Jungkook. It was your husband.

Despite being more confused and agitated, you accept his apology. You get the feeling that he must also share the fear you feel right now. But overcome with your need to know you ask, "How long?"

Jungkook pulls away, just enough to look properly at you with furrowed brows.

"How long have I been in...limbo? Or whatever the fuck this is."

He gulps. Ruminates if he should lie or be honest.

"A year."

You recoil and scamper away from his hold. "For fucks sake, Jungkook. This isn't right. We need to get help or find someone." By now, you’re full-on panicking. You don’t know how this was possible. In all of the weird conspiracy and shit you watched when you were…alive, none of those could explain what is happening to you now.

"No," Jungkook was quick to reply; his tone was indignant. He's not letting you go—a decision he made months ago. He lost you and he believes this is a second chance for him. He shut himself and pushed everyone away to stay here with you.

And he can't let that happen.

Struggling to hold your hiccups, you at least try to make sense of your situation. "And what about the days? Why do I feel like I'm reliving or skipping days?"

A tattooed arm stretches across the bed to tuck a tear-soaked stray hair behind your ears. Jungkook's voice has that lilt he uses when he answers his six year old nephew’s questions when he answers you. "You never seem to remember anything new. You always think it's Friday, always before the accident.."

"This is so fucked up," you hiccup. Your forgotten habit of biting your nails resurfacing. "What about you? Your job? Our friends? Jungkook, you can't seriously think it's okay to be holed up here with me."

Jungkook moves closer again towards you. His sweater sleeves pulled around his fist to wipe your cheeks. "It's fine, baby. It doesn't matter if we relive the same day over and over again, you're here with me and that's all that matters. We're together."

At his sentiments, you sob. Your heart is in pieces for the man in front of you. You love Jungkook, you truly do and the thought of leaving him shatters you, but you can't keep him here with you. He said it's been a year. You look around and sure enough you notice things—the wine stain on the rug turning faint over the months passed, your basil by the kitchen window sill has grown taller, and what shatters the pieces of your broken heart is the absence of photos of your friends on the shelf.

You think about your friends. Jungkook's family. You cry harder.

Jungkook said Jin visited and thought he was crazy. You assume the worst happened.

And what about your other friends? Did they share the same sentiments?

Your wail at the thought that Jungkook not only lost you that night, but his friends, too. And it’s all your fault.

"You have to let me go," you plead. Your voice weary and hands shake from being overwhelmed. "You have to live your life. Please, Jungkook,” you plead.

"I am, Y/N. I am. As long as I’m with you, I am," your husband insists repeatedly. "Please don't leave me."

Your heart aches from his plea. How can you leave someone like him?

You’ve only been married for a few years. You barely did all of the things you said you would do—roadtrips to the country, backpacking across continents, and fuck, you wanted to build a family together; grow old together.

You curse at no one in particular; desperate for someone to blame. In the seconds that ticked, you grew spiteful.

Maybe Jungkook was right.

This was a blessing. Yes, it was cruel to live this way, but a second chance, nonetheless.

And so, you allow yourself to be selfish. You'll stay.

You'll stay with Jungkook. For Jungkook.

-

Take My Hand

[calaisreno]

A Preview: Déjà Vu by Calais Reno

It's 2013. Again.

This time, John and Sherlock haven't met. But they're both alive, in London, and they're about to meet.

This is their happy ending.

Here's an excerpt from Chapter 2:

John had never experienced hallucinations before, not even when he was so drunk he passed out. Now it’s happened twice. 

The first time was when Matt Davies died and John began to limp from a wound that never happened.

The second time was that night at Barts A&E. 

It was the twenty-ninth of January. A slushy snow was falling, and they expected more than the usual number of traffic accidents. He’d just finished operating on a ruptured spleen and was talking with one of the nurses. 

As he stood at the nurses station, a cup of stale coffee in his hand, his hallucination hobbled in, holding a blood-darkened scarf to his leg.

And then —

He’s standing on the pavement beneath a tall building. Looking up, he sees a dark figure silhouetted against a bright sky. The figure spreads his arms, as if to take flight, but he doesn’t fly. He falls. 

The sickening thud of his body hitting ground. 

The shudder of his final breath, followed by stillness.

The frozen horror of bystanders. 

On the pavement, those clear eyes look up at John and then dim, the blood pooling beneath his head. 

Harry had struggled with mental health since before their parents died; she drank to keep her demons at bay. 

You haven’t looked for him, have you? To see if he was real? That’s what she’d ask him. 

But that was just the thing he couldn’t do. 

The night his hallucination walked into A&E covered in blood, one of the other doctors stitched the man up, and John went into the loo and vomited. He found a bed in the lounge and curled up, hoping he’d fall asleep for a bit. But he didn’t. 

That face: pale, wide-set eyes the colour of water. Dark, curly hair. Thin body, lanky limbs. Self-destructive. A junkie.

He’d only seen him for a few seconds. The fear that had gripped him when he saw the blood was completely uncharacteristic of him. That alone was alarming. John Watson had operated on people who’d been shot up, mangled by car accidents, blown up in explosions. People who lived and people who’d died under his hands. He was cool under pressure, unmoved by gore. 

He didn’t know the man’s name, refused to follow up on what happened to him. 

Maybe he’d hallucinated the incident. That could be the explanation. 

He never spoke of it.

Dear Readers: I'm aiming to post this in a week. I'll tag anyone who wants to get notifications when a new chapter is up. Please reblog!

[waklman]

Fake it

Chapter Three: Deja Vu

synopsis: a pair of best friends, one apartment, and one fake dating ploy to get jake’s ex girlfriend back, will end well right? wrong.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n, underage drinking, mentions of drugs, jake and reader are both 20. this blog is 18+.

word count: 6.1k

college au, fake dating trope, roomate trope

previous chapter | next chapter | fake it masterlist

With your afternoon class finally wrapping up, you rush to jot down the last bit of the lecture notes—but your professor’s already begun to erase it off the board. At that, you shut your notebook with a resigned sigh. The amount of content covered within the last hour has nearly distracted you from the knotting pain in your abdomen, but it’s quick to resurface again as you stand up from your seat. 

It couldn’t have come at a worse time. The opening week party—marking the start of the semester was tonight. And the universe must’ve had it out for you, because you woke up with the tightest cramp known to mankind, today. Not yesterday, not last week, but today. Today, your body decided to turn against you. 

Holding your notebook tightly against your stomach, you suck in a sharp breath, failing to hide the discomfort etched on your face. You reach for your bookbag next, tossing back the weight over one shoulder to tread lightly behind the crowd of students heading for the exit. 

As everyone spills out of the room, there’s appreciative whispers of thank you’s that can be heard ahead. Looking past the cluster of students in front of you—there’s Jake, as promised. He’s stationed himself by the door, holding it open and flashing a smile at everyone who steps out, as a polite guise to search for your face amongst the crowd. As expected, he's completely unaware that he’s acting as a distraction to your female classmates—who seem to be in no rush to leave. 

The scene unfolding in front you is almost comical, like something straight out of a sitcom.

As girls pass him, they make sure to furiously bat their lashes—as if they’re in a race with one another, to see who can do it the fastest. For a split second, you’re convinced they might be able to curate a light breeze to blow into his face if they synced up their eye flapping. And though, the sight was amusing, you're suddenly taken aback by one girl who looks like she’s nearing a stroke from the speed her eyes are fluttering.

Jake might’ve been blind to his surroundings but even she catches his attention, turning his polite smile into an awkward one. But, that’s the exact kind of reaction Jake’s able to pull from people—well, girls. So, it’s truly a mystery to you that Kendall was able to break up with him, again. 

Once you finally reach him, Jake lets out a snort. “What’s with the face, Princess? You should be happy your boyfriend’s here to pick you up.” 

Jake grabs the top of your head like he's a claw machine, extracting you from the line of students, and placing you behind him. The swift movement causes another twinge of pain to strike you right in the gut. You wouldn’t even wish this onto your worst enemy as you bite down on your tongue to deal with it.

Turning his body to face you, Jake leaves one foot by the edge of the door, still keeping it open for everyone. And the line seems to move faster as he shifts his attention to you. 

“What’s wrong? Your bag too heavy?” Jake asks with his brows stitched together. 

You straighten up, clearing your throat, now aware of the uneven mass weighing down your shoulder. “Oh,” you gape. “I guess it’s a little—”

Jake cuts you off, tugging on the strap of your school bag, signaling you to pass it over. Wordlessly, you let one hand fall from the notebook in your clutch, allowing him to glide the strap down your arm, transferring it over his broad back like it weighed nothing. And your bookbag just dwarfs in size as it rests over his large frame. 

Behind him, your professor is last to step out, muttering a quick ‘Thanks kid’ as he joins the rest of your class in the hallway. Yet, Jake’s too preoccupied by the discomfort still evident on your face to even acknowledge the appreciation. Instead, he just lets the door shut behind him as he juts his chin at you, pairing it with a look. One that says, tell me what’s actually bothering you. 

“My stomach kinda hurts,” you admit, giving him a limp shrug to conclude.

At your confession, Jake’s eyes flick down to the notebook you’re pressing against your midriff again. While your shirt only reveals a sliver of skin, Jake can already picture how the metal spirals would leave an imprint on your stomach based on how tightly it’s tucked against your body. You’re gripping it as if someone has plans to steal it from you. 

He frowns a bit. “Stop that.”

In saying that, Jake pries the book from you with little effort, your fingers instinctively loosen once his large hands hover over yours. His chest tingles in surprise at how compliant you’re being. It’s a lapse in thought, but Jake wishes Kendall was here to witness this—to witness how cute you’re acting as his girlfriend.

With the notebook now secured under his armpit, Jake presses his palm to your stomach in its place, applying just the right amount of pressure to relieve your pain. “You gonna be okay tonight?” He asks, leaning against the wall. 

You swallow hard—unsure if the goosebumps rippling across your exposed skin was brought on by his mention of the party or by the practiced gesture. “I—Yeah. Think I just ate something bad,” you blink up at him, doe-eyed and neck craning from the height difference. 

Jake’s mouth twitches, unable to hide his amusement for your sudden shyness. Moving off the wall, he rolls back his shoulders to stand up straight—all while keeping eye contact with you. 

With his palm still on your stomach, Jake skillfully guides his hand over to your waist, using it as an anchor to flip you around. Then, he returns his hand back to its original position, palming over your ache again as he draws you in—pressing your back to his front. The bookbag he took from you jostles, jerking around the charms you had hooked onto the zippers at the final move. 

Jake then shuffles forward with you in his arms, forcing you to take uncoordinated steps with him. All that leaves your mouth is a surprised yelp, making a few head turn in your direction. “Jake we–we can’t walk back like this,” you squeak, slapping your hands over your face. You can already feel your cheeks burn up from embarrassment. 

“Oh yeah?” He teases, wetting his lips. Despite the first few unsteady steps, Jake is still mindful of your stomach ache, maintaining a firm pressure there with his hand.

After learning that he could fully knock you over with a simple high five over the summer, Jake made sure to be extra careful with you, because if he wasn’t—your dad will knock him over, with a high-five, to the face. 

You decide, right in this moment, that this had to be the most mortifying thing Jake’s pulled so far—there was no need to uncover your eyes to see how ridiculous this looks. The sound of both of your shoes scuffing the floors of the crowded lecture hall was enough to create a mental image to flash in your mind. 

You’re so sure that you both resemble a pair of waddling penguins—specifically the ones you used to visit at the zoo instead of going to class, back in highschool.

After his morning swim practice, Jake would show up to your locker, hair still damp from the pool and a crunched duffel bag slung over his team hoodie—eager to leave before class even ensued. And who were you to say no to an impromptu day-trip? Especially when your best friend was just so convincing. Seventeen year old Jake always pledged, we’ll get back in time for third period—but you’d spend hours seated in front of the exhibit, watching your favorite set of penguins waddle around on a slab of ice, and calling dibs on which penguin you each were. 

And for some reason, the strange comparison makes your head spin. You and Jake, a pair of penguins, bonded for life, sneakers squeaking against the floors, and heading towards your apartment together. With that, an unfamiliar sensation begins to form in the pit of your stomach. It merges right into the existing pain you had there—making it difficult to discern. The only thing you registered from the sensation was that it felt oddly familiar.

But you can’t put any more attention to it, as Jake’s foot clumsily knocks into your ankle.

The offender tips his head down, a smirk playing on his lips, ready to relish in your flustered response to him—but you’re hiding behind your hands, walking blindly with his guidance. “Oh come on,” he coos. “Quit covering that pretty face of yours. You shy or somethin’?” You almost lose your footing, feeling his chest rumble behind you as he speaks. 

“Jacob—You can’t—,” you stammer, unable to spit out a response. 

All your stuttered sentence does is pull a bass-like noise from his throat, one that signifies that he’s enjoying this. 

It comes as no surprise, but Jake had always loved seeking reactions from you. A part of him knows it’s a tad bit cruel to do so, but another part of him tells to do it anyway.

Sometimes, Jake is undoubtedly sure that he was just born with the life purpose to make you squirm—because why else would it be so satisfying? And it’s not like he got away with it growing up either. His mom made sure to give him an earful whenever he did shit like this—but he took the punishment regardless. And it’s a good thing Mrs. Seresin’s not here to see this, because she would’ve given him more than just a scolding for how fiendish he’s being with you right now. 

Biting his lip with finality, Jake puts an end to his teasing—for now. Because, his mom would kill him—like really kill him for your sake. You’d always been more of a daughter to her in that sense. 

He hums, choosing to redirect his focus, leading your entwined bodies towards the building’s exit. “Let’s get you something for this, Yeah?” He rubs your stomach in a circular motion, hoping it would simmer your humiliation. 

“...Okay,” you concede, still blinded by your own hands. 

While plodding down the hall, with more coordination this time, Jake catches a pair of girls fawning over you two—secretly snapping a few pictures as they whisper to each other. He chooses to ignore it, but his ears slightly flush pink, overhearing them chatter about how you two needed to get married. 

Feigning ignorance, Jake looks down—watching your footsteps sync up with his, your steps are akin to a waddle. And the memory of those penguins crosses his mind, making Jake forget about Kendall—and about his plans to find her tonight. For a brief moment, his mind is full of just you. 

Then, it pulls back to the girl he’s been plagued by, with the self reminder that he needs to stay on track.

For the past week, the boyfriend-girlfriend routine came easier to Jake than it does to you. The only contribution you’ve made so far was barely kissing him in the library, and confirming to girls whom you’ve never spoken to before that Jake Seresin was in fact, your boyfriend. The constant questioning rooted from genuine curiosity, you knew that. But, a part of you shrinks at every inquiry you receive. Thinking back on Jake and Kendall, you distinctly remember the exalt she got on their relationship, there was never skepticism there. So, why are you garnering suspicion, when she never did?

Your inclination to overthink tells you that maybe because it’s just you. That maybe, it’s so hard to believe because you don’t know how to act like a girlfriend. But you can’t help but to feel stupid for struggling with this. All you had to do was suck it up, and act like someone Jake would date. Someone who people actually looked twice at, someone who had more friends than she could count on one hand, and someone people actually caught wind of.

You needed to be someone Kendall could be neck-to-neck with. Yet, everytime you did try to take initiative, you backtrack once Jake starts to play into it even though you had the knowledge that he would. 

And unlike you, Jake’s doing everything he can to keep up the act, and more. If your classes don't clash with his schedule, he’s dropping you off and picking you up right after, carrying your things for you, throwing in flirty comments for eavesdroppers to pick up on, and pulling you close when people come up to him for some small talk. It doesn’t steer away from what you’re used to, besides a tid-bit of bragging—because this is exactly how your previous boyfriends acted with you. 

It was something you chose to keep to yourself, but you secretly hated it—they were so sweet, but so boring. But for some reason, when it comes from Jake, it’s like you’re sixteen all over again. It’s when Jake casually moves you to walk on the inner part of the sidewalk, keeping you away from cars—that you feel like the version of yourself that has a debilitating crush on her best-friend, romanticizing every little thing that he does.

And it certainly didn’t help that Jake’s always reaching to touch you in every way he could think of now. If you accidentally walk a bit ahead of him, his hand will casually slip up the back of the sweater he bought you and travel over to your waist just to pull you beside him. Sure, he’s naturally touchy with you, but never to this extent. It made you begin to wonder if this is how he acted with Kendall when you weren’t around to see, or if he's just over exaggerating to sell this. He’s even starting to do it at home, when there’s not a single onlooker. 

“Is this…really necessary?” 

Jake had thrown you onto the kitchen counter, placing himself in a convenient spot between the crack of your legs. And even in this position, he manages to tower over you still. “What? Me taking care of you?” Jake asks, rolling two pain relievers between his fingers tips, wondering if it could melt from the warmth he’s creating.

“We’re home—you don’t,” you pause, sensing you’re about to stammer. Taking a deep breath, you give it a second shot. “You don’t have to do it this way,” you mumble bashfully.

In response, Jake gives you a lazy shrug, continuing to play dumb. “Dunno what you’re talking ‘bout.” But the smirk he’s wearing is a dead giveaway, that he knows exactly what you’re ‘talking ‘bout’.

“Now. Open wide,” he sings mockingly, holding two tylenols between his thumb and pointer, lifting it up to your lips.

Annoyance starts to sink in, but before you can show any sign of it—you suddenly wince, feeling your stomach twist again. At that, Jake’s expression falls with guilt, knowing he’s delaying you from taking the painkillers. 

“Jake. Not right now,” your voice drops, and so does your shoulders. 

“Okay. Not right now,” he mumbles back to you.

It’s like a flip is switched, he maneuvers with clear purpose now. After dropping the two tylenols into the palm of your hand, Jake reaches for the glass of water beside you, as you toss the tablets into your mouth. Taking the water from him, Jake cups a hand under your chin to catch any leaks as you chase it down, eyes softening as you finish it off. 

It comes as a mystery to everyone, even to Jake—at how you had the innate ability to just turn him off. It’s a side of him that no one really sees unless they’re watching him interact with you.

Setting the empty cup aside, you sigh. “I don’t think I ate something bad,” you share, wiping away a droplet of water that hung from your lips. Jake’s eyes slowly settle on your face. “Is that right?” He mirrors your soft tone. 

“Think I’m just nervous,” you profess, referring to tonight’s party. 

It’s not like you didn’t attend parties, you went to plenty—in highschool. It was easier to stomach the idea of spending the night out with people you grew up with, it was just a plus that you had Jake there too. And at that stage in life, everyone was equally as naive and unassuming, so it wasn’t daunting to know you had parties you were invited to. But this party—the one where you didn’t know the first and last names of every attendee, has been looming over your head for days now. Did they only try thc-treats within the last year like you have? Was their first pull of a vape just as disappointing as they thought it was?

“How about this,” Jake wets his lips, an idea forming in his head. “You wear my hoodie tonight, and I’ll take care of it,” Jake tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, holding back a growing smile.

His solution is so dumb, but it’s dumb enough to make you lightly laugh, putting an end to your stream of apprehension.

You shake your head, smiling at the lame offer. “Right, cause the pheromones wafting off that stinky thing is gonna heal me.”

“Hm,” Jake pretends to give it some serious thought. “Yeah, actually.” Unable to contain his smile, Jake’s lips curl upwards. “You know what else it’ll do?” He prompts you to ask why, with an all teasing glint in his eyes. 

Your head tilts, wondering what he’s up to. “What will it do?”

“It makes sure everyone knows you're mine,” he finally answers, waiting for your reaction to load in. 

You scoff, lightly hitting his chest. “You’re so unserious, Jacob,” you complain, hoping your embarrassment isn’t showing. 

“No,” he’s still smug. “I can be very serious if my girl asks me to,” he moves in closer, pelvis hitting the edge of the counter. 

In an attempt to create some distance, you fold your arms over your chest, but Jake’s hoodie brushes against your forearms once before he fully rests the fabric onto you.

You clear your throat, looking off to the side. You were a girl after all, any normal girl your age would be nervous if a guy had them caged in like this—it doesn’t matter if he’s your best friend or not. “You’re annoying, you know that?” Your voice comes out smaller—weaker than you intended.

There’s a bout of silence that falls onto the conversation, leaving you two to linger off in your own heads for a bit. 

Jake glosses over what you say, with a thin veil of seriousness coating his tone. “Tell me you’ll wear it.”

You swallow thickly at the idea of you showing up in Jake’s hoodie. The hoodie you bought for him last Christmas. The hoodie that he let no one near, not even Kendall. Jake knew better not to give his stuff away to girlfriends, seeing that it’ll never be returned to him. That was something he learned the hard way when he lost his favorite t-shirts to a few exes.

So Jake giving you his hoodie was a big deal. So much of a big deal that it’ll help you get one step closer to the pedestal Kendall sits on—and that's the push you needed to say yes.

“...I’ll wear it.”

This environment is one that Jake’s all too familiar with. There’s red solo cups strewn across the front lawn, stretching into the house, and finally spilling into the backyard. Some of the discarded cups are even decorated into the freshly trimmed bushes, resembling a sprinkle of red flowers.

And not far off, the sound of his former frat brother’s roaring chants towards freshman they’ve coerced into chugging beer kegs can be heard amongst the overlap of drunken conversations being held around him. From where he stands, Jake’s nose wrinkles from the nasuseating whiff he gets of somebody’s body odor. Maybe it’s the two beers he pre-gamed with, but his brain can’t process that he’s actually here. Truthfully, Jake didn't think he’d ever be able to experience this again, as unappealing as it might sound—he missed it. 

Javy hadn’t been the most understanding, when Jake dropped the bomb on him last semester that he’s moving out. He only recently realized that maybe Javy was so pissed because Jake couldn’t offer him a clear reason for his resignation. Just like how Kendall couldn’t give him the time of day before ditching him for some fucking loser.

After their breakup, she disregarded Jake like he was some tiny tank top she didn’t like in her closet, throwing it to the side, opting for one she liked better. So, when Jake went off to grab you a drink, he wasn’t ready to be faced with her again. He knew she’d be here, he knew for an entire week long actually. Jake just didn’t expect to see her right as he left your side. 

When he snuck out to the far end of the house, sliding back the screen doors leading into the yard, Jake meant to grab you one drink. But as soon as he reached the outdoor table, littered with an array of hard seltzers—Jake stomach ruptures at who stands there, forgetting about his task to fetch you something. Her eyes are skimming over the different flavors, fingering the loop of her denim skirt. And when he thought she couldn’t get any more beautiful, she did.

Jake hates this. He fucking hates that his body reacts her like this. He also hates that he’s unable to stay mad at her. His build up of heartbreak is pathetically dropped at the sight of her. It’s like he’s seeing her for the very first time, the pretty girl who renders him breathless. 

But it’s quick to die once he approaches her, tangling himself in a growing argument. 

“Jake, I—seriously,” she pauses, weary as she scans the backyard for any sign of her boyfriend. “I don’t have time for this,” she crosses her arms against her front, clenching her jaw. “Austin’s about to pull up, and he’ll kill you if he catches us together,” her usually sweet voice is lined with agitation. 

Jake shakes his head in disbelief, laughing at her useless warning. “I don’t give two shits about what he’s gonna do to me, Kenny.” The nickname slips out of his mouth so easily, that it makes it difficult for him to not think back on his favorite memories with her.

“Jacob, we can talk another—” 

“One second you’re telling me you love me. Telling me that you would marry me someday,” his voice drops into a harsh whisper. “And the next you’re telling me I can’t be seen with you?” A hurt expression takes hold of his face, and Kendall falters.

What Jake said wasn’t exactly a lie, because she did mean it. It slipped her mouth in a drunken conversation they had right in the house behind them. Kendall said it mindlessly, not thinking that it’ll stick with him—but it did. 

Before she even realizes it, she gives in. “You think this is easy for me?” She turns her back to Jake for a brief second, paranoid that her boyfriend might be here already. The familiar gesture reels Jake’s mind back to you amidst the conversation—you did that when you were annoyed with him.

Kendall faces Jake again at the confirmation that Austin hasn’t arrived yet, “Jake…you know how hard—” She catches the blond looking past her.

“Oh my fucking god. Of course!” She yells, throwing her arms up in the air, bringing his focus back to the conversation. Kendall barely spared him enough time to actually find you amongst the sea of sweaty bodies blocking the screen door. 

“You still can’t pay attention to me. And you wonder why we had problems?” There’s a tinge of hurt in her voice, but she quickly swallows it back.

“Jacob. You have a new girlfriend for fucks sake, and you’re over here begging me to talk to you. Is she even okay with this?” She spits, steering him away from her previous accusation. In front of him, she’s breathless, exhausted, fed up with him—with this. 

Jake stills at her statement. ‘Is she even okay with this?’ Because of course you would be, wouldn't you? If you knew that he was here in the backyard, talking to her, you’d be okay waiting on your own. You’d want this for him. If you didn’t want this—if you didn’t want him to win her back, you wouldn’t have agreed to help him. 

Getting lost in his thoughts, Jake loses his chance—he takes too long to reply. “You know what? Fuck this,” her tone is venomous now, a blend of bitterness and resentment. 

Jake flinches at her words, regretting his search for you. “Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right,” she grits, finally. With her closing statement being said, Kendall moves past him, shoulder knocking into his arm with full force. 

Fuck.

Jake’s body seems to move on his own, steering him towards the beer kegs, driven by her words. 

Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right.

As pathetic as it was, it didn’t take long for your stomach to start up again once Jake left your side, though he promised you he’ll be back.

But with divine timing, Bradley appeared in front of you like your fairy godmother not a second after. He’d possibly kill Jake in replacement for you at the comparison, but it was true. You blinked just once, and your college aged fairy godmother was there. But instead of a glittery cloak shrouding her shoulders, she had on a pitch black t-shirt. And instead of a dainty little wand floating in her hands, she had the back of Bob’s hoodie fisted between her large knuckles, almost lifting the blond off the ground. 

After that, he communicated to you with a grunt to follow him and Bob along to the front of the house. You had flinched when he nearly growled at you for not getting the hint to stay ahead of him, so he could ensure you wouldn’t escape. The three of you barely made it out the front door together before Bradley scared away the three puny freshmen occupying the stone steps. They were already halfway across the lawn from just sensing Bradley’s dark energy, casting onto their backs.

With a shrug of his shoulders, and an accidental yank at Bob from the movement, Bradley led you to the steps. The hoodie swallowing your figure should be enough to keep you warm from the dropping temperatures, Bradley surmised to himself. 

None of you spoke a word to each other as Bradley silently suggested that you and Bob should sit down in the space he cleared. And right as Bob gathered enough courage to put a question forward, Bradley kind of smiled at you two and left. He just showed you both what it looked like when Bradley Bradshaw isn’t on the verge of killing someone, and he dipped like it was nothing. 

You and Bob had gone through different stages of revelation at the rare sight. At first you two gaped at each other in disbelief, then you entered a stage of denial together, and following that you both confirmed that Bradley actually fucking smiled. To anyone else, you two might have been labeled for having low standards to moved by his little smile, that could, probably use a bit more practice—but at the end of the day it was a smile from Bradley Bradshaw.

“Just to preface, I don’t have my degree yet. But it does sound like an anxiety-induced stomach ache to me.” Bob offers with a small smile, still thinking on Bradley’s gesture.

Since you just had a life-altering experience with Bob, conversation began to flow easier between you two and this was only the second time you’ve ever spoken to him. 

You purse your lips in curiosity. “Have you learned about a solution for it yet?” 

Bob hadn’t actually browsed through that part of the textbook, but he wished he had now. It could be that his empathy was way too high for an average person, but Bob's own stomach started to hurt from your explanation of the pain you were feeling. 

“I–I’m really sorry, but no. I’ll definitely let you know once I do find out though.” And Bob intends to fulfill that promise, in fact he’ll download the electronic version of his textbook after this conversation so he could help you out for the future.

“But, uhm,” he hesitantly puts out his cup towards you, “It’s ginger ale, I haven't even touched it yet I swear. And I’m not saying you should take it. Girls should never really take drinks from anyone, actually. I just–I’m just offering, you have the right to say no.” Bob clamps his mouth shut, stopping himself from saying any more.

You peer into the cup, eyeing the liquid sloshing in there before curling your fingers around the solo cup. The tightness in Bob’s shoulders finally lets up once you offer him a reassuring smile.

A comfortable silence rests over the exchange, with you taking small sips from Bob’s drink as he stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket. You two linger in the moment, quietly appreciating Bradley for pulling you both away from the chaos that’s going on inside the house. 

Again, you bring the rim of the cup to your lips, but once the sleeve of your hoodie hits your chin—you suddenly still, which catches Bob’s attention. It somehow slipped your mind that you showed up wearing Jake’s hoodie—your supposed boyfriend, who you haven't seen in the last hour.

“Oh god,” you whisper in realization. “I–I have to go. It was really nice talking to you Bob–like actually. I just,” you’re scrambling to stand up, going light headed from rising to your feet so quickly. Bob lightly laughs, looking up at you. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you in class,” he gives you a single nod, ensuring you that it’s okay. 

Storing his assurance to the back of your mind, you go shooting through the doors. The warmth inside the house is a sharp contrast to the biting breeze outside, sending a shiver down your spine. Everyone around you downed more drinks than you have tonight, they knock into you while you struggle to navigate through the living area. As you try to recall the interior of the house—from being here last week, one guy bumps you into a wobbly table, shaking the plates of party snacks on it.

Not wanting to draw attention to yourself, you reach a hand out to still the foldable table by its edge. Then, you take a moment, blinking down at one plate in particular. On it, there’s a load of plastic baggies containing brightly colored gummies, which you assume to be edibles.

Almost as a signal, your stomach cramps again—urging you to grab one for yourself, so you do. You whip your head left and right before doing so. It’s for everyone right? 

With the ziplock baggie safely tucked into your back pocket, you resume your desperate search for Jake. But, you hardly have to take another step, because Jake is already drawing towards you, feet heavy as he drags them across the floor.

His chest buzzes, light warmth scattering through his ribs as he comes to a slow stop behind you. And maybe it’s because he’s done it so many times, but Jake’s fingers mindlessly curl around your waist, right under his hoodie. And like earlier in the day, he flips you around, reveling in goosebumps he’s brought on. 

Jake watches through half lidded eyes as you blink repeatedly at his chest. Acknowledging the large hand hugging your bare waist, you swallow so hard, you cough up a bit—before tentatively lifting your head, to meet the owner of said hand. 

“Oh.” It’s just Jake. 

It’s just Jake who’s staring down at you, with something unfamiliar pooling in his eyes. It’s just Jake whose fingers lightly squeeze your waist, again. It’s just Jake, you remind yourself.

You blink again, eyes wide and glossy underneath him. From this angle, you note the light flush tinting his cheeks. Then, your eyes run across his features, trying to get a read on the unfamiliar expression he’s wearing, and it seems like he’s doing the same.

Hearing a crunch, you both gaze over to the cup in your hands. It takes a moment for you to even realize that it’s your fingers that’s currently wrapped around the solo cup. 

The sight of the crinkled plastic under your nails makes a voice ring out in Jake’s head. You still can’t pay attention to me. And you wonder why we had problems? Kendall’s right. That’s why she broke up with him, he let so much shit fly over his head—It’s no wonder why she had a backup plan after she dumped him. Jake didn’t even pay enough attention to realize some guy was under his nose the whole time, giving his girlfriend attention when he wasn’t.

And it’s happened again. While Jake was blindly walking around the party, with nothing but Kendall in mind—someone got you a fucking drink. Someone who isn’t him. 

Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right.

Jake’s body reacts before his brain gets the chance to. Your breath hitches in your throat, watching him swat the cup out of your hand, forcing it to splatter against the wall, and fall flat to the ground with a clink.

Jake knows his limits, maybe too well for that matter. Right now, he’s slightly buzzed at best—he knows he is from his need to prove Kendall wrong. He knows from the way he moves his other hand to your jaw. He knows from the way he wants to get the remnants of that drink out of your mouth. He knows from the way he dips his head down to do it.

Jake feels like he’s sixteen again, kissing his best-friend, barely drunk.

With his hand on your waist, he steadies you, fingers digging into your flesh as you stumble backwards. Satisfaction washes over him, feeling you eagerly slot your mouth into his. You’re just as shy as he thought you’d be—you’re kissing him back with a soft intensity, it’s different from what he’s used to. And as your lips part again, Jake’s mouth tingles at the sensation. 

Talk to me when you learn how to treat a girl right.

Not knowing what to do with your hands, you fist the front of his shirt with one, while the other reaches for the nape of his neck. Feeling your fingers hesitantly scratch at the baby hairs sitting there, Jake’s spurred on to pull a reaction out of you. A sudden need burns into his chest, telling him to make you feel brainless.

But you already do.

Because in his arms, your body is going haywire, legs succumbing to jelly, but Jake holds you still, delving his tongue in your mouth—exploring it, draining that ginger-ale lingering there. And it’s like you’re on overdrive, the dull music playing in the back dies out from the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, and your lungs burn from holding your breath.

With your jaw going slack in his hand, Jake knows you need to catch your breath, because he finally pulls away, lips twitching as he does so.

Jake’s darkened eyes lift open, observing the string of saliva between your mouths, mesmerized by the way it breaks from the distance and settles to glisten on your lips. With his hand on the line of your jaw, Jake extends a thumb to swipe away the shine he produced.

You’re breathless, chest rising up and down underneath his hoodie—mind still processing the practiced kiss.

“W-was she looking?” 

Jake’s brows furrow, but he conceals it before you catch it. Thumbing over your bottom lip, Jake’s mind is half with you and half somewhere else.

He hums, mindlessly assuring you. “Mhm. Did such a good job for me, Princess.”

note: she is lengthy, but it's because i wont be able to update for the next two weeks, due to finals week D: but putting that aside, thank you for reading! and as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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