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phanfictioncatalogue · 2 years

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High School AU (Chaptered) (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

A Thousand Words (ao3) - dlester

Summary: Dan joins an art class because he fancies a girl in it, but then he meets Phil, who he finds out started drawing for a very different reason. Slowly he begins to realise that the girl is not the only thing keeping him there, and he learns a lot from the strange boy.

A World Alone (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan has been Phil's best friend since they were little kids, and it's hardly ever mattered that he's only imaginary. They stick together through facing first grade, growing up, and getting a tree house of their very own. When Phil loses his dad in a car crash, he only relies on Dan more. High school is just a little bit easier together, and he can almost ignore his growing crush on Dan and the feeling that something's about to go terribly wrong. But when Dan is revealed to be more than either of them ever imagined, it's too late to keep pretending.

blackwood academy - pianodan

Summary: uprooted from normality and thrown into a completely new environment, daniel howell joins a popular boarding school, blackwood academy, as a brand new student. there he meets an entire flurry of new and crazy characters which soon warm up to be his best friends, but one complete nutter with a weird haircut and a nicotine addiction, catches his eye in particular. it only takes a handful of encounters for dan to realise there’s a lot more to him than the man-made definitions formed by other people’s opinions.

Change (ao3) - Phantje

Summary: To avoid bullying Phil decided to become a bully himself, firmly locking away all the caring parts inside him.

Dan has to start at a new school for his last year and he isn't thrilled, especially as he is almost immediately confornted with homophobia. The only things that keeps Dan going are his friend PJ and the irritating crush he developed on a very unsuitable candidate, PJ's former best friend Phil Lester. To add to all the complications Dan has to take care to shield his brother from attacks aimed at him. Dan's life is honestly complicated so that even something as simple as a school trip turns out to be nerve-racking.

Constellations (ao3) - Cuddlelester

Summary: Being gay in a homophobic neighbourhood wasn't easy. Making friends was near impossible, especially once they learned about Dan's terrifying past. He lived his life alone, the stars being his only friend. It wasn't until his new neighbour came along and gave him something to live for.

Discovering Love (ao3) - drxpdead

Summary: Dan is a firm believer that love doesn't exist. Not in adults, and definitely not in high school. He detests silly love stories and petty relationships, posing as 'love', and nothing could possibly change his mind in that. But when new student Phil takes an intrest in Dan, he can't deny that he's interested in the boy. His bubbly personality and hopeless romantic ways draw Dan in.....and might just change his mind in the thoughts of love

Flower Crowns and Footballs (ao3) - sadia_xoxox

Summary: Dan Howell, a delicate pastel princess, starts at a new school and is shown around by the school's best footballer, Phil Lester. While on the surface the two seem to be complete opposites, will they attract or collide?

gay fairies (ao3) - moonythejedi395

Summary: Everyone knew of Phil Lester's deep hatred for Dan Howell. Everyone knew that Dan Howell was the gayest gay man to ever gay. Everyone assumed that Phil hated Dan because Dan would not stop hitting on Phil, and everyone agreed that even they would be irritated by that much flirting, however everyone did not know or even guess that Phil Lester really hated Dan Howell so much because Phil actually wanted to make out with him.

Give Me Hope (ao3) - cardita

Summary: High School is difficult, especially when you are forced to move in with your crush. This is what happens to Phil Lester, but his crush is not the dream man; Daniel Howell is an overly-confident, pretentious boy who only views Phil for his intelligence. However, they keep on running into each other, and quickly their worlds collide.

glitter glue and pastel hearts (ao3) - moonythejedi395

Summary: A boy with a broken heart, who never learned to confess his thoughts to anyone but the moon, meets sunshine in the form of a boy in pastel pink shoes. In dreary England, all light is pale and fleeting, but the sun shines from his smile and his eyes, and the boy's broken heart is mended, put back together with glitter glue. In the end, the one winning in the situation will of course be Mrs. Howell, who shipped it before they even met.

home is where the heart is. (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: 16 year old Daniel Howell had always felt out of place in his dad's fancy apartment or under the Singaporean sun. Life was not bad, but being the son of a British expatriate banker divorcee with commitment issues meant that there was never a home.

Inspired by the only constant in his life, a similar aged British youtuber by the name of Phil Lester, Dan decides to move to his supposed homeland Britain on a whim, in the hopes of escaping his bubble of isolation, and maybe find the place where he truly belonged.

Somehow Dan lands himself in one of the few notorious all boys boarding schools in Britain, one that has bizarre traditions, vicious inter-house competition and way too many attractive boys; and a roommate who had been Dan's best friend all along, even if Phil Lester hadn't known it.

Dan finally found home.

Mind Reader (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's head was always filled with noise. He'd been blessed/cursed with the power to read minds, but not the power to control it. He heard the thoughts of everyone near him, and the constant voices in his head were close to driving him mad.

That is, of course, until he met Phil Lester, the only one who could make his mind go silent.

Not On Fire (ao3) - ctrling

Summary: Dan Howell is not on fire . . .

Dan doesn't do friends. He hangs out with Louise because it makes his parents happy, sets fires in his free time to keep his anger at bay, tries his best to go unnoticed, and dreams of the day when he'll go off to college in a completely different state with new people. Phil Lester, the new guy with a police officer for a father, is definitely not, in any way, a part of his plan.

But Louise has a different plan for him, one with befriending Phil Lester at the top of Things He Absolutely Must Do, despite how he feels about the situation. And every single time he turns around, it seems she has a new idea to help the budding friendship.

Now, Dan's struggling to please Louise and his parents, maintain good grades that will get him into a good college, and find time to do the one thing that actually calms him down.

So maybe being an arsonist in high school wasn't one of his better ideas.

. . . but everything around him is.

Silver Lining (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil remembers his bully from elementary school, the boy with vicious brown eyes and who went by the name of Dan.

Now, Phil is in high school, and his mother is diagnosed with cancer. His mum's doctor offers Phil to stay with her until his parent is better.

There's just one thing: the doctor is his former bully's mother.

With his mother's illness weighing down on him, Phil learns to befriend the person who used to kick him in the crotch- and realize that silver linings do exist.

Some Kind Of Folliful (ao3) - danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)

Summary: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan's perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan's best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones.

St Anthony's Secondary is a school divided by class. Their town is split down the middle, quite literally, by a railroad that separates the affluent families from the destitute. Dan is on the very outskirts of the poor side. He has one friend, and no desire to make any more, nor to buy into the sickening popularity and wealth contest of his peers. He thought Phil felt the same. And then, out of the blue, Phil develops a worrying obsession with a girl from the other side. She embodies everything Dan hates; he tries to explain this to Phil, to no avail. As his obsession with Amanda grows, as does Dan's loathing for her. Still, it shouldn't bug Dan this much to see his friend pine some braindead bimbo relying on her boyfriend's wallet. So why does it?

Teaching you to smile again. (ao3) - Mangomelions

Summary: Dan is bullied at high school and meets the new kid, Phil, who kinda turns his life upside down.

The Blind Boy (ao3) - jilliancares

Summary: Dan Howell liked to think of his entire life as a series of tragic accidents. Because really, how many people can say that they managed to become blind and obtain a supposedly Cute Boy’s hate all in the span of one year? And Phil Lester has not had the best school life, so in order to avoid bullying or a bad reputation, he refuses to take shit from anyone at this new school. Even if that someone just so happens to be blind.

The Prince & The Wolf (ao3) - serendipitys

Summary: Let me tell you about the tale of how a boy who had flowers growing in his soul fell in love with a boy who had thorns trapping his.

The Wanting Comes In Waves (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: After moving to the tiny Welsh coastal village of Rhagfyr, Phil struggles to find a new way of living, what with his new school and the decision of his future still on the table. Dan is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, but perhaps there’s beauty inside destruction.

to all the people i've loved before (and the one who actually made me fall in love) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Phil doesn’t crush on people often, but when he does the emotions seem to overwhelm him. The only way he knows how to deal is to write love letters. They were never meant to be read.

The most recent letter threatens to ruin his relationship with his big brother Martyn, so in a fit of panic, Phil finds himself turning to the boy who was the recipient of the very first love letter for help. Even if he is Dan Howell, the school heartthrob.

You don't have to say I love you (ao3) - super_phan_natural

Summary: Phil Lester is a student at Parrs Wood High School, with his head in the clouds. But when he spots the rather under-appreciated Dan Howell, he learns about the people around him, and himself. Self discovery, learning about fighting back and finding the best things in the darkest of times, this story is meant to help those who are going through a lot.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfic #phanfiction #masterlists #au #highschool masterlist #highschool #chaptered masterlist #chaptered

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books-i-finished-reading · 3 months

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Call me by your name - André Aciman

23rd May 2024

You could never stare long enough but needed to keep staring to find out why you couldn't.

... the fumbling around people I might misread and don't want to lose and must second-guess at every turn, the desperate cunning I bring to everyone I want and crave to be wanted by, the screens I put up as though between me and the world there were not just one but layers of rice-paper sliding doors,...

We are not written for one instrument alone; I am not, neither are you.

... people say "maybe" when they mean "yes", but hope you'll think it's "no" when all they really mean is, Please, just ask me once more, and once more after that?

Nothing he did or said was unpremeditated. He saw through everybody, but he saw through them precisely because the first thing he looked for in people was the very first thing he had seen in himself and may not have wished others to see.

"Does it make any sense to you? Not to me." "Maybe it did when you wrote it," I said.

... youth has no shame, shame comes with age.

To be happy like this maybe wasn't so difficult after all. All I had to do was find the source of happiness in me and not rely on others to supply it next time.

Between always and never.

... forget to remember.

"Do you like being alone?" he asked. "No. No one likes being alone. But I've learned how to live with it."

Another man ... reading something in the tiny alcove, named the book: Se l' amore. If love. "Is it good?" I asked. "Pure junk," he replied. "I should know. I wrote it."

"People who read are hiders. They hide who they are. People who hide don't always like who they are."

"You okay?" he asked. "Me okay."

... the sun was finally up again and shame cast long shadows.

Whoever said the soul and body met in the pineal gland was a fool. It's the asshole, stupid.

... what we had between us was the total transparency that exists among friends only. Perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. But then perhaps this is what lovers are.

"I loved Thailand before going and hated it as soon as I arrived. Let me rephrase: I hated it once I was there and loved it as soon as I left."

"I left a fool and came back no wiser."

"At first I thought that they thought differently. Then I realised they felt things differently."

"... he looks like a girl who looks like a boy. ... She looks like a boy who looks like a girl and who's therefore just a boy."

"... when it comes to the senses all humans speak the same beastly tongue."

He came. He left. Nothing else had changed. I had not changed. The world hadn't changed. Yet nothing would be the same. All that remains is dream making and strange remembrance.

... I lived in the dark so as not to be blind when darkness came. Rehearse the pain to dull the pain.

"he's more myself than I am."

"... In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don't snuff it out, don't be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we'd want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything-what a waste!"

... burst of desire followed by it's instant antidote, fear.

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alexwatchesshows · 8 months

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Black Sails VIII (S1E8)

Spoilers for up to and including E8.

I forgot that all this happened in one episode, but then again it's Black Sails, and this is the first of four amazing season finales.

Silver is somehow still alive and on the Walrus, although given that his position currently relies on Randall, he's probably not as secure as he'd like to be. To be fair, those 18th century prosthetics don't look fun and I'm not sure I wouldn't feel the same if someone tried to make me wear one. Either way, Silver somehow has less problems than the rest of them. His schedule was actually correct (can we just take a moment to appreciate that this man held a full fucking schedule in his head for weeks after having it for one day), Eleanor's still protecting him (I assume), and he may be about to come into a lot of money. He clearly wants some clarity in terms of what Flint's plans for him are, which Flint absolutely will not give him, but, honestly, things could be worse. He could be Gates.

Flint and Gates are just a complete mess at this point. A bunch of people are expecting Gates to kill Flint whilst Gates, the wonderful man that he was, was going to help Flint escape but even then would definitely end his career as a pirate. Flint, meanwhile, would never let anyone get in between him and the Urca. I'm pretty sure they put that drinking scene in there just to hurt us even more, to show us that a) Flint and Gates are actually really close friends and b) Gates is (was) a gem of a human being. Seriously, who else would spend weeks trying to deliver a letter to a friend's sister? And all that just makes the events of the following day even harder. After everything that's happened, the Urca isn't there. I can't explain why, but something about that just feels so fitting. It's not good for Flint though, as it brings all the tensions between him, Gates, and the rest of the crew to boiling point. De Groot wants Flint tried then and there, Flint wants to go after a literal man o' war (I don't know much, but it having "war" in the name is generally a bad sign), and Gates, oh poor old Gates, just wants to get everyone back to Nassau before shit hits the fan, but I think he knows that that won't happen. Him handing Dufresne the letter with his confession was him admitting that to himself, and letting himself believe, for the first time, that Flint might rather kill him than give up on his dreams. This realisation is, for him, the breaking point that brings all the other realisations crushing down, and he loses it with Flint. He finally tells Flint that "(his) duty is to the (crew) not you", something that Flint had convinced both of them wasn't true, and Flint can't recognise that Gates is beyond believing in anything he says, I don't think he realises the extent to which he's grasping at straws until he accuses Gates of muntinying and Gates reveals everything he's been doing to manage the actual muntiny but, at this point, I think he's too far gone to actually act rationally on it. The final straw for Flint, though, is Gates' crushingly well-meaning plan to get him and Miranda to safety. The second he heard the word pardon, it was over for Gates. Whatever the backstory is between Flint and Miranda, I don't think he knows all of it, because, unlike Miranda, he didn't even try to sugarcoat the suggestion of taking the pardon. I think the worst thing is, neither of them could have stopped what was going to happen. Gates couldn't have prevented a mutiny for any longer, and Flint couldn't have let Gates take his life as a pirate away from him. Despite, or because of, its inevitability, that scene is the most emotional one in the show so far. It really showcases what Black Sails is becoming and the direction that it's heading in (more on that in my season 1 wrap-up probably). And the most Black Sails thing about it is that, as Flint is killing one of our most beloved, genuinely kind-hearted, characters, we feel more sorry for him than ever before. I can't express or describe the emotions that watching Flint choke his best friend to death, all while crying and apologising again and again evokes, but oh boy are those emotions powerful. This is definitely some kind of turning point.

Then, as Flint is processing what he's just done, holding Gates' body, Silver comes in. These two are a match made in hell, we can be sure of that. Flint has just killed someone, acting on emotion and impulse, and now Silver is coming in with little to no emotion and immediately treats the situation like a crime scene, all while Flint is collapsed like a cornered, dying animal. Flint tries to stop Silver but quickly gives in, whether because he sees the logic in it or just because he can't fight anymore (probably a bit of both). Then, just as a new sort of equilibrium has been achieved in this moment of absolute chaos and upheaval, Dufresne also comes to shake things up. At this point, it's probably good that Silver's also present, because Dufresne hasn't always been the best at acting on what's smartest, as opposed to what feels best. Silver is possibly too good at talking people into being what he wants, because Dufresne ends up giving Flint important advice, reaching some kind of uneasy truce.

As such, they go into the confrontation with the spanish ship with some kind of (not necessarily firm) footing, which Flint immediately tests with his ploy to prove that the man o' war is there for the Urca, and then going to attack a ridiculously overpowered ship. Also, Silver speaks Spanish? Anyway, this proves to be too much for Dufresne who shows more awareness of other people's perceptions of him than I maybe gave him credit for and choses the right exact moment to call Flint out. De Groot, meanwhile, is being the grumpy and prophetic old man we all know and love (I mean, seriously, "Time and time again he gambles with our lives. That is, when he's not taking them in cold blood." this man could make a killing as a writer of some sort, along with Mr "there are not legacies in this life ... just the water. It pays us, then it claims us" Gates, grumpy prophetic old men rise up I guess). For the second time in one day, Flint is having his power, future and dream taken away from him at the last moment. There's a moment where everything comes full circle as Logan(?) confirms the evidence condemning Flint is true, much as Billy confirmed Singleton's "theft", except, this time, it's likely that the evidence is true (although we never see the letter). Flint can see he's lost, but he keeps screaming for the guns to fire, then tries to fire them himself, only stopping when Dufresne literally shoots him.

At some point in the middle of all this, De Groot stops being a pessimistic prophet for a moment to actually do something. It's a good move, because Silver is one slippery man, and De Groot almost has him when we get one of the plot twists of all time: Randall, the man who, as far as we've known so far, has barely any awareness of his situation and little to no loyalty to Silver, fucking knocks De Groot out with his prosthetic leg, and follows that up with "you're welcome". What a guy. He remains a mystery to me-- this only complicates things-- but what a character. Silver then uses this opening to just shake shit up, I guess maybe because he thinks that starting a battle is one way to avoid immediate execution. We get a few moments of not quite calm, but organisation, as the Walrus crew accept that they're in battle and now need to win. Flint gets some semblance of control back as he advises/commands Dufresne, moving round the ship freely again, despite having recently been shot. The pirates have momentary victory thanks to the element of surprise. Then, in a moment of incredibly cinematography, the man o' war's gun ports open, audio becomes distant for a moment, then all hell breaks loose.

At this point, we should probably admit that Gates, Dufresne, and everyone who said that firing on a man o' war would be a really, spectacularly, bad idea were probably right. The Walrus is met with pure destruction. At some point, Flint is knocked overboard into the water. Whether he's unconscious or just letting himself sink is unclear but that shot of calm amidst the destruction is eerily beautiful.

Meanwhile, on Nassau, things are not going a whole lot better. At the beginning of the episode, it does look like Jack has some level of control over his new (not necessarily ideal) situation. He's firing Mapleton, he's working well with Max, he's got the merchants on his side, things are the best they've been for him for the best part of this season so far. Anne is not happy about any of this, but doesn't really say why. There's also a moment of her just... looking at Max in a moment of yearning(?) that breaks her general grumpiness for just a second. Eleanor, too, has got her shipping consortium more or less sorted. Sure, Mr. Scott is leaving her and she has no idea what's going on with Flint, but, like Jack, she's made the best of a bad situation and has more than found her feet

Then, just like with the Walrus, everything comes crashing down around them. Vane has returned with a vengance, a new crew, a shockingly effective plan, and a flare for the dramatic. Immediately, he sews as much panic and confusion as is humanly possible and, in doing so, effectively asserts his power. Mr Scott, despite his increasingly complicated relationship with Eleanor, immediately goes to protect her, making him possibly the only helpful person in this situation. Vane doesn't seem to have much of a goal beyond the ever-elusive ideals of power and strength, and all Hornigold cares about is his fucking chair. Vane then comes fully onto the scene with a slightly out of place story about Eleanor being fearless in Nassau, then claims to know her. Honestly, a lot of this seems like a massive ploy to get Eleanor to talk to him, but I guess it has worked a little. Eleanor is, for once, incredibly pragmatic about the situation, switching loyalties from Hornigold to Vane very quickly. That definitely won't have any negative consequences. Vane, too, adjusts very quickly to his new situation and immediately goes around to tie up his other loose end. As Anne predicted, he's suitably mad at (what he thinks was) Jack killing the remainder of their crew, and has found the worst possible punishment for a man obsessed with his name and reputation. At least, while all this is going on, Max and Eleanor come to some kind of agreement. Max is dressed spectacularly, and they're both stood in a secure position, looking out over Nassau. Max has come to appreciate Eleanor's point of view (and also possibly enjoys showing Eleanor how well she's doing without her) and each one seems to appreciate and respect the other's position and perspective. Yay for communication and emotional maturity!

Then we get our last moments on Nassau, after Max's "on sand, nothing is fixed" speech (prophetic women! yay!), with Vane in Hornigold's damn chair and Eleanor on the beach, just like in Vane's memory of her. It's a cool way to show how the power has shifted in Nassau, all whilst Flint and co. are off dying elsewhere.

Flint is, once again, absolutely covered in blood and sand and just general grime. Silver has pulled him out of the ocean, probably because he's recognised that Flint is the only guy who might not want to kill him immediately. He also seems to have mostly undressed Flint and given his bullet wound the school nurse treatment (wet paper towel). Silver is, once again, looking shockingly unaffected by everything, even maintaining some kind of optimisim that James "why am I still alive" Flint has long since given up on. Then we get yet another stunning shot of Flint and Silver on the beach, looking very small in the space of everything. It's an interesting perspective to just throw in there, even for a moment. Flint also gets an answer to his question pretty quickly as he (now with crumpled shirt) is shown the Urca. That sure is some painful irony-- that, if they had taken one piece of information into account, none of the past episode might have happened. Now, he and Silver are being kept alive as likely sacrifices for the process of getting the gold. What a way to end the season. I'm glad that all the seasons were released by the time I started this.

#my posts #tv shows #spoiler #tv #tv show review #episode review #tv reviews #black sails #black sails review #black sails spoilers

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auggie-beaniessssss · 1 year

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Cancelled Episode 3 "Cruel"

"OMG' are you really cheating on me with Joe?" "Wait how did you know?" "Wait that was a joke WHO'S JOE?" "JOE MAMA-"

After all that...hum. They still haven't relented...

Ugh. Forget it. It's too much trouble anyway.

It's time. Another one of Master's...projects. But oh well, who am I to call him again? I'm just another lowly servant...insignificant.

This time it's...on..the train. The MRT? Not having to blend in with those disgusting creatures again...

I'll have to do it anyway, might as well make it swift and quick.

"Retrieve an inscription with the help of the Vanishing Warrior."

Hmph, Vanishing Warrior? Could have picked a better name than that...

And so I made my way there. And this kid keeps making such a ruckus, singing and dancing her stupid ABCs...what's even more unbelievable is that everyone is applauding her off-key and terrible voice, hurling comments like "You're so cute!" or "You sing so well!"

Such...vile and dishonest actions disgust me. What's the point of nurturing a child in a peaceful, happy world, if their dreams are just all but about to be ruined amd crushed by the very same people that built that happy world? Disgusting creatures.

What was she even going to do once her Kineticore manifested? Another Umbrakinesis? Or maybe a Biokinesis? If she's lucky, she'll have a Pyrokinesis and survive blissfully in this world. If she's unlucky...she'll never make it.

Anyway, the MRT came. And thus, I got on the MRT. I don't really doubt the fact that you should have a working mind to connect the dots enough without me having to add in every single little itty bitty detail. Too...tiring, I do still have to do devote most of my energy to do slave work for the rich after all.

So I found a seat and sat conformatably down. Just waiting for the train to malfunction later so I could get the inscription.

Besides, I was supposed to find that Vanish guy or whatever. Apparently, I was "never going to be able to do it without him." Yet another insolent fool relying on the powerful for protection.

But then yet another interesting thing occured. Just as the doors were about to close, a family of four and a baby were rushing in to catch the train. The funny part? They managed to get in, but completely forgot about the baby in the stroller outside.

And so one of them rushed to get it. It looked more like they were...Werewolves?

Anyway. They rushed in with the stroller at the last possible minute-no, I'm fairly certain by then that they would have already been trapped outside the doors, or better, had the stroller be trapped in the door and crushed with the baby still in it.

And then-I saw him. He was a young man, looked about in his 20s, black hair in plain black shirt with sleeves with long black pants. Expressionless look on his face. Hands, however-glittering with light.

The doors too-all glittering with light. Oh, he's the one holding them open? Wow, what a surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise!

And then the Werewolf father managed to come into the train with the stroller in time. Well, perfect. And then, and only then, did both the glittering light at the doors and the young man's hands faded away at the same time. Surprise, surprise, surprise!

But then an odd thing happened. Just as the glitter faded away, a tiny bit of his hands went too, leaving only the shape of the hand part but not the actual solid hand part.

Oh, using his power kills him slowly? Wow, that same thing happens to me too, except only if I use it for the good of others. If I use it to harm others...it makes me stronger.

Why, oh why indeed, dear young man, would you waste away your life, trying in such vain and naive attempts to make the world a "better place"? There is no such "better place" as long as those higher up exist. As long as any form of social class exists in this world...tch. Naive fool. Sadly, he's just too weak to realise the truth of this world.

Look at the other people on the train too. Sure, sure, they were all shocked and were desperately asking the family if they were ok, but...well, that's just to be polite. No one here actually bothered to use their powers or anything to help that family, yet they act as if they deserve to ask them questions...well, that part's not my problem.

Then suddenly the train came to a screeching halt as all the lights went off and people started screaming. Oh good, time for work.

I quickly used my Umbrakinesis abilities to travel through shadows and make it to the head of the MRT, where a supposed "secret inscription" was held. Why they would keep it there, I have no clue.

"Ooh, the secret inscription. Magical," A young male voice behind me spoke. I didn't even need to turn my head. I already knew who it was.

"Ah ah ah, no need to get so worked up, aren't I the Vanishing Warrior you're looking for?" His voice...such arrogance...no, that was more like...confidence...

Only then did I turn my head, carefully clutching the inscription and holding it close to my chest so no pesky thieves could lay their hands on it. I can't trust this man. This man can't trust me either.

And then I lay eyes on him again. His entire right arm and most of his left arm was just...gone. Replaced by prostethics. Most of his legs too.

I guess he really is the Vanishing Warrior after all...

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cupidlakes · 3 years

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i’ve been loving your mcc thoughts so much! if it isn’t too neg to post would you mind answering why You thought the green guardians didn’t do so well

aww thank you so much!! i’ve been trying to refine my mcc knowledge actually because it’s so fun to talk abt but i don’t wanna seem like an idiot lolol BUT if you want my extremely humble opinion i think it somewhat has to do w/ dream, dreams leadership specifically and this is not to place the burden of responsibility on him the bottom line is just that people expected dream to have a plan for his team and also to help get the captain get his first win

it’s well known that dream is like that in the sense that he’s usually very prepped for mcc! has many thoughts, if not on paper then in his mind, on What To Do and i think that’s why the gg were projected to do well or at least decently by so many because people expect that of him at this point, i know i did

but it obviously seems like dream felt the pressure this time around and it affected his ability to lead his team and it’s just sad to me that he both didn’t end up enjoying the tournament to the fullest extent and partly takes responsibility for the loss/his own performance

i think the beginning games chosen lent themselves to everyone’s wretched mood like getting build mart as a first game and doing poorly even if it doesn’t technically matter because of the coin multiplier in the later games (and george mentioned this! “it’s for morale dream”) i still don’t think it helped for their general mood to do so badly as a team and the “morale” was down from the start with george getting easily frustrated too with the increasing changes, possibly focussed on his goal of tryharding, quackity not knowing what to say a lot of the time because he’s still fairly new to mcc and the captain trying his best but it not being enough to raise everyone’s spirits

back to build mart the communication wasn’t there the callouts weren’t there and no one was taking initiative, there was a lot of confusion due to the lack of communication and dream was feeling overwhelmed or even, i’m assuming, overstimulated by the music and texture pack and it was just a bad first game w/ the other ensuing games following a similar trajectory, george even turning to dream for advice or pointers, just any direction and dream being unsure and wary every time, like telling them they might not want to follow him bridging on tgttos as a strat because he didn’t trust himself not to mess up and i don’t wanna overdramatise this but i really do think dream was feeling the brunt of it, i’m so glad he wasn’t outwardly salty about his placement towards the end esp, he was accepting despite harsh on himself

he might’ve had a lot on his mind too we can never know, ik his 1.15 record got taken down later on by the mod team and this is more speculative ofc but it might have been something he was thinking about because i’m assuming (and it’s confirmed we just don’t know how long ago) that they mentioned it to him beforehand and it’s not the first time he’s had smth brought up to trouble him during mcc

atp i just want dream to know that in the future if he starts feeling like this in future mcc’s he should just let go and enjoy himself with his team, mess around have a laugh because it’s totally okay and it’s not expected that he should stress himself out and feel stressed out with his teammates about performing well. ik his reputation can mean a lot to him, living up to standards performing to people’s expectations and even exceeding them to seem worthy of everything he has and also obviously wanting to appeal to his pride and competitive nature but he’s just a guy. it’s okay to take a day off every once in a while again i hope if dream ever starts feeling like this again that he just has a good time w/ his team/friends and doesn’t bother himself with all the “what if-s” like he tends to do

gg had great potential but everyone and it seems especially dream wasn’t feeling it and that’s fine, til next time! i hope this means dream will reflect on how he wants to play in the future because a more casual approach if he’s not feeling up to it is always welcome and the same goes for literally everyone else dream said it was still fun despite his comments! and that’s really nice to hear also

#asks #WAKE UP BABE TIME FOR ANOTHER MINECRAFT YOUTUBER DISSERTATION AGAIN #very #long post #analysis #lmk if i should tag as neg jic because it’s not neg to me just a look at their performance #:]#even if this post is sadder in tone it’s just me being like !!! dream stop beating yourself up #there can also be a lot to be said for the boys not having plans for non-pvp games /like/ build mart which is alwasysss their downfall #and i feel like they were gonna rely on dream for that #too #this just makes me realise everyone relies on dream man #but yeah #just honestly honestly hope it doesn’t get any of them down too bad and that they genuinely anticipate the next mcc #even if it’s just for fun #mcc 14

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theshelbyclan · 2 years

Text

Miss Shelby

Summary: While Tommy’s working on legal business and politics, Teddy’s taken over the old business in Small Heath. But when she gets personally involved, she puts herself in danger

A/N: This one’s pure self-indulgence. I had a dream about Teddy being about 20 and realised that would be set in season 5. So, here’s me imagining what Teddy would be like at that point in the series, at that age. She the last of the Shelby’s to have remained in Birmingham and she’s taken over the illegal business, while trying to keep the peace back home. She’s in charge of the betting, the racketeering and the protection now, and everyone in Small Heath knows they can rely on her, while also fearing her to some degree. In a way, she’s become what Tommy once was. Anyways, this is for me mainly, but if you like this one, let me know!

Words: 3902

*****

“Mind the shop, I’ll be back in half an hour,” Teddy threw the keys at Scudboat, put on her peaky cap and walked out the door of the old family home in Watery Lane.

A young woman in men’s clothing walking around Small Heath would’ve attracted some attention, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was Teddy Shelby. Smoking silently, she made her way to the Garrison and as she did, people greeted her left and right, politely and with respect, “Good morning, Miss Shelby.”

Teddy nodded in reply and kicked at a football that was send her way by some kids playing in the lane. After Tommy had made them rich, after they’d worked their way up in politics, they’d agreed that the Shelby’s needed to keep heir homefront safe and theirs. This was Teddy’s job: at only 20 years old, she now ruled Small Heath with an iron fist, taking care of their own people first.

“Whiskey,” she told the barmaid, before entering the snug. Tommy looked up, and as soon as he saw it was his sister, he let some of the pretence drop. He slouched down in his chair and lit a cigarette, visibly relaxing. He’d spend all morning listening to people and their complaints. The things he had to endure as their MP...

“Tommy,” Teddy greeted him fondly. Every week, they’d meet up like this. Together, they would make sure they were on the same page and they discussed strategies like the olden days.

“Teddy,” Tommy nodded, a hint of a smile flashing across his features. He’d never say it out loud, but meeting with his youngest sister was usually the best part of his week. Sometimes, he thought about when she’d been little and he’d tried to keep her out of the family business. He’d always known that he was just putting off the inevitable.

“How’s the head?” Teddy asked in a sarcastic manner she shared with Ada.

“There’s nothing wrong with my head.”

“Hmm, could’ve fooled me...” Teddy shrugged, “In that case, how’s politics?”

Tommy fixed her with one of his stares and eventually said, “Family first. I heard you were seen with the son of the duke. Is my information correct?”

“Just for one night, Thomas,” Teddy rolled her eyes, because even though she was twenty now, Tommy still felt the need to treat her like a kid to be kept under observation, “Just a bit of fun.”

Tommy didn’t approve, but knew it wasn’t his place to speak. Also, he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. That was the one thing that had never changed about Teddy: if she wanted to do something, no one was going to stop her from doing it. A duke’s son, in this case apparently.

Instead he asked, “Careful there. Don’t want to get involved with the aristocracy. They’re all mad.”

“Tommy, sweetheart, I am the aristocracy. I’ll be queen of the Boswell Romani’s one day. And this boy? He’s not good enough.”

“No man’s good enough,” Tommy nodded. And he meant it.

Teddy downed her drink, “Business?”

He cleared his throat and put on his glasses to read his notes, “Do you know a Mrs Connors? Lives near the washing house.”

“I do,” Teddy made a point of knowing everyone is Small Heath. And everyone knew her.

“Her husband beats her. I said we’d speak with him.”

She nodded slowly, “I’ll speak with him. Again.”

Tommy looked at his sister for a second. Something cold had made its way into her eyes and he knew, if there was one thing Teddy couldn’t stand, it was people who beat their wives or kids. She’d put a stop to it, today.

“Did you get the horse I told you about?” he continued.

“Yeah, but she won’t race, Tommy. She won’t take the saddle, I’ve tried. She not built for it. But I like her, so she’s mine now.” And when Tommy frowned she continued, “Let me and Curly find you a proper horse to race, alright? You’ve forgotten, Tommy, you need to see the horse first. Going off on the proper paperwork and breeding... it won’t work. You need to actually go out and see the horse.”

“If you have some something to say, Teddy, spit it out,” her brother sensed some type of judgement in her voice, “Saying I don’t know horses anymore? Saying I need to go and live in some fucking gypsy camp as well, just to gain your respect, eh?”

“Calm down,” she soothed, “I just think you need to get out more. Sitting all cooped up in parliament isn’t good for anyone. I’ll find us another horse, alright? I’ll take the horse up to that filthy gypsy camp where your younger sister now lives and have her washed for your inspection. And then you come with me and see about the horse and then you can decide.” She added sweetly, “Would that make you feel better, Thomas?”

For a second, she feared she’d gone too far and he’d explode in anger. But a small smirk appeared on his face and underneath his breath, she heard him mumble, “Cheeky devil...” She always could get away with murder when it came to Tommy.

Teddy smiled and said, “We had some trouble with a new gang. Some kids, coming up from Digbeth. Nothing to worry about, but they kept on robbing the widows.”

“Did you put a stop to it?”

“I put my men on it,” Teddy had a small army of men at her disposal, and with them, she kept control and she kept the peace, “They’re with us now.”

“Good.”

But Teddy wasn’t finished, “The problem’s the housing, Tommy. These kids grow up mean in these fucking slums. Can’t you and your posh cronies do something about it?”

Tommy could never shake the feeling that even though he had all this power and influence now, his youngest sister didn’t quite take him seriously. She looked up to him, obviously she did, but more in spite of his good standing than because of his good standing.

For a few minutes more, they talked of particular people in trouble, as well as national politics. Names were mentioned and money was exchanged, but before the end of their meeting, they were interrupted.

“Miss Shelby!” a little boy came barging into the room.

“You want to try that again?” Teddy told him in a strict tone, “Outside. Knock on the door and wait for me to call you in.”

Tommy shot her an amused glance, but the boy obeyed and waited outside this time, until Teddy told him he could come in. Breathless, he tried again, “They’ve done the cafe again! Bricks through the windows and they’ve taken their money. The woman, she’s crying and mentioned your name.”

“For fuck’s sake...” Teddy stubbed out her cigarette angrily. Then she produced her revolver from her pocket and started checking the bullets. To the boy she said, “Tell her I’ll take care of it personally.” After that, the boy left.

Tommy blew some smoke in her general direction and casually asked, “Personally?”

“These are good people, Tom. I won’t have them paying us for protection only to get the last of their savings stolen by some fucking factory scum.”

“So, send your men to do them,” he waved a hand, “No need to get your hands dirty.”

Teddy coughed a laugh, “We agreed, Tommy, I’d take care of business at home. Let me handle this the way I see fit.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” and as much as her brother tried to keep his voice emotionless, some worry did slip through.

Tucking away her gun again, Teddy smiled lazily at him, “And if I do, that too, Tommy, won’t be any of your concern.” She stood up, grabbed his glass and downed his whiskey as well. Then she assured, “Until next week, brother.”

Tommy sighed, shook his head and shouted after his unruly little sister, “No more fucking MP’s sons, you hear me?” But he knew she wouldn’t listen. She did a great job at keeping Small Heath under their control, he never had to worry about that, but she never, ever, fucking listened.

*****

Back at the house in Watery Lane,Teddy opened the cabinet in the front room with one of the keys hanging from her trousers, and she took out a rifle. The big guns always did leave more of an impression on people. Carefully, she flipped it over and checked it, just like John had taught her once. Then she shouted out to Scudboat, who quickly joined her, “Take this one. Fill the one chamber with rock salt, alright? And the other with a normal bullet. We have a man to see about a cafe...”

His eyebrows rose, but he did as she asked without protest. Scudboat was one of the most loyal employees the Shelby’s had ever had. He’d been with them in France and ever since, he’d been a trustworthy presence at the betting den. Without speaking, he’d watched Teddy grow up. From a cheeky mischievous little kid, he’d seen her grow into a young woman with a head for business. And he remembered telling Tommy, the day they’d come back from France: you watch that one. She’s either going to fuck up everything or take over one day. Obviously, he’d been right about the latter.

As Teddy summoned some more of her men, she also send for some kids to gather information for her. With her small army of four, she sat at the table that was once used for family meetings. But when Billy came out with the whiskey, she told him, “No whiskey. Beer only. Save that for after, we have a job to do.” “Right,” she announced, “Today we’re putting a stop to these fucking nuisances. These people think they can fuck with us? I’m making them an example. Danny, you’re coming with me and we’ll talk to the woman. Make sure she knows she’s alright. Scudboat and Ian, I want you down at the docks. Don’t let them get away before I can speak to them.” And so Teddy laid out her plans, while the others sat and listened.

About half an hour later, she waltzed into the cafe. In there, the woman was still crying. When she looked up and saw Teddy, she immediately offered up all of her savings for even more protection. But Teddy refused to take the money; she told her they’d been the ones who fucked up and let this happen. She refused to take a penny. “Thank you, Miss Shelby...” the woman kept muttering, but Teddy waved a hand. She didn’t want her gratefulness; she wanted the bastards who did this.

When they made her way back onto the streets again, she heard some kids whisper, “Look, it’s Miss Shelby! They say she used to be one of us...”

“I am,” Teddy turned to them, which made them all practically jump in fear, “Don’t be afraid. If you fuck me over, then be afraid. But if you have any trouble, you come to me.” And that was exactly how she’d gained her control over Small Heath.

Information had come to her that the robbers could be found near the Cut. “Tell them to clear the houses, just in case,” Teddy told her associate, not wanting to have any innocent bystanders shot in the process. Then she held her head up high, felt for the reassuring comfort of her gun and walked over to the men sitting by the docks.

Confidently, she announced her presence, “Gentlemen.”

One of them laughed at her, “It’s that Shelby bitch!” He wasn’t from around here; he clearly had no idea who he was dealing with.

Teddy smiled back politely, “Indeed it is. I’m here to talk business, regarding the cafe down the road.”

Again, one of them chuckled and he got up menacingly now, “Yeah, so we took it. What did you plan on doing about it, little girl?”

Taking her rifle, Teddy warned him casually in advance, “This is going to hurt.” And before he could laugh at her again, she shot the rock salt bullet into his leg. Writhing in agony on the ground, she then turned to the others. Like nothing had happened, she continued, “You’re in Small Heath, gentleman, and nothing happens here without my consent. Now, you may have gotten used to some freedom back in where ever the fuck it is you came from, but not here. Here, the Peaky Blinders are in control.”

But one of them decided to be an idiot after all and made a grab for his own gun. Scudboat shot him before he could even aim it. Teddy took her rifle and shot the second one. Then she aimed her trusted revolver and number three and asked, “What is it going to be?” He took one look at his friend, still squirming in pain in the mud, and put down his gun. Teddy whispered a, “good boy”, and walked away, letting her boys deal with the clean-up.

As she walked away, she heard one of them shoot the man she’d shot in the leg. There was no point in keeping him in agony; it’d served its purpose. Teddy lit a cigarette and tucked away her revolver. She never even heard the shot being fired at her, but when it hit her shoulder, she fell to the ground and the world became blurry at once.

*****

When she opened her eyes again, she was laying down on the table at the Garrison. Finn was hunched over her. As soon as she woke up, he called out, “Get her a bottle!”

“Bastard fucking shot me,” Teddy ground out, “in the fucking back!”

“Don’t move,” her brother ordered her, “The bullet’s still in. I’ve called for Jeremiah.”

Internally, Teddy tried to prepare herself for what was about to come. The pain was setting in now and it was making it hard to think. Gratefully, she took the bottle that was handed to her. “Make it quick,” she stumbled as she drank.

Finn and another one of her men helped her onto her side. “You do it,” she told Finn, not trusting anyone else to hold her down as Jeremiah got to work.

And to work, he got. As he was digging into her shoulder, Teddy’s primal shrieks filled the Garrison. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do so. Instead she clung onto consciousness, telling herself this was only temporary. She’d been shot before, but never like this. And just as her vision was starting to go dark again, she saw Jeremiah holding up a bullet triumphantly.

“It’s done...” she whispered to herself.

“Uhm,” Finn tried carefully, “Not really.” And before she could question him, he spilled the whiskey into the open wound on her back. Teddy screamed out in pain, the worst yet, and tears leaked from her eyes. But Finn held her and pressed his forehead into hers, while comforting her, “Now it’s done. Breathe, Teddy, breathe... you’re alright, baby. It’s done...”

And Teddy breathed.

Carefully, she hoisted herself up from the table, so that she could be bandaged. One of her men told her about what had happened to the robbers. None of them were kept alive, which was as it should be.

After they’d done, Teddy looked at Finn and noticed he had a certain nervousness about him. Then she concluded, “You’ve told Tommy.”

“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it, Teddy.”

“Fucking hell...” she sighed, “He’s coming down here, isn’t he?”

Slowly, her brother nodded, “Couldn’t stop him.”

“Give me the bottle,” Teddy demanded, because if she had to face her older brother, she was really going to need it. And just as she had, said brother marched into the Garrison like he was on a mission.

Ignoring Teddy, he asked Finn, “Will she be alright?”

“Jeremiah took the bullet out. No internal bleeding. She’ll be fine.”

“Good!” Tommy faked cheerfulness. And then he slapped Teddy once on the back of her head.

“Ow!” she called out, wincing as she moved her shoulder, “I just fucking got shot!”

“I know you fucking did,” he said in a low voice and then bellowed, “Why the fuck do you think I’ve had to drag myself back into Small Heath!”

Teddy sighed deeply, realising a Thomas Shelby patented lecture was incoming, and she told her men, “Get back onto the streets and clean up the mess from this afternoon. Make sure the people know we’ve handled things.”

Tommy sank down in a chair and lit a cigarette, with an exasperated sigh, “ ‘We’ve handled things’... eh? You’ve fucking handled things? I fucking told you, Teddy, let other people do your dirty work for you!”

Finn, at once, tried to protect his sister, “Tommy, she usually doesn’t...”

But Tommy cut him off, “You fucking wait outside and let me talk to your sister, alright? Now, piss off, Finn.”

“Why are you here, Tom?” Teddy asked in earnest, after Finn had left. None of his preaching was going to change things.

“Wasting my fucking time on you!” he spat in reply, “I need you to manage the business, here, in Small Heath, but stop getting involved. Alright? This is no place for a little girl.”

“Oh fuck you!”

“Yeah? Well, fuck you too!” he shouted in reply, “I have better things to do than after twenty years still having to look out for my baby sister who, has, after twenty. fucking. years. YET TO LEARN TO BEHAVE!”

Teddy stared at him and felt at her shoulder for a moment. Then she said calmly, “Go and do you ‘better things’ then, Tommy. Thank you for coming and good bye. Fuck off.”

He pointed a menacing finger at her and whispered, very much like he’d done when she was little, “You talk to me like that again and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. You hear me, eh? I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re all grown-up now; I will spank you right here and now and I will make you fucking listen to me.”

Teddy tried to compose herself, but she couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing, “How are you even going to that when they literally just dug a bullet out of me.”

His irritation didn’t cease much, “I’ll find a way.”

“Tommy,” Teddy said bravely, “If you’re worried about me, just say you’re worried about me. You won’t die, you know, if you express some love. Go on, try it.”

He sighed again, “You’re actually going to drive me fucking insane one of these days, Theodora Shelby.”

“That’s ‘Miss Shelby’ to you,” she corrected him with half a smirk on her face, “Yeah, but you love me.”

He pointed at her again, but didn’t deny it either. Instead he said, “I need you to not get shot again.”

“I’ll try.”

“And you’re coming with me,” Tommy decided, “Back to Arrow House. Until you have recovered. I’ll have one of my maids take proper care of you.”

Teddy’s eyes lit up, but her brother quickly said, “I was talking about breakfast.”

Her face fell a little, “I’m needed here, Tommy.”

He scoffed, “I heard you shot a man with rock salt. Fucking brutal. Bravo. I don’t think you have to worry about anyone stepping out of line for a while.”

Teddy contemplated his offer for a moment. It would be good to get out of the smoke for a few days, “Alright I’ll come, but only because you’ve clearly missed me so much.”

Tommy rolled her eyes again, “I’ll have a car send for you.”

“On two conditions, though, Tommy.”

“What?” he snapped, taking the bottle from Teddy’s hands and bringing it up to his own lips.

“One: I need you to let me handle business down here. People respect me and the Blinders, but not just because I’m your little sister, but because of me. Do you understand? I need to be able to deal with things the way I feel is needed.”

“Fine,” he took another swig, “What’s next?”

“Two,” Teddy continued without mercy, “I need you to take a holiday. With me.”

“I already tried fucking... golfing...” Tommy gestured around vaguely.

“Golfing will drive you mad.”

“It really fucking did.”

“Fuck golfing,” his sister said pointedly, “Come with me out on the road, just for a few days. We don’t have to talk. We’ll just take the vardo. Take your fucking kids, I don’t care, but you need to sleep under the stars again and eat a proper meal.”

Tommy looked at his sister and thought she looked like something... ancient. Like she remembered something from the olden days, even though she was too young to know. She told him, “Remember when you took me out on the January?” It was one of her most favourite memories of the two of them together, “Like that. You need it, Tommy. You’ve forgotten.”

“Forgotten what, eh?” But he didn’t expect an answer. He knew she was right. She never did listen, but she was usually fucking right.

“Do you agree to the terms as presented?” Teddy inquired in a business-like manner.

“Yes,” Tommy handed her back the bottle, “Now give me the bullet.”

Teddy furrowed her brows, “The one Jeremiah took from my shoulder? Why?”

“I’m going to have it framed,” Tommy said casually, “Fucking.. art. And I’ll name it: Teddy’s first and last bullet.”

“Tommy, this is hardly my first...”

He shot her a dangerous look.

“Fine. Frame the bitch.”

For a few more precious moments, they sat in silence. And then Tommy asked Teddy, “What’s happened to us, eh?” In his mind, he was thinking about everything that had changed in the last decade. From a cutthroat razor gang, they were now a political influence to reckon with. The Shelby’s, they were no longer just feared, but respected too. Not one of them had to grow up barefoot and mean: they had money now, houses, horses. Nothing seemed the same, and still, still, they always came back to Small Heath. His sister couldn’t be kept away, for one.

“The world’s changed, Tommy,” Teddy said softly, “but we haven’t.”

He looked at her and laughed, really laughed, like he hadn’t done in years.

And Teddy Shelby grinned back at him, “You and me? We’ll never change. We’ll always be...”

He leaned forwards a lit her cigarette for her, when he finished her sentence, “We’ll always be this.”

“Whatever the fuck ‘this’ is,” Teddy joked, taking a drag.

“It’s you being a pest and me cleaning it up,” he laughed again. Teddy liked the sound of it: she’d missed it.

For a moment, she looked at her brother and saw the boy in the fields again, the optimistic soldier going off to war, the broken man coming back, the ambitious Blinder in Small Heath, the robber, the fighting man and the gangster, and the calculating politician, all in one. To her it was all the same: her favourite brother. And she told him, teasingly, “Nah, it’s you falling apart and me picking you up.”

Suddenly, he was serious, and he blurted out, “So, pick me up.”

“Always,” Teddy promised.

And the two of them smoked and drank their whiskey in silence. The Shelby’s didn’t know much about love, but what they did know, this was it.

Peace.

*****

Masterlist

#peaky fandom #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #polly gray #john shelby #shelby sister #peaky blinders s6 spoilers #teddy Shelby #polly shelby #teddy #shelby sis #sister!shelby #peaky blinder #peaky blinders fandom

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Merlin Scar Reveal Part 2(final part)

Merlin tries to pretend nothing happened, Arthur says “that’s stupid.”

Part 1

Merlin’s nightmares last for the rest of the afternoon and extend well into the night.

The heat certainly doesn’t help, and it takes all of Gaius’ effort to keep his temperature low enough to not boil him from the inside out, but he manages with help from the knights. Mordred and Lancelot refuse to leave the servant’s side of course, but the others loiter in the corridor the entire time, and take turns sprinting to the cold store and kitchens for ice water and cloths.

It was difficult to stand there waiting, being given scraps of information on Merlin’s condition, especially when most of the scraps consist of something along the lines of “Hopefully he’ll snap out of it by the morning.”, which was certainly not helped when the occasional whimper floated out to them from the young servant’s room.

After a few hours, Leon was the one to draw the short straw to go and talk to Arthur. Whilst all of them were mildly miffed that Arthur had pushed Merlin so far, they knew that ultimately, it was all of their faults. All of them had pushed him, and none of them had protected him from being injured in the first place. None of them knew how much he had suffered, was still suffering. Considering Arthur’s... extra feelings for his servant, it was no wonder he’d reacted even worse than the others.

The First Knight agrees to go, knowing he had the best chance of talking some sense into The King, though he refuses to leave until he sees each of the others settle in their beds; it had been a long day, and would likely be an even longer day tomorrow. They all need as much sleep as they can get.

Arthur doesn’t answer when Leon knocks on his door, but the knight lets himself in after a few moment regardless, doing so quietly so as not to startle the man if he was asleep or, more likely, deep in thought.

The King was sat at his desk, chin resting on his hands, and Leon has to stamp down the surge of protective adrenaline in his lungs when he sees the dry tear tracks on the younger man’s face. He doesn’t notice Leon’s presence, not even when he very deliberately clears his throat, so the knight walks over to him slowly, rapping his knuckles harshly on the desk. That finally catches Arthur’s attention, and he looks up with a start, hands reaching for the sword that Leon knows he has hidden under the desk.

The King lets out a deep breath and relaxes back in his seat when he sees that it’s just Leon, hastily wiping his eyes before clearing his throat and looking up with a fake confidence:

“Sir Leon, what can I do for you?”

Leon just raises an eyebrow, but when Arthur holds strong and doesn’t react he lets out a deep sigh and collapses into the seat on the other side of the desk:

“Come on, Arthur. We need to talk about this.”

Arthur gulps, trying to keep his unaffected façade up, but failing and dropping it after only a few moments; something about the soft, overly concerned look Leon was giving him made him want to wrap himself in blankets and sob himself to sleep. He frowns and just about manages to keep the tears in:

“Why wouldn’t he tell me? If not about the physical scars, then about all the times he’s been hurt. Does he not think I would’ve given him time to recover? Or, God forbid, helped him?”

Leon purses his lips slightly in thought, still having to make a concerted effort not to gather The King up in a tight hug as he considers his questions:

“I don’t think it’s about you, Arthur. Merlin is... a private person by nature, and he doesn’t like worrying people. You heard Mordred, he and Lance found out by accident, and even then Merlin tried to keep them away from it as long as possible.”

Arthur stands, the guilt and sadness in his gut now frothing with anger as well. He paces around to the centre of the room and Leon stands to watch him carefully:

“He can say it’s not about me as much as he wants, but I’m The King, Leon,-”

He whirls on the knight, and Leon clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to raise a mocking eyebrow. He knew to expect anger at some point, but that doesn’t mean Arthur was entitled to it:

“-I have a right to know what’s going on in my Kingdom. I should’ve been informed of Nimueh and Morgause’s deaths, I should’ve been informed that Cenred was torturing people for information. How many other countless adventures has Merlin had that have put himself, Me, the Kingdom in danger, simply because he didn’t want people to know much about him?? None of that was his call to make.”

Leon does raise an eyebrow at that, but Arthur was too busy furiously pacing to feel scolded quite yet. The older man crosses his arms and huffs slightly, waiting for The King to calm before responding:

“Be that as it may, that’s not why you’re angry. You can lie to yourself, Arthur, but you can’t lie to me, and you certainly shouldn’t lie to Merlin. If you go to him pretending that you’re angry because he put the Kingdom at risk, and not because you’re heartbroken at him having suffered so much, then he’ll never forgive you. And when you realise that, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Arthur looks to Leon sharply, but the anger drains from his face within seconds and his whole body sags slightly, the exhaustion of the day having caught up to him. A glance to the now dark window tells him that it’s well into the evening, but he can’t find it in himself to be annoyed at the unfinished paperwork on his desk or the hunger in his stomach from not having eaten since before noon, not when he knows Merlin is being tortured by nightmares and injuries that have long since healed. Injuries that he should never have had in the first place. Leon waits patiently for Arthur to respond:

“I don’t want him to be in pain. I just want to help him.”

His cracking admission has Leon give up on holding himself back, and he strides towards The King to pull him into a tight embrace. Arthur tenses at first, but quickly falls into the older man’s affection, accepting a hug for the first time since he was a child. Leon responds softly, aware that he only had a short time before Arthur pulled away and put his walls back up:

“Merlin’s already in pain, Arthur, but that doesn’t mean we can’t now help him.-”

He feels Arthur nod into his shoulder and squeezes the man tighter for a moment before pulling back, keeping a tight grip on The King’s shoulders:

“Come on, you need to get some sleep.”

Arthur’s tired, longing gaze moves to the paperwork spread haphazardly over his desk, and Leon shakes his head, tugging Arthur’s shoulders so he looks back at him:

“No, work isn’t an option, your mind is not in any sort of state to be productive right now. You’re exhausted, Arthur, a few hours of sleep will do you some good; I hate to say it but The Kingdom won’t stop needing attention whilst we... sort through this, and you’ll need the energy tomorrow.”

Arthur shakes his head, stepping back and rubbing his eyes tiredly as he takes a deep breath and straightens his back. Leon steps back as well, re-introducing the respectful distance that should be between a King and his Knight, waiting for Arthur’s no doubt stoic response:

“The councilmen will survive without me for a day or two, if not then that really should be something I’m made aware of so I can get to replacing them. Merlin and I need to...-”

He cuts himself off and clears his throat:

“-has there been any news? Any change?”

Leon shakes his head, but catches Arthur’s wrist when he begins walking towards the door:

“Arthur. I just about managed to convince everyone else to get some sleep and you need it more than them.-”

Arthur looks back indignantly, failing to portray his Kingly Anger in his exhaustion and looking more like a scolded child:

“-You know I’m right. Get some sleep, Gaius will inform you if anything changes.”

For a moment, it looks like Arthur wants to argue, but he quickly lets out a deep, bone weary sigh, nodding before moving sluggishly towards his bed. Leon nods approvingly, muttering a soft “Goodnight, My Lord” and smiling slightly at Arthur’s hummed response before quietly exiting the chambers.

Arthur can convince himself, for a few blissful seconds, that it was all a bad dream when he wakes up the next morning.

His curtains are thrown wide open; the sunlight streams in and forces The young King to groan and roll over, attempting to shield his eyes from the brightness. Merlin’s cheery voice echoes throughout the various chambers:

“Come on, Sire, up and at ‘em!”

Arthur just grumbles a slurred “Fuck off.” before his brain wakes up and he throws himself from the bed, thankfully wearing sleep clothes but only just managing to catch himself on the bedside table before he falls over:

“Merlin!! What the hell are you- are you ok?! Did Gaius say you could get up?!”

Merlin looks back at him with the same disapproving, mocking glare he usually uses in the morning; Arthur is taken aback at the darkness in his eyes. He can’t quite decide if it made it’s first appearance this morning, or if it had always been there and he just hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t know which idea he hates more:

“I’m fine, Arthur, no need to worry about me. And for your information, I’m a fully trained physician, I don’t need Gaius telling me what I can and can’t do.-”

He rolls his eyes and turns to The King’s desk with a huff, gesturing at the mess:

“-It’s flattering that you rely on me so much Arthur, but really, this is ridiculous.”

Arthur is finally broken out of his shocked stupor, shaking his head disbelievingly and taking a few short steps towards his manservant. He goes to yell but quickly backtracks, snapping his mouth shut and taking a deep breath before trying again, softly this time:

“Merlin... we have to talk about yesterday.”

Merlin’s reaction is immediate and harsh. The quill that he had picked up from Arthur’s desk snaps in his sudden tight grip and the tension in his shoulders is painful looking. He freezes for just a moment before forcing himself to relax, casually throwing the broken quill into a waste basket before continuing to organise the desk, refusing to look up at The King:

“No, we really don’t. I’m fine, My Lord.”

The lack of sarcasm or sass in Arthur’s title worries The King greatly, but the way Merlin regains more and more of the tension in his shoulders the closer Arthur walks to him is even more worrying:

“Merlin... look at me.-”

The servant gulps, biting his lip at he stares at the desk for a few more moments before forcing himself to look up. He recoils slightly at the tears in Arthur’s eyes, but doesn’t allow himself to look away. Arthur opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the door to his chambers opening with a bang as Mordred and Lancelot rush in. They’re both red-faced and panting, speaking at the same time:

“I swear to the Gods if he snuck out of bed to work, I’ll-”

“I apologise My Lord, I don’t suppose you’ve seen-”

They both freeze as they see Merlin stood behind Arthur’s desk, paperwork crumpled in his tight grip and face fallen into a annoyed frown. Arthur throws his hands up, frustrated as he paces and mumbles:

"Just... come in why don’t you. No, don’t worry about knocking just run on in like you own the damn place.”

Lancelot spares him a quick glance but locks the door behind him and crosses his arms like an angry mother as he looks to the irate servant:

“Merlin, we’ve talked about this, you’re meant to take the morning off after a bad night, Gaius says-”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and turns away, interrupting Lancelot’s scolding as he continues to tidy around the room, his annoyance evident in his harsh tone and hurried movements:

“I’m a physician too, and I say I’m fine. I would like to just... get on with things, please.”

Arthur has to stop himself from recoiling at the way Lance and Mordred’s faces fall, the pain and grief sadder than anything he’s ever seen in their expressions before. He takes a moment to think before giving the two of them a pointed look and quietly asking:

“Can you give us a minute?”

Lancelot looks doubtful, but willing. Mordred plants his feet and crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious he has no intention of leaving Merlin’s side; as much as Arthur finds that admirable on a personal level, as King it’s unacceptable. He’s normally not a fan of pulling rank among friends, but maybe that’s because he normally doesn’t need to. Perhaps this whole mess was his fault, Mordred obviously felt so, but Arthur could hardly fix it with them glaring over his shoulder. He raises himself to his full height, a good few inches above Mordred, and uses the tone of voice he normally reserves for particularly difficult councilmen:

“You forget whose presence you are in, Sir Mordred, you’d do well to remember again. You are both dismissed.”

Mordred’s eyes go wide and he takes in a sharp breath, but after a quick glance to Merlin’s turned back he dutifully bows and walks from the room stiffly. Lancelot’s postures straightens as well, and he follows Mordred after a confident:

“We’ll be in Gaius’ chambers should you require anything, My Lord.”

Merlin was oblivious to the conversation, though Arthur reckons he was deliberately ignoring it as opposed to being actually unaware, especially with the way the servant’s shoulders relax when the door shuts behind the second knight.

Arthur sighs as Merlin continues to putter around the room, refusing to look him in the eye; he leans against the edge of the desk and crosses his arms:

“Merlin,-”

His voice is soft, but the servant still doesn’t look at him, giving a non-committal hum as he clears out the hearth with shaking hands:

“-come here, please.”

Merlin freezes for just a moment, and if the problem wasn’t so glaringly the context of the situation, Arthur may have been able to fool himself into believing that Merlin was just shocked he said please. The younger man stands slowly, turning to walk towards Arthur with his gaze stuck to the floor. He stops with about five feet of space between them and Arthur sighs again, closing the gap until only a few inches separates them. The King ignores the tears gathering in both of their eyes as he lifts a hesitating hand, dropping it softly on Merlin’s shoulder only when the servant doesn’t flinch away:

“Merlin, I... you mean a great deal to me, and I know I don’t say that often enough, or at all, really. You... look after me, keep me alive and unhurt, evidently more than I had originally thought. You make me a good King, and a better man.-”

Merlin looks up at him sharply and Arthur can tell that he’s about to argue, so he squeezes his shoulder and quickly hurries on:

“-You’ve been hurt, you’ve suffered in your service to me, and that’s unacceptable but it’s also my fault; I should’ve made it clear that I would protect you from anything. These scars prove your strength, but I understand not wanting to acknowledge them, so I promise I will never ask again. You tell me when you’re ready, and if that’s never, then that’s completely fine.-”

Merlin seems surprised by the promise, and the tears slowly dripping from his wide eyes just make Arthur regret yesterday even more. After a second or two of shock, Merlin visibly relaxes, relieved with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to expect the conversation that he really doesn’t want to have. Arthur gives him a weak smile before continuing:

“-I’m sorry, but I’m also grateful. Thank you, Merlin. But...-”

Merlin re-tenses at the “but” and Arthur squeezes his shoulder again, giving him what he hopes is a reassuring smile:

“-please don’t keep doing this alone. I... I don’t expect you to ask me for help, though I would drop anything in a heartbeat to keep you safe. Even... even if it’s Gwaine, just... I don’t want you disappearing off to save the Kingdom only to never come back again because no one knows where you are.”

Merlin smiles weakly at the disdain in Arthur’s voice when he mentions Gwaine, but quickly frowns again and looks at the floor. He gaze stays lowered when he asks his one word question, his voice quiet and ragged:

“Anything?”

Arthur frowns for a second, confused about what Merlin was asking, but quickly realises, lifting the other man’s chin with his hand, his voice a whisper:

“Merlin, I would give up the Kingdom to rid you of the burden you’ve place upon yourself. I just want you safe and happy and by my side.”

Merlin once again looks like he wants to argue, but a quiet sob falls from his mouth instead and Arthur, damning the consequences and his stupid reputation, pulls the younger man into a tight hug, cradling his head into his shoulder and running a soft hand up and down his back. A few tears of his own slip free but he finds he doesn’t care that much as Merlin shakes in his arms; he presses a barely-there kiss to Merlin’s temple and begins swaying slightly on the spot, wanting more than anything to take away his servant’s pain.

Merlin’s cries slow to a stop after what feels like hours, but Arthur doesn’t let go quite yet, eyeing the unmade bed over Merlin’s shoulder with eagerness, knowing that neither he nor Merlin had slept well last night. He feels Merlin stifle yawn against his shoulder and that just strengthens his resolve; he squeezes the younger man to get his attention and then speaks quietly:

“Reckon the council can survive without me later?”

Merlin clears his throat and responds, but still doesn’t let go:

“Doubtful, but Leon and Morgana could probably whip them into shape. Why?”

Arthur nods and pulls back, frowning at the slight panic in Merlin’s eyes when he steps away but doesn’t mention it, letting his hand slide down from the servant’s shoulder to grip his hand. Merlin visibly relaxes, but still looks confused as Arthur tugs him towards the bed gently; he allows himself to be pushed to sit on the edge and looks up at Arthur questioningly. The blond stops himself from grinning widely at the trust in his expression, instead turning away to shut the curtains and lock the door as he says:

“Shoes and belt off, I fancy a nap, how about you?”

He was expecting an argument, so he's surprised when he turns back to the bed to see Merlin softly smiling as he sets his shoes and belt on the bedside table neatly. They both climb under the covers wordlessly, and Merlin doesn’t hesitate to curl into Arthur’s side when he holds his arms out to him.

The King holds his servant close, tucking his head against his chest and burying his chin in his soft hair, his arms wound around Merlin tightly. Merlin closes his eyes without issue, finding himself unafraid of the darkness or the nightmares or the firm touch against his back for the first time since his collection of scars began.

The warrior sleeps, plagued by nothing but pleasant dreams and the warmth of a protection he knows he can trust.

THE END!!

That took me FOREVER to write, writer’s block really does suck, but I’m glad I finally got it finished. I feel like it’s a little underwhelming, but I hope y‘all like it :)

@1stbonesfan asked to be tagged! <3

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finexbright · 3 years

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louis is literally sunshine personified.

everything about him is so calm, even though he has such a loud personality. loud not in the terms of him being chaotic (which to be fair he is), but loud in the terms of just how blindingly bright he is. he just soothes you. he's there being himself, being human and you realise he's just so inspiring. he oozes confidence and positivity with everything he does, no matter what's thrown his way. he is such a steadfast, strong person. he's always, always there. for anyone who needs him, for anyone who doesn't. he's warmth on the coldest day, he's light on the darkest day, he's comfort when you need it, he's a safe space when you want to run away.

he's rigorous with his vision. doesn't matter if it's a ten year old dream or a day old, he knows how to bring it to fruition. he knows how to meticulously plan everything in order for it to be a grand experience for everyone. he's considerate, he's kind, he's generous, he's just all around lovely. seeing him bring his dream to reality, seeing him be nervous, seeing him underestimate himself (when he's so, so much more), makes me feel bittersweet because it makes me realise just how human he is. yet he stands there confident as ever, because he knows he deserves it, he knows he's earned it all. it makes me so proud to see him grow, to see him being this enigmatic boss bitch of a man. he knows he's here to make the rules, to set the records straight, to own the godamn stage, because it's his, because he made it, because he worked his ass off for all of it, because he put so much thought and time and creativity into it, because he nurtured it until it became this glorious thing that was loved by all, and he's so proud of it, because he did it all by himself, knowing thousand and one things could go wrong, he stood there, he took charge and he said "watch me make it happen" and he did. he made it happen and he's here to rule.

he has such a poignant way of writing and creating art. he's out there writing songs that come from such a raw, honest, unadulterated place and somehow every single one of us can not only relate to it, but connect to it in a very real, daunting way. it makes you think, how despite being so far and apart, how someone out there knows just how you're feeling and can put all of that into just the perfect combination of words. he knows just how to bring that rawness and realness of the feelings out. he also knows how to make you feel like whatever is happening, no matter how big it is, or how worrisome it is, that you're going to be alright, that you're not the only one, that there's always someone else out there, that if nothing, there'll always be this recording of his voice to be by your side. his writing doesn't make me feel like i'm listening to a song, or reading some words strung together. it makes me feel like someone tugged my heart out and directly whispered to it, soothed it, calmed its rapid beating, held it with warm hands and said, 'there you are, you're alright'. he makes you feel a magnitude of emotions you didn't even know you had. he makes you feel like you can conquer anything in the world as long as it's you, as long as you have faith in yourself.

his voice is such a calming presence. no matter what i'm going through, i know i can count on him (just the way he said in change). not in a superficial way where i always rely on him. no, more in a way where you know, that at the end of the day, you're okay because you made yourself okay, because you brought yourself here, because you're here, you're alive and you're lovely.

something that i absolutely love about him is how brave he is. how despite everything, he made it. and he still has so much more to achieve.

this gives me faith in the future.

#i still have so much to say but it's very overwhelming right now #i'll come back later maybe #lt away from home #mine #soni says things

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hd-wireless · 2 years

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📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2022 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #3

Welcome to our third weekly wrap up!

We're well over halfway through the fest at this point and there's still so many amazing things waiting for everyone 🎉🎉🎉

Tell us your favourites so far in the comments!

As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:

Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) And here for YouTube

And now without further ado, this week's works:

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 Crystal Visions [G, paper, ink, embroidery]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac 🎵 Summary Before Voldemort could create Horcruxes, Tom Riddle had to practice murder. Although Voldemort often alluded to his earliest victims, they have never been found nor identified. Many years after the end of the war, Harry has begun dreaming of strangers pleading for help. Haunted and desperate, he consults Draco, a dream investigator. Together they have started to match the people in Harry’s dreams to reports of missing persons from Riddle's time, with hope of bringing a measure of peace and justice to the last unknown casualties of Voldemort’s rise.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 Bright Side [T, 2.000]

🎵 Song Prompt: ‘BRIGHTSIDE’ by ‘The Lumineers’ 🎵 Summary It’s been one year since the war, and Draco is on probation. He lives in a shitty muggle flat in the middle of nowhere in California and delivers pizza. Harry is Draco’s probation officer who visits far too often. “You think about yourself too much,” Harry said. “And you don’t think about yourself at all,” Malfoy replied slowly. “I don’t know which is worse.”

📻 Plant your hope (rain down on me) [M, 9.333]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Thistle and Weeds' by 'Mumford & Sons' 🎵 Summary Draco Malfoy is captured, and it slowly dawns on him that his only hope to escape is to rely on Harry Potter. But what happens when the Saviour of the Wizarding World isn't the man he once was? A tragedic story told in seven parts.

📻 You Don’t Owe the World A Thing [T, 17.811]

🎵 Song Prompt: Celadon and Gold by Maggie Rogers 🎵 Summary Harry has spent the five years since the battle trying to live up to his reputation as the Savious of the Wizarding World. Nothing is too much trouble for him, and he goes to great lengths to ensure no-one is let down. No-one notices that he’s doing too much and that it’s taking it’s toll on The Chosen One. No-one except Draco, but how can he get Harry to listen to him?

📻 taste you like a drug [E, 3.210]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Daddy Issues' by 'The Neighbourhood' 🎵 Summary The truth is: I can stop smoking. I’ve done it a couple of times before. I simply don’t want to. I guess Mione’s right, Malfoy’s just the same: I don’t want to quit him.

📻 Away [T, 16.255]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Sleep on the Floor' by 'The Lumineers' 🎵 Summary After the war, Harry follows the script; he becomes an Auror and works for the greater good, he stays the perfect image of a Saviour that everyone needs. Until he doesn't. A story about finding yourself by running away, road trips and second beginnings.

📻 The Pact [E, 12.084]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Deep Water' by 'American Authors' 🎵 Summary When the hotel reception messes up their bookings, Harry and Draco realise the truth about their boyfriends. They make a "no more boyfriends" pact. But whether they can keep it remains to be seen...

📻 I Won't Let You Fall Apart [M, 49.816]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'We're In This Together' by Nine Inch Nails 🎵 Summary Harry has spent the year after the war staying out of the public eye, dodging political battles, and standing firm against pressure from his friends. But he has a secret plan to get away from it all. He just needs to testify at one more Death Eater trial: Draco Malfoy’s. Little does Harry know what his act of compassion will cost him—and Malfoy.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic and Art 🎶

📻 like freedom [M, 4.325, digital art]

🎵 Song Prompt: “Dead of Night” by Orville Peck 🎵 Summary Harry doesn’t know the exact moment his life changed. Maybe it was the day Draco Malfoy unwillingly turned up at his front door, or the moment the plane’s landing gear went up and London-Heathrow fell away below them. Maybe it was in the dusty swirl of red rocks and motel rooms somewhere between Tennessee and California. Maybe it wasn't a single moment at all, but a whole series of them, captured with Harry's camera.

#HD Wireless #hd wireless 2022 #drarry #drarry fic #drarry art #drarry fic and art #weekly wrap up no 3

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pookiepoodle · 3 years

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Aoba Johsai Boys when you say “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

Hi everyone! So this is the part two to my first “Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” headcanons of MSBY which was kinda popular so here ya go! Anyway, please check out my masterlist, enjoy and reblog/like! Also, art isn’t mine!

Oikawa

He is literally out of the bed, letting out a high pitched squeak as he wriggles in one spot, brushing imaginary bugs off of him,” Oh my god, Y/N, that is disgusting!!! Why would you let me lie there and not tell me, I’m going to be covered in bites and I’ll be hideous!” Yes, the man is this precious and you literally have to shake some sense into him before explaining that it’s just a saying.

Iwaizumi

This man is a manly-man. He had literally slept on a beach towel under the stars (Oikawa had forgotten to pack a sleeping bag and stole his tent). So your little saying has no effect on him and he just mutters something under his breath, pulling you against his chest as he drifts into a land of dreams.

Issei

He opens one eye lazily, smirking up at you as he replies smoothly,” Yeah, yeah baby. Tell all your co-workers tomorrow that those are just “bed bug bites” on your neck,” making you blush brightly as you dash over to the mirror, praying he’s just teasing you.

“Issei, you promised you wouldn’t leave marks this time!”

Makki

He sits up straight, his face going pale before he clasps your hands tightly. “Baby, if things are tight right now, I’ll get a job, I promise,” he mumbles, not realising that it’s a figure of speech - the poor boy actually thinks that you’re having to put up with an infested mattress because of his unemployment. You immediately calm him down, peppering his face with kisses as you explain that it’s just a saying and that he can rely on Mommy.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #aoba josai x reader #aoba johsai headcanons #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #issei x reader #makki x reader #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #matsukawa issei #takahiro hanamaki #oikawa headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #issei headcanons #makki headcanons

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emmiewtf · 3 years

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renga fic recs to help fill the void<3

the momentary space that we call now by beecalm: The park beside the sea is haunted. It takes Langa two weeks of skateboarding lessons to realise this. chapters: 2/2 words: 21.8k

But Not Shattered by MermaidMarie: Oka takes Reki to the hospital after finding him beaten up in an alleyway. (canon divergent from ep10) chapters: 12/12 words: 65.7k

I Know You (better than you know yourself) by SpeedOfSnake: After a skating accident, Langa loses some of his memories. All Reki wants is to restore their previous friendship, but wonders if has the right back into his life when it was his fault that Langa got hurt. chapters: 12/12 words: 64.5k

there’s a hole in my soul (can you fill it?) by vitane: Langa is a pro-snowboarder who’s dealing with grief. Reki has just moved to Canada carrying deep homesickness with himself. Together, they help each other heal their wounds. chapters: 11/11 words: 58.9k

he was a skater boy, he said—no, you know what, no, we're not calling it that by arahir: Everyone knows Reki and Langa are dating. Everyone except Reki, that is. chapters: 2/2 words: 8.1k

to build a home by thankskelley: The king, Langa’s father, died a year ago. It makes sense to form alliances. It makes sense to strengthen those alliances with marriage. Maybe it’s wrong for Langa to be so apathetic about his own wedding, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Reki is trying his hardest to be the prince his country deserves, to be the heir his mother can rely on. It’s difficult, however, when everything he does is so far from good enough. He’s also getting married, which is kind of a big deal. He can’t wait to meet the guy. chapters: 6/7 words: 61.7k

training wheels by mayflymusic: After discovering that Langa never learned to ride a bike, Reki takes it upon himself to try and teach him. It...doesn't go well. chapters: 4/4 words: 9.7k

Love at First Sip by tamakibaby: There were two universal truths for college students that Langa had come to realize during his first semester: ‘8 AMs’ were a product of Satan himself and coffee (or any other form of caffeine, really) was man’s true best friend. So it came as no surprise that he stopped by the coffee shop every Monday morning before class and when he needed a pick-me-up. Whether the mood boost was due to the caffeine or the barista who was like sunshine incarnate and always spelled his name wrong on his cup, that was becoming harder to tell with every visit. chapters: 7/7 words: 22.4k

I've Got A Piece of Your Heart (But I Want the Whole Damn Thing) by Jenanigans1207: Reki asks Langa to translate the English writing of his soulmate and is left to wonder why, exactly, Langa turns so incredibly red as he does exactly that. chapters: 4/4 words: 29.8k

let go, take flight by babybluebells, maranch: Happiness comes in many different forms. Reki and Langa find their own, in their figure skating and maybe, just maybe, in each other. chapters: 5/? words: 37.7k

if you kiss me, will it be just like i dreamed it? by sk8ingfrogs (cursedhazel): Reki writes down everything he wants to do after graduation but doesn't quite remember putting "fall in love with your best friend" on the list. chapters: 1/1 words: 10k

read in between the lines by minfresh: The love letter is two sentences long. There isn’t even a Dear Langa, that’s how short it is. It covers approximately 10% of the paper’s surface area. The sentences get straight to the point. I have a crush on you. Isn’t that awful? It’s written in striking red, in an almost illegible handwriting. There’s no signature. For the first time in Langa’s life, he cares about a love confession. chapters: 1/1 words: 6.7k

Secret Admirers for Dummies: A Canadian's Guide to Falling in Love by discokonomi: Reki gets a secret admirer. Langa pines, wonders, comes to a realization, and stumbles into love. chapters: 1/1 words: 6.2k

Not Another Song By Avril Lavigne by alpha_hydra: Someone likes Reki, but they wish there was one tiny thing different about him. Surprisingly, Langa is the only one other than Reki who has a problem with this. Now with added love letters, confessions, bisexual crises, and dubious skateboarding knowledge. chapters: 3/3 words: 13.7k

Looking for You by IetjeSiobhan: It is there, looking, for all intents and purposes, as if it’s been there forever: a snowboard, beautiful and delicate and in the prettiest shade of pastel blue. (soulmark au) chapters: 1/1 words: 3.4k

Pick Me Up by Venxvon: When Reki asks Langa if he was going to carry him back, he means it as a joke. Langa, on the other hand, absolutely does not. (post ep11) chapters: 1/1 words: 3.9k

Double-edged by realfakedoors: Hasegawa Langa, a young noble with an unreasonable amount of responsibility about to be dropped into his lap following the death of his father, takes a season away from the northern province he's called home. He travels with his mother to Solaris, the kingdom's capitol and her homeland--it will do them good, she said. (She forgot to mention the part where they got ambushed by highwaymen on the way there.) Enter Kyan Reki, an apprentice blacksmith, who is just fulfilling a stupid errand for stupid Shadow, since he technically beat Reki in their last match at S. He ends up involving himself in the lives of some northern nobles, and before he knows it, he's thrust into a world of nobility and politics that might prove to be much more dangerous than any swordfighting could ever be. chapters: 3/? words: 18.2k

#sk8 #sk8 the infinity #reki kyan #langa hasegawa #renga #sk8 fics

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balillee · 3 years

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my unpopular dsmp opinions, some of which genuinely should be popular

c!dream has crossed the moral event horizon and is irredeemable. once you cross that threshold, you're no longer a 'morally grey' character.

pre-recorded, heavily produced lore killed the lore. it was cool, sure, but you completely misunderstand the magic that the smp had when people watched it initially. the story is improv and that's how we like it. we can tell the cc's have lost interest in it, you can admit that to us, we'll understand, just stop lying to me.

c!dream's pov isn't necessary to understand his character or his motivations. if you've watched literally any c!primeboys stream he's basically spelled it out for you.

i don't understand how fans can dislike l'manberg or have claimed to be against it since the beginning. i honestly don't get it. what's so bad about wanting your own spot where you make your own rules and skirt accountability that has been used to technically oppress you before - and, before someone who never saw the earlier streams tries to disagree with this, the og l'manberg crew were imprisoned for shit that everyone else on the server was practically encouraged to do. also, what do you have against fun and happiness?

i think some of you forget that 'hybrids' aren't a thing, discounting c!ranboo. there's no piglin hybrids, c!techno is just a pig. there's no avian hybrids, c!phil is just a man with wings. there's no creeper hybrids, c!sam is just a creeper who's indecently exposed from the hips down. canonically there's no hybrids, and therefore no hybrid discrimination. people ran with that concept too much.

the loss and the fanon rewriting of the early lore up until pogtopia has ruined fandom perception of c!dream and the og l'manberg boys. c!tommy is more morally white than you think he is, and c!dream has always been a villain - he massacres and he kills and he destroys and he schemes and he always has broken his own rules. no wonder the boys wanted their own space after how they were treated.

i think ranboo oftentimes forgets his own lore. he brings stuff up that c!ranboo may have done, such as exploding the community house to frame c!tommy, holding onto Cat, and it goes absolutely nowhere. we've gotten all of these developments in his story but they have never been expanded on, and we're nowhere closer to figuring out his relationship to c!dream and what his other side is and honestly i see no hope that we'll be any closer to knowing even by the end of the year.

your characters don't all have to be morally grey for the story itself to be morally grey. this is fiction - some people can be nothing but evil and others can be nothing but good. being purely good or evil doesn't mean that you're one dimensional, either.

c!dream apologists have ruined c!dream for me. he's not a good person. how about you let me enjoy a villain for who he actually is, rather for than your percieved woobified ragdoll you pass off as c!dream.

the story was better when there was a central writer. it was brilliant back when wilbur wrote it to be that the environment drives the characters and the story, and it was really good in early s2 up until techno's execution day when it was more character driven. since then, the amount of autonomy people have over their characters without any central 'director', as it were, has been a detriment to the story overall. there needs to still be one overarching figure or director or writer.

not everyone is a main character. just because they have a pov, doesn't mean they're a main character. some characters have such little impact on the overall plot and describing everyone as a main character oversaturates the story and makes some characters seem more important than they are.

the egg lore had so much potential up until it didn't. all that built up threat that we were expecting and we still don't even know what the egg wants really other than just controlling people. does it hatch?

genuinely, if there's no major plot developments by the end of the year (and let's be honest, it's a very big possibility at this point), a few of the more prominent members of the server should do a podcast style stream talking about where the story would have gone, because at least then we would have gotten somewhat closer to a conclusion.

c!techno is a villain and an asshole and a bad person. he stops caring for people once their interests don't align with his or if they look at him funny. he makes meta-jokes about his own tyrannical and oppressive nature. stop taking that away from him. he's a bad person. cc!techno does a fabulous job portraying that in a comedic manner and the balancing of him being a deeply flawed person with deeply flawed morals and ideas with his comedically-portrayed stubbornness and lack of willingness to hear out opposing viewpoints is incredible. i want to like characters who are arseholes for the sake of being arseholes, and who refuse to take into account the hurt they've caused either out of self-righteousness or because they don't care, so let me. he's the anti-peacemaker, LET ME HIM ENJOY HIM FOR THAT!!!!

i think tommy and wilbur's way of doing lore is my favourite. relies heavily on improv, voice acting, sprite acting and facial expressions. really shows off the acting props and they pull off the emotional moments well for the insanity of the creative medium.

i'm not a fan of fan-music. i find songs about media i'm into difficult to listen to. coincidentally i'm also not a fan of shit like slam poetry or live music/musicals/pantomimes.

the death of l'manberg killed people's motivation to go on the server casually. i've talked about it more in depth before, but destroying what was a central, driving environment for the story killed momentum and motivation. imagine in an episode of she-ra, the princess alliance just nuke the freight zone and all of the members of the horde just have to deal with it. that would be shit.

until season 3 has some momentum, i'm counting the end of the smp as january 20th. that had a conclusion. season 3 has... whores, technoblade and tommyinnit. that's about it.

i wasn't a fan of the development of c!tubbo joining las nevadas. i preferred snowchester and the walled city conflict. give c!tubbo some backbone and some badassery. also tubbo where's the fucking nuke bro if you're shelving that plotline just tell us on like an alt stream what the plan was i beg

add like 2 or 3 new people to the server so that michael mcchill has someone to talk to and so that there's something always happening on the server. it gives the og's more motivation to return if things are happening in and out of canon and it'll help with momentum, and who knows? maybe they can write their own story/stories.

i really think that c!sam is an underrated character. he's multilayered, extremely interesting, and the dichotomy of his loyalty to his job and how far down the rabbithole that's taken him versus the genuine love he has for his friends that drives him to do what he does out of wanting to do right by them is brilliant. i don't talk about c!sam enough.

STOP HAVING FUCKING VILLAIN ARCS!!! I'M FUCKIN SICK OF IT!!!! i want to see more characters who see everyone else being absolute selfish, abhorrent cunts and go 'if nobody else is going to be a good person, i fucking will'. GIVE ME SOME MORAL WHITENESS!!! IT'S INTERESTING AND MORALLY GOOD CHARACTERS ARE FUN!!!

let tommyinnit build cobblestone towers. everyone bullied him too much for how ugly they were and the one he built outside of the prison looked genuinely really nice. it gives the boy something to do.

i'm a fan of the revive book and the canon lives system. don't ask me why, but i think it might just be the morbidity of it. it adds to c!dream's god complex persona, and i think the fragility of death itself is a really fun concept. not enough fan cc's have made connections with that and c!mumza, and it could make for cool fanfic.

ranboo your house is fucking ugly. it's an eyesore

c!niki, and to some extent now c!jack and c!fundy, are boring me and ruining my mood. i think c!jack is the closest to being an actually interesting sympathetic villain, mainly because nobody else seems to realise that c!niki is a villain. not a good one imo, but she's a villain. c!jack just has the problem of starting a new project over and over and over and over again and because of the slow in momentum for the primary cast, there hasn't been a lot of recent development for him.

not really a dream smp opinion, but if philza went full geordie accent, i would love it. i want him to, in canon, say shit like 'me n ye' instead of 'me and you' and use geordie dialect. i want him to be physically unintelligible because it's funny.

i don't really know what's up with c!foolish but i think he's a dumbass. he had a while to think about c!q's proposal and then changed his mind about joining the guy to admitted to letting him die just because. moron

i wish there was more c!eret lore. i wish he was an actual king with an actual kingdom and actual subjects and royal advisors. c!eret is far too fucking cool to be the king of nothing and nobody. fatten up the kingdom and the castle with people who work with c!eret, and don't just make it tyrannical and dictator-y to prove the point of the server's 'anarchists'. make it a healthy working environment, please - if you want moral greyness, have 'anarchists' who claim to care about the welfare of the server oppose a kingdom of happy people under a fair and just ruler because their ideologies clash.

the server needs more characters who oppose anarchy in more peaceful ways, or passively wish for systems to be a part of. i think a chaos vs order conflict ending only in mutual understanding where everyone understands that they should just leave each other alone would slot nicely into the story that's been created so far.

you need to have watched all of the previous arcs to understand the story. i've seen people argue that they don't need to know about earlier lore to understand the prison, but that's the equivalent of only watching the final season of pretty little liars and expecting to understand the context of what's going on.

some characters aren't that morally grey. some characters, take c!tommy for example, are definitely on the whiter side for the morality scale, he's just an asshole. he's abrasive and rude and a dickhead but he also doesn't agree with terrorism, he's patriotic, he strives for a better world, he's apologetic, but he's also a fucking BITCH.

you can add onto this if you want, but not if you're a c!dream apologist. nobody likes your opinions

#dream smp #dsmp #esclaposhitpost

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greenygreenland · 3 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me: Norman x Reader (Part Three)

-part three is here! I had to slice it in two because apparently there's a certain word block limit (at least on mobile). So get ready for part four!

Summary: You can’t remember anything.

Month four, 08:00

The last thing you recalled was the face of a boy with light hair. His eyes were bright, swirling with love and affection you looked for everyday. Whenever you woke up, you couldn’t remember his name, or his sweet voice that called out to you in your dreams.

All you had was the light of day and the rising sun. It made you sad to look upon it alone in your room. Someone else were supposed to be by your side, right next to you. But who?

And then there was the absence of a motherly figure--a woman you only recalled through song. How was it you remembered that melancholy tune but not a name or face? You wished you knew, and you prayed everyday to whoever was up there to give you another chance. Another go at life--with the people you never knew the names of.

“Good morning, Letha.”

You met the old man’s gaze with a simple nod. His crinkly voice was one of the things you actually didn’t mind, even if it was hard to hear at times.

The old man, Alex, was kind, but the most you conversed about were your lost memories, your insane knacks for weapons, chess, and lastly, intelligence.

Time wasn’t friendly, and a month passed uneventfully. It turned into two, which turned into three and so on. Every now and then, you wondered if you’d stay like that: a blank slate. Alex said there was this one philosopher who called it a ‘tabula rasa’. For some reason, that fact reminded you of someone long ago.

Dark hair, the smell of old books, dust hidden between bookshelves...

You began to make out the image of a boy. He was no older than you, with cool eyes, a warm, yet small smile. Who was he? His name was at the tip of your tongue, yet it wouldn’t come out.

Ren? Reylo? Tired Cyclops? No, that wasn’t it. Obviously.

It hurt to think too much about it, and before you could grasp onto it, the memory faded, along with the name.

“Don’t think too hard,” Alex warmly said. “I’m sure it’ll come with time.”

He hoped to help you recover your lost memories, but in the meantime, he’d do his best to support you, just as he’d done with his long, dead daughter. For that reason, he felt it was time to bring you to the world outside. In this town you both resided in, everyone died in a war.

Alex was the only survivor.

For that reason, he was the only person you ever got to know these past seven months. There was no one your age around here, and it wasn’t like you went far anyway. Every now and then, Alex brought you a few towns over to experience a nice train ride to his favourite shops. Then he’d buy you something and take pictures.

But now? He felt it was time to take it a step further. He wasn’t sure if you’d like the idea, but it was worth a try.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER, 06:28

“Come again?” you inquired. Alex took a sip of his coffee and stood from the chair. The wooden floorboards of the cabin creaked under his weight. He waddled over to the window, drawing open the plaid curtains. Warm rays of sunlight fluttered upon your face and Alex smiled warmly like he always did.

“It’s time you get out more,” he said, “and experience the world outside this old town. I want you to look across the horizon because there’s more than the cabin.” You knitted your brows together. You didn’t like how cryptic he was being. It reminded you of someone you once knew, someone who you held close to your heart.

“Gramps, what are you trying to say?”

Alex heaved in a long breath, as if he were afraid of saying it himself. “I want you to go to school. College, if you want the specifics.” Your eyes doubled in size and you hoped, prayed, that he would take it back and say it was a joke. College? You didn’t need a degree! And besides, it was expensive. You couldn’t afford something like that. But alas, Alex wasn’t one to joke about serious things like that. He was an old man, so he always meant what he said.

This time was no different.

“You mean it,” you practically whispered. “That you want me to go to college.” Alex nodded, absentmindedly running a hand through his thick, white beard. There was a long pause and you took the time to sip your tea. Would school benefit you in some way? Was it worth the time? The work?

It didn’t make sense. You were smart. Alex said it himself: “I haven’t met anyone as smart as you”. So why did he want to send you to school? It had to be more than just to “meet people” because you did that all the time on the train every few days.

“What’s so good about college, Gramps? We can’t afford to pay for something so expensive. I don’t want to see you in debt just because of me.”

Through your calm façade, Alex noticed the spark of uncertainty in your eyes. Throughout the long days he got to know you, he realised one thing: you were never keen on showing your emotions.

“I want to give you an opportunity to find yourself,” he finally replied. “If the people you knew are around your age, then going to school might bring something back. You know, jog your memories. Besides that, I want you to have a life more than that I can offer. There’s nothing in this small town.”

“I don’t know about that. I have you here. You’re all I know, Gramps.”

Alex knitted his bushy brows together. “I know, but I can’t always be the only one you know. Don’t you want to see the world?”

It wasn’t that going to college was excruciatingly disappointing, only that it was a means of giving out false hope. How could you cling onto something so child-like and unreliable?

Hope could only get people so far. You were no different.

That night, you lay in bed, wide awake. A nagging thought kept pulling at the back of your mind, repeating itself over, and over, and over again until you couldn’t stand the phrase. But as soon as you repeated it with your own lips, it vanished as if it never existed.

You lay in bed for a little longer, fighting the lull of sleep. It pulled on your eyes, and your head nodded as you forced down a yawn. Sleep was for the weak. If you stayed awake a little longer, maybe you might remember something, right?

-----

The grass tickled your bare feet. If it were any normal day, you would have liked to lay down in its warm embrace with Emma, Ray and Norman. You could watch the clouds together, and wonder about life outside these concrete walls.

But that was stupid to think about, wasn’t it? The liberty to relax and do absolutely nothing had been striped from your very being, like the air that you gasped and chocked on. You held your shoes tightly to your chest and frantically glanced past your shoulder. Good. All clear, just how you liked it.

Norman and Emma lay a couple hundred meters behind. They were your eyes, the two little owls that perched high above with all-seeing eyes. With a grunt, you hopped over a thick tree root and tossed aside your shoes. They landed somewhere in the brush, right where the trees parted.

You came to a stop and glared at the concrete wall towering over you. If you completed your mission and everything remained as straight-forward as you wanted it to be, then you’d escape with everyone. Just like Emma wanted. Just like you tried so hard to believe.

But what if something happened? What if Don and Gilda were caught? Or worse, what if Mama suspected that Ray betrayed her? Surely she wouldn’t go as far as to eliminate him on the spot...

...right?

You clenched a fist so tightly that your knuckles turned white. Stop. Stop it, you told yourself. You had to have faith in your family. They were just as capable as you, maybe even more, so they’d have no issues. You had to focus on your job so they could do theirs.

“My, so this is where you’ve run to?”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

No, that couldn’t be. You made sure she wouldn’t know where you were. You told all the precautions, too. Were Emma and Norman okay? What about Ray? And Don and Gilda?

“I’m surprised you managed to make this far.” Mama stiffly said. “You never were as strong as Emma, or fast either.”

It was like the sun stopped shining. Your blood ran cold. The warm rays turned to ice.

“It’s not too late to turn back (Y/n).” Her voice was silky smooth, tempting almost, as if she were coaxing a frightened sheep to the slaughter. “You’ve improved, my dear, but is it enough? Once your plan crumbles, what will you do then? It wouldn’t be a bad idea to become a mama. It’s the reliable path. You will survive and you will be happy.”

For a moment, you wondered if she actually cared about you. Maybe her love was all fake from the beginning and she didn’t care about you. Or your family. Or anything but survival in this cruel world.

You never loved us.

That was what you wanted to say, yet the words stuck in your throat like glue. If she didn’t love you, then why did she hold you so tightly when you had a nightmare? If she didn’t love you, then why did her eyes shine with pride when you got perfect scores?

“Come, my dear,” Mama coaxed. “Let’s go home.”

The sudden urge to laugh bubbled in your throat like lava.

Home? This was a prison in disguise.

It’s not too late to turn back? A lie.

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to become a mama? As if.

You couldn’t afford to betray your family. Not after all you’ve done, and not after all the effort. They relied on you. You weren’t going to let them down.

You turned on your heel to face Mama. She smiled at you, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It made your stomach twist and turn, reminded you just how much of a danger she could be. Your gaze focused past her shoulder, where a familiar head of orange stood.

Emma peeked out from behind the trees and held up the bag of rope. Norman stood from a cluster of bushes and motioned the the wall. They were going to climb it while you distracted Mama. Perfect.

A bright grin broke out onto your lips. “I’m sorry Mama.” you began.

She stood like a statue with wide eyes. “Are you now?” she inquired. You were finally conceding in this fiery war of wits. After all that fuss and now would she have you back by her side? She opened her arms to welcome you. It was all she could do with her prized little girl. Finally you were being smart. Finally you were choosing the reliable path. You were going to follow in her footsteps. Survive. And outlive everyone in this house like she had.

But then something happened. Emma burst from the bushes, followed by Norman who helped throw the rope up a nearby branch. That triggered you into action, and you lunged at Mama with all the strength you could muster.

“I will never--!”

You wrestled for her watch.

“--ever--!”

Mama tugged on your little arms.

“--leave my family behind!”

You yanked the stupid watch out of her hands, but just as you stood, Mama grasped onto your leg and tugged. Hard. She gave it a squeeze, and a sickening crack echoed in your ears. You screamed. Your ears rung and you heaved in a strangled breath.

“You should have taken the reliable path.” Mama’s calm voice made you want to vomit. “None of us would be here if you had listened to your mama.”

-----

Your eyes shot open and you jolted awake. The faces, the voices, the senses--they flashed before you in a whirl of colours and sounds. Why couldn’t you recall who they were? Or what their names were? You knew every single one of them by heart, yet your mind lay completely blank. Again.

The urge to punch your mattress overwhelmed your senses.

“Good morning,” came Alex’s crinkly voice. That snapped you out of your frustrated stupor. He stood in the doorway, a warm smile on his lips and a spatula in hand. “Pancakes are almost done. Today we’ll get you settled in your dorm.”

Oh. Right. Gramps was sending you to a boarding school. The thought of leaving your beloved bed left you queasy and sluggish. Why should you go somewhere so far away from this cozy, little cottage? It was only recently that you settled here too. Maybe Gramps was taking it too fast.

With a heavy heart, you lugged yourself out of bed and threw on a pair of warm clothes. The unforgiving climate of this land was not one you would challenge. Ever.

The moment you emerged from your room was the moment you understood Gramps’s insistence. He meant well, you knew, but in a way you didn’t appreciate. Going out gave you a higher chance of meeting whomever you knew. It was completely logical.

“Are you worried?” Gramps began, placing a stack of pancakes on your plate. “I’ve already informed your school teachers of your amnesia, so they’ll understand. As for your dormitory, everything has been set. And don’t forget your breakfast, lunch, and dinner plans, as well as your--”

“You seem more anxious than me, Gramps.” you said with a subtle smile. He stared at you, wide-eyed until he mirrored you with a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right. I just want to make sure the transition goes smoothly.”

“Of course.”

“And that you’re safe and okay.”

“Gramps--”

“And that you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“--the pancake’s burning.”

That set him off. He jolted out of his chair faster than his age and capabilities should have allowed. It was a miracle too, because the poor pancake was seconds away from catching fire on the pan. A long sigh left Gramps’s lips as he turned off the stove. “I think I’ll give this to the birds.”

“You best do that, because I won’t eat that piece of charcoal.”

You shared a quick chuckle between each other, savouring the warmth and comfort that came. If someone else had found you that day in the field of endless grass, you weren’t sure if you’d be so lucky. It was by chance Gramps was the one to discover you, so you couldn’t imagine life otherwise.

Once your pancakes were gone and your bag all packed, you traveled to the train station in the early rays of sun. Gramps was the type of enjoy the silence of nature, but to you, it was excruciating.

It didn’t matter where you went. Each time, you looked past your shoulder, to the fading mountains, to the little rabbits that scurried by. It was like you were on survival mode. But why should you be when there was nothing out here? It was so peaceful, so wonderful that you couldn’t imagine anything coming out to get you.

Smile. It’s okay, I promise. I’m here.

You froze and glanced past your shoulder towards the rolling hills and the fading grass. That voice--you knew it. But had you dreamed it up? There was no one here but you and Gramps. A short sigh left your lips and all Gramps could do was ruffle your hair comfortingly.

The train ride was nice. With the calm chugging and the way it swayed, you didn’t mind it at all. Every now and then, your eyes fluttered open and closed. Maybe you were tired. Maybe you weren’t a morning person. Whatever the reason, you submitted to the lull and closed your eyes.

-----

Not a single soul moved for what felt like centuries. The moment Ray, Gilda and Don arrived at the scene, it was clear that nothing else could be done. Mama smiled at her children viciously. She wasn’t here to play nice any longer. Today, she was the hunter and her children the prey.

“It was a clean break. She will recover smoothly,” Mama curtly announced. “And Norman?”

You didn’t like the way she looked at him, or the way her grip seemed to tighten on your limp arms. Her gaze dangerously narrowed and she said, “Your shipment date has been set.”

Your heart stopped and your blood ran cold. Norman’s shipment date had been set? No, that couldn’t be. Your plan required at least another week until everything fell into place. Norman was the core of it all. Without him, what would you do?

And speaking of which, he was going to die.

Die.

He was going to die.

You squirmed in Mama’s grasp, hoping--praying that you could maneuver around this. Norman wasn’t going to die. You wouldn’t let him.

“Let me--let me go!”

It was reckless and it was stupid to think he’d be able to evade Mama’s sight just like that, but you had to try. Didn’t Emma say you’d all leave here together? “Norman--!”

He blinked as if he’d woken up from a long dream. The forced smile the sprouted on his lips looked painful. Don’t struggle, it said.

Don’t struggle? How did he expect you to sit around and do nothing? If anyone should be shipped out first, it should be you. Why? Because you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you let any of your family go.

Mama glared down at you with a cold smile. “You can’t fight me more than you can stop the sun from setting,” she said, heaving you higher off ground. Your leg hit her arm and a cry escaped your lips. Norman flinched and Emma remained frozen in place.

You were always the strong one, not Emma, not Ray, and not Norman. Because you were one of the eldest, it was your responsibility to be the shoulder to cry on and to stand when no one else could. To see you holding back tears and gritting your teeth tight enough to make your gums bleed made Norman’s little heart break.

He didn’t care about his shipment date. All he wanted was to see you safe.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of faces, voices and regrets. The sharp pain in your leg long faded, leaving only a dull throb that stayed as a reminder of your failure. Yes, that was what you were, right? You couldn’t complete the plan even with Don, Gilda and Ray distracting Mama. You were pathetic. A waste of space.

The door creaked open and you sat up a little straighter. You smiled at the trio as they entered the room. “Hey guys.”

“How are you feeling?” inquired Norman. He took a seat by your bedside and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Ray pulled up another chair. He hid his face behind his fringe to conceal his grim frown. It didn’t work though, and you merely smiled at him. He huffed irritably, as if he didn’t want you to know he worried so much.

“I didn’t think she’d go that far.” Ray quietly muttered. You knitted your brows together with a absentminded shrug. “And to think I was that close to getting her watch.” Emma’s shoulders sagged. “I wish I had--”

“It’s fine Emma.” you said with a warm smile. “Broken bones heal, it’s not permanent.” She looked like she wanted to say something, but with the warm smile on your face, she couldn’t gather the courage to. Instead, she settled for a tight hug.

It was hard to look her in the eye anyway. The sadness she tried so hard to force down only added to your guilt, and you weren’t sure if you could think straight with all the regret.

“I’m sorry this happened.” you began. “Now that I’m hurt, you’re worrying for me.”

Emma pulled away as Norman gave a firm shake of his head. “None of this is anyone’s fault.” he stated. "None of us saw that coming, and even if we did, I’m not sure we’d be any good outwitting Mama on the spot like that.” He offered a gentle smile that made you feel just a little bit better.

-----

Gentle smiles. A warm summer breeze. Soft kisses. Tender touches. That was what reminded you of the boy in your dreams. Although you couldn’t recall his face every time you awoke, you remembered the fact that he was handsome and kind.

Gramps offered a warm smile. “Good morning.” You covered your yawn with a hand. “I’m assuming we’re here?”

He nodded. “Are you excited?” It was obvious Gramps knew the question. He only wanted to hear the answer from your mouth rather than from an assumption. As much as you wished to be excited for such a grand opportunity, you weren’t sure you’d like school. Well, how could you guess when you’ve never been to school in the first place?

At least from what you could recall.

“I still don’t know how to feel about this,” you quietly say. Gramps guides you along the walkway and out of the train, where you step out of the station and to the bustling streets of the city. You frown. Gramps said you were going to a boarding school, was it supposed to be somewhere as crowded as here?

From what you read, boarding schools needed large spaces to accommodate dormitories, classrooms, and sports fields. Was there such a thing as space in this congested collection of skyscrapers?

You shook your head to yourself and followed Gramps down whatever path his old-fashioned map led him to. He walked slow. Too slow for your liking. Not only that, but with all the people around, you couldn’t bear not to stick close to his side. What if he got lost? What if you got lost? Or kidnapped and sold on the black market for organs?

Maybe you were just paranoid.

The looming skyscrapers offered no comfort, and the cool breezes that sent shivers down your spine weren’t helping either. You hopped over a patch of ice and pulled your jacket closer just as Gramps came to a stop.

A lot of land stood in the middle of all the skyscrapers, where a pale field of grass stretched out over the acres of land. Buildings that looked like castles peppered themselves out in the form of classrooms, mess halls, and corridors.

You stood in the shadow of the tall brick walls. It separated the school from the rest of the city. An overwhelming feeling of bittersweet hope filled your system, as if you’ve stood in front of a wall like this before. Had you been here? No. You were sure this was your first time seeing the school.

“Take care Letha.” Gramps said. “Don’t forget to eat and exercise, as well as make some new friends. I expect you to call at least once a week, just so I know you’re doing fine.” You smiled a little, cheeks warm in embarrassment. “Gramps, I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“I know, I know. Just...this is a big step for you.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Be careful, and have fun. Even if you don’t remember anything, as long as you have fun, it’s fine.” He wrapped you in a tight hug. “And most importantly, I love you Letha.”

You basked in the warmth of his arms. You didn’t need to worry about your memories in that moment because you had Gramps. He was your world. Your family. What more could you ask for? But then he pulled away, and the warmth didn’t linger.

You were still incomplete.

The next day, you found yourself wandering the halls aimlessly, picking apart each detail and escape route in sight. The hall to your left had an exit to the school courtyard, a peaceful place with metal chairs and picnic tables. To your right sat another hall, which also had an exit to another courtyard. Then in front of you stood the front entrance, where the side exits fanned out in the halls next to it.

“Hey, you’re the new girl, right? Letha Meek-aye...Mikhaylov?”

You spun around faster than the speed of light. In front of you stood a girl, perhaps a year older with an unfriendly frown. She wore the generic school uniform: black skirt, long socks, white blouse, gray sweater vest, and a tie. Her bright, red locks stood out like a sore thumb. They curled past her shoulders in beach waves, framing her narrow, freckled face in rouge.

For a moment, you blanked out. When was the last time you spoke to someone, much less a teenager your age? Even though this girl wasn’t intimidating, it wasn’t like you wanted to talk to her. The point of coming here was to figure out if anything jogged your memory and then leave. It wasn’t playtime. “I’m new.” Your voice came out calmer than you felt. “Is that an issue?”

Despite the pointed look on her face, you had a feeling she was one of the nicer people in the area. She had a soft look in her green eyes, as if she understood what it felt like to be a new kid. “I’m Flanna Morris,” she said with a small smile. “Nice to meet you Letha.”

Flanna had an accent. By the hard ‘r’s and the elongated ‘oo’ sounds, you guessed she had to be from Ireland. Gramps told you it wasn’t too far from here, but still a while away.

You sent Flanna a cautious side eye. She was being too friendly. “Yeah, nice to meet you too...Flanna.” A hearty laugh that bellowed in her stomach echoed in the quiet corridors. “Look,” she said, “I’m not here to bully you. I just wanted to offer some help.”

Help? Yeah right. No one in this world offered help without asking for something in return. Besides Gramps maybe--but he was a special case, it didn’t count.

“Come on, I’ll show you around Letha.” The look on Flanna’s sweet face made it hard to decline. If you weren’t interested in seeing if there were any places you missed, then you would have declined. But perhaps Flanna could show you more than the shallow surface of this boarding school.

You passed to through the quiet corridors, where the sun shone through the windows overlooking the street. The sun rose over the horizon and up the edge of the skyscrapers’ base. Cars bustled about, and even through the thick brick walls, you heard all the honking and yelling of the early morning traffic.

“So, where’re you from?” Flanna inquired. You tugged on the strap of your bag’s shoulder strap. “Far away.”

“What do you mean by ‘far away’?”

“I mean the countryside.” you clarified. Flanna ‘ohhh’ed. “The city must be a huge change for you then, I know it was for me.” You knitted your brows together. So she was from the countryside in Ireland? That’s more than a simple change of scenery. No wonder Flanna wanted to help you.

“Okay, so here’s the science hall. Ms. Darsey is one of the best teachers you can have around. You’re a juniour, right? I’m a senior--if you couldn’t already tell...”

Flanna talked a lot. No, she didn’t just love talking, she loved explaining all her experiences with x, y, and z teacher, as well as what classroom and what day of the month it was. She had a wonderful memory, you had to admit, but that made her stories long. Her energy was like a breath of fresh air, and that red hair of hers sparkled like jewels in the morning light.

Flanna’s hair was fiery just like a girl’s you used to know. Her face wasn’t clear in your mind whenever you thought of her, but the joy she always brought you stayed. It made your heart warm. Flanna seemed to have a similar effect, but not as strongly as the girl you once knew.

“You have Mr. Dursley for English,” she noted. “Make sure you don’t stick out. He’s a big pain and if you’re late, he’ll give you a detention.” You raised a brow. Mr. Dursley detained teenagers for being late? What kind of nonsense was that? You decided to phone Gramps later and ask him if that were true. He’d know. Hopefully.

The look on your face made Flanna chuckle, but you had a feeling she didn’t understand your thought process. “Don’t worry,” she casually said. “You’ll be fine. I bet’cha Connor and James will be the first to get a detention. They’re both trouble makers--little devils. Especially James.” You stared up at Flanna’s bright, green eyes. They sparkled like the sun against her hair. You’ve seen that look before, the one of unsaid love and adoration. Long ago, someone looked at you like that.

But who?

You wracked your brain for answers. It was on the tip of the tongue. Right there--just in front of you. Yet it was as if something were preventing you from seeing the truth. The one postulate you knew stuck throughout the days you’ve forgotten who you once were.

Backtrack. Backtrack.

A boy. Light hair. Soft eyes. Kind smile. A laugh that was like music. And the calling of your name.

“(Y--n)!”

Yes, that was the sound of his voice, right? Or maybe it was a stranger’s instead, someone’s you’ve heard on the street. Then whose name was that? Was it even a name to begin with? Maybe it was a word instead and you misheard it as a name. That thought made your heart throb in the worst way possible. Ice filled your veins, and you found yourself pausing to stare out the crystal, clear windows.

“Something wrong?” Flanna inquired. You blinked away the haze and turned to her with a shake of your head. “Just nervous.” A bright smile burst onto Flanna’s lips. “Ah, I see. No worries, you’ll do great. And if you don’t it’s your first day, right? Nothin’ wrong with messin’ up a little.”

You wished you could believe Flanna, but something deep in your heart said otherwise. A slip-up could cost someone more than their reputation. Possibly their life. You couldn’t speak from experience, but you were sure you’d seen a sacrifice. Long ago. Far away in the distance.

Flanna stopped in front of your first period class. “We still have about fifteen minutes before school starts. Everyone’s probably in the cafeteria eating breakfast or fooling around in the field. I recommend you come early to class so you don’t get caught up in the crowd.” And with that, she waved, turning on her heel to hurry away. “I’ll see you during lunch! We have it together, so I’ll come find you in the cafe!”

She rounded a sharp corner and disappeared, leaving you alone in the quiet hall. You peeked in through the open door. At a long desk sat a teacher, who stood at the notice of your presence. She wore thin glasses on her old squarish face, a white blouse with a tie, a woolen navy blazer, and black trousers with heels to match.

The teacher had a kind face, with eyes that were soft with years of wear and tear. The smile on her lips said it all--she had seen things. Many things. “Welcome, I assume you’re Letha Mikhaylov?” She had a crinkle in her voice like the edges of her eyes when she smiled. It complimented her kindly face.

“Yes.” you replied. “That’s me.”

“Well I’m Mrs. Walker.” She motioned for you to come in, that sweet smile still on her lips. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve been informed that you have amnesia. May I ask how much you remember?” You folded your hands together. It was the least you could do to look less nervous.

“I remember skills, knowledge, and the arts. I do not recall my original name or what my life was like before, but I am still highly-functional. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Walker. ”

The way you worded your sentences was off-putting to the teacher. It wasn’t normal for high school students to be so in-line, much less well-off with their manners.

From the report she read, you were taken in by Alex Mikhaylov, a writer who lived in an old, deserted town. He claimed he’d been trying to help you re-gain your memories for nearly a year, but from the looks of it, there wasn’t much to go off of.

Mrs. Walker took a seat at her neat desk. A pencil sharpener sat at the corner along with a tissue box, stapler, tape dispenser, and a plastic name plaque. In bolded letters it said, Mrs. Walker. Of course, in cursive. A few photos were cramped by her computer, where she stood there, smiling with a young girl and a man. Mrs. Walker looked to be around twenty-eight to thirty in that photo.

You stood by her desk awkwardly. Were you supposed to sit in the back? Near the window? Or in the front? The sinking feeling of unfamiliarity plagued your mind as you ran a hand through your locks.

There weren’t any other students here besides you.

“You may take a seat wherever you’d like Letha,” Mrs. Walker said. “I do not assign seats in this class, but if there is an issue, I can if you’d like. Is there anything I should know about you?” You shook your head and took a seat by the window. The football fields, frost-bitten and white, stretched out as far as the eye could see. A little to the left of that were the dormitories. Red brick walls and sparkling clean window panes, just like every other building at the school.

Winter was a wonderful season, but you wished it weren’t so cold all the time. Maybe if there were a bit of snow, it would cheer you up, jog your memory even. “I’m not sure if I have anything of importance.” Your voice echoed in the deserted classroom like a bell. “But I hope I can do my best.”

A smile broke out onto Mrs. Walker’s lips. “Don’t hope, do.”

And so you did. You vowed to do what you could with whatever you could. You weren’t going to hope to do your best, or hope to find your memories because you would. They’d come back to you, and you were going to do everything in your power to get them back.

PART FOUR COMING SOON [GIVE ME LIKE THREE DAYS TO ADD A BONUS PORTION BECAUSE I LOVE YOU GUYS] -->UPDATE: PART FOUR HERE <--

#tpn #tpn norman x reader #tpn ray #tpn emma #ynn norman #ynn emma #ynn ray #ynn isabella #ray the promised neverland #emma the promised neverland #norman the promised neverland #the promised neverland x reader #anime x reader #x y/n #fanfic #tpn fanfic

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creepling · 3 years

Text

am i not enough? (quackity x reader) - apocalypse!AU

( 。・_・。)人(。・_・。 ) | part of the @quackisinnit 1k event !

THE PROMPT IS . . . “ AM I NOT ENOUGH ? “

pairing: irl!quackity x genderneutral!reader (apocalypse!AU)

word count: 3,306

summary: the reader and alex become a duo while coming across each others paths during a zombie apocalypse. tensions rise as they set up camp in a warehouse, where alex begins to confess how he feels towards the reader. (angst into fluff <33)

tw: zombie apocalypse, blood (ment), cursing, guns, death, eating.

It had been three months since the fallen of mundane life. Three months of complete abnormality, everything known to be in existence that was worth caring about; completely gone. jobs, currency, education were becoming a historic relic. The world was put back to zero. Instead of cavemen and dinosaurs, the new species of flesh-eating corpse’s roamed in packs and seeked for fresh meat. They may have been slow, but they travelled in numbers and they could smell you from a mile away. I learned that your scent became less of a problem when you didn’t keep hygenic. My stence blended with the earth and blood and the roamers didn’t catch us out as much; so we used that to our advantage.

I only had one companion, his name was Alex. He was absolutely dumbfounded when I discovered him. I raided his abandoned home looking for supplies, and when I had to kill a roamer that vacaded in his bedroom; I found him curled up in a ball under his bed. He told me that he had been hiding the whole month when he realised help was to never come; so his only plan was to hide out until he ran out of supplies. That became a problem when I attempted to take them. We made the mutual agreement that if I was to take the supplies, he would come with me. I refused to stay and hide; that is how you get yourself killed. Thankfully he agreed to come with me, and we have been inseperable ever since. However, our bond is nothing close to a friendship, we just had to stick together to survive.

Alex’s main idea was to find a group, hoping by now someone had turned one of the surbubans into a mini civilization. We had travelled between three cities however and we found no sign of good company. As a duo, we have only killed one human within these three months. A man who tried to kill us at gunpoint in hopes of taking our things, to which we scarsely saved our lives by ducking behind a bar table. With one aimless shoot, I shot my gun and it pierced through the man’s chest. I saved our lives, but the sight of the man’s lifeless eyes still haunts me in my sleep.

One night, Alex found a two-store warehouse to shelter in while on a supply run. He suggested we camp on the second floor and catch up on our sleep and starvation, since we eventually got ahold of sleeping bags and tinned food. I agreed, but reminded him the stay can’t be perminant. He agreed also, still fixated on the idea of finding a commune.

While I made a fire and cooked food, I obvserved Alex drawing in a notepad. I failed to make out what he was doing so I asked, “What are you drawing?”

“I’m trying to draw a map.” He said to me, “It’s not accurate, but it will give us a rough idea of the roads until we find a map.”

“I didn’t take you as a smart person.” I said, hoping he didn’t think I meant it seriously. It was rare for me to joke in times like these, but when I did, my humour came off dry. Thankfully, my comment made Alex scoff out a chuckle.

“And I didn’t take you for a fighter.” Alex said. Since being with each other for two months, we both naturally adopted different roles that benefitted us. Alex was the navigator, the finder; he seemed to have a good sense of direction and I relied on him to not get lost. He also had a good eye and was always good at finding things such as second-way exits or food hiding in obscure places. For me, my job was a lot more physical. I was a good shoot, I knew how to make a fireplace, or bandage a wound. When things got dirty, I would get lucky and save our asses.

“Your food’s ready.” I said, handing him his warm can of chicken soup and a packet of chips. He thanked me, putting his notebook down and sitting cross-legged beside me. As we ate we sat in silence, the only sounds in the warehouse being our mouths chewing the food. We hadn’t ate in nearly a week. I tried my best to chew my chips before swallowing so I didn’t end up with stomache pain, but the instant flavour shot through my tongue and I instinctly ate them quickly. Alex finished his food within minutes, licking the chip packet and his fingers; scraping every last bit of soup from the can and into his mouth. I reluctantly did the same, feeling a little embarrassed; I have never felt so starved in my life.

“That was fucking amazing.” Alex sighed out, now heating his hands over the fire. I nodded in agreement, collecting the empty tin cans and keeping them next to our things. They will be handy for traps, tying them with strings and hanging them in the woods while hunting would let us know of intruders. It was the small things like that that has made us survive this long.

“Are you gonna go to sleep now? I could keep watch.” I offered, observing Alex’s bloodshot eyes. If we had mirrors, we would flinch at our reflections. Alex looked rough. He always wore his beanie, which he apparently did even before things got bad. He always had a collective spot of dirt on his nose and cheekbones no matter how clean we were, it’s where it always collected the most. His hands were the most dirty, dirt under his short nails and inbetween his fingers. From the rare occasions we touched hands, I felt the softness of his hands, compared to mine that felt aged and rough. His knuckles were stained with blood. Out of both of us, I was covered in the most blood. When I looked down, my hands had a reddish tint, observing more I could see small cuts on my hands from being idle with my knife when striking roamer’s heads. Without having to see, I knew I had sprays of blood on my face from the amount of times I killed roamers. To think when life was normal we cared so much about our appearence, but now activities like doing makeup, brushing your hair, brushing your teeth seemed so pointless. We were slowly becoming used to primitive life and deep down that scared me. I think it scared Alex too.

“I’m tired as fuck, but I know I won’t sleep.” Alex said in a low tone, looking at his hands full of shame. I nodded my head in understanding, knowing exactly how he was feeling. We hadn’t slept properly in months, instead when one person kept watch, the other just lay down with their eyes closed. We forgot what it was like to dream, or to feel hazy. We were constantly alert.

“Since we have no intention of sleeping. Why don’t we play a game?” Alex said. I cocked my eyebrow up in question. What game could we play that didn’t involve making noise and attracting attention?

“We ask each other 20 questions. Normally if you don’t want to answer a question- you would have to do a dare. But hey, wants the point in hiding nowadays?” Alex said, looking at me contently.

“We should be hiding ourselves more than ever, I think.” I said, adding fuel to the fire to keep it burning. “That way no one knows our weaknesses.”

“So you don’t trust me?” Alex said. His question threw me off. It’s not that I didn’t trust him, but maybe I was unwilling to get to know him. I had already lost the people close to me, and I was still in grieving. I was too afraid to get close with Alex. I always had the thought in the back of my head that one day, I might end up losing him. His intelligence may only get him so far.

“I understand.” Alex said, taking back his question. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, he must have realized what I was thinking. He lost his close ones too. We both lost so much, we had a mutual understanding about that. Yet, I looked at Alex, and he still felt like a mystery to me. He always pulled out jokes, even in times like these. However, in moments when he thought I wasn’t looking, I could see the pain concealed in his face. Sometimes I even heard him cry at night when he thought I was sleeping. Maybe it was about time we opened up to each other, instead of feeling like we need to suffer alone. We could be there for each other not just physically, but emotionally.

“Okay then, since it was your idea, you ask the first question.” I said, hugging my legs to my chest. Alex smiled a little at me, going into thought as he tried to think of a question.

“So, what did you do when life was normal?” He asked first.

I let out a sigh then replied, “I had a very normal life. Lived with my family, did average in school, worked a job to get money. I actually had plans of moving out to the city, I always wanted to go to LA. I never really had aspirations, just wanted to be content.” It sounded boring, but I was happy with my life. I had my ups and downs like everyone else. “What were you like?”

Alex smirked and looked away from me, seeming to become bashful. “I was a twitch streamer.” He said. “And had a Youtube channel. God- it sounds so stupid now that I say it. Like it was all pointless-”

“Were you like- famous?” I asked, trying to conceal a smile.

“Um- I guess you could say that. I had millions of followers.” Alex shook his head, “But I also went to college. I was studying law. I was always staying up late, barely sleeping; both studying and streaming all the time. It took up my whole life, that I just kinda forgot about everything else.”

“Well, you were obviously not famous, because I didn’t know who you were.” I jokingly said, nudging his side. That seemed to make him smile and feel less embarassed.

“So how the hell did you learn how to shoot if you lived such a normal life?” He asked.

“I just learned while doing it. My dad kept a gun.” I admitted, looking at the very same gun I had in the holster wrapped around my thigh. “He would teach me now and then how to use it, but I was never a shooter. The more roamers I shot, the more I got used to it.” Thinking about someone close to me made me chew the inside of my cheek anxiously.

To deflate my melancholy, I asked the next question. “Did you always wear that stupid hat?”

Alex chuckled and rubbed the top of his hat. “Yeah, twenty-four seven. I don’t why, I just find it comfortable. My “fans” would joke that I was bald because I never showed my hair.” He said, “God- saying the word fans sounds fucked up . . .”

“Maybe you’ll bump into one of them.” I said, “Heck- maybe there’s a commune right now dedicated to you, trying to find you and keep you safe.”

Alex laughed again, covering his face with his hands. I laughed alongside him, the first time I genuinely laughed in a good few weeks. Looking at Alex, seeing how I uplifted him, it struck a chord with me. As much as I didn’t like to show it, but he made affects on me that were indescribable. He made me feel just a little more contempt, without him I would probably not be able to cope for this long. We eventually locked eyes with each other, Alex’s gaze being longer than I expected. If it wasn’t for the blood, my face would have exposed the blush forming on my cheeks.

“Have you ever fell in love, (Y/N)?” Alex then asked me, which set me aback. The question was out the blew and I think Alex realised that as he looked away shyly, his gaze fixated on the flames of the fire to avoid my gaze. I still stared at him, almost in amazment, trying to conjuct a reasonable answer.

“I don’t know.” I answered. “I have loved people, yes, but- I don’t think I have been in love. You’re suppose to know when things like that happen, right?”

Alex didn’t answer me, he kept staring at the fire. I found myself admiring his side profile, watching how he slowly bit his lip; concealed in thought. I noticed how the glow of the flames contrasted with the darkness of his eyes, how the light outlined his complexion. When I realized I was staring for too long, I looked away, instead my eyes looked out the warehouse window, my eyes tracing the stars in the night sky.

“I feel like I have known you forever.” Alex admitted all at once. “It’s only been two months, but I have gotten close to you more than anyone I have in my whole life. It might sound crazy but- I believe we were suppose to come together that day.”

My gaze turned back to Alex when I felt his eyes lay upon me. His stare was soft, something I only seen in passing times. I was able to admire him for the first time since we met. In this moment, in the dead of night, away from danger and suspicion; I could look at him with full sentiment. I didn’t need to admire him when he was less suspecting it, afraid of receiving decline or making things awkward. In this moment I realized, I may have developed feelings more than companionship towards him. That excited me. But also terrified me.

“I feel that way with you, Alex.” I admitted, “But . . .”

I decided to choose my words carefully. This conversation was heading in a direction that made me nervous. The world is falling apart around us, and I couldn’t help but question our motives. We should be focusing on survival, not developing a relationship that could be destroyed at any second. Once we step out this warehouse, our chances of losing our lives become high. I wasn’t prepared to damage my mental state, it was already bad enough. I realized my long pause was making Alex shift nervously, so I looked at him in hopes my words would slip from my mouth.

I caved in, muttering lowly, “We should get some rest.” I got up on my feet and was ready to grab my sleeping bag and make up a place to rest, until I heard Alex get his his feet and say words that made my heart sink.

“Am I not enough?”

When I turned to look at him, the hurt was glistening in his eyes. He gulped dryly and he fumbled with his fingers. My eyes shifted from side to side as I was stuck with my words. I kept stammering, and I rubbed my face in stress, ready to plead my case. Until Alex jumped in.

“Don’t think I’m only saying these things to you because there is no one else, (Y/N). I have been thinking about this for a while, everytime I am left with my thoughts. I am certain I will still have the same feelings if we met when things didn’t go to shit. I don’t just think this because we have been the only people for each other. I really really like you, (Y/N). And because of the way the world is, I never want to lose you. I never want you to feel alone ever again. I not only want to protect you because we’re a team, I want to protect you because the thought of losing you pains me so much.”

For a split second I thought Alex was about to burst into tears. That was when I did something I thought I would never do again, which was pull him into my embrace. I hugged Alex so tight that I heard him gasp, freeze, until he eventually wrapped his arms around me and held me just as tight. My face buried into the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his body, his soft hands caressing my back and brushing his thumb down my spine in a soothing manner.

“You are enough, Alex.” I said, my words muffled by his body. I reached my lips to his ear so he could hear my words clearly. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to like me, or be forced to like me just because we were brought together. I was afraid you thought you were stuck with me.”

I anticipated the day that once we meet other life, Alex would slowly fade away and forget who I was. Once he meets other people, we would go our seperate ways. I never knew why the hypothetical idea pained me so much, until now. As Alex pulled away from my embrace, looking me in the eyes in a loving manner that was foreign to me, his hands on my shoulders, I realized why that idea made my heart feel heavy. I never want him to leave me, I want him to always be by my side. Alex’s gaze was enough proof that he wanted the same.

Stimulated by his touch, I was taken aback when I felt his hand cup my cheek. The warmth of his breath breezing against my cheek, I inhaled as if oxygene was nonexistent. I never realized the proximity between us was slowly closing in and when I did my eyes fluttered shut. Alex hesitated for a split second before pressing his soft lips against my own. My neck bent slightly backwards and I shifted my head to the side to deepen into our kiss, my blood-stained hands grabbing the edges of his open jacket and holding him dearly close. The heat of the kiss intermingled with the heat from the fire, my cheeks and ears grew hot. Alex’s hands were surprisingly warm as he reached his hands under my shirt, pressing his fingers and palms on the middle of my back before running his touch down my spine. My breath became shaky and I felt my legs grow heavy under me, my hands cupped the back of his neck to keep myself uplifted, and luckily Alex’s arms held my weight and pressed my body against his. It felt like hours had went by between our lips moving in sync, our tongues grazing our bottom lip’s, our hands moving and resting on different parts of our bodies. His touch felt contagious, his kisses ranging between soft and passionate. I didn’t want to stop, I never wanted to let go. Between kisses I would mutter you are enough, you are enough which made Alex smile against my lips.

That night, everything we had to worry about became last priority. The focus all throughout was each other, making up for the days where affection couldn’t be shown. In the dead of night, there wasn’t a roamer in sight. Instead of hearing narls and groans or screams of pain, there was only the faint sounds of nature. The full moon glistened, as if to be a prediction for the emotions spilling between us. I promised myself from this moment on, as I admired Alex, I would protect him no matter what. I will make sure he always feels safe as long as he is beside me. He will always be enough, if not more.

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