#theres visibility warnings happening

[leonsmain]

the sky is fucking orange

[martyrlamb]

✶ when the clock strikes / leon kennedy

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you’re starting to think a certain agent might be faking his injuries to see you.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, a bit of angst as a treat, love at first sight basically, silly workplace love story, nurse!reader, 1 year post re4r!leon, no use of y/n, extremely mildly passively suggestive, leon takes his shirt off twice (woohoo!), kissing, swearing, leon is awkward as hell, you are too though so it’s okay, description of bruises, cuts and a muscle knot (not detailed), medical talk, slight mention of gore and blood, reader has a backstory, reader has a mother.

note: i blinked and suddenly there were 8k words in my doc idek how that happened. im actually so nervous to post because this is my first one shot ever!! my cherry has been popped… but also apologies if things are kind of all over the place bc im still trying to get the swing of it all. trying to write in the present tense was like being beat over the head repeatedly so im sure theres many grammatical mistakes in that department

word count: 8.5k (got possessed sorry)

Everyone thought you were crazy when you accepted the offer. 

It is crazy—but you aren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into a long time ago as a nurse; people get hurt, and then you save them. Clockwork.

Years ago, you started studying to be a nurse in some middle of nowhere midwestern school. You remembered the rolling hills and the ungodly heavy blankets of snow that fell during the winter months, the fallen leaves that the snow covered. It was all so peaceful for a while… until the outbreak.

You never saw it coming, no one did, really. At least, you hope no one predicted the atrocities that were about to be witnessed by thousands of innocents without warning.

Gnashing teeth and hands with dried blood that streaked down arms like veins plagued the memory of that point in your life. It was surreal to believe that you got up that morning and made your breakfast like any other day, you slid your shoes on and grabbed your keys, and then your foot hit the front porch and the trajectory of your life changed permanently. 

The virus started as a woman with red-ringed eyes and pallid skin that reflected off of the blinding overhead lights—she looked visibly ill. That’s all that mattered at the time. You were actually the one who situated her and her husband in their room, he smiled at you and thanked you for your time and you scribbled down notes before hanging the clipboard and leaving the room for the doctor. The screeching horror music plays when you get to this part of the memory.

A type of calm before the storm. You hold your breath every time.

A few hours later people started screaming, and someone—something ran out of that room and wrenched its grip on the first person it saw. Blue scrubs dyed a nasty crimson, like crushed raspberries on cloth. The next part is a blur of running, watching your coworkers die, and using your medical expertise to help anyone who needed it. People were hurt. You saved them.

Like you said, clockwork. You try not to think about it too hard.

By the time help came, you had cramped a large handful of survivors—albeit, injured survivors—into a small house that was a mile or two from the hospital. Your quick thinking protected many people that day, and your skills were recognized.

A week prior, you were a simple nursing student who was lucky enough to be placed in a hospital, and by the next Sunday, you were being offered a position as a medic with the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. You finished your schooling, you got your specialized training, and now you’re on your way to your first assignment out of the country.

So, granted, maybe you are a little crazy for accepting such a prestigious and dangerous position after your humble beginnings. Your mother never ceases to remind you of this, with what little information you were allowed to tell her.

Iceland? she said, pulling her lips into a line. Are you crazy?

You begin to think that you are now that you stand in front of the base, arms tucked around yourself and teeth chattering as a sergeant points you around like one of his troops. Between the hustle and bustle of agents hurrying around and the amount of civilians sitting beneath the large, brown medical tent, you understand why they needed all the help they could get.

Things in Iceland were bad apparently; Umbrella thought the remote location would protect what little was left of them, and their research, from being exposed. Unfortunately for them, (and fortunately for everyone else) the AUPIT caught wind of what was happening and vowed to put a stop to it. You, freshly out of training, were sent to help with the sudden influx of displaced non-combatants and wounded agents.

Within the hour of the helicopter landing, you settle in and pull your cold weather scrubs on. 

There aren’t many other nurses—only two—and neither of them seem to be very fond of you. The head nurse is older and straight-laced, following procedure, not mingling with you unless she has to. You don’t think you’re ever going to be put on a shift with the other nurse, but they spare you a few ireful glances. It’s  like they could smell the fresh blood, and the scent made them turn their noses.

Nonetheless, you weren’t there to socialize, so you rolled up your sleeves and did your job, trying to ignore the passive aggressive looks being thrown at you from left and right. This kind of mutual ignorance worked for about three days, until you were placed on the night shift… every single night. 

Before you came along, it was determined that the night shift could be manned by one person, as injured civilians were sent to the safehouses by nightfall and nearly all of the agents were either out on work or taking a much needed rest. There was no reason for both nurses to be awake when one could conserve their energy and rest while the other worked. So, most nights you spent alone, sitting by the fire in the back of the tent as you waited for the sun to come up.

One of those nights crept up on you again. You bounce your foot against the ground until your ankle aches, sitting in a lawn chair next to the fire with a wool blanket draped over your shoulders. Nothing chirps in the distance like the environment you’re used to, the only noises that float through the air are the wind rustling bare-armed bushes and your own breathing. There was a rip in the tent whistling, too, but you’d be damned if you let the incessant noise drive you insane. You were scared of the eerie silence for the first few days, but that quickly became replaced by the complete boredom that followed it.

You blow a raspberry as you spin a pen in your ungloved hand, fingers numb and stretched stiff with cold. I’ve ought to ask someone for a book, you thought to yourself, or a new job. You immediately push the second contemplation out of your head like it was something dirty and sat up a little straighter; your annoyance made sense, but this is what you wanted to do with your life. You want to help people in need.

Not that there were many people around.

In the distance, like divine intervention, you hear the crackle of wheels against snow, and a black mini-van rolls to a stop in front of the tent. A scuffle inside ensues for a moment, then the doors open and a man comes hobbling into the shelter with his arm over another man’s shoulder. 

You nearly fall out of your seat with how fast you stand up and stride over to the men, assisting the injured one onto a cot. 

“What happened?” you ask, pushing a cart of equipment to his bedside.

The uninjured one remarks from beside you, “Some snow gave way and he went down this hill with some pretty nasty bushes at the bottom.” His voice is quick and clicky. He looks young.

Clearly, they’re two agents, judging by the leather holsters strapped around their waists and shoulders. You purse your lips and place a lantern on the cart, gently inspecting the injured agent. There’s thorns lodged along the entirety of his left side, looking a bit like a child’s crude attempt at art with toothpicks and styrofoam.

He grunts when you gently lift his arm to check underneath, and you mutter an apology before you turn to the other agent. “I can take this from here.”

The agent nods and spins on his heel, disappearing into the darkness once he stepped out into the open air. 

You turn your attention towards the man in front of you and pull on a pair of gloves, the latex makes a sharp snapping noise when you let go. His intense gaze follows your movements with great intrigue—or suspicion… you couldn’t really tell. You pick up a pair of tweezers and set them on the cart. You also finally got a good look at the wounded agent.

Blue eyes that strike down what little defenses you have and brows that spend their time permanently creased, almost erasing the space between them while he inspects you. His ability to make you feel thoroughly grilled with a simple fixated stare would have made you squirm years prior, but now you merely stare back with your eyebrows lifted. The blonde—possibly light brown haired, the darkness didn’t give much way in the form of colour—man averts his eyes first, as if he is caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, but that’s not your focus right now.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, flicking on a flashlight to check his pupils. Healthy, good. He squints at you through the beam.

“Like I fell into a thorn bush.”

Looks like someone feels funny. You deadpan at him, unamused with the sarcasm while you try to help. Your expression beckons a better answer and he backpedals.

The man’s head bobs subtly, like a scale in his mind is weighing his thoughts on either side, and then he says, “I’m just fine.”

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” you reply, blowing out a not-so-inconspicuous huff of annoyed air that swirls above you in the cold. The agent raises his brow at your reaction but doesn’t seem too keen on speaking on it. “I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but it’s going to be a lot of poking and prodding.”

He lets out another grunt that could have possibly been an Mhm… but you aren’t sure. You hold the tweezers between your fingers and begin to pluck them out, placing them on the metal pan on your cart. Clink, clink, clink. They fall from the tweezers with tiny noises.

To your surprise, he doesn’t writhe or make much noise, only occasional grunts and sighs and Shit’s under his breath when you pull at particularly deep thorns lodged in his arm. 

Even for an agent, his arms are an impressive size, which means a lot more surface area to extract from. Not that you really mind, as you would have helped him either way, but surely you would feel differently if you were in his shoes.

However, the silence is… awkward; sitting there with your face inches from his huge arms—he could definitely feel your breath fan across the surface with how his skin dances with warmth and goosebumps and you do not want the attractive agent to focus on that. So, you break it with a question.

“You weren’t wearing a jacket?” A valid query, all things considered.

He blinks at you like it was obvious. “It came off.”

“Oh,” is all you say until you extract the last thorn from his arm and begin to slide the leather shoulder holster off of him. “I just need to take this off.”

He frowns slightly, and you realize his brows had been furrowed this whole time because that was all his face seemed to know how to do. When his expression changes, you stop.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Taking it off so I can look under your sleeve.”

“Why?”

“You could’ve pulled something and I need to bandage you,” you pause. “Is that okay?”

Maybe you wrongly assumed that he had done this a million times. Don’t get you wrong, you know how resilient agents had to be and how good they were at their jobs, so it isn’t like you thought he got hurt often… But with a short glance into his eyes, you could tell he’s a hardened delegate with years of experience under his belt. Wasn’t he bound to need help occasionally?

The man gives you a slight nod and shrugs off the holster; it falls to the bed with a soft thud from the weight of the knife tucked into the leather. 

His muscles tense under your fingers when you roll the black sleeve over his shoulder. The feathered, pale edge of a bullet scar peeks out from beneath the dark clothing and it makes you wonder how he managed to get it. A mission? Probably. It looks old. You’ve seen scars of all kinds at that point, and each of them held a story that ended in pierced flesh. 

They remind you that they will never not be where they came from—your own scars will never not be where they came from. You shake the thought out like a stubborn rock in your shoe.

“Lucky you, it doesn’t look like you pulled anything in your shoulder,” you comment under your breath.

“If this is luck, I’d like to see what happens when I get unlucky.” For the first time, there’s humor in his tone—so faint you nearly miss it, but it makes you chuckle. When he isn’t huffing out responses, his voice almost sounds kind.

You rotate his shoulder slowly and inspect the length of his side, finding fewer thorns than the amount anchored in his arm. Still, your lips press into a line, pitying the fact that his bare skin will be exposed to the frigid, below-freezing air so you could remove them.

“Well, you should’ve knocked on wood,” you reply, “I’ll need you to take your shirt off so I can get the rest of the thorns out and check your ribs.”

Silently, the man hikes his shirt up and over his ribs for you, snaking his arm out of his sleeve and then laying on his side. 

As he comes down, stretching, he groans. You see his muscles tense under his skin when he inhales, the dips and divots of his torso flex involuntarily when the squall of air nips at his newly exposed skin. The surface holds blossoms of red and deep purple that litter themselves across his ribs like splotches of messy watercolor dripped onto paper. Scarlet scratches bleed pebbles that drip onto the fabric of the cot. 

You suck in through your teeth as you inspect the area. Even without the damage from the thorns, it doesn’t look good.

“Not good?” the agent questions as if he could read your mind. From over his shoulder, he turna his head to look at you.

“Not good. You bruised your ribs, I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t broken.”

“I didn’t hear a crack.”

“It should be monitored for a day or two, at the very least.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“Look, I understand—“

“I’ll be fine.”

You sigh softly and remove one of your gloves to rub your face in exasperation. Unfortunately, this wasn’t your first rodeo with stubborn patients, so you slide on another glove and begin to pluck at the thorns in his torso. “You won’t be doing much work if you permanently damage them.”

He twists his head away from you again and grunts softly, muttering a short, “Okay.”

How articulate. You guess he doesn’t get paid to talk to people.

“Okay? As in…?”

“As in, fine,” he replies, then pauses for a moment as if to prove a point. “But I’m sure you have better things to do.”

You laugh at this, then stifle it into your elbow so he didn’t think you were laughing at him. He still rolls over a little to look at you, confusion laces his eyes that dart around as they go from your face to the rows of empty cots behind you. Busy? You begin to laugh again.

He can’t be serious, you think as you fan your face. You let your laughter dissipate like it was being dissolved into water. “Sorry… no, you’re right,” you snort, “I was drowning in work before you arrived, agent.”

“I’m sure,” he chirps back, the ghost of a smile haunts his lips.

“I think I can squeeze you in, though. Might have to clear some of my schedule, but… I’ll make it work.”

The pleased look that graces your face is involuntary. You find it endearing how worried he is about becoming too much extra work for you and the other nurses, despite the fact that there isn’t any reason to gather that he would and—believe it or not—it’s your job. 

The agent lets out an amused breath through his nose. “Should I be flattered?”

“Oh, of course.”

You place the last of the thorns onto the metal pan and tend to his wounds with gauze and bandages and nimble fingers that have done this hundreds of times before. Sometime along the way his body relaxed—just a little—and you think he fell asleep until he sits up like a puppet that had his strings yanked and puts his shirt on properly.

The sudden movement makes you blink, and he stares at you for a long pause filled with dead air and an expectant look in his eyes. That damn rip in the tent whistles. 

Finally, his eyes flicker down to your badge, then back to your face. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I started here not too long ago,” you inform him honestly, a little embarrassed to admit your newbie title to a seasoned employee of the organization.

He doesn’t say anything else, so you take the reins.

“Well, I think we’re set,” you say, rolling the latex gloves off of your hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Agent…”

You never asked him his name?

“Leon Kennedy,” the agent, now with the name Leon Kennedy pinned to his face, finishes for you. 

His name twirls around your head and makes you dizzy to think about. I should have known, you think to yourself once he bids you farewell to report to his superiors. 

From what little time you spent at the base prior to meeting Leon, you had heard whispers during dinner drift from mouth to ear of the elusive agent. That he was a man of few words (immense understatement, you consider it more socially awkward, but true); that he had half of the base swooning every time he walked by (you don’t want to comment on this); and that he was immensely attractive (that is also true). You have to admit… you see why he had such an air of intrigue around him. To be so quiet after such successes he’s accomplished—people were on the edge of their seats trying to figure him out.

You also had to admit that you weren’t immune to it either. 

During your meals and breaks you found yourself playing Where’s Waldo? with Leon, attempting to catch glimpses of him in his natural state to confirm or deny these claims. Which was impressively difficult for absolutely no reason other than that he did it for his own benefit… the motive for this was lost, and still is, on you.

The few times you did spot him, he had the same clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He never stayed in the same place for very long and frequently you only spotted him—or rather, his broad shoulders and white-knuckled fists as they turned corners and disappeared to do whatever he did all day. Important agent things.

Regarding your coworkers… it hadn’t improved much, either. The head nurse, who you later learned was named Winona, loosened up on you a bit—which was practically nothing when both she and the other nurse had been so cold to begin with. However, your determination to help those around you seemed to impress her… most days.

(Peeks of Leon’s ashy blonde hair stolen from cracks in the tent. His fur-lined coat hangs off of his sizable frame, enveloping his arms in the thick fabric—it makes them look even bigger. Not that you care, per say, but—

“You aren’t getting paid to stalk agents,” Winona jeers, jolting you back to Earth from your subject of stolen attention. You swear she smiles at you wryly. “Should’ve tried for one of their jobs if you wanted to do that.”

She turns on her heel and goes over to a trio of injured civilians with her cart, the knot of hair tied taut at the base of her neck stares you in the face. You’re left hot faced and embarrassed for the entirety of the next check-up with your patient.)

The endless night shifts never seem to cease rolling in and you’re afraid it’s begun to catch up on you. By the end of breakfast, when you could finally drag your corpse-like body to your quarters and into your bed, your head drooped comically into your bowl of oatmeal and some of the newer agents had a blast laughing at you. Whatever, assholes.

(You were deeply embarrassed.)

So, you opted for allowing a short nap in here and there during your shift—ten minutes at most—whenever your eyelids began to feel itchy and weighted and you couldn’t help but close them. You really couldn’t. Being sat by the fire with a hot drink made you so warm and the sounds of blowing wind lulled you to sleep in the darkness under the moon.

Truly, a terrible work performance from you, but no one was around to see and surely you’d be awoken by even a hint of an emergency. 

Tonight, you count sheep with your wool blanket tucked up to your chin and your head lolls against your shoulder like it’s about to fall off its hinges. One, two, three. They mock you as they hop into their pasture and curl up into white, fluffy spheres, falling asleep within the warmth of their home. 

From a distance, your ears almost register the sound of footsteps that approach the tent, crushing the crunchy top layer of snow under their feet as they stop in the entrance. It isn’t enough to completely wake you until they clear their throat and say, “Hello?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head so fast you think it might go flying across the room. Really smooth of you, considering Leon is the one to get your attention. By the smug look on his face and slight chuckle that wracks his frame, you know he isn’t fooled with your act awake performance.

He stands there, towering and rigid, unlike the night you first met him, with his palm outstretched flat like he’s trying to show the world something. 

“Oh, hey, what do you need?” you reply quickly, standing from your chair as you let your blanket fall off of you.

Leon glances at his hand and then at you. “I, uh, got a papercut.”

“A paper cut,” you repeat, just to make sure you heard him right.

“Yeah.”

You stare at him for a moment, mouth agape as his words register as something he was actually saying to you.

“Well, get comfortable, then. I’ll patch you up.”

In reality, you’re terribly confused about a special forces agent needing first aid for a paper cut, but how could you complain? He needs help and you’re there to offer it. 

The blonde sits on a cot near the fire—not before picking up your blanket from the ground and placing it back on the chair, though—and you situate yourself on a stool facing him. 

You take Leon’s hand in yours gently and inspect the wound. It’s fairly shallow, but placed in the center of the webbed skin between his index finger and thumb. Tough spot. When your digits graze his rough knuckles he inhales sharply and you glance at him due to the sudden motion.

He doesn’t expect a reaction from you because he pauses for a second then asks, “You think I’ll live?”

“I dunno,” you answer, sucking your teeth. “Could be a close call.”

“Yeesh.”

“I know. My condolences.”

“For myself?”

“Uh-huh.” You turn his hand over so his palm faced the sky. “This’ll sting.”

When you disinfect the injury, Leon’s face twitches into itself but he keeps quiet, opting to focus his gaze on your face while you patch him up. You try not to shift under the intensity.

“What made you want to do this?” he queries, his voice cuts through the silence and startles you a bit. Leon looks pleased with himself and you roll your eyes.

“You’ll laugh.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It’s corny.”

Admittedly, it was—the original story as to why you wanted to be a nurse. You’ve had people laugh at it before and you mostly don’t want to repeat history with someone you find rather charming, but something in Leon’s face softens and he shakes his head briefly. 

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Oh, fine.” Like there was a fight put up when you relent, smoothing a bandaid over his cut. “You know those things you’d fill out as a kid? Where it’s like, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Leon nods.

“Every single time, I would write superhero,” you laugh sourly because you got used to other people laughing when you said this, but he listens as if you’re the only sound he’s ever heard. “I’d draw myself with a little cape and all that. Then at a certain age the teachers start telling you, pick a real job, pick something that exists. And, I dunno, I thought: there are real superheroes. They save people every day because they want to.”

“I mean, I always knew I didn’t have all the right assets to be the one rescuing people from burning buildings and punching the bad guys. I wanted to help people when they couldn’t help themselves, you know? I can't carry the weight of the situation—it’s just not in my nature—but I can carry them. That’s why I started doing this, I guess.”

The look he gives you when you finish speaking is indescribable. He gazes deeply into your face like he’s trying to find a new feature he missed the first time. Something akin to pulling apart your mind with his eyes as if it’s clay made for the shaping and a load of a melancholy that’s too heavy for him; like he’s asking you, how do I carry it? Tell me how to carry something like that. 

Your hand still lingers in his, over the bandaid you placed on him; you slide yours so the curves of your thumbs interlock and you grip the hilt of his palm. A hidden embrace.

Leon’s eyes dart toward your hands and he makes no effort to remove you from his grasp, his fingers relax against your wrist. He feels your heartbeat. You feel his. When he looks up again, all he sees are your eyes. 

You don’t know why you went on that anecdote in the first place, not really. Only that you were finished patching him up and wanted—needed—him to linger for a bit longer.

“What about you?” you ask, voice hushed close to nothing.

“I wanted to help people, too.” He sounds uncharacteristic—sheepish? “That’s it… I can’t follow up with something as articulate as you.”

“It matters just as much even if you can’t express it,” you assure him, your head tilts. 

Leon clears his throat and nods, slipping his hand from yours and looking anywhere that isn’t you. You created a shadow in front of his face, back facing the fire, but you can see the subtle dark tinge of his cheeks when he avoids your eyes. He chooses to look at his feet. There he goes, being endearing again, you think.

The harsh edges of his face are lit up with an orange glow, darkness shoots somewhere in between in a soft gradient, and he looks positively ethereal. If you reached out and cupped his face, you know it would be warm to the touch like laundry right out of the dryer. It makes him look all the more delicate and this feels more natural than the pointed looks and pinched expressions he usually wears.

You look back down at his hands. You’re trying to memorize the way they felt against yours (coarse and hot to the touch) and you get the picture of how hopeless you are—even an idiot could see you have a crush on him. 

That doesn’t stop you from protecting your pride and you keep it to yourself. You stand up to put the disinfectant supplies and box of bandaids away without a word. 

Leon stares at his hand like it’s missing a piece.

You have your head buried too deep into the cabinet to think much about that. Screaming at yourself was an understatement for what you’re doing in your head… a better description would be begging the floor to swallow you entirely with one gulp.

Surely, Leon has someone at home. He’s an attractive, intelligent man with an arguably stable job that pays him oodles more than he would ever need; not to mention how well-built he is, but again, for what seems like the millionth time you push this thought to the back of your mind. You could not focus on that.

“Are you okay?” his voice carries from the cot.

You take a moment’s breather and shut the cabinet door. “I’m good. How are your ribs?”

“They’re good.” Leon pauses, then adds. “Thanks.”

The shake of your head comes faster than your words; muscle memory. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“You do a good job.”

“I’m just a medic.”

“A good one.”

As you utter your gratitude for his comment, you hope he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your face from so far away. You weren’t one to get shy from such simple words, but you find your eyes glued to your boots because of his gentle bonniness. Damn you, you curse at him in your head—it held no weight.

The blonde stands from the cot and walks over to you. He bends slightly to catch your eyes in his. “I have to go now, but... yeah. Thank you.”

“Of course, Agent Kennedy.”

“Don’t start using formalities now,” he half-laughs, half-breathes. His face contorts when he stretches back, and his hand came up to massage his right shoulder—you even go to comment on this movement, being a medic and all, but he beats you to it with a smirk. “Stick with Leon.”

And then, in a few strides, he’s gone as fast as he came. 

Your entire body deflates when you let out a guttural sigh. How come every time you watched his back, you were left reeling?

Unfortunately for you, that blasted man had ingrained himself into your head, sitting pretty in your thoughts as snug as a bug in a rug while you tried to do your job, or attempted to focus on anything other than your feelings for him. On the contrary, he returned to clearing out Umbrella facilities for the time being, which meant he was out of the base for days, or even weeks, considering he was one of, if not, the best agent they had. This saved you from the embarrassment of being caught trying to catch glances of him from inside the tent or during meals. 

This, however, did not stop you from daydreaming when work got slow. 

You wondered how someone like Leon behaved domestically, if he was completely different outside of the AUPIT, or if he was still just the sweet, reserved man who needed your aid often. Did he have any pets? What music did he listen to? You guess you’d have to ask him later, but you imagined that the pieces would fall into place and suit him. They’d be so perfectly Leon that when he told you, you would think to yourself, huh, why didn’t I think of that?

The amount of daydreaming you did was not lost on Winona, and occasionally she snapped her fingers in front of your face and grumbled under her breath, “I’ll kill that boy.” With no real threat to her tone. 

Please, you can’t help it. He has arms with the muscle definition of a god and he told you-you were a good medic; you were a goner before you even realized it.

On the other hand, your family never let up with their pleas for you to return home, despite the fact that it simply wasn’t possible unless you had a very good reason for it. Which you didn’t, and you didn’t want to—people just didn’t get it through their heads that, yes, your job was difficult, and yes, patients got on your nerves sometimes, but no, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This meant more to you than anything else you could fathom. You knew the fear these people felt first-hand, and you knew they needed a saving grace; just like you had.

(“Just come home,” your mother coos into the phone, her voice static-y and chopped from the poor signal. You could imagine her face right now, all worried and exhausted like you’re a child balancing on a wet playground. “There’s a hospital not too far from here… I’m sure they’d take you.

You promptly spend the next hour explaining to her that it isn’t that simple, even if you wanted to, and you remind her every few minutes that you aren’t going to leave, either. You’re happy, all things considered; which is why you make the executive decision to leave out all of the bad parts of your work so far.)

As for the efforts against Umbrella, you hear whispers of successes during dinners and fewer agents appeared at the medical tent’s door in need of assistance than when you arrived. So, you think things are going rather well for your organization. Less tired eyes and solemn faces; the fight wasn’t over, but everyone could rest a little easier with every night that passed. 

And yet, those damned night shifts. You swear Winona and that other medic were scheming against you for no reason other than pure spite, on the basis of simply because they didn’t feel like doing it. It has to be funny to them by now, seeing you half-asleep at breakfast and looking all mussed at dinner because you woke up ten minutes prior. You let them laugh all they wanted because frankly, you began to enjoy the night shifts. The world went to sleep, and you enjoyed some peace and quiet.

You kick your feet up onto a stool and drape a blanket over your legs, book in hand. The soft sounds of Icelandic pop music crackles out of the radio and floats throughout the tent. You mouth the noises of the songs, unsure of the lyrics, but you’ve heard it so often by now, you could recognize the tune from the first few beats. You scat a few of the instruments, tapping your foot along. You don't notice the figure that stopped in the doorframe. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Leon. You shut your book and turn to look at him, embarrassed. “I always feel like I’m coming at a bad time.”

“Never,” you reply with a haste that humbles you further. Worried about his sudden appearance in the medical tent after being gone on agent duties for nearly two weeks, you ask, “Are you okay?”

The corners of his mouth upturn and you barely see a flash of uneven teeth between the slit it creates, cute. This distracts you from how smug his face is. “I think I have a fever.”

“A fever this time?”

“Yep.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Leon.” 

A paper cut, then a fever. You begin to think of his inability to soothe his minor maladies as an excuse to visit the tent. Your stomach flutters at the thought, but you have to make sure… just in case he’d fallen ill out there in the cold. 

You find the thermometer and placed it in his mouth gingerly. It hangs crooked from the corner and he watches you with a certain keenness that makes you smile. After a few minutes, you check his temperature: 98.7. An amused hum escapes your lips without meaning to.

“Dying?” 

“I don’t think you have a fever,” you answer, using the back of your hand to press against his forehead and cheeks. The first cheek is cold, then the left cheek warms under your skin—Leon’s expression falls bashful. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking for reasons to come see me.”

It’s his turn to hum in thought. “Maybe.”

“You could just come talk to me.”

“You’re on the clock,” the blonde reminds you, grunting. In a swift movement, his hand presses into the curve of his neck and he rotates his right shoulder, face straining.

You see an opening. “That I am. What was that?”

“What?”

“Your shoulder.”

“I was stretching.”

“Does it hurt?”

Leon grumbles a response under his breath, unimpressed that you might have found something you could actually treat him for. You raise your brows. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“Agent Kennedy.”

He pretends not to hear you.

“Leon.”

“Fine,” he gripes like a child being forced to get a shot and maneuvers to lay his stomach flat on the cot, his back faces toward the ceiling. He takes off his brown, fur-lined jacket and discards it onto the next cot over. You get a whiff of musk and cinnamon from the breeze it makes.

The shirt that clings to him left nothing to the imagination—a tight, black compression shirt stretches snugly over his muscles. You spread your fingers like fans to warm them up, then begin to run them over his shoulder and along the meat of his back. 

You tsk, full of knots. This man needs a masseuse. You make a mental note to refer him to a good one you knew. 

With the issue at hand, though, you find an impressive knot in his shoulder, which is likely the cause of his discomfort. 

You huff, your work cut out for you. “There’s a big knot in your shoulder, Leon. How are you living like this?”

“I wake up and roll out of bed.”

“I need to get this out.”

Leon turns his head, his cheek presses to the cot. He gives you a look that says nothing short of, are you serious?  You smile as sweetly as you can at him, an attempt to coax him. To your surprise, he averts his gaze fast and relents. The blonde agent sits up and shrugs his shirt off. It’s tossed next to his jacket.

Under the fire light and the dim glow of lanterns that hang in a line down the center of the tent, strings attached to the ceiling, you see the way chills prickle over the surface of his skin. Goosebumps, like rolled carpets being kicked open, unfurl down his arms rapidly and he lays down on his stomach once again. 

Your face burns in the dark—you’d be surprised if you aren’t glowing like one of those lanterns from the amount of heat it exudes.

You use a dollop of skin cream to keep the area relaxed and pliable as you work out the knot with your fingers. You push it in the right direction until you got it in a better spot, then you knead it firmly. It crackles within his body.

“Fuck…” he groans in relief, nestling his head into the fabric of the cot as he sighs. “They teach you massages in nursing school?”

“That might be just a learned from life thing,” you state in total honesty. You wipe the excess lotion from your hands on a rag. 

Curiously, he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “You have someone back home you do that to?”

A laugh falls from your lips, though your face feels even hotter than before (if that is even possible). “No—not at all.”

Leon lets out a pleasant hum and sit up from the cot. Good, he says without saying it. 

He snatches his shirt and tugs it over his head; you pretend to make yourself busy so you have somewhere other to look than at him. You hear him sigh with great reprieve as he rolls his shoulder back and forth, it must’ve felt like a freshly oiled hinge.

He comes up behind you, his shoulder skims the back of your neck when he peers down at what you were doing on the counter. Which is a whole lot of nothing; moving cotton swabs from one container to the other, counting how many rolls of gauze you had left for the hundredth time. Mindless hand ministrations to distract you from the heart that pounds in your chest.

“Is this what you do all night?” he questions, mildly amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Must be glad I showed up.”

“Something like that,” you tease, glancing up at him with a coy smile.

You watch his withstraint break a little inside of him. He inhales sharply, losing the words you said somewhere between your eyes and your lips—he couldn’t focus with your faces so close to each other and neither could you. Leon reaches for the hand that rested on the other side of you and drags you in between him and the counter, twirling you to face him. Then he pauses and appears lost, like he doesn’t know which way is left and right.

Maybe he doesn’t know what to do, you think. You don’t really know either, so you go on about what you do know.

“You should probably use kinesiology tape on your shoulder,” you comment, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of all of your limbs. His eyes don’t leave your lips. You’d be a liar if you say yours left his.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

The man’s body heat radiates off of him and it’s magnetic, pulling you closer, away from the bitter cold. Your breath hitches. His hand hovers over the curve of your neck, then it decides to rest on the side of your jaw, thumb pressed against your flushed cheek. You remember the texture of his warm palm, coarse and calloused from years of wear.

You try to memorize every fine line and crease that scuffs your face as he beckons you to close the gap with the slight tilt of his head. I’d make a terrible agent, my resilience is slim to none, you theorize when your body moves before your mind does. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath traces your cupid’s bow. You close the distance enough that your lips graze each other until someone clears their throat from a few feet away.

Winona stands like a judgmental statue, thin brows raise expectantly. You, and Leon, jump away from each other. It rocks the counter with a loud clatter that echoes. 

“Agent Kennedy,” she acknowledges him first as a sign of respect. He nods back awkwardly. “You two look like you’re  enjoying yourselves.”

Neither of you talk for a moment and you find  yourself desperate to create any word that could explain what that was. Leon’s eyes dart around the room.

Finally, something solid comes to your tongue. “I’m sorry.”

And then she laughs in both of your faces. Her hand waves like it’s fanning your words away from getting inhaled. You and Leon glance at each other, brows knit in honest confusion.

“Kids,” she exhales. “Stop distracting my medic, Kennedy.”

Then he speaks, but it sounds more like a nervous cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

Winona shoos him with a gesture of her wrinkled hand and he musters a sheepish, apologetic smile for you as he hurries away from the tent. You don’t make much of an effort to move as you prepare your ego for the chew out it’s about to receive.

“And you. Try to keep the fraternization out of the tent.” With that, she continues past you to search through some files, snickering to herself and shaking her head.

You aren’t about to push your luck. You get to keep your job and ego intact, and that’s enough for you. So, you whisper a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” And go on with your day.

The encounter with Leon left you feverish and all tingly in every limb whenever it crossed your mind over the following days. You saw him out and about around the base, and during meals he offered you frail waves that faded in a breath. 

Truth was, you’re too afraid of rejection to ask him about that night—go figure. Maybe you’re a cliche. Maybe you’re both cliches. Who cares? Well, you do, and you thought the ruffled, pink-tinted expressions on Leon’s face whenever you crossed paths meant that he did, too, but neither of you made a move to approach the other. You questioned if you would rather be told that his only plans for you was a short work fling with no strings attached, or if he felt the connection that you did. A terrible predicament, really, and soon your desire for a straight answer outweighed the fear of hearing something you didn’t like. 

When you went to find him in the meal tent, sitting alone in one of the back corners, he wasn’t there. Okay. You waited, then decided to check the nooks and crannies of the base where you knew he hung around, and nothing. Leon vanished into thin air the moment you gathered enough courage to speak to him. Somehow you thought he read your mind and planned for this to happen, just to be able to tease you without being present. But that was simply ridiculous. He had to go to work, just like you had to do yours.

A week went by, then two; no sign of Leon’s reappearance cropped up and you began to worry you wouldn’t get the chance to speak to him at all. The only reminder that soothed you was the fact that you knew the organization was on the home stretch for completely wiping Umbrella’s power in Iceland. This reassured you for many reasons. Mainly, that you’d be able to sleep in your bed again at a proper time that didn’t leave you exhausted; but you also found comfort in the idea of finally getting a word with the blonde agent that clung to your brain like a disease once everything was over. 

Of course, you had fleeting thoughts that he died and you’d forever be left wondering about what could have been. But, that was just ridiculous—he’s Leon Kennedy, the agent that saved the president’s daughter from certain death. So, you chalked it up to your anxiety being built up as doubt about the succession of the mission began to be put to an end. That yes, you would all return home soon, and no nothing terrible and tragic would happen just as you were about to win.

Eventually, you all received the verdict of the mission. Success. The sun shone through the clouds brighter that day, in ribbons of gold that elevated all of your senses to something dreamlike. Another catastrophe prevented. More people saved—clockwork. To say you were pleased with the conclusion of your first ever out of country operation would be an understatement; you were ecstatic. 

Still, you find yourself fretting over that thing with Leon as you help pack up the equipment in the medical tent.

Winona, who has grown increasingly engrossed in your love life, gives you a knowing look when your lips tug downward and you send a pointed glance toward the entrance of the tent for the tenth time in the last hour. She tsks and shakes her head. It gains your attention. 

“Just talk to him,” she insists, shoving a couple boxes of bandaids into the case. She’s unimpressed with your antics and just wants you to get a move on. 

You sigh and preen your hair like he’ll walk in at any moment. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Hopeless,” she grumbles in response. “Hopeless. If you won’t do something about it, stop looking at the door like a kicked dog and help me.” Winona retreats further into the tent and you succumb enough to follow her.

You must glower the whole time because she won’t stop sending you dirty looks while she tapes the cardboard boxes with a tape gun. Her movements are threatening. You try to fix your expression when the line of spokes reflects off of the bright horizon outside the tent as it slices the tape.

After the innards of the tent are packed into a dozen or so boxes, you’re the person left to pick them up one by one and drop them off with the rest of the cargo that needs to be shipped. Your back is sore from the sorry excuses of beds you have and your arms ache from hours of cramming things. Kicking snow with each shuffled step, you heave out a lengthy sigh and pause to breathe. There’s a reason I’m not an agent.

“Need a hand?” Leon asks from behind you. You’re wondering how he’s always sneaking up on you.

Still, you nod and can’t help but be relieved. “Please.”

Like it’s filled with air, he takes the box from your hands and cocks a barely-there grin at your awed expression. Smug and content, he marches ahead with you in tow. You don’t really know what to say to him, if anything at all. 

You walk alongside him for the first time in the daylight, and you take in his features now that they aren’t muddled in the darkened firelight or blurred by distance. He’s chiseled, sunken cheeks and high cheekbones with that intense look on in his eyes—but there’s something else—boyish, is what you think. Soft jaw. Moles and freckles litter themselves across his face. 

Leon is beautiful and you would like to kiss him right now.

He stops at the drop off point, places the box next to the others and turns to you. Suddenly, he looks nervous and you feel some resolve escape your mind. He’s about to ask you something. He opens his mouth, rosy lips parting and you break—you pull him behind a tall stack of boxes and kiss him.

The collar of his jacket is clutched between your fingers in a moment and your lips are on his; the fur tickles your skin. His lips are chapped and cold but you create warmth within him, you could be a summer’s day in this frigid air. His hands come to your waist, then your hips and his fingertips make indents when he holds you tight like this was always supposed to happen. When you part, you’re both breathless.

He searches for his words again, the question he was going to ask. “Would you—dinner? On me.”

You hum in faux thought and peck him on the lips again, then again, and a third time for good measure. He smiles into the last one.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t start that by saying you stubbed your toe and needed my help.”

Leon chuckles. “I thought about it.”

He pulls you in again, tongue grazing your bottom lip. You lean in further, desperate for connection until you both go slipping like baby deer. The thin layer of snow on the ground left everything icy. He tumbles into some supplies and you land on top of him. You’re both laughing into each other’s mouths. You’re both happy.

You chime together, like clockwork.

[marksmelodies]

how nct dream would react during arguments

warnings: jenos part mentions sex

mark

i feel like mark is the type to need space during a heated argument, he needs to think about what to say before he says it, he needs to calm himself down before the starts saying things that he doesn’t mean, it would take a lot to get mark REALLY angry, he seems like a pretty easy going boyfriend, he doesn’t get angry easily he’s very patient, so fights are not very common between the two of you, when the tension dies down and you’ve both had time to reflect he would approach you in a calm manner apologizing for his actions, mark would come up with ways to avoid arguing like this again in the future

renjun

i feel like renjun is petty, all maturity goes out the window when you two fight, lots of cussing and slamming doors, saying “ i hate yous” even though you both never actually mean it. i feel like he could also be the type to give you the silent treatment, even when you are done being angry and ready to make up, renjun on the other hand is not, i feel like he could hold a grudge, but eventually he would come around and realize that he messed up, renjun doesn’t have a problem with apologizing first, it may take him longer than you to realize that he’s in the wrong but when he does he makes sure to give you a proper apology

jeno

it goes one of two ways. either he gets MAD or he sulks, there’s no in between, it depends on the topic of argument really, jeno can be jealous and possessive so when it comes to those tendencies or something else along those lines he gets really angry, he raises his voice and but never gets physically angry, if the argument is less serious he’ll get all sulky and frown at you, unlike renjun arguments with him are very short lasting, he’s very quick to realize when he’s in the wrong and instantly apologizes, his apologies usually end with you two having sex

haechan

he gets more annoyed than mad, there’s not a ton of times he gets angry with you, usually he’ll sulk or complain but he doesn’t get visibly angry, the few times he did he absolutely hated it, he hates the look on your face when he gets angry at you, he hates raising his voice at you, he hates seeing you cry, if theres a issue haechan uses communication instead of getting quick to anger he’ll sit down and talk to you about it, although he is the funny goofy member, haechan seems extremely mature when it comes to emotions and is able to handle altercations in a calm manner, he will apologize as he cuddles you and plays with your hair

jaemin

jaemin is a very understanding boyfriend, hes gentle and sweet, but there are times that jaemin gets angry just like everyone else. arguments aren’t a usual occurrence in your relationship but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen, jaemin will distance himself when he’s angry, he has trouble opening up about it his feelings, he bottles up them up and eventually breaks, he doesn’t yell often usually he keeps a more quiet and stern tone while he’s angry, maybe some tears are shed due to frustration, but at the end of it, it always ends in a big hug and apologizing to eachother with endless “ i love yous”

chenle

like renjun i feel like chenle is petty, chenle is stubborn so talking to him when he’s mad is like talking to a wall. he has a short fuse, it doesn’t take a lot to make him angry, i feel like he would give the silent treatment until you bother him enough that he snaps. chenle is infamous for scoffing during your arguments, chenle is loud so naturally he raises his voice, he would get frustrated easily, chenle is the type to follow you as you try to distance yourself from the conversation

“where are you going huh? we’re not done here”

chenle has a hard time apologizing first, eventually he’ll push his stubbornness aside and apologize, sometimes it’s a half ass apology that leads to another fight but chenle will try his hardest to make it up to you

jisung

jisung completely shuts down during arguments, he stops talking, he just stares off into the distance as your voice echoes through the room,

“ i know im an awful boyfriend, im the worst, you deserve someone better than me”

jisung doesn’t try to fight back or share his side, he just lets it happen which makes the situation worse, it feels as if he doesn’t care enough to put any effort into solving problems within your relationship, he snaps out of it when he hears your sniffles along with the tears streaming down your face, he walks over to you and embraces you into a hug, he apologizes quickly sometimes he’ll apologize for things that aren’t his fault and that’s something he needs to work on, when you calm down jisung will eventually talk it out with you instead of shutting everything down, your arguments always end with his head on your chest as you rub his back forgetting about what the argument was even about

[thenightwolf51]

So i originally had this idea when i reblogged this post by @saphushia but i wanna just seperate it out as its own little prompt.

A quick context is that Danny seems to be roaming around Gotham like some homeless cryptid, kinda Bus to Nowhere style but with more vigilante interaction and casual offerings of first aid. And the batkids are keeping their adoption bait First Aid Cryptid(tm) secret from Batman.

One set of tags in the reblogs from @little-pondhead caught my attention

I came up with both funny answers and an angsty answer for that "#why?" but here's the angsty one (though i promice i actually envision it to be more hurt/comfort with a lot of family fluff)

Actual Prompt⬇️⬇️

Something happens, maybe a reveal gone wrong, maybe he got capture by the GIW, maybe he lost Jazz and his parents somehow.

Whatever it is, it leaves Danny with a need to escaped to a new dimension which just so happens to end up being the DCU. He winds up in Gotham and is just trying to start over, easier said than done but at there's plenty of heros around so he doesn't need to go ghost and he can still patch up the local vigilantes to feed his obsession. He's just not up to being Phantom yet and he's still recovering from whatever happened in Amity, whether it be mentally or physically.

Plus these vigilantes are kinda fun to mess with. Danny can practically see the gears turning as they try to put together and make sense of his little "lore drops", that Red Robin almost reminds him of Wes in a way.

Its not like he really needs to hide anyways. There's no GIW here, no Anti-Ecto Acts, if it really comes down to it he could probably pass as meta and fall under those protection laws. Judging by Signal, Danny's pretty sure Batman's bluffing on the whole "hating metas" thing anyways.

It takes awhile before Danny actually does meet the big bat himself and the reaction he gets is nothing anyone was expecting.

You see theres one little detail danny couldn't have been warned about, and its that there just so happens to be a version of Jazz here.

Except this Jazz lost her Danny when they were in high school, as in full on dead and gone Danny, no halfas here, the portal simply did not work and it was just regular ole lethal electrocution that hit her little brother.

What if she grew up with a young Bruce somehow, whether it be because CPS took her from the Fentons after her Danny's death or Amity Park simply doesn't exist in the DCU making Gotham the city with the thinnest veil and thus where the Fenton's chose to settle down.

This Jazz is an adult in her 40s but was once a kid smart enough to go to Gotham Academy on scholarship (or maybe the Fenton's had enough money from patents?). A kid who took one look at young Bruce's grumpy little face and decided he needed a honest friend, one that wasn't after status or money.

This Jazz grew up being a secondary voice of reason for Bruce, ganging up with Alfred in their own crusade to enforce healthy habits on him in between their weekly tea sessions.

This Jazz lost her brother and could not only understand Bruce's resoning on a minor level but encouraged his planned "journey of self discovery and healing". (Though the bat costume he made when he came back was unexpected and she gave him a look to rival Alfred for it)

This Jazz grew up to be a social worker because if anyone had cared enough to take her away from the Fenton's sooner then her brother might've still been alive

This Jazz being the one Bruce calls when he first gets Dick because holy shit he has no idea what hes doing and "Jazz, i just became a father, help!"

This Jazz being a sort of aunt to all the Batkids and is a major influence that has led to their dynamics being similar to Wayne Family Adventures

Bruce goes pale and later calls Jazz after he finally gets a glimps/meets the so called "First Aid Cryptid" his kids have been obsessed with. Because this kid that he's looking at with the barely visible lichtenberg scars... that's a face he hasn't seen in little over 20 years, that's his old friend's long dead baby brother.

Bruce sees danny and his mind rapidly jumps to all sorts of possibilities. Is this a clone? Is this a trap? Are the Lazarus pits involved somehow? Time travel? He does consider a ghost but this kid is too solid and they're nowhere near the old dilapidated Fenton Works building

Eventually, down the line when they get the full story of Danny being from an alternate dimension, Jazz might try to adopt him. Which has potential to be unhealthy but i fully believe Jazz would be aware enough not to project her decades old grief on this Danny, who is so similar but so different to her brother.

(Because I think a Gotham raised Danny would've been similar to a young Jason in street smarts so this Amity raised Danny is noticeably different)

Danny on the other hand... not sure if i could say the same, especially if he just lost his Jazz before winding up in the DCU. But again, this is an adult Jazz in her late 40s with professional experience dealing with traumatized kids, and she'll do her best to help him through it

Im imagining Jazz and Bruce to have a more platonic friendship, maybe even see each other as family, but you could go with Parent Syndrome if you want

(And because i love to see other peoples ideas and opinions, @omnicrafts @ailithnight @atiyasnake @hdgnj @nelkcats @nerdpoe @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @dcxdpdabbles. Sorry i tag you guys so much but i like your writing, im eager to offer ideas, and your posts have been major sources of joy while ive been hyperfixating on DPxDC)

[jeongintwenty3]

16.25

pairing: bangchan x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of tears, sadness

author’s note: hello! how’s everyone doing? decided to write this hurt/comfort imagine of chan cause i just cannot accept the fact theres only one chan in the world. pardon for my poor grammar and mispellings if present, other than that, happy reading! <3 remember, it’s just a bad day, not a bad life; it shall pass to. my dms are open if anyone wants to talk ab anything (:

————————————————————————

nobody said marriage life was easy. the day you said yes, the both of you were expecting the ups and downs, the happiness and sadness.

“i’m home!” chris exclaimed as soon as he stepped into the house, one of the few places the both of you feel comfortable enough to call home.

silence from the other side, he was baffled. confused was an understatement, why isn’t his wife scrambling to his arms? you’d usually greet him in ragged breaths, as if you’ve just completed a marathon.

going up, unsettling thoughts clouded his mind. although he knew deep down it will never happen, everyone’s gotta prepare for the worst, right?

wrong.

opening the bedroom door oh so quietly, he managed to make out your figure huddled under the thick comforter. oh, you’re sleeping.

but it’s just 4 in the afternoon?

deciding to kneel so he could be at eye level with you, he froze upon the sight.

chris felt his heart shatter as the seconds passed by, this is never a sight he wants to come home to. why is his favorite person in the world crying?

you’d be lying if you didn’t notice chris entering the room; you tried to play it off by pretending to sleep. but boy, did chris see through you.

he shook you gently, not wanting to invade any further into your personal space. looking up at his pretty eyes, your tears started to well up for the 3rd time this afternoon.

“oh no,” chris started to panic. “what’s wrong babe, hmm? talk to me,” he tried to coax you into reaching out to him.

you covered your face with your 2 hands, not wanting the man that stood beside you see the woman he married.

if chris had to list the top 10 most heartbreaking sights he’s ever encountered in his life, this will be the first. never in his life, he saw you this vulnerable. you always had this strong facade; but even strong people can crumble too. they just decide to not show it.

sitting on the edge of the bed, he guided you onto his lap; he knew, his woman needed his physical affection to ground her.

while patting your head with a few kisses to your temple peppered here and there, he tried to keep his guard up; as much as he wants to cry too, he needs to be strong for his one and only. silently praying the pain in her heart will subside soon, he continued his loving acts.

“deep breaths baby, you can do it,” chris whispered, ensuring the person cradled in his arms is still getting sufficient oxygen. “i’m here now okay? you can rely on me, you can talk about it, you have me,” chris continued, not wanting to aggravate any painful memories.

“i- i’m sorry,” you managed to blurt out while trying to keep your shit together. you knew he was exhausted, visible from the eyebags and the way his shoulders sag. “i know you’re tired, i’m sorry you had to come home to whatever this is,” you continued. “i’ll be better.”

chris wanted to explode; who the hell made his wife feel like this? she’s everything he’s ever dreamt of; kind-hearted, a little clumsy, very dreamy, independent, smart, adora-

his train of thoughts were cut short when he hears your crying started to worsen.

“no,” chris said firmly while still holding your frame. “you, my love, are the definition of an angel. now, before your thoughts get the best of you, let me explain.”

hearing no response from his woman, he let out a small okay, to make sure you were fine with whatever he said and will say — which you were.

“who isn’t tired? we all have our own problems, some we can fight alone, some we need others to help. whatever you’re thinking now, it’s all the exact opposite of what i think of you. you’re perfect, and before you start with your nobody is perfect speech, to me, you are perfect. heck, i often ponder to myself, what did i do in my past life to deserve such a woman?”

responding to what he said, you simply held him tighter and buried your face in his neck. now only hearing sniffles, chris felt relieved you’ve calmed down.

chris had to get to the bottom of this — “is there something you want to tell me?”

after a good 2 minutes, you lifted your face so you could stare into his face and man, nothing ever prepared chris for what his love was about to say next.

“this morning, i went to my pilates class as usual. there were these group of women, i don’t know them at all since they’re new,” you paused, needing a breathe because you felt your throat closing up again.

with a nudge to your side and a kiss to your forehead, chris encouraged you to continue.

“i heard them talking about how they were able to travel around the world with their partners, having the time of their lives, while i’m rarely at home for lengthy times due to work. it’s not that i want to stay away from you, if i could choose i swear i’d choose spending time with you over anything else in the world. i’m sorry, i’ll be home longer, i’ll make you happier.”

a single tear rolled down your cheek, and at the speed of lightning, chris managed to kiss it away.

looking into her eyes with so much adoration one can ever have, chris replied, “you’re enough for me, baby. we have holidays where we can spend time with each other 24/7 and we communicate with each other pretty well. you make me the happiest man alive and don’t change yourself; you’re perfect just the way you are. i understand your feelings, but please don’t ever underestimate yourself, you’re literally my favorite person in the world and i don’t like the person i love the most get hurt because of her thoughts, okay?”

resorting to a nod to respond to his answer, chris felt his heart swell looking at his wife. someone so selfless, she even let her thoughts get the best of her.

“like we agreed, let’s talk about whatever’s bothering each other yeah? no secrets between us, i know you trust me as much as i trust you,” chris concluded, not wanting another wave of sadness wash over his beloved.

“i love you, chris,” you whispered as to not ruin the comfortable atmosphere blanketing the room.

“i love you most, my beautiful wife,” chris replied, with a kiss to your forehead, cheeks, nose and lips.

nobody said marriage life was easy. but one thing you learned was, it’s always the two of you versus the problem, and with the right person, marriage life can feel comforting, like hot chocolate on a snowy day. with chris, you always felt at home.

[olinblogin]

Can you write clown!child!reader that plays silly innocent pranks and honks whenever they're really happy? I prefer if you made some headcanons/one shot with Kaufmo or Jax, if you want to add more characters then be my guest! Believe me, I don't mind at all lol

Ohhh I’ve been waiting for a clown reader tbf!

In the long run I don’t know to much abt Kaufmo bc duh he literally abstracted in the pilot— so please take my limited info about him with a pinch of salt

This one is gonna be relatively short because I don’t have much to work on plot wise since only the pilot of the show is out

(Theres no normal Kaufmo gifs so here 💀)

(WARNINGS - CHILD!READER, SLIGHT ANGST AT THE END)

When you’d first arrived, a lot were shocked to see you didn’t freak out like most would when first entering the Amazing Digital Circus.

In fact, you were quite ecstatic.

They were all shocked to see a child of all to be transported into the Circus. But you adapted quickly to your surroundings, even becoming comfortable with everyone, especially Kaufmo.

You spent most your time with Kaufmo, actually. You both took the form of clowns in a way, so it was bound that you two would get along.

To you he was almost like an older brother, always scolding you when you’d play little pranks on your friends. Some harmless, some a little less harmless.

Like the time you glued Caine’s staff to the floor.

Usually when you wanted to play pranks you’d go to Jax for help carrying them out, seeing as you’re the smallest of the group you had a hard time doing things as easily as the others did.

It was so fun all the time, every time you’d get caught doing your pranks you’d squeeze your little nose and make a honking sound as you dashed away.

Then, there was a new member, Pomni.

She was a jester of sorts… but oh, so jumpy. You tried greeting her with Ragatha, only for her to break out into a string of curses—which despite censored by Caine—Ragatha still covered your ears.

Eventually Ragatha was down on your level, “hey, sweetie? Can you do me a small favor?” She asked softly, to which you tilted your head in response, as you didn’t often talk so you used body language instead. “Please don’t play any pranks on Pomni, okay? She’s really jumpy and she might get hurt if you do.” You put a finger on your mouth in consideration, nodding happily.

“Thanks, sweetie. Go have fun, Caine is making us play capture the Gloinks again, I know that’s your favorite.” With that you zipped off and chased around the little shapes, while Ragatha took Pomni on a little tour with Jax.

You played the game for a while until you stumbled across the hallway of rooms, where some faces were crossed off with a big red ‘X’ for a reason you didn’t know, nor would you understand.

You were searching high and low for those little Gloinks but.. you soon came across Kaufmo’s door, it was wide open with signs of struggle being visible.

You peered into his room, he was no where to be found. You now had a new objective from the game, to find Kaufmo.

You searched everywhere, you even managed to get out of the circus to look for him.

But no matter your efforts you just couldn’t find him at all… soon, Caine caught you outside of the circus and brought you back, all of the group together, save for Kaufmo.

You made your way over to Ragatha, tugging her skirt, “Ragatha, where’s Kaufmo?” You asked in your quiet voice. Ragatha couldn’t bring herself to say it, only looking away in a guilty manner.

“What happened to him.. where’s Kaufmo?”

[dani-says-stuff]

The Art of Distraction

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

❥ Back to the Control Center

❥ Nate Hardy Masterlist

- couldn't wait to bulk post, i'm actually pretty proud of this one

- i didn't end up using the exact line/prompt in the request because it didnt really fit, but it's similar enough for the point to get across

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Nate Hardy x fem!reader

Summary: Based on this request

i tried lol, i dont know if it's as spicy as you were hoping it to be, but i packed it with extra stuff just incase that part came out super cringy.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: cringe, suggestive(?), mentions of a haunting that i completely made up for background, very very loosely based on the witch's forest video, inconsistent capitalization, my usual grammar warning... i dont think theres anything bad in here but to be honest i cant really remember

Dialogue Key: Probably dont even need this, but just for consistancy

Y/N

Nate

couldnt really find a great gif for this fic, but i think its funny so im dropping it here.

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

It had been a few hours since you had returned home and you'd yet to stop shaking. You'd been on investigations with Nate and the boys in the past, but this one in particular threw you way more than you thought it would. 

For the entire car ride back home, the events wouldn't stop rapidly flicking through your mind. Nate's arm resting on the console and his hand softly placed on your thigh did little to ground you as it normally did. The thought of reaching down and intertwining your fingers as you'd done many times before didn't even come to mind, your hands too busy picking at your sleeves to do anything else. 

Dark midnight skies barely visible through clusters of twisted curling tree branches. 

Thick wooden trunks placed around you like a maze, they all looked the same no matter which direction you went. 

Dry dirt and bits of gravel kicking up in clouds behind you, scraping up the backs of your legs from the speed at which you were running. 

Branches strewn across the overgrown path splitting and cracking loudly beneath your feet. 

Your throat, raw from screaming out to the boys. 

Your heartbeat, deafening in your ears. 

Nate's one-sided conversation through the duration of the ride back barely made its way to your ears, it felt like you were underwater or your ears were stuffed with cotton.

The only thing you could hear clearly was the memory of your own panicked screams earlier that night. 

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

It had started just as any other investigation had, and for the first time in a while, it wasn't happening in a building. 

The first half of the video held a strangely nostalgic vibe. In the days of a better quality Sam and Colby channel, where they were now able to book the big shot hauntings and go to different countries with loads of equipment, would sit a small video similar to those of their early days.

They were once again investigating an area that wasn't highly publicized, the only ones to know of it being the eager locals with decades of ghost stories to share. 

It was said that there was a witch who lived deep within the forest many centuries ago. She dwelled in a quaint cottage where she would practice her spells and hexes... or at least that's how the villagers of the time saw her.

It didn't matter that the woman was in the woods alone because her family had all perished from sickness.

It didn't matter that she was cooking up the same herbal home remedies as everyone else.

When the drought came and wiped out the village crops but the witch's garden in the woods flourished due to the untouched aquifer beneath her land, they were furious.

It was said that they marched upon her house late one night, torches and pitchforks held high, enraged at the witch in the woods. They yelled, taunting her to emerge so they could take her into the small town square. When she refused, they tossed their torches at the structure, laughter overpowering the screams of the woman inside as the house was engulfed in flame. 

It was thought to be an old wives tale, the witch deep in the woods brooding silently as she worked on enchantments was hardly anything new. It was simply a story passed down from parent to child in hopes of keeping the energetic children from venturing off too far on their own. 

But then they started finding things.

The ruins of a small house, a foundation of stone left behind in the middle of the forest.

Old, hand-made historic brick, placed in a careful circle like the makings of a well.

The bones found throughout the property, most likely scattered by animals and winds over time.

With the influx of people from the small town once again venturing into the forest, it was only natural that the witch would awaken. 

So, you all ventured into the woods with no more than a flashlight each, a spirit box, and a REM pod to see if you would be able to communicate with the spirit of the witch that haunted the woods.

When the sun set was when everything went wrong.

The REM pod began going off rapidly, pointing in every direction, no clear responses being drawn from the item. The spirit box chirped to life despite never being turned on, spouting one word.

Run. 

Branches cracked from close behind you, startling your group of four to do exactly that. 

You made it a few feet when you tripped over something cold and solid, just tall enough to catch the end of your shoe as you ran. Your flashlight tumbled from your hand, rolling across the ground to show two very terrifying things. 

One, the lack of the three boys running along behind you, meaning that you had managed to run off in a different direction than they had. You were now completely alone in the forest that was difficult to navigate in a group. 

Two, a short stone wall standing before you, encapsulating the leafy floor you were splayed across. You had managed to run straight into the remains of the cottage. 

If matters couldn't get any worse, the very thing commonly experienced by those who ventured to this area happened to you. It was said that if you ventured onto her land, the witch would drain the power of your devices and most often—the batteries of your flashlights.

Any sort of light brought near the ruins in the dead of night would be promptly snuffed out, assumingly because of the tragedy that occurred the last time beacons of light were brought to the location. 

Your flashlight began to flicker. 

Once.

Twice. 

And then the light was gone, submerging you completely in the stale darkness of night. 

Everything after that was a blur, all you could comprehend were the quick flashes terrorizing your mind. 

Dark midnight skies.

Clusters of twisted tree branches. 

A wooden maze of towering trees. 

Dry dirt and bits of gravel stinging your legs. 

Burning muscles. 

Overgrown paths.

Panicked screams of both you and Nate as you scrambled blindly through the wood. 

Your heartbeat pounding in your head.

Just as it felt like you were running aimlessly then, you felt as if you could make no progress now. 

No matter how far you ran—no matter how much time had passed—you stayed terrified. 

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Both bedside lamps were on as you burrowed yourself under countless layers of blankets and sheets, your body curled in a tight ball. After all, if your blankets are covering you, the monster under the bed doesn't know you are there.

All that peaked out from the fluffy mass on the bed were your eyes, gaze solely focused on the Disney movie you'd turned on moments before, proving to yourself that witches aren't really as scary as they appear.

Good always wins and bad things can't reach you. 

Nate entered the room about fifteen minutes into your movie, hair still damp from the shower and one of your favorite shirts of his draped over his shoulders. It was an old T-shirt from who knows how long ago, but it was soft from wear and one of the most comforting things in the world to have pressed against your skin when he pulled you into his chest at night. 

His eyebrows furrowed at your eyes, wide and alert, quickly darting to him when he entered the bedroom, "Babe?" he spoke softly, slowly approaching and kneeling down by the bedside, fishing for your hand beneath the blankets, "Are you ok?" 

His eyes were sincere and brimming with worry as he looked upon you, gaze scanning over what he could see of you, assessing any damage that may have occurred in the brief time he left you alone.

You nodded slowly, eyes abandoning the movie and choosing to find solace in him instead. 

Once deeming you in no worse condition than he left you in, his head moved finally noticing the laptop perched on the mattress and the movie that previously held your attention playing out on the screen. 

A teasing smirk graced his features, "Really?"

Heat rose to your cheeks and you somehow managed to descend deeper into your cocoon. Your words were muffled by the comforter blocking the lower half of your face, "I needed to get my mind off of it." Nate laughed quietly at your explanation making you double down out of embarrassment, "I needed something to distract me so I could sleep." 

"A Disney movie?" he spoke, equal parts teasing and condescending. 

"What?" you whined rolling your eyes at him, "It always worked when I was younger." 

He hummed, standing up and plucking the laptop from the bed, quickly shutting it off and placing it to the side despite your protests. 

"Well," Nate spoke, waggling his eyebrows at you a few times in order to get you to laugh, "now you don't need 'em."  

You raised a single eyebrow, scanning him skeptically, "Why's that?" 

"Because," he trailed off, leaning to press a loving kiss to your forehead, "I'm going to be the best damn distraction you've ever seen."

"Oh really?" 

He hummed again, pressing a kiss to your nose.

You tilted your head slightly to the side with wide puppy dog eyes staring up at him, not quite getting what he was implying, "And how exactly are you going to do that?" 

Nate pulled the covers down to your chin with a soft, lovesick smile, "Like this." he whispered, finally placing a kiss on your lips. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, a warmth flooding your body unlike the one gained from the blankets. This was a warmth that came from the innermost parts of your soul, igniting each and every nerve, setting them on fire. 

He slowly peeled back the blankets to reveal your form, arms covered with goosebumps from the stark temperature difference flew up to wrap around his neck the second they were released, fingers sinking into his hair. His own arms swiftly moved around your waist, pulling your bodies even closer as he moved onto the bed hovering over you, never once daring to break the kiss. 

The only time his lips left yours where when they moved to trace your jawline and trail down your neck leaving you breathless. 

He moved across your skin, leaving a tapestry of red and purple in his wake, painting your skin the same colors as the fireworks dancing behind your eyelids. With your mind focused on him, there was no room to think of anything else, he moved in a way that you couldn't fathom wanting to think of anything else. 

His hands dipped lower and lower, teasing beneath the hemming of your sleepshirt and caressing your warm skin.

He leaned back, removing his lips from you after what felt like hours, pupils blown wide and a loving, lustful haze clouding over his eyes. 

The only reason he parted was to drag the shirt up off your body with his own quickly following suit to be thrown blindly into a corner, lips hungrily returning to your own the minute the barrier was gone. 

He held your attention fully until the sun breached the horizon line, chasing the moon and darkness of night away as it found its rightful place up in the sky. The night was over, any thoughts you had of terrible twisting branches and evil witches dissolved in the light of morning—at least the ones that hadn't been valiantly chased away by your very own knight in shining armor. 

You lay in bed beneath the single bedsheet, head resting against Nate's chest as he absentmidedly traced shapes across your back, humming a random melody as he did so. The warm light of day breaching through the cracks of the drawn curtains, bathing your tangled limbs in soft gold. 

He was right, you didn't need to distract yourself with the technicolor animations of your childhood. You didn't need to dull your senses with endless hours of princes and princesses saving the day anymore. 

Not when you had your very own fairytale sitting right in front of you, ready and waiting to do whatever it takes to give you your happy ending. 

With that thought and a sweet smile gracing your lips you closed your eyes, finally able to get some sleep. 

[sukunasweetheart]

AU where sukuna is a surgeon...but its modern fantasy!

The build up to this whole thing is quite lengthy, but please hold on!! no warnings; fluff and romance :> gn!reader

Can you imagine it?? That murderous man as a doctor, out of all occupations?? Because 😁 i can.

Famous as the four armed heart surgeon, this man, despite his big and rather burly appearance, has absolute precision with his scalpel and needles! And of course with the doubled limbs, his surgeries end much quicker, too.

Magic in this world has various side effects, so most people- well, beings, much prefer getting fixed physically rather than utilising other healing methods. (And so of course, theres a limit to Sukuna's precision when it comes to smaller bodies - he only operates on those he deems suitable.)

Dr. Sukuna has remarkable influence on the hospital he works at, and therefore he's gained the authority to pick and choose his patients. He’s appeared in many renowned medical journals, articles, and even a couple of interviews.

Likes to show up to work with a formal, but snazzy outfit - he is proud of his fashion sense and often buys many clothes from the best brands. Of course, he is rich enough to pay for the specific tailoring he needs for his second pair of arms.

Dr. Sukuna lives a good, comfortable life. For the most part.

He often sees the families of his patients gathering round to listen to the happy or unfortunate news he delivers. They smile together, and/or weep together.

Sukuna is a lonely man. He has no family, no lover, no close friends. Only acquaintances. He’d focused on getting to the top for so long, he’d neglected his personal connections with others. Though, that isn’t to say he’s sad about it all the time.

He enjoys his own company, being by himself, reading, cooking, exercising, and archery. Being alone is comfortable, since you don’t have to worry about anyone else but yourself. But in the back of his mind, he’s always open to having a cute partner to come home to, after work. But the more he looks, the more it seems like there is no one who he can fancy wholeheartedly.

Putting his introduction to the side now... one night, he’s looking through his large closet to find the suit he’s planning on wearing to the interview he has tomorrow...only to find that there is quite a noticeable tear on one of the sleeves. When did that happen?? He has no idea.

Sukuna’s a bit of a stubborn man, he could’ve just decided to wear a different suit for the interview, but he was set on wearing that particular one. He doesn’t like having his personal plans foiled like that. Even though he knows suits tend to take quite a while to mend.

It’s 7pm in the evening, and he’s sure that there’s no place still open for mending clothes - yet he scours the net in search for one nearby. Lo and behold, there actually is one. It’s a ten minute drive away from his place but there seems to be a bit of an additional walking time that comes with it. He doesn’t really know what overcame him, but he felt the need to give it a go.

Where he ends up at is a rather cute looking shop. The singular window has some light peeking through, and the flowery sign on the door says ‘open’. It’s located in a spot that’s terrible for business, obscurely tucked away in the streets and not very visible to the public. Sukuna wonders how the owner gets any visitors at all. Maybe they don’t.

When he steps in, the inside reveals to be even cosier than what it looks externally. Not very spacious, but it’s clean and tidy with pastel yellow walls, and a nice scent floating about inside. The bells at the top of the door chime softly as he enters.

Three boxes are checked off inside of his head. Cute shop, cute decoration, and a cute owner. You look up from your little sewing project, and give a small ‘hello’. Darn, that little miniature hat you’re making is cute, too.

Sukuna clears his throat, and asks if you’re available to mend his suit for him. It’s high quality, so he’s not sure if you can manage to be completely honest, but to his surprise, you accept it after inspecting the tear for a few seconds.

“It’ll take around fifteen minutes. Please feel free to take a seat.” You gesture towards the line of chairs that all sit in a row against the wall with a smile. Only fifteen minutes? He thinks, while taking a seat.

Once you’re done, he inspects your work and is pleasantly shocked to see how perfect and seamlessly mended his sleeve was. You explain that you mix a bit of magic into your techniques, therefore having the ability to fix any sort of ruined clothing. Truly a friend of fabric.

You ask him if he’d like for it to be ironed as well while you are at it. Upon his verbal acceptance, you take it out of his hands once again, to get to your ironing board. Movement languid yet skilled, he can strongly sense that you like what you do. And you’re pretty good at it, too.

Once he’s paid for the mending and ironing cost, Sukuna is on his merry way out - feeling lucky that he happened to find someone who could fix his precious suit jacket, good as new.

“Please come again!” Your voice rings out.

And from then on, Sukuna becomes another one of your regulars at your cosy little shop.

Very slowly, the grumpy doctor who gets not so grumpy when he’s around you - gets to know you better, and vice versa. And at some point, he just starts to visit the place to relax rather than as a customer in his free time. Good for the soul after a day of treating many patients. He drinks whatever you brew him - from your small stash of instant coffees and tea bags that you have in your shop.

There’s just nice chatter between you and him, sometimes banter, and other times a bit of flirting.

One might think that he may be being a nuisance to the business, but you don’t mind his company at all. Not many customers visit in a day, and sometimes it gets too quiet for your liking in the evenings. People often only drop their clothes off, before leaving to collect it later.

Sukuna though, he stays while you work. At first you might’ve thought it was because he didn’t trust you too much with his pricey suits, but now you have a lurking suspicion it may be because of something else.

He confirms it to be true, when he eventually and sheepishly asks you out on a date, on a Friday night. It comes out naturally with a smooth “Are you free this weekend?” and you say yes without thinking. The first date is typical; a nice movie, then a nice dinner - and finally, a nice kiss at the very end before he drops you off. To make it official. (He snuck in a little ‘I like you’ in there too, don’t you worry.)

The heart surgeon desperately needs someone to look at his heart now, from the way it beats so hard and loud when he’s with you. Looks like he’s fulfilled his dull love life by having someone as wonderful as you stuck to his side.

Some extras on this AU;

The other regulars for reader’s shop would be some of the jjk cast

i can picture the fushiguro family, nanami, utahime and higuruma all being consistent customers

itadori family gets introduced to the shop by the fushiguros 🤭

later on, megumi begins to work part time for you

i think he’d like the quiet there, and he’d be a nice support for you since he’s reliable yk? he kind of insisted he wanted to, saying he doesn’t mind not being paid a lot

however, is slightly irritated by sukunas presence because he takes away a bit of that nice quiet megumi likes,, making noise by being busy flirting with you haha

since its still a fantasy au, everyone is non human in some way

what way specifically, i haven’t really figured out lmaoo probably human-animal hybrid-ish maybe for some characters, even tho thats a bit cliche

you do end up moving in with sukuna after a while

picture the size difference in belongings,, it’d be so cute ! his and your mugs sitting side by side omg 

the whole size difference thing would be kind of difficult to live with if he was too big, so im thinking of a more moderate build for sukuna in this au tho

sukuna introduces a number of his acquaintances to your shop and you get a bit busier with more customers

his acquaintances being ones from the hospital

gojo and getou, probably? gojo is the ceo of the hospital - values sukuna bc he brings the hospital a lot of money with his skills

and getou is probably another skilled surgeon too

sukuna will most likely regret it later because now he has less time to have you all to himself!! youre occupied with other people

what does it matter tho, at the end of the day hes the one taking you home

thats it for now <3 maybe i will make a oneshot based off this later

tagging ; @ry0chann @skunaskitten @sukunastoy @yuujispinkhair 

[searxws]

WAITING, IN THE SKY ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

pt.2

pairing: jason carver x reader

summary: y/n was on the cheer squad, so, by association she was close friends with jason. the boy cared for her more than he let on, meaning he would do anything to protect her. so what happens when y/n is cursed by vecna? will jason believe her?

warnings: lowercase intended. chrissy never dated jason in this fic bc i genuinely dk how to write that? jason isn't an ass in this and can actually let people speak.

STARMAN, BY DAVID BOWIE, that was all y/n heard as she sat in the backseat of steves car. that and the light lull of the cars engine. on her left sat max, who's other side was occupied by lucas. currently, the group was driving mile by mile to reach reefer ricks boat house, as they had food and updates for eddie. y/n was on edge to say the least, along with the rest of the group. y/n and max had fallen under vecnas curse, and today happened to be the day y/n was supposed to go.

max had said she needed to stop at her trailer to grab a few more tapes, so steve changed the cars direction and made a slight detour to the trailer park. when they arrived, y/n protested getting out of the car but the group made her. the girl resided infront of max' doorstep, not really wanting to step on, while the rest moved inside the trailer. y/n scoped out the trailer park, looking at all the homes. suddenly, she heard a voice from behind her, she lifted one side of the headphones off her ear and turned around, there she saw jason, along with andy. she connected that jason was the one who called her name.

"hi." she said, slightly quirking her hand at the boys.

"hi.. why are you at the trailer park..?" said jason, walking towards the girl.

"oh uhh, im waiting for max, she was just grabbing something." she responded.

the girl felt minorly odd standing in front of jason, as he remained n his letterman jacket, while she stood in a sweater and jeans, different from her usual attire.

"right.. well have you seen eddie anywhere? i know some kids in your crowd run with him." jason said. the girl could tell he was slightly distressed. probably over the death of their friend chrissy, who had passed away after being struck by vecnas curse.

"no, im sorry. why?" she asked, she had seen him. but she wouldn't tell him that. he and andy were ruthlessly hunting for eddie, as lucas told her.

"what do you mean why? that freak killed chrissy, n/n. haven't you heard?" jason said in an accusatory tone.

at that point, andy had turned around, now looking at the land that was the trailer park. y/n slightly tugged on jasons arm, bringing him closer to her.

"jason, i really need you to believe me when i say, eddie didnt kill chrissy." she said in a quiet tone, as to not let andy hear her.

"oh, so what you're like that little snake sinclair now? what, did you join eddies cult or something?" jason said snidely. he truthfully wanted to believe the girl, but the excuse that a demon had gotten chrissy, just didn't sit right with him.

"please jason. i know it sounds insane. but really, chrissy was my friend, do you think i'd be here, saying this, if i didn't truly believe eddie was innocent?" she pleaded, she really wanted jason to believe her. she didn't want to loose another friend, especially not the boy she considered closest to her. "theres a lot going on here that you don't know about." she added.

"so then make me understand, y/n. please. i really want to believe you. i don't want to lose you to this. but i really don't understand." he begged. he yearned for the knowledge of the situation. he pleaded to know the truth.

"it's really unbelievable.. i know but-" y/n was cut off but the group coming out of max' trailer, almost crashing into her.

"shit, sorry y/n" said steve, whom had opened the door.

all of the sudden, the group had noticed jason, and his hand that rested in y/n's. the front of the group was visibly confused, as y/n looked at jason with sorry eyes.

&lt;y/n's vision pov>

instantaneously, y/n's hand dropped from jason's, and the world around her went cold. she, by all means knew what was happening, she was scared about it too. she shook her head slowly, but constantly. she had left her walkman in the car, which was parked on the other side of the trailer park. stupid decision.

from behind her, she heard her name being called. she knew who it was, and she didn't want to look, but she did. there she saw her friend, chrissy cunningham, standing in the woods behind their school.

"y/n, why didn't you help me..." chrissy said, in a menacing tone.

truthfully, y/n felt like some part of her was at fault for chrissy's death. even though she knew that vecna had killed her. it really wasn't her fault but she was conscious of the fact that she could've said something all the times she saw chrissy crying.

"you knew i was hurting... you could've helped me. you killed me." chrissy walked towards y/n. the latter fell backwards just as chrissy reached her face. as soon as the girl looked back up, she saw vecna. vines and tentacles swirling his body and the area around him.

"y/n." vecna said deeply.

"you know it's your time, don't you...?" he queried.

&lt;trailer park pov>

"what are you doing here, jason?" nancy asked, feeling slightly alarmed by his presence, as the whole group knew he was hunting down eddie.

"talking to y/n... why what are you doing here..?" jason asked suspiciously.

"max was just.. grabbing something, so we came with her." robin said, not telling the full truth.

the group hadn't seemed to notice y/n. max, however, soon looked over to the girl, as it was unusual for her to not have said anything. yet, the girl was met with y/n being completely unresponsive, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. max suddenly went into fight or flight mode, realizing the girl was in vecna's trance.

"GUYS!" she yelled, hoping to catch the groups attention in only one attempt.

"hu-" steve said, but soon cut himself off, as he was met with the sight of y/n. the whole group jumped into action. jason, however, was still confused. he looked over to his best friend to see that she was standing like a deer in headlights, with her eyes taken over by the sclera. his eyes widens at the sight.

"wai- what- whats wrong with her?" he asked, very concerned for the safety of his friend.

"not a bunch of time to explain, but y'know how we all say chrissy was cursed? well so is y/n! and shes about to die if we don't find her music. steve do you know where she left it?" robin said, rambling a little bit.

"no! i thought she had it with her!" said steve.

he turned to the rest of the group questioning them as well. dustin, lucas, and max were trying to wake up the girl in front of them. dustin looked up from her, precisely to tell steve,

"yes! she left it in the car, farthest row back!"

lucas, whose hands were shaking y/n's shoulders, noticed that his arms started to lift up slightly. he looked down and saw y/n's pristine, white sneakers elevating off the ground.

"uhh... guys.." he said, grasping the groups attention. the group, minus robin and nancy, who had run back to the car to grab y/n's walkman.

"sinclair, why the hell are you picking her up? put her back down!" jason said, very confused with the situation. why was his crush best friend being picked up? why were robin and nancy going to find music if y/n was in danger!

"man, thats not me.." lucas said, removing his hands from y/n's shoulders. the girl just continued moving up.

"whats happening to her? how is she flying?" jason asked frantically. maybe the group was right. maybe there was a satanic demon killing teens in hawkins.

"vecna has her. hes gonna kill her if nancy and robin don't get back soon. listen jason, what is her favorite song? shes been listening to different ones all day we don't know her favorite." said steve, nervously trying to question jason, and help out his friend at the same time.

"why do you need to know? what the hell does that have to do with this? shes gonna die..." jason said. he'd never even gotten to tell the girl he loved her. now she was about to die, and he had no idea how to help. he searched around for andy, possibly longing for help, only to find his friend nowhere.

"the music is the cure, jason. whats her favorite song?" dustin demanded. the group could see robin and nancy headed back towards them, if they could figure this out in the next 10 seconds, they would still be able to reach y/n's head.

"i- um.." jason thought, "starman?? by david bowie?" he said. though it sounded more like a question, the group took it as gospel and rummaged through her bag until they found the tape already inside the walkman. jason, being the tallest of the group at a solid 6 feet, was tasked with placing the headphones on the floating girl. as he jumped up, he scuffed up dirt, with the bottoms of his shoes. he clicked the play notch on her walkman, and placed it in the pockets of her jeans.

"be ready to catch." steve said. jason placed himself slightly under y/n, but not directly.

now all the teens could do was hope.

&lt;y/n's vision pov>

she was pinned against something hard and slimey, surrounded by her deceased classmates in the same position. she was only held up by vines, that had snaked around her limbs not 10 seconds earlier. a claw was held up against her face, one that she was sure was lifting her several feet high in the real world.

"its your time to go. you killed chrissy. you deserve this" those were only some of the things vecna chanted into her ears menacingly. it made her feel more and more guilty by the second, it made her feel as if she did actually deserve what was about to happen to her. but no, if she wanted to get out she had to have hope, and strength. she had to fight back.

promptly, the tune of david bowies, 'starman' started playing through the realm. it was a tune y/n recognized as her favorite song. the group had gotten to her in time. she still had a chance. this gave her a new rush of hope. she reached her hand out as far as it would and grabbed one of the sharp pieces of debris that was floating around her, sliced the vine that was encapturing her wrist, and proceeded to slice a vine on vecnas neck, causing him to lose his focus and drop her.

"didn't know what time it was, the lights were low, oh oh"

the lyrics rang through her head as she caught her breath, and stood up to the best of her ability.

"i leaned back on my radio, oh oh. some cat was layin' down some rock 'n' roll lotta soul, he said"

she fully stood up, slashing vecna again, as she noticed he'd tried to ground himself.

"then the loud sound did seem to fade, came back like a slow voice on a wave of phase"

vecna fell. she turned around and saw a rift in the red sky, through it she saw her friends, her jason.

"that weren't no DJ, that was hazy cosmic trace"

she remembered all of her best times. hanging out with jason, just the two of them. gossiping with robin. cheering with chrissy. working with steve and robin. studying with nancy. listening to music with max. goofing around with mike, lucas, and dustin. it was as if everything good was displayed in front of her, and all she had to do was run towards it.

"there's a starman waiting in the sky, he'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'd blow our minds."

she'd thought about her obvious crush on jason, who she could see screaming her name through the rift, desperately trying to get her down.

"there's a starman waiting in the sky, he's told us not to blow it, 'cause he knows it's all worthwhile."

she started to run. she was acutely aware that vecna was now standing up behind her staring her down. in fact, she was so aware that it caused the hair on the nape of her neck to stand up straight.

"he told me,"

boulders and other large pieces of debris were flying at her, causing her to stumble.

"let the children lose it, let the children use it,"

she was only a few feet away. she ran and ran until her legs were tired. when she reached the rift, everything went dark. she was sure she was dead, until

"let all the children boogie."

falling. she felt herself falling from a great height, until suddenly she was enveloped in familiar arms. jason's arms.

she grasped him where he was wrapped around her stomach. all she let out were gasps and sobs and whimpers. she felt everyone from the group around her relax a bit.

she broke down in jasons arms. and jason became melancholy as he watched the girl he loved be in a state of such grief. it made him all kinds of sad to see her like that. he wished he could've just told her it would all be fine, but he couldn't because he didn't know for himself if it would. he wanted to take all of her sadness away and make her happy forever.

"you're okay, you're okay." jason muttered breathless. he himself was scared, and trying to calm down.

y/n rested her face in jasons neck, crying all the tears in her body. in return the boy rubbed her back soothingly while the group stood back and watched. they knew there was nothing they could offer y/n that jason wasn't already doing. he was doing everything in his power to make sure the delicate girl was okay.

he placed a kiss on her forehead, gently rocking her back and forth. he raised questioning eyes towards to group, as if they asked "is this whats happening? is this what happened to chrissy?" he was met with nods from steve and robin, while everyone looked at the girl in front of the remorsefully.

"its okay, you're gonna be okay, angel." jason whispered to the girl. now there was only one thing he could do. that was to help y/n and her friends defeat this monster, and now he knew he would do whatever it took to rid y/n of this burden.

(val speaks) woo! everyone say happy birthday to my mom! also first Jason fic yay! I feel like he had a lot a potential and the duffers robbed him of a redemption. #justice for jason <3

edit: i just realized i made y/n listen to music in the trailer park but then later said she left it in the car... pleak ignore that.

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 The Prophecy of Imortal Fire: 3

Warnings: a bit of blood and gore mention

.......

"So.. where exactly are we going?" Ella asked as she looked around, her shoes clicking on the floor. "To try to find my dad... usually he's yelling at servants and stuff..... it's wierd... I dont feel his presence," Loreley explained. "His presence?" Mia asked. Loreley nodded her head. "When a god or goddess have kids, the children get some fragments of their parents powers while still having their own. Thus creates a type of... pull..? I guess is what'd you'd call it. Basically it feels like being tugged by a rope. But I don't feel it down here," loreley replied as she lead the way. Ella stopped walking, looking around. "Do you hear that?" She asked. Everyone stopped, turning to look at her. Carol looked around before spotting tracks on the floor. "Dog prints," she stated. "Cerberus," Loreley replied. "He won't hurt us. He's basically a puppy.... a giant, 3-headed puppy," Loreley joked. As the group continued to walk, the light at the end of the tunnel shone through the darkness. The road ended, and just below, the river Styx flowed. "What the...." Loreley muttered as she knelt down, examining the river. "What is it?" Clarissa asked. "Theres no souls in here. Like... at all.... it's empty...." Loreley replied as she stood tall once again. "That can only happen if a spell is performed. But my father would never have let that happen.... unless it was a soul who was working right underneath his nose. And even then, there has only ever been a handful of souls with that power, and they were mostly good beings," Loreley explained. Carol raised an eyebrow. "I taught John how to practice magic when we were younger.... but he called it nonsense and hit me. Not nonsense anymore apparently," Carol muttered. "How abusive WAS he?" Ella asked. "To me? Pretty bad... but to Alistar?...... I try not to think about it," Carol replied. Ella looked away, her eyebrows furrowed. "So how exactly do we undo this? Put everyone back?" Alruna asked. Carol and Clarissa looked down in shame. "Back?" Mia asked. "Well... yeah I mean.... having the dead walk around as if they never left... that's gonna cause problems..... They're dead. They aren't supposed to be here anymore," Alruna replied. "But-" "Mia... darling... she's right. We don't belong up here. It's not natural," Clarissa spoke, placing a hand on Mia's shoulder. "But... we... we JUST got you back," Mia argued. "Yes. But you Also gained my son.. and my husband," Carol replied. "So. How do we fix it?" Eli asked. Loreley shrugged. "I've never had to worry about it..... my father told me that if we kill the spell caster, it could work. But he put loads of emphasis on the word 'could'" Loreley explained. "And we don't even know if it was Alistar's dad or not. We haven't confirmed anything," she finished. "Then what do we do?" Alruna asked. "..... we kill king John and hope and pray that he was the one who cast the spell," Loreley replied. The group stood in silence before Lireley transferred them back to the mortal realm. "Come on. We have another war to win," Ella stated. ..........

Alistar hissed in pain as the guards threw him into the cell, his hand cracking unnaturally as he landed on it. Ah yes. His cell. After the guards left, alistar scanned the wall for the opening that he had used to escape more than once. His hand burned. But he would worry about it later. He needed to warn people. Finally breaking through the wall, alistar made a run for it, taking a horse and riding away as fast as possible. He let out a shaky breath as Ella's kingdom became visible.... She would kick him out.. immediately. But he had to try. It was one thing when it was him she was going up against. But his father? His father scared him. A lot. And there she was. A crown on her head adorned with Amethysts, her purple dress blowing as her friends walked behind her. He took a breath. "Ella!" He yelled. She turned to him, her eyes widening with so many emotions he could barely even make out what she was thinking. Elias' eyes flashed pure anger and hatred as he stood in front of his wife. Alistar got off his horse. "L-listen I know I'm an asshole and an enemy to you right now but my father... hes-" "Alistar?" Carolyn's voice gasped. Alistar snapped his head away from ella and Eli, seeing his mom for the first time in the past 30 years. "M-mom?" He asked, tears in his eyes. Carol made her way quickly to alistar, not noticing the flinch he made with the sudden movement before she hugged him tightly. His face morphed into shame as he cried, not hugging her back. She pulled away from him, noticing the scratches and bruises on his face, as well as his broken arm. "Oh my god...... he did this to you?" Carol asked. "It's not the worst he's done......" Alistar muttered, holding his broken arm to his chest. "Okay this is a wonderful reunion between the guy who tried to kill us 10 years ago and his mom. But I wanna know why the fuck he's here," Alruna deadpanned. "R-right.. well i-" "He can tell us after his arm is fixed up," Ella spoke out, her eyes not wavering from him once, her expression unreadable. Alistar looked at her before looking at the ground in shame. ....... The group stood in Eve's shop. Ella's kids had been passed over to Clarissa in another room as eve worked on Alistar's arm. "So what's going on?" Mia asked. "..... my father is planning on taking over the island.. all of it. Including Morellia...." Alistar stated. "So basically what you did?" Elias asked, harshly. "I didn't want to take over morellia. I just-" "Then what DID you want?" Eli asked with a sneer on his face. Alistar stayed quiet. "I..... I know what I wanted.... but I didn't..... make the choices that made sense to get it..... and I did horrible things to people who didn't deserve it.... and I realize that, and after this you can do whatever the hell You want with me. But my father is worse. And he won't stop from a stab wound. Believe me," Alistar muttered. "Why should we?" Elias asked. "Because I have no reason to lie.... i.... I dont have the energy to lie...." Alistar replied. "Do you have the energy for me to punch you? Because I've been fantasizing about that all day," Elias hissed as he walked up to Alistar sharply. "Elias," Ella scolded from her place I the corner of the room. Elias backed off, stepping away as Ella walked slowly toward Alistar, lifting his head up gently to look at her in the eye. She examined his face. His eye was bruised, almost black. His lip was split and bleeding, and his nose looked broken. Ella sighed removing her hands from his face. "I believe him," she stated.

[cryyelan]

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 — 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲.

expect bad/inconsistent writing — tws/cws: violence, gore, abuse/bullying, mahito, mc is a lil wack (but I love her) attempted suicide, death, LOTS of angst, also OOC!!

CH1. you are what you eat

no content warnings for this one lol, just a pov switch

SLOW, TIRED STEPS echoed down the corridor as Megumi made his way to his dorm.

Last nights mission went terribly for him, could've been far worse if it weren't for his man-child of a teacher, Gojo.

Megumi reached for the door handle and turned it.

He opened the door, only to be met with an all familiar head of dark hair and her vibrant orange eyes — sitting on his bed.

"[L/N], how did you get in here!?" Megumi asked, surprised.

How did she get in there?

"I have my methods, Fushiguro." She gave him a sly smile.

The boy groaned on annoyance, last night wasn't doing him any favors, he didn't need to have his classmate annoy him.

"What? Can I not check up on my classmate?" [Y/N] batted her eyelashes, 'innocently'.

He figured.

The boy groaned as he entered his room, sitting on his bed alongside the girl.

No words were exchanged afterwords as the duo sat in a comfortable silence, occasionally broken by the birds chirping and the rustling of leaves.

"Soo.. What happened while you're gone?" [Y/N] asked, breaking the silence.

Megumi looked in her direction.

Her face sported a curious expression as she hugged his pillow, legs crossed.

Megumi exhaled before explaining what happened last night — a boy named Itadori Yuji eating the finger and Sukuna incarnating as a result.

"He'll also be a student alongside us." He finished.

[Y/N]'s eyes widen in surprise before changing back into the usual relaxed expression.

Deep down, [Y/N] had garnered a newfound fascination and disgust for the boy known as Itadori Yuji, to think he'd be executed saddened her a little bit, but also deepened her fascination towards him. What is he like? Is he scary? What kind of classmate would he be?

"Fushiguroo... Don't make me more curious than I already am." She said sarcastically.

Megumi sighed at the girl, wondering why shes even his classmate.

"Is that all you're going to say-"

Megumi and [Y/N] heard voices outside the room, had they been ignoring them the entire time they talked?

One out of the two obviously belonged to Gojo-sensei, but the other was unrecognizable to her, piquing her interest futher.

Megumi got off his bed and walked to the door and opening it, the girl trailing behind him.

Megumi stepped into the hallway, [Y/N] stopping just short of the door. She peaked from behind the door, only her face visible — looking at the unfamiliar person before her.

He had bright, coffee brown eyes, his hair was a strange color...pink? He was fairly tall, at least 5'7 from what she could observe.

"Theres a bunch of empty rooms, aren't there?" The boy said flatly.

"Fushiguro! You finally look better!" The male with the strangely colored hair smiled.

"I thought it'd be more lively and fun this way." Gojo spoke.

"Classes and missions are more than enough!" Megumi spot back, frustrated.

"Anyway... It's fine! Most importantly we're goin' out tomorrow!" The older man beamed, clapping his hands together. "We're going to get the fourth first-year student."

"You're too excited for this — why did they let you, of all people, become a teacher again?" The girl peaking behind the door muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

'They better be a girl..."

Yuji looked in the direction of the girl, setting of the sight of black hair and dull orange eyes looking at him.

"Are you also my classmate? You look a lot like Fushiguro!" He said.

The noirettes exchanged looks at each other, faces screaming 'what the fuck?' as their teacher laughed at their interactions.

"Shut up." Megumi said.

"Stop laughing!" The girl scowled at Gojo.

[Y/N] looked back at the boy, blinking then blankly staring at him, as if she's looking straight into his souls.

'That's him?' The girl thought.

'I never expected him to be so...so...'

stupid.

Her interest was a little crushed, but just who the hell is he? And why is he acting like that?

Yuji, despite paying no mind to her behavior, shivered. "I'm Yuji Itadori — from Sendai! Nice to meet you!" He spoke up, raising his hand out to shake.

"I've heard." She responded with an annoyed expression on her face. She slipped into the hallway, body now fully visible.

"I'm [Y/N] [L/N], likewise" The girl introduced herself, disinterested Yuji's friendly gesture.

Yuji sweat dropped at the girls attitude. 'She doesn't look thrilled to meet me at all!'

His cheerful demeanor deeply bothered her, how could he be so excited about something that will never leave a person the same ever again? It wasn't like she didn't come by choice if it weren't for the heavy amount of convincing she faced.

And Itadori most likely wouldn't last a month.

"I'm going to my room, do whatever you want- I don't care."[Y/N] flipped her hair back and huffed, turning her back to Yuji, leaving for her dorm.

Yuji was the first speak up shortly after she left. "Whats up with her?" He asked the duo.

Megumi didn't answer, but instead shot him a 'take a fucking guess' look, he figured that Yuji's word earlier must've annoyed her and made her want to leave. "She's just little moody, you'll get used to it."

"You still haven't got over her calling you a sugar-addicted bum." The noirette interjects.

"How do you know that?" Despite not showing it, Gojo shivered at the though of being called a 'sugar-addicted bum' again the first time he met her. "She told me herself." Megumi answered.

Sugar addicted? Yes.

Bum? Nope!!

Yuji looked at the two men confused — is She really that mean?

MEANWHILE AT [Y/N]'S DORM / 2ND PERSON POV

Shortly after entering your room, you started pacing without realizing it. You began to contemplate your behavior eariler in the hallway.

You might as well call yourself the rudest person on earth had you said whats else been on your mind.

'GAAAAH!! STUPID ME!! BE MORE POLITE!! APOLOGIZE!! APOLOGIZE!!"

You figured maybe a little later, you can apologize to Itadori for your rude behavior. But right now, you're a pacing, confused, sorry mess.

You still stopped pacing as soon you realized.

You haven't watered your flower in almost three days. Great, now you had more things to worry about. In a panic, you got down and looked under your bed to look for the small watering can. But fortunately, it was still there were you left it, You picked up the can and got up. To your luck, there was still water inside the can.

"Oh thank god.." you mumbled, relieved.

You approached the window seal with bright yellow watering can in hand, you settle your gaze on the singular, halfway full of water — vase of flowers you've been keeping in your room.

During weekends, you often leave for a few hours to gather flowers, either in wild or buy from shops, it had once started off something to take your mind off all the pressure shortly after becoming a student in Jujutsu High. Occasionally buying small enough vases to fit the flowers in, sometimes leaving the vases full of fresh flora in open spaces where your upperclassmen, sorcerers could see, and sometimes your own teacher would take notice.

You gaze at the vase full of morning glories, feeling a vague sense of nostalgia looking at them.

It was only years ago your old friend introduced you to them, even saying giving someone one could be a way of saying you love them.

And the vase, oh the vase.

It looked crudely made, preferably by a child — it was a gift given to you in kindergarten by an old friend.

Looking back at it, it looks terrible but it didn't make the memory any less sweeter, maybe one day, just one day,

You'll thank her.

MORIOKA STATION

There stood a young lady with ginger hair, standing on the platform. "It took four hours just to get to Morioka, time to finally say goodbye to the sticks." She said. "I'll be in Tokyo soon."

"What should I do if I get scouted by a talent agent?"

'Like stardust promotion?' Nobara pondered, curious for what the city has in store.

AUTHORS NOTE!! —

nobara next chap yay!! after that one i wanna publish two more chapters thats more slice of life before every goes to shit thanks to you know who!!

@bridemiko — if you see any of my work published outside of tumblr, quotev, and wattpad — its most likely not me!

[thepowerisyouth]

MONEY / FINANCE STRESS CONTENT WARNING, this next line is unfortunately quite stressful about money so this was an important warning for me to add:

This is also less for the random strangers on the internet who have no reason to trust my advice but more for the 10-15 people I know personally who trust my money advice based on prior experience and Ive sent them my blog link in the last month or two

US stock market is about to tank. On a global perspective its stupidly overpriced because markets like China are hitting 5 year lows (as in we've increased our stock market over 2x since "COVID lows", but their market is even lower than it was then.

Timing is hard but it is entirely possible yesterday was the peak of the market. Might also not tank for 6 months.

Market psychology is fucking weird tho so please absolutely dont 'short' anything, which is basically the same as 'buying puts'. Michael Burry nearly bankrupted all his friends, family, and random investors by insisting on 'shorting' things based on knowledge of impending crisis.

Just sell everything. I mean literally everything. Bond etfs might go up but youd have to have eyes glued to the charts to sell in time. Gold wont do, neither will bitcoin. Their negative correlation to stocks isnt really a thing anymore.

Get every etf, stock, whatever into cash in the brokerage account, then move it out of the banks/brokerage firms and into something physically in front of you because we are, in fact, in another 'historical period of bank runs' its just not quite at the peak yet.

Not trying to increase anxiety beyond nessecary-- its just that any, single bank can immediately freeze your money-- leaving it up to the Federal Government to pay you back-- and it might possibly be the case that youd have to rely on whats called a "bank bail in" to see your savings again.

Not a fun situation to be in, even if it wont happen to most people its just safe practice to do this during a "historical period of bank runs"

----------------

This blog is basically my diary of my thoughts (suprise suprise). But Im an open book, privileged (but poor) little white boy with complex societal/generational abuse and very little home problems so lets fucking go theres a whole mormon cargo van to unpack

Definitely recommend tags Im terrible at them.

---

To those reading this, if you have ever met me in real-life or on the internet than you have taught me varying degrees of information which can be randomly retrieved by my brain at any time depending on current CPU performance. Thoughts of my loving husband have occupied my headspace probably 95% of my time since 14 so he has absolutely taught me at least 100x more than anyone else in the world.

When I say "I", oftentimes Im thinking about "me and my husband", or even sometimes "me and my friends/family", or even sometimes "me and society"--- but I am not always 100% aware of the current headspace environment and/or beliefs of the minds of those around me without feedback

---

There are currently over 8 billion individual varieties of the global human language spoken within the mind. Lets start translating them all. Misunderstood words become mean labels.

I fucking hate mean labels

"Math wiz" = racism and/or classism and/or gender shit. Fuck that shit

When a person is niched off into one part of an 8 billion population human society, it becomes impossible to not "live in a bubble". Bubbles change in size constantly even if not visibly observed. Bubbles can be different sizes depending on your current day-to-day thoughts of your own society. Bubbles must pop. Enlightenment implies life only gets better the more times ya pop and lock it

My path away from purely mathematics, logic, and scientific theory began when I met my husband, and for the first time in my life it became important to me not to be an asshole to everyone around me

Ive been told (only after I started dating my traumatized husband tho and helped him heal a lot) that I'm a natural communicator-- and all my life I found myself listening and learning to everything and everyone around me trying to understand both their and my own motivations-- then I like to garble them up and spit 'em out. My memory recall ability is wonky tho and fluctuates highly with nutrient intake-- I'll get into that later

I wish I could have a million years to read every blog on tumblr. I really do. Connecting & communating is extremely important for understanding one another but it takes time

I had an extremely unique childhood (who hasnt lol), enough so to isolate myself quite a lot through sheer dumb luck. My mom is also everyone's favorite school teacher so of course I was learning a lot from a young age. Luckily I glued myself to the first person who wanted to glue themselves to me equally & we grew exponentially closer to eternity

If its still not clear: my husband and I are bored and love chatting with people, but like most internet loving freaks my mouth don't work sometimes well but my fingies do. My ears got fluff a lot but I got eyes for LEDs like a hawk. Wish they werent LED tho

I also have a naturally short sleep cycle (i.e. extra time for this), and I really wont be offended or weirded out by someone reading through and liking 20+ or whatever of my posts at once randomly. Stories are supposed to be read in chunks, and I think of this blog as a story & also workspace for my thoughts that Id love to see which chapters everyone has read through. Also I love (and only respond positively to) positive feedback, yet also suggestions for ways to improve my "theorums". As in, good faith discussions are totally welcome on any post.

For my 50 year old parents reading my blog so lovingly in their limited evening time-- you can sort by tags to see what topics your familiar with, if you play around with the search function while on my page. Mom. Show dad how to do it

In the very, very bottom of my blog I dont even think I managed to tag shit properly-- but its the roughdraft workings of the philosophy, as well as my own logical framework for answering lifes questions. Its 2 months ago so I might not even be writing according to my own works down there anymore idk I change fast sometimes

Last thing for now here is that I was always criticized by teachers for not showing my work, and for not reviewing my tests before turning in, and I pushed back hard because nearly every time I went over and corrected a mistake-- I saw I most often got it right the first fucking time on a pure hunch. I act on impulse when I'm not meditating mostly for efficiency purposes because I believe I'm correct, but remain open to emotionally positive feedback so I can help remove all doubt.

-------

This might turn into my 'life story' post, as its already going there. Heres what I have so far in the way of my knowledge of my family before I was brought into existence, and my "earliest memories":

Family context:

I dont know jack shit. Nobody talks about it at all.

Here's my own observations Ive made using the framework and perceptive filters I was given--

My whole family is white Texans.

Ancestory is slaveowners of course, further back is a very likely direct parent-child descendent line from the most famous inbred british royalty of the 13th century i.e. King John, whose brother was the arab genociding Richard.

I would call my immediate family as upper poverty class. Its more like poverty with extra privileges cause mental health stigma was the only thing holding them back not other shit too.

As children we had a lot of very privileged opportunities because my parents made a lot of sacrifices to try and bring us back up the class ladder. Lets look into that generational trauma issue

My dads parents (born in the early 40s, dont know the year exactly. I think '43 or '44) were more upper middle class, pretty high income. Owned an insurance business that was very successful by the early 2000s at least. My grandpa is described to me as a "monster" and "violently abusive". I have a single memory of him screaming at me as a young child and I was cowering under a desk, so I really believe it. No other stories at all to provide context.

-- I gotta split this section off I realized I wrote the next thing about post-me context Ill need to move this part lower down later--

My grandpa got early onset dementia, my dad didnt notice in time, and my grandpa bankrupted his successful company and lost several million of dollars to "scammers and sexy ladies."

My dad found out around 2015-16 or so. He told me a little bit after telling me my grandparents were getting divorced. My dad managed to scrape together about $200,000 which is being sued for by the IRS actively.

(He split that money in two, and entrusted me tell him how to invest half in safe value stocks that I handpicked as well as a calculated risk allocation to bonds which we sold for 30% profit the second the market crashed. He gave the other half to a brokerage advisor. I never met the advisor but saw the results. Dont get me started on how the other dude did with that money-- we started this endeavor in January 2020.)

Personally I also dont believe that its possible to spend an entire fortune on scammers and strippers, so Id love to see his books and figure out what the hell went wrong with that asshole. I have a hunch I know something more than anyone else ("Enron", guys, we're talking about an insurance company in HOUSTON, in the 2000s) but I will never be sure without the books.

----

Back to other family--

I do not know a single thing about my grandma on my dads side. She raised me quite a lot, but yeah I literally have only heard her life described to me as "she was a housewife"

On my moms side, my Mimi (also born 1940s but slightly younger so I think 1946 or 1947) came from a divorced, upper middle class family. In 1964-65, She and her step mom both got knocked up the same year so she watched her divorced dad remarry to said step mom when she was 18-19 and getting a shotgun marriage herself, so you can imagine what that was like. The "biological" of the two moms was a very good mom and very queer from what I hear. She died when I was a baby, from lung cancer. Thats all I know. My mimi raised me quite a lot, nearly equally as much as my mom did

My mom's dad, my Papa, came from a rural farming family in East Texas. Dont know much else of anything, but he and his siblings were named "Billy, Bobby, and Betty". As in, they are what everyone likes to call "hicks"

--

Moving onto my direct parents now. I know a little more about them of course, but since we're getting closer in age to the present-- I think itll be easier to describe my understanding as common stereotypes. If its unclear what I mean definitely feel free to ask, but I'll probably say "I dont really know"

Not much else is relevant other than knowing that my moms family was the mormon one, but that as soon as my dad was love-bombed by the church he joined to. Mormons were also different in the 90s I'm told.

My dad struggled with being one of the "crazy schizos" of the 90s. As in, very traumatized, upset, and gaslit by the government and his parents. Must have done a damn good job dealing with it by the time he was in his late 20s and I popped out cause he was never a "bad dad" to me at all. Definitely yelled and was more angry at times, but less than any other friends parents Ive ever met, and from what I remember he came into my room at night and apologized to me literally every single time within like 5-10 minutes. I know pretty much nothing about him pre-me. He was a tradesman my whole life and specialized in remodeling kitchens & bathrooms (the 'dirty work of construction'). All his initial clientele were the rich people my grandma lived near and was friends with.

My mom would have been extremely queer-presenting and posting on tumblr if born in the year 2000, but was born in early 70s, and was a raegan teen in high-school in Texas during the satanic panic-- she presents completely cis, straight, but has body dysmorphia issues. Thats about you need to know about those issues I'm sure my tumblr folks can assume the rest and be perfectly correct. Cause thats about all I know too and I'm assuming the rest about my own mother

--- Earliest memories

I think a lot of people face doubt about their own earliest memories, maybe hearing the way I connect the images of these events in my head to my emotions I felt will help others do the same.

----

Two disclosers about me & my current healthcare discoveries before moving on

1) My only "major" childhood trauma is loneliness. I have a partner now (started dating early high school, nearing 10 years together now) who was just as lonely and we are glued to each others side constantly, and have made our life work great that way. So don't feel too bad reading this, I'm only able to write it down because Ive healed that trauma and can dig this stuff up with no issues to validate the emotions I felt even as a child

1) I believe I have a genetic trait that is only just getting discovered. There are something like 6 discovered mutations that hold this similar trait so far, and its just basically chronic insomia.

It being a genetic trait tracks with how my mom describes me as never settling into a normal sleep pattern at 6 months old, having absurd amounts of nightmares and death anxiety keeping me up at night as a child, and I still dont sleep at any given time. I average 2 hours less sleep than my husband, who averages 7-8 now that he isnt actively being abused at home.

Going to get sequenced but even if negative I'd probably just be a 7th mutation, as they only found the other 6 genes via case study.

The scientists whove discovered it call it "Familial Natural Short Sleeper", if you desire to look it up. They describe the trait like its the best possible thing in the world. Well... terminally chronic insomia is not the best thing in THIS world thats for sure.

---------

My "earliest memories"

These arent ranked by time accurately of course. Took enough effort digging through my brain to turn them up, not like Ive got a 2003 calendar stuffed in here as well.

I did do my best to sort by first memory but it also might be sorted by the order at which I recovered the memories as being one of my "earliest" when I was a child and asked such things

1. Pure emptiness. I can only describe it as dissociation. I can remember nothing about the environment around me, except feeling suddenly sucked out of it, seeing only darkness, feeling almost a ringing in my ears and the deepest dread possible. This same feeling followed me in life for a little while, but started to take more visual shape when I was an adolescent, until at some point I would see myself sitting in a chair alone in a room that is infinitely sized but that slowly gets darker the further out you go. I cant remember what exact "real-world" event caused this feeling to ever happen each time it did. I just can remember having it happen occasionally when I was awake and doing things. Definitely dissociation. (If you are willing to believe me further I think its just probably "lights out" and being scared of that)

1. Riding a mattress down the stairs. I kind of remember two images, one is the tunnel vision of going high speed down the stairs and the other would be from looking back up at the stairs when I was done going down. Totally fun, probably my first rollar coaster ride. I might remember my siblings laughing too but it wouldnt be because I can remember the actual laughing-- but I can remember feeling the joy of being in a group of people laughing. At the time, my parents were selling the house so thats why I also remember it being a completely empty carpeted room that we were riding down into

2. My brother smashing his head repeatedly into the refrigerator for 'fun' and someone saying "wow he has a hard head" or something along those lines. I was learning english I cant remember exactly what they said but that was definitely the meaning I took from their words. I think this memory is strong, because I was truly very curious as to why my brother was just running at full speed, head down, and headbutting a hard surface. The words someone said after that must have been one of my first 'answers'

3. Watching my siblings play in rare Houston snow. Not much remembering there actually. Probably just thought it was mezmorizing to watch as I just really remember a picture and feeling peace

4. Will add more later.

[rainydaydally]

Noah of the waters.

When Cody finds Noah.

This is an island of the slaughtered fanfiction (original island of the slaughtered by @/Eavee-ry

---------------------------

WARNING: This fanfiction contains major character d3ath, descriptive mentions of bl00d, d3ath, dr0wning, ch0king/str@ngling, and kind of body h0rror.

You have been warned !!

When the rest of the contestants of the supposed show (who are still… alive…) arrive to the dock a bit behind Cody, they stop in their tracks.

“Noah?” Cody asks shakily, looking into the water and seeing the lifeless body of the boy he once loved. Noah’s eyes had gone almost completely white, and Cody could swear he heard him humming almost like a siren, luring him to join him.

The other teens slowly walk their way to the end of the dock that Cody was standing at. He looks completely pale, as if he should be the one in the water too. His knees buckle beneath him and he falls, as the rest of the group slowly appears behind him.

Duncan sighs, and he gently puts his hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Let go of me, Duncan! It’s your fault.” He yells, throwing Duncan’s hand off of his shoulder. “Guys, come on. Maybe we can still save him.” Cody pleades desperately, turning around to everybody else to try and convince them.

Duncan hesitates but thinks for a moment.“It is my fault this happened. The least I could do for the kid is to try and help Noah..” Duncan thinks, and begins to help Cody pull Noah out of the water. Gwen crouches down to help them too, and everyone else just kind of… watches. Too tired to completely realize that the killer has claimed another victim from their group.

When the three of them pull Noah out of the water, they carry him to the beach and place him on the sand. The sand sticks to his wet skin as Cody really takes it all in. Theres a small line of rope burn around Noah’s neck, and Cody gently traces his fingers on it.

If it was an alive person, they would have winced. He didn’t.

When Cody places his hand on Noah’s chest to maybe feel a heartbeat, he notices the kitchen knife stabbed right below his collar bone. Cody hesitates, but lays his hand on his chest to feel the familiar beat of his heart. He couldn’t feel it.

Katie walks over to the shivering boy. “Cody…” Katie says softly, rubbing his back. Cody somehow got even more pale than he was before. His eyes begin to water, not just due to crying but also from them being so open and wide because of the utter shock.

Cody places his hands on Noah’s heart and begins preforming CPR. He tries and tries and tries. Nothing. Not even a movement or a single beating from his pulse.

“He’s gone, Cody.” Heather says after a long amount of silence. Duncan feels his stomach drop. “How could I let this happen to Noah? To Cody? To-“ Duncan thinks for a moment on who was friends with the boy, and his eyes dart to Owen.

Owen is watching the whole ordeal from a few feet away, his kind and funny demeanor disintegrating- it’s visibly on his face. His eyes begin to water but he quickly wipes them and heads to Noah.

Cody almost throws up as his body begins wracking ugly sobs. He grabs Noah and holds his body close to him and hugs him tightly. Owen sits down next to where Gwen, Duncan, Katie, and Cody are sitting on the beach and he leans his head on Cody’s shoulder, closing his eyes a bit.

“I’m sorry, Cody. You know I didn’t intend for him to die when I-“

“What? When you and your little group abandoned him?!” Cody interrupts Duncan, looking into his eyes as his expression and… well… everything looks like a crazy mess.

Cody continues with his spiel. “Yeah, sure. You didnt MEAN for him to get killed. But he DID get killed, Duncan. And We’re all here and alive right now, and HE’S NOT. AND IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU.”

“Stop it! It’s not his fault!” Courtney interjects, looking at Cody and then to Duncan. Duncan just shakes his head and mouths to her. “Stop. I’d be mad at myself too.” Courtney eye rolls at Duncan and goes back to digging small holes with her fingers next to her in the sand.

Bridgette scooches closer to Cody. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re allowed to be mad at everyone you want to in this position..” She says softly, gesturing to him. Cody just nods, looking at the body he’s holding, Noah’s soaked hair dripping onto his arms. His sobs begin to die out, but he’s still sniffling and tears are pouring out of his eyes.

Heather kicks at the sand. “Fuck! We need to find out who the hell this disgusting killer guy is before it get’s too late. Who would even be out here?!”

“Yeah dude, I was wondering that too.” Geoff says, wrapping his arms around Bridgette. “They would have to be crazier than Izzy to be out here for no reason other than to… hurt innocent teenagers..” Courtney states. She was atleast very careful of her wording to not upset Cody or Owen.

“I cant believe he’s…” Cody can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence. Not yet. He couldn’t have been gone so early in his life. Sixteen? Sixteen years old? That’s not enough time to do… anything with your life.

Cody gently touches the knife that’s stabbed into Noah. There’s almost no blood on him (visibly) due to his usual many layers of clothes. He changes his view to Noah’s formally deep brown eyes. They are now pure white, staring right into the center of Cody’s soul. He wonders a moment how they lost all of their color.

Cody gently closes the other boy’s eyes with his fingers, deciding to let him rest peacefully. He pretends for a moment that Noah is just resting on his lap again. He knows that isn’t true.

----

Read on AO3

[kienansidhe]

Saw your tags on a post and wanted to mention that trans women having their bulge be seen as gross also isn't an exceptional experience. It's definitely more visible because they face hyper visibility, but bigots treat all trans people that way.

If you need a one to one many NBs who have a penis will have their bulge treated the exact same as trans women. For a different but comparable experience, people who pack have it treated as gross as well and it's assumed to be a sexual thing. Same thing with people who've had phalloplasty.

I've also seen cis gay guys treated that way too. It's "gross" and assumed predatory. Because the cisheteropatriarchy punishes any deviance from traditional masculinity and femininity, queer bodies are as a whole demonized and policed. And that means a lot of bulges are treated as inherently sexual, threatening, and gross by mainstream society.

You kind of ended up doing the exact thing the post was warning against, where you assumed X doesn't happen to Y group of people, and only Z group of people experiences that. It's something that's easy to do but I hope you'll be able to expand your knowledge of the topic with this and also consider future things more broadly. There are definitely a few experiences one group will have different than another, but there's also a lot more overlap than people think. And there are very few experiences that literally only one group has, even if the exact way people experience it might differ some.

thank you for your thoughts! i inhabit a transmasc body that has chosen to only partially transition, and i struggle a lot with moral ocd, so on this site where there r a lot of loud ppl saying that trans women / transfems have it the worst of anyone, while other people say that different trans ppls struggles are different but not better or worse, while trolls and bullies muddy the conversation constantly, i really have trouble figuring out whats what.

i kinda default to deferring to trans womens voices because i dont know what its like to be transfem, but like, of course different transfems say different things and not all can be right at the same time, so its very confusing! im very afraid of erring on the side of dismissing transmisogyny, i guess? and theres so many ppl on this site who jump at the chance to call any statement transmisogynistic that i am maybe putting 'ofc trans women have it worse' disclaimers in too many places? (this is NOT trans womens fault, i see this from every demographic and often most viciously from other transmascs.) like. not gonna lie, im very scared of people on social media lol.

im sorry if ive made people feel invalidated by the way i talk abt this stuff, especially since i feel invalidated a lot when ppl call transmascs transmisogynistic for talking abt transandrophobia/transmisandry? maybe i need to just stop commenting and listen more until i can comment more confidently and with less fear. i dont know? im open to input!

[edit: heres the post and my tags that anon is referring to]

[bongo-ghoul]

Sing to me

Swiss and phantom

This is written on whim and not betad or edited

I have no idea how many words there are

Phantom using they/them

Swiss using he/him (in this one)

Warnings, some sensory overload

Theres most definitely spelling errors and run ons

Swiss was very used to phantom coming to him when in need of a pick-me-up hug or some kind words or even just some silent company, he had come to the conclusion that its cause hes a multi ghoul and phantom is in need of quintessence used on them, and while swiss' small bit of quintessence was a bonding point it for certain was nowhere near why they went to him.

Phantom had woken up today with a dull feeling in their head, not a headache but a full and numbing sensation that resides along sound of any kind, starting off the day with simple turning on their music only to turn it off immediately because it made that strange numbness grow to swallow their hearing almost entirely.

While not a new sensation it was however new in their topside body, the way it fills their head making everything feel heavy and if not acknowledged very well could lead to an eventual headache or migraine.

Continuing on with their day they still payed that full feeling in the head no mind, just breathe, calm the heart and itll stop... right?, it being the heartbeat sound pulsing through their ears, being able to turn off the sound themself helped alleviate the curious situation temporarily but while others go about their absent mindedly noisy days the heartbeat eventually will shift from a beating pulse to a low thrumming rolling sound, their head felt heavier as it continued like its filled with sand.

With a mind repleated of sand, the singing dunes in their head were sensitive to the storm in sounds today and it was becoming overwhelming, choking them and drying their throat stopping them from crying out as the mental sand fills their vocal chords and stops any sound from adding to the world around.

when sound becomes all consuming and than disabling to the senses it will completely disorient a person or ghoul making functioning almost impossible, especially when its a normally working sense and than its use in survival is ripped away leaving a raw wound left open from where sand had turnd to glass and ripped though the signals to the vocal chords making a voice so desperate now silent so not to disturb the percussion in their ears.

The second sign was that light left a burning, dizzying, nauseating feeling in their body, the textures of things felt like they were enhanced tenfold sleep and taste were gagworthy, sickening.

Every sense lit ablaze but only one causing a full fire in sensations and it just so happens to be the sound they rely on the most, its disorienting, a bat without its echo location is nothing but an accident waiting to happen, a wrong turn, three doors on the left and two doors at the end of the hall, thankfully phantom doesn't need to follow sound or harmony to know where to find safety.

Stumbling into the rehearsal room ears coverd and eyes squinted teeth bared in a grimacing disposition, swiss drops all sound, setting his acoustic guitar down quickly almost immediately the grimace drops and their eyes open once more, hes seen this with rain and mountain before, he knows what to do.

Grabbing a spare pair of fully noise canceling eardefenders putting them over phantoms poor ears, turning on full silence mode theres nothing making its way into the auditory cortex of tommys head. Phantom crashes chest to chest into a desperate safe keeping hug with swiss, they cant hear him but swiss is speaking small nothings, the vibrations, physical sensation of a bats point of visibility, sensation of a spiders web being disturbed, silent sight.

Small tendrils of quintessence making their way from swiss' hands into and up the spinal cord and tommy can feel it, it wont work, their mind will just feast and consume it, ready to use on another, but instead they place a gentle hand on their own throat to make sure theyre actually speaking "stop"

And swiss does, all he wanted to do was fix quickly the way everyone else had asked when a full quintessence was preoccupied but he had jumped into this role without knowing what was actually needed.

Phantom places one hands carefully over swiss' larynx on the thyroid cartilage while keeping a hand on their own "speak" tommy mumbles out only to feel vibrations in return

Vibrations lighting sensation in the mind, theres something so surreal about feeling what you can see or hear, the way things move vibrate and shift, a spider aware of its web as an extention of itself through vibrations phantom aware of sound through vibrations and movement of the thyroid cartilage and the shape of swiss' lips, silent sound.

"Sing to me" it comes out as a plead but they had no idea; swiss taking a moment to process the request he smiles, taking tommys hand thats on their own neck and adjusting it so theres onto two fingers extended and moving it to lightly press to his lips.

Keeping his eyes on phantoms face swiss starts singing, nothing crazy just a calm simple song, one hes heard tommy listen to before and while they cant exactly tell what the words are the vibrations however a calm a sway through tides changing, the phases of the moon in increments and the sparks of stars in the sky, it sounded like nothing but safety when their hands played the roles of hearing in a different way.

[groupiewhoreee]

(just realized dave's face in that gif, omg)

Jealousy, Jealousy, Jealousy

Warnings: Smut, literally smut. I'd preview the story before actually reading it. 18+ ONLY (MINORS DNI. Obviously I can't like stop you literally, but minors i wouldn't suggest opening this!)

Plot/Summary: Dave was out at the bar with you and Metallica in 1981, and Dave catches you and Lars getting a bit flirty and chatty, and Dave is jealous.

-------------------------------------

It was a late night out, the moon was set in a crescent way, while it shined brightly down on the streets. It was 1981, and a new band that just formed, Metallica. And your boyfriend since high-school happened to be in it. You went to all their gigs, and shows. It was pretty cool. The way Dave played his guitar and put a lot a effort into his skills made you smile. You loved how efficient and somewhat confident he was to be in Metallica. You thought his band-mates were pretty cool too. Lars and you had a nice relationship. Dave didn't really appreciate it though, he didn't say anything directly to you, due to the fact he didn't want you to leave him and get to think that he's controlling your friendships, which— he isn't.

"Cmon, hurry up to the bar!" Lars whined. "Oh come on Lars, chill. James can only go so fast. Theres a speed limit y'know, and cops around. I don't think he wants to pay a ticket." You said to Lars, chuckling slightly. "Yeah, I don't. And if I do get one, Lars your paying for it." James said, in a sarcastic tone which you didn't think he was actually joking. "Dude, my parents won't lend me the money for that anymore." Lars explained. "Maybe sell all that Danish porn you got then. If I were you, I would sell it. All you Danish people would buy it. Especially the chicks." James said to Lars. "Enough talking about Danish Porn, I don't really want to hear about that and your weird fantasies, Lars. Because we know you have them." Cliff rolled his eyes and kicked Lars seat behind him. "Yeah, me Neither. Its kind of weird. You have legit stacks. I could never." Dave agreed with Cliff.

"Alright shut up bums, we're here." James laughed, getting out of the car. The other boys got out of the car, as well as you, your tight shorts trapping your plump ass. Dave walked behind you, having a smirk across his lips and grabbing your waist from behind and whispering sweet nothingness in your ear. "Oh come on, not here love birds." Cliff joked. Dave frowned. "Oh whatever, I thought you were cool, Cliff." Dave sarcastically said. "I am, just not when it comes to you trying to start shit in public." Cliff rolled his eyes once more like he did before. Dave's curly, orange, ginger locks fell in front of his face, his eyes somewhat visible but not really. You all walked into the bar. "Hey, its Metallica!" Some dude called. "Whoa, sick." The man agreed. "We aren't signing anything right now so don't ask." Lars would say, almost annoyed by the fact.

You guys took a seat at one of the booths in the bar. You sat with Dave and across from Lars. James sat next to Lars, while Cliff was next to Dave. It was a tight squeeze but you all managed. Dave gripped your thigh. "Hey, Y/N. I was gonna say, your outfit looks really nice." Lars commented. "Oh, thanks Lars. Your outfit is pretty nice too. Its sick." You complimented back. "Thanks." Lars said, you nodding in as a 'Your Welcome.' Dave eyed you, giving a frown. You all took sips from ur beer. "So when are we gonna make our first album. I mean, we have the songs. Right?" James explained. "I agree. We can't just keep playing gigs around these trashy bars." Cliff would say. "I don't know. It'll cost us some money. Unless one of you have it?" Lars asked. "I don't think I do. Look, I live in an apartment. Not even." Dave explained. "We know, we've seen it. Y/N's pretty panties were everywhere." Lars laughed, causing you to giggle and blush slightly, obviously Dave noticing. He gripped ur thigh even more in frustration.

"So, Y/N. What color are your panties now?" Lars sarcastically said, joking around. You just laughed. Dave was getting a bit more mad. James laughed while Cliff seemed uneasy. "Y'know, I think me and Y/N will be right back." Dave grabbed your wrist leading you out of the bar. Lars, James, and Cliff all looked at each-other, They had an Idea. Dave led you to an alleyway. It was dark, piled with things. Almost like a silly fort. So nobody could see you but they could hear you. Dave pushed and pinned you to the wall. You struggled, squirming and looking away from Mustaine. "Fucking look at me you dumb slut." Dave said to you, grabbing your cheeks and forming it into a small pout, making you look at him. "You really gonna let someone talk to you like that like your theirs? Whore. You're mine, only mine. Do you need to be reminded of that, stupid bitch in heat." He snarled in your ear, spitting in ur face. Your poor face scrunched up. "Come on, answer me. I wanna hear ya." Dave slapped your face lightly. "Yes sir, I need to be reminded.. Punish me." You just said in response. "That's what I like to hear, good girl." He praised.

"Those tight ass shorts. Only wore those because you knew it'd kick a dumb kick outta me. You little slut in heat. Mutt." Dave growled in your ear, now ripping the shorts off, tossing the belt somewhere and the shorts around the pile of trash. He would tear your soaked panties off. "Aww, so wet for daddy, huh?" Dave whined, joking around with you. You nodded, gulping, Dave turned you around against the wall. Mustaine's pants and boxers fell to his ankles. "This is what you wanted, right? What a slutty ass bitch." Dave muttered in your ear, now slamming into you. He pounded into you at a rough speed. Tears streamed down your cheeks minutes later. "Mmh, Dave.. please—" You whimpered, moans escaped your mouth. "Be fucking quiet, jesus." He said in ur ear, covering your mouth. Now he made you suck his middle and ring finger. He used his other hand and tugged at your hair, pulling at it.

Dave just grunted, make soft, short groans in pleasure. He kept going before he became more sloppy. "Fuck, your so hot." Dave whispered in your ear, "Dave I- I'm gonna.." you whimpered, before you came all over Dave's dick. "Just take it a little longer, okay babe? Just wait for me." Dave said to you, now still going, before he pulled out and came on ur ass. "Your mine." Dave went to make marks all over you. "Now go back into the bar and don't say a fucking thing you damn whore." Dave put his pants on and boxers, while he gave you your shit. You followed him, Lars, James, and Cliff all looking at you, "Damn, what happened? Looks like a crime scene planted onto your neck and shoulder." James asked. "Nothing." You muttered. "Okay. Well we're gonna leave in a little bit." Lars would say. "Yeah. Also why were you two so loud?" Cliff asked, smirking. "Yeah. Y/N you were a whiney mess." Lars murmured. "Mhm." James agreed. Dave just rolled his eyes. "Lets go, guys." Mustaine said, now getting up and leaving with the guys and you.

After that, you and Dave went home and you fell asleep with Dave on your crusty bed.