#two and a half hour for a still life made out of different shades of muted greys and greens

[sadiie]

Not to end on the stan part of enjoying someone’s social media presence but following corpsegrinder on ig has been one of the better decisions. He’s such a great and proud dad and so geek about the whole plush toy thing. A delight to follow, truly

[newfallstrangeleaves]

Yandere in the apocalypse

Diving in deep

M!Yandere X F!Reader

Warning: Mentions of both voyeurism and masturbation, there is also stalking, murder and a lot of jealousy.

Summary: While watching you bathing in the lake he slips and accidentally (almost) exposes himself.

He would be hands down horny for you all the time. There was one time that always slips into his mind whenever he allows himself a moment to jack off. His mind keeps going back to that moment, thinking about the curve of your body, the swell of your ass and breasts. 

And that moment is the day you and the girls took a well-overdue bath in the lake. It was a hot day and everyone was sweating bullets. The rays of the sun keep everything still and quiet in the shades. The only sounds that could be heard were the laughter and the joyful splashing of water. 

Aaron back up in a tree, is watching contently. His leg is still hurting and he has half a mind to cause some trouble to the group. Stir things up. But not today. Today he wants to focus on you. Though half of him would have seen you without the shielding fabric of your bra and panties and the other half is happy that you do wear it. He can tell how some of the guys glance your way—especially one of them. 

Xavier. 

Fuck what an obnoxious name for an obnoxious guy. He has been taking charge for some time now. Bossing the group around and making bad decisions. Though he seems to be well-liked by your group, they would never be able to survive in these conditions without someone to tell them what to do. Sheep. 

You too seem to like him. But you're an exception. Where the others are sheep you are a devoter. Through your actions, you show appreciation for your leader. No matter who, and in different circumstances, you would realize the flaws that Xavier possesses and who would be truly devoted to you, care for you and protect you.  

Aaron constantly shifts his position. Things ache and chafe but it's worth it. He can pull through another hour if it means to get the first parquet to the show. You and your friends laugh and play for another half an hour until things start to die down. People keep to themself, wash up and get ready to get on with the day. 

But you're not really ready yet. You get one of the towels that the group had brought on for the swim, wrap it around you and walk back out into the water. Only letting the cool water wrap around your ankles. 

You walk along the shore, finding peace in the moment. Aaron too finds peace for once. Imagine a life just the two of you, how he’ll make you a cottage by a lake just like this, or the sea. Whatever you prefer. He would return home after ‘hunting’ all day to find you've made him a nice meal and after that, the two of you wouldn't leave each other's side all night. 

But then you walk out of sight. As you walk further and further away the branches get in the way. Desperate for just a few more minutes of observing you, he makes the crucial mistake of leaning on the wrong branch. Before he has time to react it snaps and he heads for the forest floor. 

There is no time to be hurt now. He can hear concerned voices growing closer. He gets up and doesn't even look back before he jogs as fast as he can with his limp through the forest. 

“HEY!” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is not how he wanted to introduce himself to you. Being the creep spying on you while you bathe? Hell no.

“HEY YOU! STOP!”

So despite the pain, the old wounds and the new all of which have to wait. Luckily the forest grows a lot denser here, making whoever is pursuing him slow down. 

“HEEY!”

It's a man. By the sound of the footsteps, it's only him. 

He is getting closer and closer, a fight might be the only solution. But with both a weaker physique and the wounds from the fall, he is the underdog. He won't be even close to taking Xavier in a real fight. 

So he keeps limping forward. The sharp branches whipped his face. 

Until he can practically feel his presence closing in. And he knows even before he grabs hold of Aaron's arm that he does. He janks it back and Aaron wips around before he falls over, sticks and pine cones cutting into his back. 

“Okey…” Xavier fights to catch his breath. “Listen, I'm not here to hurt you, just talk.” He holds his hands up and smiles, trying hard to look peaceful. 

The sentence makes his blood immediately boil. How can he be so passive? Had Aaron not just been spying on them? Is he not considered a big enough threat? How can he tell from this single encounter? 

Yeah, he had just clumseöy fall down from a tree and yes, he was recently shot and had been limping away as fast as he could. 

But had it been any other time he could have taken him. 

He has been spying on them for weeks, memorizing everything about these people. All in the name of being one step ahead of them at all times. All their weaknesses and strengths. None of that was for nothing. 

So it's here it clicks. He knows what he has to do.

“I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to…I didn't know how to approach.”

“It's okay brother. I know what it's like out there, we are all just trying to keep ourselves safe and if you were checking us out to see if we are decent then that's fine. Totally okay and hey, I'm sure there are no hard feelings amongst the others.” Xaviers smile makes him want to vomit. 

“You think so?” He makes sure his tone sounds more weak than the disgust he is feeling within. 

“I know it! Here, what's your name?” Xavier holds out his hand to help him up. Aaron takes his hand and seizes the opportunity to attack. As Aaron gets on his feet he grabs hold of Xaviers arm. In one swift motion, Aaron takes out his pocket knife and stabs it in his side. Still holding Xaviers right hand he has no way of defending himself. He stabs him multiple times before Xavier falls down wailing in pain. 

“Names Aaron.” He says through gritted teeth. “And just so you know, this is not the first time I've been watching your little group, in fact, I've been creeping around after you guys for weeks. This is my real first time fuck up, but there have been other times when you could have spotted me but didn't. Just another added reason why you're not cut out for this.” 

“You're insane!”

“Am I? I could have killed you just now, but I didn't. Not just yet at least. I wanted to tell you something before I do. Y/N is who I'm here for, the only one I care about and I am going to kill anyone who stands in my way.” Xavier desperately tries to crawl away as Aaron couches down beside him but to no use. Aaron grabs a good chunk of hair to hold him in place, the blood loss weakening him by the moment. 

“Staring here, with you.” 

With a swift motion of the knife to his throat their conversation comes to an end. There is a gurgling sound before quiet fills the forest. Aaron wipes off the knife as he hears Xaviers' names being called in the distance. It's not long until they are here. 

In the following weeks, things started to look up for him. None of the members had been able to get a good look at who the mystic man in the trees where so Xaviers murderer stays a mystery. Next, his wounds are looking better each day. Though your group can only be described as mourning Aaron has never felt so liberated before. Taking out competition always feels nice. However, the only negative part of this is that you seem much sadder than usual. Despite the reason behind it Aaron can't other than want to comfort you, hug you and tell you to forget him. Take him into your heart instead. 

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Imagine doing your nails while Gibbs is down with his boat and he comes up earlier and expected and is surprised to see you awake

“Why are you still awake?”

“Why are you still awake?”

And him ending up staying until you’re done

Little Things

“I’ll be up soon.”

Your boyfriend’s famous words to you at least 3 times a week. You never understood why he said it as if he didn’t always end up coming to bed till many hours later, usually when you were already asleep.

You knew there were many reasons he stayed down there in the musky basement, tinkering away with his beloved DIY projects, decompression being one of them. Whether it was a stressful day at work, a particularly disturbing case he was assigned to, or just really dedicated to building various pieces of woodwork, he spent at least a quarter of his life down there.

It didn’t bother you for the most part, it was his biggest way of coping and you weren’t going to ruin that for him just so you could get a few extra hours of cuddles in with him.

But tonight was different, only because you were far from tired and decided that you’d use the time to do your nails.

Once you brought all of your supplies down into the living room, you turned the tv on low, mainly for white noise and got to work prepping your toes first. Your choice of color this week was going to be a taupe-like shade. Perfect color for the fall season and it would match with just about anything you wore. Had you been skilled enough, you would’ve added acrylics but decided to leave that to the professionals and just stick with the base and top coat.

After painting and cleaning up the edges on your toes, you got to work on the rest of your nails, struggling once it came to your non dominant hand. You were concentrating so hard on not painting outside the lines, you didn’t even notice your boyfriend come up.

“Why are you still awake?” he asked in curiosity, walking over to observe your makeshift nail salon. There were files, cue tips and cotton balls strewn across the dining room table and a half empty bag of kettle chips you had been intermittently snacking on.

“Why are you still awake?” you countered with playful sass.

He put up his hands in mock surrender and walked over to the kitchen to grab a beer before coming back over and taking a seat next to you. The silence was comfortable as he grabbed the remote and changed the channel, offering you a sip of his beer. You accepted, giving it back to him and grabbed the bag of chips, holding it out as an offer. He grabbed a handful and set it back on the table as you continued your painting, occasionally asking him to hand you the acetone soaked cotton ball.

Once you had gotten done applying the final top coat, your back was killing you and you were getting light headed from all the air blowing you did to speed up the drying process. Jethro was still relaxed into the couch beside you, hand caressing little patterns on your back, content as he went back and forth from watching his movie to watching you.

“How do you like the color? I think it’s very chic in my opinion,” you spoke, smiling as he nodded in agreement.

“Looks good,” was all he said. He could care less what color you painted your nails and only gave you an answer to make you happy but that’s one of the reasons why you loved him. All he ever wanted to do was make you feel beautiful and heard. Even when it came to minuscule things such as a nail polish color. You didn’t need him to give you long articulated compliments, you had figured out his shorthand a long time ago.

He made you stay on the couch as he cleaned everything up and turned everything off.

“You can grab your supplies in the morning,” he said before picking you up bridal style, making you laugh and hold onto his neck.

“Jethro, the polish is dry, I can walk.”

“I know.”

You reveled in how easily he carried you upstairs and into your bedroom, only setting you down so the both of you could brush your teeth and get undressed for bed.

The two of you faced each other in bed, you running your fingers through his hair as he hummed in appreciation with his eyes closed. Placing a kiss on his nose, you whispered.

“Goodnight Jethro.”

“Mnight,” he mumbled already half a sleep from your brushing fingers ministrations but pulled you in for a proper kiss afterwards, leaving you with a smile.

[mumms-the-word]

Flower Crowns

Pairing: Halsin x F!Tav (Ardynn) Summary: Ardynn and Halsin make flower crowns and they’re cute, that’s it that’s the plot A/N: I don’t have mods so no picture of Halsin with a flower crown sorry :c

Perhaps it was paradoxical to suggest that one could have a day off from saving the world now that they were deeply entrenched in the many problems plaguing Baldur’s Gate. But after a few days of trying to find friends, fighting Bhaalists and Banites and hags and everything in between, Ardynn simply needed one day to herself as a break.

Well…not exactly to herself. She had asked Halsin to come too. But even so, a day away from the city was all she asked.

She couldn’t help but think of it as a kind of date as they left the city behind in the capable hands of their companions and walked, hand in hand, toward the wooded outskirts of the city. They had no real plans, aside from enjoying a day amongst nature. No goals except to lose themselves among the trees and pretend like things were normal and the city wasn’t constantly under threat from all sides. They hadn’t even brought food or supplies with them, content instead to gather berries and nuts where they could find them.

It was perfect, by Ardynn’s standards. She could almost pretend the city wasn’t waiting for them, half-smoldering and full of danger.

By midday, their wandering had turned turned to napping as the heat of the sun drove them into the shade and made them drowsy. Ardynn fell asleep with her head on Halsin’s arm, only to wake up an hour or two later with him snoozing as a bear, the heat of his body almost unbearable. She drew away to cool off her skin with the waters of the Chionthar and took a moment to watch the river flow past.

She let herself daydream for a moment that this was her life, now. Just her and Halsin, out amongst the trees and the river and the flowers. Nothing to do but gather a bit to eat, nap, enjoy each other’s company, and marvel at the world around them. Days like this, it was all too tempting to let the events of the world slip by like a drop of water in a fast-flowing river, passing by unnoticed.

She glanced over her shoulder at Halsin, who continued to sleep as a bear. She smiled to herself as she watched him. She loved him—she’d known that for days now, and her love had only grown in the days since he had shared his body with her and shown her more care and attention and passion than she thought possible—but she’d never tell him, of course. It would have to be a secret she cradled close to her heart, for now.

As she stood to join him again, she noticed several flowers blooming near the banks of the river, and several more in different colors and varieties farther on. A quick glance at Halsin told her he was still asleep, and likely wouldn’t wake for a while yet. Quietly, making use of her ranger stealth, she crept over to the flowers and began gathering them, careful to break their stems near the base and not rustle their petals too roughly.

She settled down near him with an arm full of flowers and slowly, methodically, began to weave and braid them together, a smile still on her lips as she worked. She hadn’t made flower crowns since her last visit to the wood elf clan near her home, during one of their many festivals, and that had been years ago. The first few twists were a little clumsy, but eventually she recalled the steps and was soon weaving flowers in simple braids with ease.

The crown finished, she sat up on her knees and carefully, oh so carefully, placed it on Halsin’s ursine head. The crown wasn’t big enough for a bear, so she simply placed it, crooked, on the top of his head, circling one ear.

Halsin cracked one eye open as she settled back on her haunches. She couldn’t help but laugh, noticing the clever look in his eye.

“And how long have you been awake, Halsin?” she teased, grinning as he made a big show of stretching out his arms and yawning wide, his tongue lolling out. He chose not to even acknowledge her question.

He sat up, looking like a bear in a children’s book with his paws between his half-curled legs, and tilted his head slightly. The flower crown slid off to one side, caught only by his round ear. She giggled as she sat up on her knees again to fix it.

“Careful, my heart,” she said. “You don’t want to lose your gift.”

He looked up, his nose sniffing the air, probably trying to scent the flowers. As she settled back again, he leaned in, pressing his big, wet nose to her cheek and snuffling her skin. She laughed again, his breath ticklish on her cheek, and held his furry face between her hands, mushing his cheeks slightly.

“Does that mean you like it?” she asked. She knew she could cast speak with animals and ask him—she almost always had it ready and active—but the one-sided conversation amused her. He bumped his nose to her cheek again as a response.

She let him go as he sat up, nearly to his full height, and lifted a heavy paw toward his head. He pawed at his ear, as if to adjust the flower crown or preen or something to that effect, but his claw caught one of the loops. As his paw came down, the flower crown broke and fell, half-unraveling, at his feet.

They both looked at it for a second before Halsin quickly transformed, returning to his usual tall, broad self with an already apologetic expression.

“My apologies, my heart,” he said, gathering up the braided flowers. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, I know,” she said, smiling. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, enjoying the way his eyes lit up as she did so, and carefully took the flowers from his hands. “Don’t worry, it’s just a simple craft.“

“Will you remake it?” he asked. She looked up, surprised.

“Remake it?” she asked. “Why?”

“You made it for me, did you not?” he asked. “I will wear it, if you like. And I will make one for you to match.”

The idea was simultaneously silly and sweet. Ardynn tried to picture the two of them returning to camp with flower crowns, like children in a village after a day of play. It should be embarrassing, but with Halsin, it seemed as natural as breathing.

And, she had to admit, she was a little enamored with the idea of him wearing something she had made for him.

“Very well,” she said. She handed him the rest of the extra flowers, taking only two for herself to fix his crown. “Because you asked.”

They worked in comfortable silence, Ardynn glancing over every now and again to watch his hands as they braided the flowers. He did so with practiced ease, as though this were something he did often. His braids were strong and intricate, the flowers woven tightly together. In truth, it made her simple crown look clumsy in comparison. She was almost embarrassed when she finally held it up for him to inspect, after several moments of her trying to strengthen it and make it look neater.

“Will this suffice?” she asked. “It’s not nearly as good as—”

But his eyes lit up again and he grinned. “It is beautiful, my heart. As lovely as the hands that made it.” He set the crown he was working on aside and bent his head closer to hers, an open invitation.

Ardynn bit her lip against a smile and placed the flower crown carefully on his head, brushing some of his hair behind his pointed ear as she adjusted the crown to fit. When he lifted his head to gaze at her, their faces only inches apart, she couldn’t help but appreciate how the color of the flowers, all white, yellow, pink, purple, and blue, looked in his earth-toned hair, against his suntanned skin. He was made for flower crowns.

“How do I look?” he murmured, keeping his face near hers.

She didn’t even bother to look at the flower crown again, instead getting lost in his hazel-eyed gaze. “Like a dream that only Mielikki or Silvanus could bless me with.”

He chuckled and closed the distance for a kiss, unable to resist running the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. “As sweet as honey, my heart,” he said softly as he pulled away, though whether he meant her words or her lips she wasn’t certain.

He reached for the flower crown he’d been working on and offered it to her. “May I?”

It was a beautiful thing, a work of art. He’d selected white, yellow, and blue and had woven them together in a repeating pattern. In his hands, the flowers seemed almost more alive than when she had picked them, though maybe that was just her affection for him coloring her view rather than him using any druidic power.

“It’s stunning, Halsin,” she said. She scooted closer, nearly knees to knees with him, to let him place it on her head. “Thank you.”

“No need for thanks,” he said, his voice warm and soft. He settled the crown on her head with all the gentle reverence of a groom with a bridal crown. It made Ardynn’s heart race to even think such traitorous thoughts, completely antithetical to Halsin’s views on relationships and partners. But she couldn’t deny the gentleness of his touch or the tenderness in his eyes. He lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers, appraising her quietly as she wore his new gift.

“How do I look?” she whispered, caught up once more in his gaze.

“As though all of nature has given its beauty to you,” he murmured back. He chuckled, his smile turning a little crooked. “And that was before the flower crown.”

He leaned in again, capturing her lips with his, and kissed her deeply. She lost herself in that kiss, in the taste of his tongue, still holding hints of the berries and nuts they’d foraged earlier that morning, in the heat of his skin, warmed by the sun, in the scent of the flowers that mingled between them, woven into crowns on their heads. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve the attentions and affections of a man like him, but as long as she had them, she would never take them for granted.

When she finally pulled away, breathless, she saw the flower crown on his head again and giggled. “You’re dangerous in that crown, you know.”

“Am I?” he teased. “Perhaps I ought to wear it to our next battle, then.”

“That’s not what I meant—” she cut herself off as a thought occurred to her. “Wait. Would you?”

“Why not? It is a gift, is it not? Made by skilled hands.” Here he lifted one of her hands to kiss the palm, and then her fingers. “Though I suppose it wouldn’t last a fierce battle, would it?”

“With my mediocre flower crown skills? I’ll be surprised if it lasts the walk back to camp tonight.”

“Then I shall treasure it while it lasts,” he said. “And I would not say no to more flower crowns in the future, should we ever find more time to make them.”

“A future of flower crowns?” Ardynn asked. It seemed so ridiculous, given everything they’d seen and fought and had yet to fight in the city. But the suggestion, the dream, felt as refreshing as a breath of fresh air out here in these woods. It seemed to restore a bit of her spirit, her resolve to fight on. If she could just save the city, then she could have days of making flower crowns for this giant, gentle, wonderful, endearingly sweet man whom she had grown to love. A future with flower crowns…

She took his hand with another smile. “I’d like that, I think.”

He leaned in with an invitation for another kiss, this time letting her come to him. “As would I,” he murmured against her lips. “We shall make it so.”

[myjisung]

ᝰ born to shine ( HJS )

pairing. han jisung x gn!reader

content. rockstar!han, idol!skz, y/n is friends with skz, established relationship, nonidol!reader, kissing, no smut — fluff.

warning. making out ... ?

wordcount. 1,5k

summary. It was not the first time you were watching jisung perform but tonight, there was something special. Whether it was his grip on the red guitar, the way that his tongue swiped against his bottom lip or how his sweat glistened on his forehead, you could not tell. Jisung was shining and you could not look away.

It had been more than half an hour since the concert started and the fans were still screaming their heart out. As surprising as it could sound, it was as if you were right there with them in the audience. From all the way backstage you could hear everyone's fast heartbeat and their gasps at the boys' every move.

August 17th 2023, second day of Stray Kids' very first dome tour. The weeks and even months leading up to the event had been difficult. With the members' hectic schedules and their neverending need to seek out for what came closest to perfection, your emotions were all over the place.

They had been going at it for 5 years now, Stray Kids were professional idols and you were still worrying about their health. Yet, with yesterday's overwhelming success, they proved to you, themselves and everyone else, that they were pretty much unbeatable at what they did best: live performing.

Today too, Jisung had asked whether you could come backstage. It was not about him being nervous but more of his need to keep you close for as long as he could. Afterall, you were going back home the next day—back to your day to day life and away from him until he could come back to you himself. Without any need for his persuasion, you had accepted. There was no way you would have said no anyway, but you appreciated that he had asked.

So, there you were, observing the whole thing backstage. You did not have the best view and neither were you getting the greatest sound from where you stood, but you were having the time of your life. Getting to watch the boys—your friends, really—enjoy themselves to the fullest in that way was one of the things you were most grateful for.

Stray Kids had that way of making every concert feel special. Eventhough a single tour had one setlist repeated every date, they managed to make it both different and exciting each time. Whether it was a tweak of a solo song performed one date and not another or the encore track being different each time, Stray Kids made sure to never serve the same show twice.

Tonight, you expected Jisung's stage. You knew it was coming and so had you the day before. However, despite having attended a few practise sessions and the morning's soundchecks, you had spent the entirity of your boyfriend's stage eyes round and mouth agape. Honestly, no one could blame you. It was the first time you had seen your boyfriend performing in such a way. You had been charmed. So charmed that, a full day later, flashes of his grip on the electric guitar, slightly sweaty permed hair and the new shade of confidence dancing around his features still appeared before your eyes whenever you blinked.

Felix's solo performance was slowly coming to an end. Jisung was up next, you could see the far back of the stage being arranged for his set while Felix and a dozen of back up dancers had the audience's full attention. They had yours too. The song was incredible and the choreography just as great but the thought of Jisung coming up in only a minute had your mind buzzing.

And then he did. The lights went out, Felix walked off stage. You high fived him and held up your two thumbs as he made his way to the cooler in the waiting room for some water. The live band started the next track and you tensed up.

Everytime Jisung performed on his own, you could not help but feel nervous yourself. Especially for every first few seconds since they usually set the tone for the rest of the performance. You knew how much Jisung wanted to do well. He wanted people's praises and for them to see how much he practised to make his stages exciting.

Today was no exception. You had no doubt that he would kill it, again. Yet there you were, hands balled up into fists and wishes for him to do well escaping your lips in low murmurs. The lights went back on, deep reds and blues painting over the stage. There he was, up there, singing in a hand held mic. Jisung's long hair was bouncing along with him, the veins in his neck pulsing as his voice boomed through the speakers. A cropped leather jacket was draped right under his shoulder blades, revealing the tight-fitted white button up he was wearing underneath.

A star; that was all you could think about. Jisung was made to be on stage. He was born to shine in front of an audience and everyday you thanked the universe for letting him do so.

Contrary to yesterday's show, Jisung stripped from his jacket. He let it slip down his arms and drop on the ground before rolling up his sleeves. In quick motion, he revealed his forearms and went to grab the eletric guitar like he did last night. You held your breath as you watched him strum the strings effortlessly. A playful smile stretched his lips and you felt yourself bite the inside of your cheek.

Jisung looked good; too good even. So much so that you almost felt like running up to where he stood and pulling him backstage so that no one else could look his way. But you stayed standing tight right where you were. Instead, you watched his every move. You let yourself get drunk off his pretty face and confident demeanor. Jisung's tongue swiped the corner of his mouth and he went back to the mic to sing the last few lyrics he had written with ease a few weeks back. With that, the song stopped.

Without even a single beat, the crowd screamed and so did you. Jisung thanked the audience, waved his hand in a sheepish motion and then, once again, the lights went out. In the dark, you could make out his silhouette walking towards you.

After such a performance, Jisung came up to you bearing a sweet smile. His eyes all crinkled with joy, sweat pooling at his temples and a few more buttons of his shirt undone, he looked heavenly. You could not help yourself, the moment your boyfriend finally came close enough for you to hear him send a small greeting your way—"Hi baby"—you grabbed his face and pressed your lips against his.

At that, Jisung let out a yelp which you immediately swallowed. His hands found their way to your waist and he pressed your body against his. As the kiss deepened, his fingers gripped at your shirt and one of your palms went to the back of his wavy hair. You pulled at it gently. Jisung sighed against your mouth and you took the opportunity to slip your tongue past the barrier of his lips.

You could not help it, there was something about the way he performed this song that made you want him. You wanted Jisung close to you. You wanted him to know about how much you enjoyed his performance. But most of all, you needed Jisung to know you loved him in all the ways possible.

Against your wishes ( and his too ) you both parted to breathe. Afterall, Jisung was already out of breath from the stage and there you were making it worse, way to go!

Ever so lovely, he giggled against your lips and a sweet smile painted itself on yours

"You did so well Jisung" you started, and he looked up to meet your gaze. "Everyone was watching you with stars in their eyes. You looked so good, heavenly! The song is great, your voice sounded perfect tonight and you gave the audience the greatest show!"

At that, Jisung's nose scrunched up. He had always been shy when being complimented. A slight blush was dusting his cheeks. Because of what exactly, you could not tell ( was it the singing, making out or complimenting? You might never know ). Getting lost in his eyes, you stroked his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

"They love you out there and– I love you, Jisung." you finished.

He kissed you again, gently and placed his hand on top of yours, holding it.

"I love you y/n. I'm yours, always."

You could have stood there forever, gazing into each other's eyes, but Seungmin ran past both of you. It was his turn to go up. He took this opportunity to slap Jisung on the back, hard.

"Can't y'all get back there?! The staff isn't getting paid to watch y'all make out! Spare them." he said, half-laughing half-disgusted.

Jisung's face, which was already blushing quite a bit, suddenly turned bright red and wide eyed. Finally aware of their presence, he profusely apologized to the staff who pretended not to have been watching you until now. You let yourself get pulled towards the waiting room, giggly as ever. All the while, Jisung softly scolded you and you did not listen.

Afterall, all it ever took to shut your boyfriend up was a kiss. And you were definitely planning to make the most out of the time you had left until he was supposed to go back up on stage.

taglist. @l3visbby — let me know if you would like to be added / removed.

© myjisung. please do not copy, translate, repost or claim my work as your own.

[lotusarchon]

some people (stares at the person this is aimed for) have no shame not saying when their blasted birthday is ffs 😒 happy (late?) birthday @auburnitzy I'm still traumatized with knowledge you are older than me this makes no sense 😭😭

reincarnation:

the rebirth of a soul in a new body

“Do you think we will be together in this life?”

“No….but maybe in the next life we can.”

The day started off like any other.

Waking up (unfortunately) to the sound of traffic and cars beeping at each other to pick up the pace. Faint laughter from her siblings and the cheery, “Good mornings!” she’d receive while rushing from the bathroom with her clothes. The kiss to her mom's cheek before she bade them farewell, still tugging on her sneakers while trying to chew on the apple slice stolen from her sister's plate.

How did she always end up sleeping through her alarms? She swore it was some sort of curse from her ancestors, probably for eating the last yogurt cup and pinning the blame on her father. But, truly, was she lying? Mother had technically caught him with the empty cup, and he had been trying to eat the remains.

The inside joke with her friends was; “Even during a meteor strike, Nawa will sleep through everything!”

Even her boss, sweet Miss Chang'e who never scolded her despite the countless times she'd shown up late to work, would tease her about her sleeping habits. But Nawa swore it wasn't her fault. She went to sleep on time and everything, and yet she still woke up late.

So unfair…maybe she should try a different approach. Something that wouldn't involve her mother dragging her off the bed by the ankle and into the shower. 

Not that she hasn't done it before, Nawa thought woefully as she stepped inside her workplace. And it still did little to awake me. Maybe I should find a night job instead.

A gentle knock to Nawa’s cubicle startled her awake. She blinked, glancing at the familiar face of her boss smiling down at her. Chang’e was really too kind: honestly, when had she ever scolded Nawa for anything aside from the occasional overworking? Godsent indeed.

“Come now Nawa,” the older woman teased, propping herself against the side of her cubicle. “Isn't it past your lunch break already? And here you are, still working away! I'm not paying you to overwork yourself, you know.”

Nawa offered a nervous smile and rubbed the back of her neck. Truthfully, she hadn't been working―she’d completed most of the files Chang’e had wanted her to report on. She had been daydreaming though, for the past half hour while staring intently at the firefly bug that had settled itself on the wall. Its faint glow, barely visible during the day, reminded her of a dream…

A weird one, of course. But it definitely followed a strange pattern: a boy with a sweet smile, visions of the sky falling, pain….it was weird, clearly. And obviously something Nawa should ignore because she'd been watching too many cartoons.

But it felt so real. She rubbed her palms against her eyes, seeing stars, and then exhaled. “Sorry, Miss Chang'e. I got distracted, that's all.”

“Clearly.” The woman half-laughed and pushed herself off the wall of the cubicle. She dusted off her clothing, and gave the younger woman a gentle pat, like one would a puppy. “But it's time for your lunch break. You're the best worker I have!” She sighed. “If you die, who's going to eat my cookies whenever I bring them over?”

Pretty sure you only bring me them, Nawa thought and stood. “Yes, yes, I'll be back in thirty minutes.”

Chang’e made a face. “No.”

“Eh?”

“No. An hour.”

“Eh!?”

“You’re right.” Chang’e nodded. “Two.”

“Miss Chang’e!!”

Okay, there was definitely some god out there that had a grudge on her. Her favorite bakery was closed, she nearly got run over by a car, she tripped and ran into a wall (nothing broke but ow), and now, she had to use the bathroom really badly and the only place available was a coffee shop with an asshole of a barista.

The barista in question had the brightest shade of red Nawa had ever seen for hair. She didn't know if it had been dyed, or if he'd been naturally born with it, but damn did it stand out, even under the weird cap thing most baristas seem to wear. He also gave her a dirty look when she barged in with a flushed face from running around so much, so hypothetically, she was not being mean by calling a mean person in turn an asshole. Fair was fair.

“I need to use your bathroom,” she asked bluntly, forcing a smile to the barista―his nametag read…Red Son? Who names their child Red Son?

“You need to be a paying customer to get that.” In a snarky voice, the redhead pointed a thumb at the opposite side, where a very long line of people were standing. He chewed meticulously on the gum in his mouth, and Nawa resisted the impulsive urge from making a rude comment about his chewing habit. 

“Oh come on.” She buried her face in her hands. “It's an emergency! Please!?”

Asshole Red Son scoffed. Whatever, your hair color and name is sooooo lame. “Store policy. If you're not buying anything, you can't use the bathrooms.”

Why is this guy such a dick? Nawa sighed mournfully. It's not my fault you're stuck dealing with rude customers all the time! And I think I'm gonna die, I really need to p―

A hand wrapped around her torso.

Nawa flinched, turning her head quickly to glare and-slash-or throw a fist at whoever decided to touch her so casually. What she hadn't been expecting though was to meet a sweet smile and amber-colored eyes that winked at her for only a second, before they were staring at the barista.

“Don't be rude, Red.” Whoever this guy was, he seemed familiar with the jerk at the counter. The hand on her waist didn't get too grabby, only rested there like some sort of model on view. “We're together, and I'm always a paying customer, aren't I?”

Together!? Nawa blinked. She'd never met this guy in her entire life!

Even if the way his lips twisted in a sweet smile and the cute dimple on his cheek visible when he faced her, or the soft brown hair tied with a red bandanna, and his soft, gentle voice reminded her of someone she should know, she was certain she'd never met anyone like him. Certainly not enough to be this familiar, anyway.

“Right, babe? You'll take your usual this time?”

Nawa snapped her unconsciously opened mouth shut. She nodded vaguely, and then after a moment spoke up. “Sure, babe. Um, the usual for me is fine.”

The barista raised a brow while the stranger handed him a wad of cash. His gaze drifted between the both of them, and judging by the way his eyes narrowed, he did not buy into that lie. Fuck, was she going to have an accident in public because of some prick? Maybe she should kick him in the nuts.

…but that would be mean…

“Since when did you have a girlfriend, noodle boy?” He asked, tone more suspicious than curious. “I specifically remember you mentioning up until yesterday how―” Red made air quotes. “―lonely I was without a girlfriend while my friends got partners.” He crossed his arms, and then his gaze drifted to Nawa. “What changed?”

Nawa felt a vein in her head throb. She forced a smile, closing the distance between herself and ‘noodle boy’ for added effect.

“We wanted to keep it a surprise,” she answered through gritted teeth. “My parents are strict folks, right, hon?”

She glanced at ‘Noodle Boy’, who was quick to nod immediately in agreement. “Yeah, yeah! And you know how Pigsy can be, Red! I needed some time, that's all!” Still smiling, the stranger removed his arm from her waist and gently nudged her in the bathroom's direction. “Don't stand here waiting, babe. You go on ahead, I'll collect our order.”

Ah. Right.

With another nod, Nawa practically speedwalked to the bathrooms. She could still feel the barista's eyes on her back, and she swore she heard him remark to the stranger, “How the fuck did you manage to anyone with your ugly face? She has bad tastes.”

“Yeah yeah, fuck you too.”

The stranger was waiting for her outside. He raised his head, and when their eyes met Nawa felt a strange sense of deja vu. Which, again, couldn't have made any sense, right? They only just met today…there's no way she'd have ever remembered anyone like this guy.

But from a dream?

She shook her head. Especially from a dream.

“Babe! Hey!” Noodle Boy flashed her a smile, gently taking her hand. He glanced at the barista, who was still staring at them. Nawa gave a little wave as the stranger guided her to a table outside, offering her a seat while he plopped himself down on the opposite side. He gave her a cup of coffee jelly, still smiling.

This was so awkward.

“Um.” Nawa scratched her cheek nervously. “Listen, I'll pay you back for the coffee jelly. A-and really, I'm grateful for the assist―”

She was cut off by the stranger waving his hand.

“Eh, it's cool.” He smiled again, and Nawa felt her face grow warm. “Sorry about the um…” He blushed. “Touching, by the way. I-I needed Red to believe me and you looked like you'd pee yourself any second longer.”

“Hey!”

“I'm sorry!” Noodle Boy hid his face behind his hands. “Gah, I know, that's weird!! I mean, I just wanted to help!! I swear I'm not a creep!” He paused, peeking through his fingers. “Um, you're not busy though, right? Because…Red's still suspicious of us.”

Oh, right. Nawa glanced at her watch. She still had an hour to spare, so maybe buying time for a roleplay with a stranger wouldn't be too bad. The worst case scenario was that he was weird and planned on storing her organs in his basement. Best case, she got a free coffee jelly and spoke to a cute guy. That was bragging rights. Chang'e would be pleased.

“Right.” Nawa sighed and propped a hand under her chin. “So, babe. I don't believe I got your name?” She paused, then added much quieter, “Your name isn't actually Noodle Boy, right?”

The Noodle Boy in question lowered his hands with an offended expression. “Absolutely not! It's MK!”

Oh! Nawa blinked. It wasn't that bad of a name. A bit…bland, maybe, but it was better than Red Son. Seriously, she could understand the anger and annoyance coming from the barista. She too would be permanently filled with rage had her parents named her White Girl. Or White Daughter. Whatever.

MK placed a hand against hers on the table. She froze at the sudden contact, and raised her head to see his cheeks flushed rosy red and a nervous smile on his face. For all anyone could know, this could be the first time the poor man's ever been in contact with a girl his age. Much less any girl for that matter. She highly doubted the red boy would believe them with his nervousness, but when she caught him glancing back indoors, she stayed still and offered a small smile.

Alright. Maybe pretending would do them both some good in the long run.

And hey. This cute stranger with the familiar smile doesn't seem so bad. 

When they part ways, Nawa places a kiss on his cheek. 

“For the act,” she had said, glancing at a Red Son who was still at the counter, still staring at them. “Don't want your friend to suspect anything.”

“I'm still dead though,” he says, the area where her soft lips once were growing warm. It spreads like a fire, and he's sure he's blushing like crazy once again. He can't help it though, things like this are still weird! If he could, he'd hide his face again, but the last thing he wants is to act like a virgin around a pretty girl. He notices her look and adds quickly, “He's gonna whine to my best friend about this.” He sighs. “And she'll whine to my parents, who'll whine to my me―uncle, and so forth, so forth.”

Nawa blinks. The confused ‘o” she makes with her mouth is cute. It reminds him of those axolotl creatures he sees. 

“Ah.” Her expression darkens with a blush. “I understand.”

He shrugs in response. He could probably think of some believable lie when Pigsy asks. Something stupid maybe…like her parents didn't want them together and she was banned from seeing them. That could work right?

But then again, knowing Pigsy, he'd make it his business to find the ‘mystery girl’ and scream at her parents for getting in the way of love, and MK loves his father figure but there truly is a limit to the shame he'd face from that. And anyway, he just met this Nawa. The last thing he'd want is for her to feel obliged to pretend to be his girlfriend for an act.

Someone gently pokes his cheeks. It's the girl again, smiling at him more bashfully this time. It's..cute. But not in a creepy way, swear!!

She offers her phone. MK stares at the screen and keypad, before glancing back at her.

Nawa laughs. “Number. So we can hang out more.” She gently nudges him with her elbow. “And keep up the fake dating scheme for a bit more.” 

Noticing his silence, she hastily adds as an afterthought, “O-only if you want too!!! You already did so much for me, and y-you seemed cool! I…ah…wouldn't mind…” She looks away. “Being your um. Friend?”

It comes off more as a question really, but something inside MK swells with warmth. He looks like he might faint, if he could (and won't, by the way, because that is not cool), and he coughs in his fist. 

“Sure!” Gosh, he wants to die. Why is he always so awkward with these things!? Exchanging numbers with Red Son wasn't this weird!!

…wait, nevermind. It's Red Son we're talking about.

The numbers are saved, and the smile on Nawa’s face widens. She looks like she's glowing with some sort of weird pride, and as she waves and takes her leave with the promise of contacting him, MK can only stare.

He stays like that until her figure disappears in the crowd, and the smile he wears drops slightly. He stares at her name on his screen, the number the same as it always is, and laughs.

“So she was right…” MK murmurs, and hugs his phone to his chest. 

“Aye, fuck face. Get lost.”

“Jesus Christ I was having a moment―did you fucking THROW A GARBAGE BAG AT MY HEAD!?”

[yourlocaldilemma]

Golden thoughts {part 2} ln4

______________________________________________

Lando Norris x fem!sprinter!reader

words: 2.1k

part: 2/? part one part two part three part four

warnings: none really

a/n: Feedback is appreciated:)

Woah.” Still standing at the door, Lando’s eyes widen as he looks around your room.

The whole drive back to your hotel you had been questioing every life choice you’d made that brought you to this moment.

The moment where you brought an F1 driver you just met to your hotel room. 

He was nice, and you knew he wasn’t going to pull anything, but this was way out of character for you. The fact that he so quickly made you break your rules made you feel things you weren’t familiar with. 

You realize Lando is still at the doorway. “Are you going to come in or do you plan on just standing there?” 

He begins taking off his shoes, but his eyes don’t move from the window behind you. The sun has almost completely set, filling the penthouse with a soft glow and colouring the clouds soft shades of orange and pink.

“And you have all this to yourself?” 

You shrug, “I love the view. I really like having a kitchen. The bed is more comfortable. I guess you could call it a guilty pleasure.”

Lando only whistles as he walks around taking in the space. He walks past the couch you’ve laid your open suitcases on and snorts as he passes the one filled with your sprint spikes. 

“What the hell are these Y/N? You could kill someone with them!”

You laugh and walk over to explain all the different pairs of shoes to him. 

“They’re sprint spikes Lando.” 

What happened to the dinosaur wrestling gig?” 

“This is just a little side project”

“So you’re a sprinter?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow that’s amazing. Why are there so many pairs?” 

“There’s different ones for the 100 and 200, a pair for practice and an extra just in case.”

“That seems too complicated.”

“Because F1 isn’t?”

He responds by seating himself at the island and turning to look at you. “So are you going to cook me something?”

You scoff at him, but return to the kitchen and start pulling out the ingredients for dinner. 

“I won’t eat fish. I also won’t eat anything spicy.”

Rolling your eyes you begin to cut up vegetables. “I was thinking a dinner bowl of sorts. Rice, veggies, chicken,” sarcastically you add, “does that suit your liking sir?”

Lando pauses. 

“Y/N did you just call me sir?” 

You look up, mortified but unsurprised but his immaturity, to see him half blushing half grinning maniacally at you. You throw a piece of carrot in his general direction, and with some luck it hits him square on the forehead. 

He narrows his eyes at you. “Ugh yeah that’s fine I guess. As long as it’s also not spicy.”

You task him with cooking the rice, figuring it’s easy enough after deciding you didn’t quite trust him with a knife. In between figuring where the cookware was, you were surprised to find the conversation easy and comfortable. It felt like you’d known him for way longer than 5 hours and he brought a welcome new sense of life to the once cold penthouse. 

“Oh my god Y/N it’s attacking me!” You keel over laughing when you turn to find the pot of water boiling over onto the stove top. At this point you’re pretty sure you’ve already laughed more tonight than you have in the last month.

Through your fits of laughter you scold lando. “You muppet you were supposed to be watching it! Are you really not capable of boiling water?” 

“In my defence, I don’t cook a lot!”

“I don’t think that counts as cooking,” you exhale a laugh. 

“You can drive a car at 300 kilometres an hour but you can’t boil water. What are you doing with your life?” 

The atmosphere changes in a split second. His eyes flick downward and examine the floor before meeting yours. He holds your gaze for a few seconds before whispering “ I don’t know sometimes.” 

In a second you see him go from McLarens golden boy with an infinite number of fans to the small scared boy who fell in a love with racing all those years ago, the boy who still tucks his face into his dads neck and leans into kisses from his grandma.  

“Would you like a hug?” 

You regret asking the question as son as it comes out of your mouth. You can’t tell if Lando looks humoured or disgusted by the offer. Instead of waiting for an awkward response you spin around, but before you turn fully you feel his arms on you.

He pulls you to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, tucking his face into the side of your neck. 

Tentatively, you wrap your arms around his neck and and relax into the hug. Every time lando exhales you can feel his soft breath on your cheek and his back muscles are very evident under your hands.

There becomes a mutual need to keep holding on as you stay wrapped in each other for for what feels like hours as the sun sets around you. It’s only once the oven dings that he pulls away. 

~

Lando shoves his last bite into his mouth with a moan. 

“Oh my god Y/N that was so good”

You giggle, looking down at your bowl that’s not even halfway done. You’re sitting across from each other at the table, Landos back to the window casting a golden glow over his features. He sits patiently as you finish eating, asking you questions in between bites.  

“Favourite flower?”

“Daises.”

“Night owl or morning person?”

“Morning.”

“Shoe size?”

“I really don’t see how these questions are relevant to anything,” you reply, scraping the last of your meal off the sides of the bowl. 

He smiles sheepishly at you. “If we’re going to be friends we need to know more about each other. Obviously.” 

You inwardly raise an eyebrow. The thought of being friends for longer than just tonight hadn’t even crossed your mind. There were about 100 people you’d think the Lando Norris would befriend before you. 

You end up just smiling hesitantly at him. “Obviously.” 

He stands up and takes your bowls to the kitchen, turning on the sink and rummaging through the drawers, looking for soap you assume. “Is this soap or laundry detergent?” He tosses the bottle at you and  thank god you catch it. 

“Eucalyptus scented dish soap.” You translate, wrinkling your nose. “I don’t know if eucalyptus is a really appealing dish soap scent.”

He giggles at the thought of bowls that taste like eucalyptus before continuing with his endless list of questions. 

“So you speak French and English?” 

You let him begin to do the dishes but sit next to the sink on the counter, “English, French, Spanish and Dutch.”

“Show off.”

You dip your finger into the sink and flick some of the bubbles at him. They land in his curls and she shrieks at you like it was acid instead of soap. 

“Y/N!” He grabs an entire handful of bubbles, lays his large hand flat, and blows them all in your face.

You gasp as your face gets covered in the soap, struggling to breathe as you laugh and try to wipe your face clean. When you can finally open your eyes again, Landos eyes are glinting with tears of laughter and he’s smiling his pretty smile as he watches you. 

“You missed a spot.”

Running your hands over your hair, cheeks, forehead, you attempt to find the bubbles that escaped. 

“Here.”  

Lando steps between you legs dangling off the countertop. Softly, he brushes the top of your nose. Your skin tingles and suddenly you find yourself craving more of his touch. 

Looking up you meet his eyes. The tips of his ears are red and his checks have flushed the same pink that tints his lips. The tension between you could be cut with a knife as the pads of his fingers linger a little longer than necessary on you. 

“Thanks.”

He steps back. “Yeah.”

He shakes his head and you take a deep breath.

“If you had two words to describe your life what would they be?”

You’re grateful for his ability to break the tension.

“Glittery shitshow. Enough questions. It’s my turn. Favourite colour?”

“Orange.”

“One thing that will always make you happy?”

“Racing.”

It sounds like he’s reading the answers off of a script. He probably has. 

“Lando. I’m not asking these questions to Mclarens Lando Norris. I’m asking them to you.”

He hesitates for a second. 

“My favourite colour is dark blue tied with neon green, but only in small amounts, and going to the ocean with my friends and family will always make me happy.” He turns off the tap and faces you. 

“Want to watch something on Netflix?” 

It ends up taking you guys 10 minutes to hook his phone up to the TV, so it’s already late when you decide on watching an old Disney movie. You have 4 text from Charles and 3 from Arthur that are all a cross between 3 barley decipherable languages that you’ll answer in the morning. 

The sun has completely gone down, the light from the TV illuminating the room. 4 minutes into the show you’re almost completely asleep, focusing more on Lando than the movie. He is really pretty.

“Y/N.” you realize Lando has caught you starting at him. For the second time this night. 

“Can I braid your hair?” You weren’t usually this bold with new people, taking your sweet time to begin trusting people, but for some reason he seemed to be the exception. You were also extremely tired, and you’ll probably never see him again so, fuck it. 

Lando laughs. “Sure.” He shifts his position, bringing his head closer to make it easier for you. You pick some strands from the longest part of his hair and begin combing through the curls. As you begin weaving them together, Lando sighs happily and relaxes further and further into your touch. 

His body heat is more comforting than you’d like to admit and but the time you’re done the braid your lashes stripe your vision as slowly your eyes close and you become impartial to the outside world.

~~

You groan and roll over as sunshine streams through your window. Peeking up, you see that the clock reads 7:45 am. The events of last night slowly trickle into your consciousness and you groan again. You pick up your phone, which somehow, along with yourself, made it’s way to your bed. There’s a sticky note pressed to the screen that reads:

“Thanks for dinner and the movie last night. I really enjoyed your company. Lando” there’s a uneven smiley face under the words with a number you can only assume is his. 

When you get out of bed you find you’re still in your clothes and makeup from last night. By the time you’re showered dressed and having breakfast (yoghurt with berries today) it’s 10 o’clock. 

You have to be at the track by 11:45 for training, so you figure your breakfast will also have to act as lunch. You skim through social media as you eat, replying and liking posts as your media manager expects. 

Your training that day is light. You settle into the new track, focusing on the mechanics of your run. You leave feeling content about your performance. Your arm drive has improved massively since the beginning of the year and your times and race results were showing it. Your coach waves to you as you both pull out of the parking lot and join the highway. 

By the time you grab food for the next few days, run by the bank and get back to the hotel it’s almost 3pm. You had been in contact with the Charles all day and his hangover wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. 

Thank god for that, because you would have blamed yourself if he had showed up to media day with a headache and bags under his eyes. 

Scrolling through the F1 app you watch a few of his interviews, and as you pass one of Landos you impulsively click on it. You still hadn’t texted him, ashamed of how vulnerable you had been around him last night and embarrassed you fell asleep practically on him.

His face fills the screen as he awnsers the standard questions he does every weekend. When the reporter asks where him thinks he’ll place this weekend, his eyes flash and he chuckles awkwardly before he responds by saying “Another podium would be nice.” The reporter hums a response to this and thanks him for his time. 

When he runs a hand through his hair and turns to leave the frame, you see the small braid you gave him last night still resting in its nest of curls. 

[detectivesvu]

Sharing Secrets

Mike Dodds x Fem! Reader Tags: Brief mentions of child abuse. Word Count: 3.6k "I just...hope I haven't completely messed things up."

The air of the SVU victim interview room was completely still.

It wasn’t uncomfortable per se, but it was definitely quiet and not much conversation to fill the air. After all your years at SVU, talking to victims and hearing their stories still stung just as much as your very first day on the squad.

Of course, as time went on and you had more experience under your belt, you were more confident and comfortable talking to victims. You knew that in some cases, you were the only person in their corner. You were the only person who understood what they were feeling and what they were going through. Work experience helped, but it didn’t put even a dent in the way it still made your stomach turn to hear such traumatic events day in and day out.

And certainly, adults were one thing…kids were entirely another.

Too often, SVU was handed cases of kids being assaulted and abused…traumatized and scarred for life. With the adults, you always managed to move on, but kids? Kids’ cases stuck with you forever. Hearing small, meek children tell you that they had been touched or beaten…almost always by someone they knew and trusted. It was impossible to get used to hearing and seeing that every day…it was inconceivable to believe that anyone could lay their hands on a child.

Today was no exception.

He hadn’t hardly said a word since he sat down. He was practically trembling with anxiety as he did everything he could to avoid looking at you and your detective partner sitting directly across from him. If he did sneak a glance, his eyes tended to go to Detective Dodds, who only returned a quick soft smile each time he locked eyes with the 5-year-old.

His eyes were trained on the numerous pieces of paper strewn in front of him, a variety of different colored crayons scattered there as well. He was doodling away with the different crayons, silently dreaming up and sketching multiple pictures as a way of entertaining himself…and distracting himself from the two of you attempting to speak with him.

You and Dodds had been trying to get through to him for nearly half an hour. Each question you asked only earned a meek response and an uncomfortable body movement.

He was scared to death no doubt. Confused as to why two police officers were asking him so many questions that he didn’t want to answer…and even more confused about the situation that landed him here in the first place.

“That’s a really nice picture,” Your voice — soft and full of warmth — spoke to the young boy sitting across from you. “Do you like to draw?”

He said nothing. His eyes — full of fear and yet still so full of innocence — only flickered to you for a moment as a physical show that he had indeed heard your question. His left eye was swollen and a grisly shade of black and blue…evidence of what he had endured that landed him at SVU. His head barely nodded up and down as he set the crayon in use down, his cheeks tinting pink under your gaze.

Mike studied the picture that the child was currently working on. It was no Picasso masterpiece by any means…but even Mike could put together what it was supposed to be.

“Are these your favorite foods?” Mike asked, noting that he could spot a variety of foods that were universally kid friendly.

The child gave another small nod. Eyes now focused on his hands fiddling in his lap. This boy had been through hell and back, so it was no surprise he wasn’t interested in chatting about what foods he liked with two adult strangers. If that boy knew anything for sure, it was that the adults that were supposed to love you could hurt you beyond comprehension…so trusting an adult he didn’t know was not an option unless they gave him a reason to.

It was odd though. The boy had been much more talkative when Sonny picked him up and brought him into the precinct. He hadn’t been a chatterbox by any means, but according to Sonny — the kid wasn’t so clammed up like he was now. Something was making him uneasy.

“Pizza, ice cream, sandwiches…all really good stuff. I like all of that too,” Mike said, trying to establish some kind of common ground with the kid. Mike pointed to one particular image on his picture, a rectangular shape with a symbol on it that he identified to be a certain type of fruit. “Is this a juice box?”

The boy nodded once more, shrinking down into his seat as Mike continued.

“If you want, we can get you a juice box. We have some around here.”

For the briefest moment, the boy perked up. His eyes glimmered just long enough for you and Mike to catch it and know that you were making some progress.

He cowered and shrank into himself again when he locked eyes with you, and that’s when it clicked for Mike.

“Detective,” Mike turned to you, a small, reassuring smile on his face. “Would you get my friend here an apple juice?”

Mike had a look on his face, a look that let you know he had something in mind. You and Mike — a dynamic duo as work partners — understood one another. Your thoughts often flowed together smoothly and with ease. In many ways, your bond went well outside of work. The two of you didn’t just blend together as partners…but as people. If Mike needed you to leave, then you trusted him.

“Sure thing,” You retreated from your chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Mike kept his eyes on the kid, who allowed his own eyes to follow you as you exited the room and disappeared behind the wall. He released a long breath once you were gone, unbeknownst to him that you would be watching from the other side once his promised juice box was retrieved. Mike let the silence simmer for a few minutes, not wanting to immediately start asking more questions.

It wasn’t until the boy snuck another glance at Mike that he decided to try and press further.

“So…let me ask you something. Does Detective [L/N] make you nervous?”

The boy’s wide brown eyes locked with Mike’s for only another moment as he nodded, fiddling with his small hands.

“Can you tell me why she makes you nervous? You didn’t seem to like her being here," Mike asked. "I'm your friend. You can tell me."

The boy was clearly wrestling with himself. Not wanting to give in to Mike’s question…but deep down knowing that he wasn’t here to do anything other than help him. The boy then spoke for the first time in half an hour. The tiniest bit of comfort filled his senses as he finally began to answer Mike’s questions.

“She’s pretty…” He gave the tiniest, shyest grin with a small voice.

Mike couldn’t help himself. His laugh was light and surprised, but genuine. This was the first time he had said anything, and he chose to say that.

You yourself gave a small laugh, cradling the beloved apple juice in your hand to be delivered once Mike made some decent headway in this conversation.

“He’s getting through to him.” Olivia, who was standing to your immediate right, said aloud. “Even if it’s at your expense.”

You shook your head and shrugged, completely unbothered.

“I don’t mind,” You answered. “Mike knows what he’s doing.”

Mike could tell the kid was warming up. He didn’t want to lose momentum now while he was on a roll.

“Is that why you didn’t want to talk with her in the room?”

The boy nodded and surprised Mike by posing a question of his own.

“Do you think she’s pretty too?”

Suddenly, the questioning at your expense was getting a bit personal. Mike shifted in his seat a bit -- he wasn't going to lie to this boy, but he also knew you were listening. Right now, this kid was his priority.

“Yeah, bud. I do.”

The boy brightened up, clearly interested in this ordeal. Mike didn't mind. If it distracted him from what he had been through, then he was more than willing to dish out his personal business.

“Are you boyfriend-girlfriend?” The boy straightened up, now having no trouble keeping eye contact with Mike.

“No, we’re not boyfriend-girlfriend.” Mike chuckled again at the phrasing of the youngster's question.

“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly with curiosity.

Mike's eyes widened at that question, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He wasn't expecting that question, and it caught him off guard. Mike was too far down the road of this conversation to turn back now. If he lost this kid's trust, they might never really know what was happening to him. He turned his attention back to the child, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Mike admitted, trying to maintain his composure. "We're partners...but not the kind that dates."

It seemed that suddenly the boy was very invested in your and Mike’s relationship because he continued to press on like he needed to know for his own personal reasons.

“But if you think she’s pretty, why don’t you date?” He asked. “You like her don’t you?”

Mike chuckled again, amused by the boy's curiosity and keen eye for detail. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating his answer for a moment before speaking.

"Well...you're right. I do like her," he admitted, a smile on his face. "But it's not always that simple. We work together every day...and sometimes," Mike said, hesitating for a moment, "Work can get in the way of things."

“Oh…” The boy said quietly, thinking for only a moment before continuing. “So you don’t like her more than a friend?”

Mike pondered on the question. It really was a difficult one to answer. Because the feelings he had for you weren't just that of friendship. They were stronger, deeper, but he didn't know how to articulate it to a 5-year-old child. He leaned closer to the boy, his voice serious but still friendly.

"I do like her more than just a friend. A lot more," He confessed, his smile still on his face. "But it's a bit tricky when we work together. Does that make sense?"

The boy picked up on Mike’s quiet tone, and he matched his whisper when he spoke next.

“Yeah but…why don’t you tell her you like her?”

Mike was caught off guard again by the boy's insightful question. He shifted in his chair, feeling a pang of guilt and regret in his chest. The simple truth was, he had thought about expressing his feelings to you more times than he could count. But there was always a reason not to.

He sighed, his voice low and conflicted.

"It's not that easy. If I tell her how I feel...it could mess up our friendship."

Mike realized he was probably oversharing with him. In no way was his feelings for you the child's responsibility...but the boy didn't seem burdened in the slightest -- this was the most interested he had been in talking all day. A slight smile appeared on the boy’s face as he leaned over the table, whispering even quieter to Mike.

“I think she likes you too.” He grinned.

Mike kept his expression unchanged, but his heartbeat was beginning to quicken in his chest. He knew there was no turning back from this now. He leaned in toward the boy, mirroring his whispering tone.

"What makes you think that?" He asked in a hushed voice.

The boy shrugged, but his eyes were completely lit up at this conversation.

“I don’t know…” He giggled. “I can just tell.”

Mike knew this conversation was getting way off track. The purpose of this interview was to get this boy to tell him about what he had endured at his daycare center, and how he ended up bruised and beaten — but at this point, Mike figured it was valuable to finish it out.

“You’re a smart kid,” He said. “You can tell me. How can you tell?"

Mike was impressed at how observant and perceptive this kid was. At such a young age, he had an astute sense of things that many adults didn’t even pick up on in their own relationships. The boy scrunched his eyebrows, thinking hard. Mike chuckled at the sight and waited patiently for his answer.

"Well," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "She smiles at you a lot. And she listens when you talk. Like...she really listens."

Mike was speechless. He could tell this kid was observant, but this was beyond impressive. It seemed that this five-year-old was beyond smarter than he was.

“But I won’t tell her if you don’t want her to know you like her,” The boy said. “I promise."

Mike knew that it wasn't a secret anymore, given that you were probably watching from the other side and had heard this entire conversation. Still, Mike admired the kid's loyalty. He leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile on his face.

“Thanks, kid. Let’s keep it just between us for now, okay?”

Mike knew you had to have been watching and listening this entire time. His stomach was in knots knowing that you had just heard him spill his liking for you to a child. He hoped and hoped that this kid was right, and that your friendship and partnership wasn’t over.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened — revealing you with two small boxes of the promised apple juice. The boy shrank into his seat slightly when you entered, but shared a knowing glance with Mike.

Mike's eyes darted from the boy back to you, trying to keep a casual demeanor despite the wave of nerves that washed over him. He could sense the boy's slightly timid behavior as you entered the room, and the knowing glance the boy shared with him was both reassuring and foreboding. He tried his best to act natural, standing up to take the juice box from you and set it on the table in front of the boy.

"Perfect timing, thanks." Mike said, his voice betraying a hint of tension underneath.

She knew Mike was going to try and continue the conversation with the boy now — and get the full story of the abuse he had endured. She wouldn’t be sticking around - just long enough to give him his juice.

“I brought you a second one…just in case you were extra thirsty.” she smiled at the boy, her heart pounding at the new knowledge of Mike liking her so much more than she ever realized. “If you want anything else, let Mike know, okay?”

The boy took one of the juice boxes, unwrapped the straw and punched it into the hole.

“Okay,” He gave her a shy smile. “Thanks.”

The thought of you potentially knowing Mike's feelings for you — the fact that he may have given away his secret to you via a 5-year-old — was almost overwhelming. But he pushed it aside, needing to focus on the task at hand.

As you excused yourself to leave the room, he shot you a quick nod, a silent thank you for the juice and giving him and the kid some privacy.

“Okay, buddy…” Mike said calmly, trying to shift gears. “Can you tell me about your daycare teacher?”

For the next hour or so, Mike and the boy talked back and forth. The boy told Mike all the details of how his daycare teacher abused him and other kids in his class — and gave SVU enough reason to question and potentially arrest her.

Through the boy's detailed and sometimes-heartbreaking account of the abuse he and others had suffered, Mike listened intently, his heart breaking a bit more with every new piece of information. He jotted down notes as the boy spoke, making sure to capture as much information as possible for the investigation. The more Mike learned about the daycare teacher's treatment of the children, the more determined he was to bring her to justice.

When the boy was out of things to say and SVU had enough information, Mike stood from the table and held his hand out to the boy.

“You’ve been very brave and helpful to us,” He said, smiling once more when the boy walked around the table and took his hand. “Thank you for helping us.”

The boy nodded, walking out of the room hand-in-hand with Mike — entering Olivia’s office where you, Olivia, and Carisi were waiting. Olivia wore an expression of curiosity, Carisi looked as if he was about to explode to go tell the entire squad room what just happened, and you were looking at Mike...purely in awe as he stood in front of you.

Mike squatted to meet the boy’s height, gesturing toward Carisi with a grin.

“I need to get back to work now. Detective Carisi is going to take you now, okay?”

The boy nodded again, leaning in to whisper one more thing to Mike before going with Carisi.

“I won’t forget our secret.” He said, and Mike patted his shoulder affectionately.

Carisi took the boy with him, leaving Mike alone with her and Olivia. As Carisi led the boy out of the office -- no doubt going to tell Fin and Rollins about this -- Mike stood up and stood stoically, now facing you and Olivia, his nerves mounting. He avoided your gaze, focusing instead on straightening out the notes he had taken during the interview. The silence in the room was deafening, and Mike's heart was hammering in his chest.

"I'm going to call Barba," Olivia said, which was Olivia's way of saying she was leaving the room. “I'll send Fin and Rollins down to that daycare center."

Mike nodded in acknowledgement as Olivia relayed the news about the teacher, his heart racing even faster at the impending prospect of being alone with you. He swallowed hard, bracing himself for the conversation that was to come. Olivia swiftly left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mike stood frozen for a moment, mustering up the courage to finally look over at you. He took a deep breath, his gaze meeting yours. It wasn't like Mike to be so nervous. Mike was always confident...super focused on work. But right now, he was terrified that your partnership and friendship was ruined.

He could tell you weren’t angry with him or anything of that nature. If anything you looked…relieved.

“So…” You couldn’t help but flash a small grin, his chest fluttering at the sight. “You think I’m pretty?”

Mike let out a nervous laugh, a mix of relief and anxiety coursing through him. Seeing your small grin made his heart skip a beat. He couldn't deny it now - he was about to see the outcome of his confession.

"Guilty as charged," he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "That kid wasn't wrong."

He paused for a moment, the weight of his feelings for you heavy in his chest.

"I just...hope I haven't completely messed things up."

“Come on, Mike…” You took a step closer. “You know it would take way more than that to mess things up between us.”

Relief washed over him as you took a step closer. The distance between you guys was shrinking, and he could feel the tension in the room growing. He studied your face, searching your eyes for any hint of rejection.

"I was worried that you'd think this completely changed everything." He said, his voice quiet but firm.

"Well…it certainly does change things…in a good way." You smiled.

Mike's head was spinning. This was certainly not how he expected his day to go...and for the first time ever, he was distracted from the current case at hand.

He took a cautious step forward, closing the distance between you guys even further. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt. He saw nothing but genuine hope.

"The kid was right after all," You said. "But this is a conversation we can have when we get this case figured out. We need to get him taken care of."

He gave a slow nod, his gaze locked on yours. As much as he wanted to blurt out everything he was feeling, he knew you were right — there was work to be done first.

"You're right," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We need to focus on the case. But when this is all over…"

"When this is all over..." You finished his sentence for him. "We will see where we go from here."

The promise of "what's to come" overwhelmed him like no other. It had been so long since he had something other than work to focus on. He took another step forward, the urge to be closer to you nearly overwhelming him. But he stopped himself, knowing that until the case was closed, he couldn't act on any impulses.

"Right," He agreed. "How about dinner at my place?"

Your smile grew, and a slight heat rushed your cheeks.

"It's a date."

The matter was put to rest for now. They had work to do and a case to solve. But neither of you could deny that it sat in the back of your minds for the rest of the day. The day had taken an unexpected turn after all, and a most welcome one at that.

Mike was patient, and he knew with a little more time you would be able to see where this would lead.

Although, you both already had a pretty good idea of what that would be.

[marjoch]

MAY YOUR DEATH BE SWIFT

slowburn ellabs fic set four years after santa barbara

early updates on ao3 @ josmarch

chapter 4

summary: abby taking care of sick ellie, domestic lev & abby life, just cute simple things

The weather outside looked like rain, but Abby knew Lev needed some time out of the house. These days he seemed restless, like sitting around would cause him harm. She thought it was a result of a lot of things: being outcast from the only society he had known, losing his sister, and working as a slave until Abby managed to get both of them exiled and sentenced to a sure death. He still didn’t know Ellie was the reason they were alive today. It had been four years, but she knew the past weighed on him as it did her. They were working through that together.

The pair of them started out from the house on foot. They had walked back from the gas station where they’d found Ellie last night, and they were used to walking most places. Abby and Lev made their way towards the main town, which was around a half mile from where they lived. Even in the shade, the late May weather was warm. Abby took off her windbreaker halfway through the short journey, revealing an array of healed but obvious scars made by a switchblade adorning her arms. She’d gained back some of the weight she’d lost in California, but she was a bit more lean as she hadn’t been working out as regularly. She was still in peak physical condition, and an asset to the town.

Both Abby and Lev were comfortable in each other’s presence, some relationship between maternal and sibling. They could sit for hours without saying a word, and be content. They’d been walking in silence for sometime before Lev finally spoke. “Why are you being so nice to her?”

Abby had given it some thought. Lev wasn’t aware of her research into Ellie, and she didn’t want to disclose all of it now. After Santa Barbara, Abby needed to know who Ellie was. The dialogue they’d had in the theatre in Seattle had become a blur, but she recalled it then. It was easy to piece it together once she had some semblance of an idea. Before Abby had deconstructed her preconceived notions of loyalty sometime around meeting Lev, she likely would’ve taken this grudge to the grave. Something in her had shifted. Lev cleared his throat, and Abby said, “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t she kill your friends?”

“I killed her father,” responded Abby, shaking her head. “I used to think everything was so black and white. This or that. I don’t know anymore.”

Lev looked curious. “Regardless of knowing, I think she has an effect on you.” They walked on, and he clarified, “Good or bad, I’m not sure.”

Abby wasn’t sure either. She also thought that she was thinking about it a little too much considering she was usually one for routine. Nothing in Santa Fe had been interesting since she’d settled here with Lev two years ago. At least, nothing disrupted her morning breakfast and falling asleep on the couch reading and her mind. She was beginning to wonder if she regretted going out for late night hunting that resulted in saving someone she’d tried to forget.

“She seems sick. I don’t want to be the one to shoot her if she turns out like everyone else.” Lev sounded serious.

“If you’re really worried, you can stay with your friends for a few nights. It would do you some good to get out of the house.”

Lev shrugged. “I’lll talk to Carmen once we get to town. I’d rather stay with them than get infected by your friend.”

“We aren’t friends,” Abby rolled her eyes.

“Same difference,” Lev replied. “Still weird that you’re helping her.”

They made it to town, then, so Abby dropped the conversation. It wasn’t something she wanted everyone else to hear. These people didn’t need to worry about the decisions she made. She hoped that Lev wouldn’t share anything about the situation, but she knew she didn’t have to hope, because they trusted each other enough.

The two of them went their separate ways once they were down the main street: Lev to his friends, and Abby to the armory. An old gym on the west side of the small town was home to the defense operations, and it’s where she reported her patrols. Overseeing the armory was Grace, a skilled sniper in her mid-thirties. She was a widow, having lost her husband in Dallas just two years prior. On her way into the gym, Abby held the door for a woman her age, and the woman thanked her by name.

“Just the person I was looking for,” said Grace as Abby entered. Grace was standing at the front desk, interrupting the conversation she’d been having with the man behind it.

“Glad we found each other,” Abby said. “I’ve got news for you, too.”

“You first. Walk and talk, I’ve got to meet with the new recruits in a few minutes.”

Abby joined Grace in walking towards the outside training grounds, through the back of the gym. “I think there’s a horde headed our direction. That old gas station had a bunch of infected, but Lev and I just checked it last week.There’s indications more are on the way.”

“Maybe we should start checking more often,” said Grace. “But you’re probably right about the horde. I’ll make sure everyone’s on the lookout.”

“Thanks,” Abby said. “Your turn.”

“I’ve got a new assignment for you, if you want it. The Johnsons had a small house fire last night. Nothing major, but it’s going to take some time to repair, and they’re both elderly. We’re planning to move them closer to the outskirts, but didn’t want to leave them out there alone.” They were approaching the training grounds now. “Would you do a routine patrol around the area daily? Just to make sure it’s clear. We don’t need infected in this town.”

Abby nodded. “Yeah, of course. Just get me the address.” They reached the training grounds, where five young men were standing and talking amongst themselves.

“You got it. See you soon.” With ease, Grace transitioned from saying goodbye to teaching a class. She put on a blank expression and studied each of the boys, who fell silent under her gaze. Abby left, then, determined to find Lev and get an update on where he would be staying.

Her efforts fell short and the sky grew darker in the distance. Abby knew the window of time to get home before the storm was closing, so she made the executive decision to head back home. Lev was with his friends, he was eighteen years old, and he was capable of both walking back later and defending himself if necessary. She was still getting used to him going off and doing his own thing.

Abby made it back right before the downpour began. She closed the door behind her, and immediately stopped in her tracks, noticing an absence in the living room. Ellie’s bag was on the floor beside the couch, but there was no sign of the woman. She wasn’t in the kitchen, either. Abby always had her gun on her, and she was prepared to use it if this really did go badly.

She decided to check the bathroom first, which felt like the most rational place. She knocked on the closed door. When she got no response, she called, “Ellie?” Nothing. She opened the door, and sighed. There was Ellie, sitting on the floor, head back against the wall, looking quite feverish. Abby put her gun away. She went to Ellie and knelt down, studying her. She raised her hand to Ellie’s temple with the intent of gauging her temperature, but Ellie swatted her hand away.

“Jesus, Ellie,” Abby rolled her eyes, trying again. She succeeded, and then sighed deeply. “You’re really burning up. Come on, I’ll get you some water.”

Abby stood up and held her hands out in case Ellie wanted some help. Ellie sat there until she noticed Abby was offering, and she stood up on her own out of defiance. Abby left the bathroom, waiting for Ellie to follow behind. After a minute passed, Abby went back in. Ellie was still standing there, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Abby imagined she was talking to herself, convincing herself to get to the couch without assistance. She’d done the same once.

Abby went to Ellie’s side, and silently offered to guide her. Ellie shook her head. Abby sighed, fed up with the Miss Independent routine. “Just let me help you,” she said. Ellie finally gave in.

Once in the living room, Abby led Ellie to the couch. She helped Ellie lay down, and covered her with a blanket. She went into the kitchen and brought a glass of water out, and put it on the ground by the couch. “Water,” she said. “You should drink some when you’re able.” Abby stood up. The sound of heavy rain droned on in the background. “The storm will probably last all day.”

Ellie said nothing, so Abby turned and went into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. When Abby came back through the room, Ellie was asleep.

The rain lasted the rest of the day as expected, so Abby spent it inside. She had been wanting to reorganize some things in her room, and she took the time to do it now. When the rain lightened up a little, she got a radio call that gave her the address to the home where the Johnsons were temporarily residing. She left right before dark, walking the short distance. She did a sweep of the area, and saw no infected. She made her way back home as night fell.

This simple routine had become her life now, and it felt good. She had grown up in these societies, and this one felt the most stable out of the three she’d been a part of. This one had no wars, no loss like she’d known before. Abby had been up against a few rogue individuals, but none strong enough to threaten the town. Everyone in Texline was happy and healthy, as much as they could be. Even Lev seemed comfortable, and they’d had problems with finding a settlement in the years prior.

Back home, Abby made her final meal of the day and checked on Ellie. Abby had to admit she almost looked peaceful while sleeping. Her features softened when she wasn’t endlessly lost in thought or stubbornly standing her ground over something minor. And, when she wasn’t trying to kill Abby, she was admittedly beautiful.

Loyalties had meant everything to Abby once. There was no wrong that could not be set right, no nuance between the black and white. As she’d gotten older, she’d become more aware of her biases. Something in her past was enraged at the idea of Ellie in her home, but something in her future dismissed the anger, so Abby went back down the hall to her room, resolved to carry on in her efforts.

[the1975attheirverybest]

A/N: my writing is still shit I guess. But here’s my first attempt and getting back into it.

Warnings: stranger danger? Maybe? Nothing too graphic or serious.

— — —

“So, what do you think? Which one?” She stared at him expectantly.

When Matty enthusiastically agreed to go shopping with her this morning, he had no idea that, an hour and 45 minutes in, he would be asked to weigh in on which shade of yellow towel set better matches the aesthetic of their bathroom at home.

“I- think, ummm, the mustard yellow?” He quirked his brows. To him, the two shades looked identical, but hey, if the love of his life says there’s a difference, then he must just be blind. Judging by the way that her face lit up at his answer, he knew he’d picked the one that she was hoping he’d pick. “Hey, babe, why don’t I hold your purse and coffee while you go check out the candles?”

She smiled at him. “You’re….not having fun, are you?” She cocked her head sheepishly.

“I’m having fun! I promise! Just thought you’d wanna smell the different scents and browse properly. Can’t do that if your hands are full.”

“Yeah, which is sweet, and I love you for it, but you hate shopping.”

“I’m not here for the shopping. I’m here for the girl who’s doing the shopping. Go on- I’m fine! I promise!”

She handed him her half full coffee cup, then slowly and carefully set the strap of her bag around his shoulder before giving him a quick kiss. “You’re a saint.”

Matty laughed, following her lead down the aisles.

***

“Okay, smell this one.”

Matty leaned in, taking a deep inhale to sample a whiff of the scented candle. He erupted into a coughing fit. “F-fuckin- hell. W-what the fuck is that called?”

She giggled, twirling the candle jar around to read the label. “Ummm…Ocean Breeze.”

“That’s not the scent of the ocean! That’s the scent of a pool. Full of chlorine. And children’s urine.”

She laughed heartily and made a smart retort that Matty only heard in the background as all his focus shifted to the tall, muscular, blond man at the end of the aisle, by the “essential oils and diffusers” section. Something about him didn’t feel right. Though Matty couldn’t quite figure out why.

“I think the Santa and Vanilla candle wins.” She finally announced, placing her winning candle in the cart.

Matty wheeled the cart ahead walking alongside her as she browsed the shelves, gradually getting closer and closer to the blond man. Then it hit him. Matty finally figured out why this man’s presence was unsettling. He’d seen him before. At the bedding aisle. And the kitchenware aisle. Just out of the corner of his eye. Wherever this man was, a few feet ahead, stood two young teenagers. 13- maybe- 14 years old. Alarm bells sounded in his head, he inched closer with his cart, pretending to need something from the shelf that the child stalker stood at, and blocking his view.

Just as Matty had thought, the man got out from behind him, rounded his cart, and crept closer to the girls.

“Are you looking for something?” The man squeezed in the ring space between the two girls.

Was he a store clerk, perhaps? Had Matty been too paranoid? Is it simply a coincidence that this guy was innocently doing his job, reorganizing the shelves wherever those two girls happened to be? He picked up a random room spray bottle, pretending to read the label for ingredients while trying to assess the situation.

“I’m really tall, so I can reach the shelves if you need me to.”

Okay, that was definitely an unreasonable thing to say. Those shelves weren’t too high for these girls to reach. And even if he were an employee. He’s standing way too close to both of them for this to be merely professional customer service.

“Babe, did you say you were running low on that CBD oil thing that you take on tour? Cuz I think-“

Matty shushed her, and when she persisted anyway, he whispered “shut the fuck up, darlin.”

She was both shocked and irritated, and as she prepared to give him shit for being so rude, she noticed his eyes fixated on something behind her. She turned around following his gaze, and, instantly, she recognized the situation.

“Oh, fuck no.” She whispered. “I’m gonna go get security.” Marching away as fast as she could without arousing the man’s suspicion.

Matty nodded, staying firmly in place and keeping a watchful eye over the situation.

***

“Right this way, sir. They were just around the candle aisle.” She pointed the security man to where she’d been standing, minutes ago, with her boyfriend, when they’d witnessed the incident. “Oh, for fucks sakes, Matty.” She mumbled as soon as she and the security guy had spotted them.

Matty’s hand was wrapped around the man’s upper arm. And he’d made a scene. “Might be difficult to get it through that thick head of yours. What with all that hair gel on top-“. Matty’s free hand swatted at the guy’s styled hair.

“Matty! That’s assault!” She rushed to her boyfriend’s side, attempting to assuage him. To her relief, though, the girls seemed to be amused.

“Alright, gentlemen. What seems to be the problem?” The security man cleared his throat assertively announcing his presence as he stepped forward, scanning Matty from head to toe.

Relieved that someone was an official badge had taken over the situation, she turned her attention to the young girls. “You young ladies alright?”

“Yeah.” One muttered while the other nodded repeated.

“Is that your boyfriend?” The taller girl who had a dimpled smile and braces on her teeth, asked.

“Y-yeah.”

The both looked on as Matty gesticulated passionately, explaining to the security officer what had happened. The girls took in his every word with awe and admiration.

She, on the other hand, found the whole thing a boring display of masculinity. I mean, Matty knew security would be there any second.

“He’s touched them! What else did you want me to do? Stand by and watch the kids get hurt??! He grabbed her arm so I fuckin grabbed his.” Matty pushed the curls that had fallen into his eye line as she yelled.

“I- sir, thank you for stepping in, but right now, all I need you to do is….well, let go of his arm.”

“Oh. Right.” Reluctantly, Matty’s hold on the guy loosened. He eventually withdrew completely.

“Sir, can I see some ID?”

“This is absurd. This guy’s mental!”

“ID please? We have security Cameras throughout the store. I’m sure we can corroborate the story.”

The security officer’s negotiating voice faded into irrelevance as Matty returned to his girlfriend and the two young girls. He took a deep breath, softening his face and putting on a bright smile. “So, how’re we all doing?”

The girls shyly and sincerely thanked him for stepping in, confirming that Matty’s suspicions were right. The guy had been following them around the store. They had noticed and tried to evade him by going into different aisles, but in doing so, they’re unintentionally dragged themselves further away from the exit, and into a quieter part of the store.

“Need us to walk you out? Just to be safe?” His girlfriend offered.

“Wait, hold on.” Matty interjected. “No reason to rush. These ladies came here to do some shopping. You get everything you need? No? Well, go on then. We’ll be right with you. Make sure nobody else bothers you, yeah? What do you say?”

***

Matty and his girlfriend hovered protectively on either side of the girls as they walked around the store. It was slightly weird at first. Both for the girls and for Matty. But, he noticed that his girlfriend immediately took it upon herself to ease the awkwardness by asking questions. Getting to know them. Before too long, the girls were walking on either side of her, giggling, and asking her opinion on outfits and room decor items while Matty had, somehow, found himself their bag boy. Holding on to their belonging, carrying their stuff, and dragging along behind them.

“Oh, no, please. Let me.” Matty produced a credit card out of his wallet, handing it to the register lady. “All together, please.”

“You don’t have to! We have money. Mom gave me her card!” The girl with the braces, whose name was Annie, as Matty had come to learn, protested.

“Consider it an apology. On behalf of my gender. To make up for…well, I know nothing really makes up for how uncomfortable and scary that kind of thing is. But, let me at least try.”

***

As the two young girls got into their Uber, Matty turned towards his girlfriend, taking the shopping bag from her hand and carrying it for her. He was replaying the unexpected events of the day in his head, trying to find the right words, but she beat him to it.

“That’s why I’m in love with you.” She whispered, wrapping both of her arms around his waist and hugging into his side.

Matty chuckled. “What, so it’s not my killer looks then?”

“I mean….that doesn’t hurt your chances. But mostly the other stuff….seriously, I had no idea he’d actually grabbed the girl.”

“Fuckin lost it when I saw that.”

She simply smiled. “I love you, Matty. I learn more about how wonderful you are everyday.”

“You know what I learned about me today, though?”

“What’s that?”

“My music is not popular with the middle schoolers.”

She burst into light and airy laughter. “Oh, gosh! That’s right! In all the intensity of the moment, I forgot about that! They had no clue who you are!”

“Yeah. It was quite nice actually.” He grinned, kissing the top of her head.

[chronically-ghosted]

a cute megalomaniac (recovery road - chapter i) series masterlist | AO3 Link | chapter ii

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 6K

chapter summary: dieter's first day on set

chapter warnings/tags: mentions of rehab/addiction/withdrawal, language, no one gets along

a/n: My FC for Heidi is Sarah Goldberg and Timothy Olyphant as Mark (low hanging fruit, I know)

It’s getting hot inside the car. 

If he was going to sit this long in the fucking car, he should have left it running. Summers in LA are sneaky. Desert air is cold in the dark, but piercing in the day. He had purposefully parked in the shade, but it was still too much. He feels sweat break out across his hairline and he knows that won’t be a good look. He needs to look completely put together, completely at ease, relaxed. Unflinching. Unrufflable. Like he does tai chi every thirty minutes and can harmonize with the universe during rush hour traffic. 

He’s got to keep it together. 

But he can’t take his fucking palms down from his eyes. The heel of his hands dig into his eye sockets and for all the pressure it builds, it feels good. The pressure flushes out every other thought in his head and he needs to go into this clear-headed. If he fucks up again, it’s not just his ass on the line. 

He wants to believe things are going to be different this time. He wants to believe he’s going to be different. He’s worked his ass off to get here– sweated and shook and vomited into his own lap as the withdrawals tightened every muscle in his body– and now he just needs this one chance. Chloe – patient, perfect Chloe – was counting on him. If she said he could do it, he probably could. 

His left hand, fourth finger, twinges and that’s what brings his hands down from his face. He looks at the ring there. That gold beautiful ring. A promise made real. He swallows. 

Today, it’s a table read. Done it a thousand times. He’s actually early, for fuck’s sake. He glances down, triple checking he’s not wearing slippers or that mangy robe. Jeans. Black shirt. Easy. Chloe warned against the rings, but he’d sooner part with those than his right hand entirely. Sure he fucked up, sure he was a fuck up, but there were parts of Dieter Bravo that just had a right to exist. People wouldn’t recognize him without his rings. 

He did cave about the earring though. 

You’re almost thirty-six, darling. Nobody but rockstars can wear earrings at that age. 

When he went into rehab, he was thirty-three. He had lost two years of his life in that prison and he was not about to do it again. He had left his sobriety token at home, but he wished he had it now, just for something to squeeze, something to soothe his feverish palm. Again, Chloe had quietly nudged him: “do we need to get you a fidget spinner, baby?”

He wanted to joke, “that’s what the adderall is for,” but given that his doctor was forced to prescribe him something else for his ADHD after they found a dozen empty pill bottles under his bed, it probably wasn’t all that funny. 

He breathes, counting down just like the nice lady at the rehab center taught him to. 

Your self-destructive habits formed out of necessity. It’s time to reshape them. 

Today, it’s just a table read. He can do this.

He pops his sunglasses out of their holder on the console and slips them over his eyes. He takes one more glance out of the rearview mirror, half-expecting to be staring down the long lens of a TMZ reporter. He grabs the script from the passenger seat, curls it under his fingers— and still doesn’t move.

He likes this script. He likes the writer, seen their work in the past and it rocks. It’s good. It’s a good part. It’s actually better than good. It’s Oscar bait, the internet buzz says, and he has the lead part. An aging musician struggling to rebuild his life after a drug addiction ruined his band’s final tour. The scriptwriter didn’t actually say that he had Dieter in mind when he wrote the part, but Jesus– suffice it to say, he understood the material. 

The aging musician was going to help a young upstart find her way in the music scene. She joins the band. They flirt, they fuck, they fall in love, and everything is ruined by their own egos. End credits. Lights up. Oscar in his hand. 

He didn’t recognize the name of his co-star when his agent sent over the cast list. He honestly didn’t even ask about her. He had known the director, Heidi, for years, had worked with her in the past, and thought she had a real eye for scenecraft and a knack for finding that beating heart of a moment. He trusted her with casting the right part for his opposite, just as she had casted him. But it wasn’t even about his co-star– he was ready to dig in and see what the director could pull out of him. 

And fuck, if it worked for RDJ, then it could work for him. 

This had to work for him. He feels the pressure return behind his eyeballs. 

“Fuck it,” he hisses and nearly kicks the door open. The script curled up in his hand like a baseball bat, Dieter Bravo strolls across the hot parking lot to the studio sound stage and into the rest of his life.

He is used to being stared at. He is used to all eyes on him, but not like this. This feels too much like that last party when the cops showed up and found all of his illegal prescriptions. It makes him itch.

The empty stage is filled mostly with crew and staff, setting up lighting and testing the sound recording. They’re all busy, getting ready for next week to start filming, but they still have time to send him a worried glance. Because if he fucked up, they’d all be out of a job. They had enough courtesy to not actually whisper in front of him, but he knew exactly what they were saying just after he’s out of earshot:

“Oh, fuck, this is a Bravo flick? Shit, I gotta get another gig.”

“That asshole is here? Oh my God, this thing’ll be shut down in two weeks!”

“Fuck that guy and his stupid hair.”

Okay, that last one might have been projecting. He catches his own gaze in a pane of glass while he waits for the director’s assistant to return. His hair, despite his best attempts, would not lie flat, would not stay unrumpled. Another thing Chloe thought a man of his age should have a better grip on. 

He hasn’t seen another cast member and now he’s worried he got the time wrong and he’s missed it and he’s already started all of this off all wrong —

“Dieter! Oh my God, you’re here!”

Heidi, the director, beams at him so bright he actually feels himself go warm. She has her arms out open for him and he rushes to her, picks her up in his arms and twirls her. Her hair is back to her natural silvery blonde, cut short and kept out of her face with a tornado of bobby pins. He’s never seen her without her jean jacket, even at premieres. 

Early on in their careers, he found he had too much respect for her to try and sleep with her and they formed the closest thing he could call a healthy relationship over the years. She was like his sister, since his own didn’t seem like she’d ever pick up the phone again. 

It also helped that she was a raging lesbian, happily married, and wouldn’t go near his dick for all the money at Warner Brothers Studios. 

“Dieter, you look so fucking good, dude.” She pats his face and scrunches up her nose, those black headphones knocking around her neck. “Fuck, it’s been too long.”

“I know, Di, I know.” He always liked that their nicknames sounded alike. Dee and Di. A team. “How’s Lucy?”

“Pfft, you know her. Taken the kids up to Canada for the summer. Says the trees are more ‘real’ there,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I miss the little buggers, but shit, it’s nice to have a quiet house.”

He laughs, the knot in his chest easing. “Before school starts up again, you’ll have to come by the new place.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right. You just moved back into the neighborhood, didn’t you? I heard about that. You and, uh . . .”

He hides the blush in the tips of his ears with his hand, acting like he’s scratching an itch on the side of his head. “Yeah, Chloe and I are still together. Been married for a little over two years now.”

At that, Heidi’s bright green eyes snap open wide. She nearly launches herself at him to grab his hand, gawking at the only gold ring on his finger. “Shutthefuckup. You got married?! You asshole, why wasn’t I invited?”

He swallows past the hard knot in his throat. “It was a small thing. Could hardly call it a party.” 

Heidi, as she usually does, takes not a lick of his bullshit. “Uh huh. Well, shit, I guess we have to double date now.” 

“I’d like that.” He grins.

Her shock softens, and she punches his shoulder softly, her smile wide across her face. “You fuckin’ dork. I can’t believe you got married. Who knew Dieter Bravo would settle down?” 

He doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what’s going to come out of his mouth if he tries to answer, so he just shrugs. Her eyes linger on him for a second more, before looping her arm through his and leading him away from the stage. 

“So have you read the script?”

He nods eagerly. “Yep. The whole thing. Front to back. It’s fucking incredible, Heidi.” 

“Yes it is! There’s so much to work with. It’s a little hoity-toity for my taste in some places, but I think there’s a way to balance the shmaltz with genuine emotion, you know? It’s so raw and real, I know you can get to those places.”

“Yeah, like I haven’t already,” he jokes off-handedly. They’re standing in the big open bay, where the crew can wheel in giant cranes for lighting or special effects, when Heidi freezes. A frown is growing over her face as though realizing something for the first time. A wind blows in and he thinks he can smell the desert in it.

“Oh, fuck, Dee,” she murmurs, not even looking at him. “This script, the material . . . you just got out of fucking rehab, and—”

He shakes his head, a bit frantic. He’ll get on his hands and knees if that’s what it takes to keep him on this project. “Heidi, this is fine. I’m fine.”

He takes her by her shoulders and makes her look him in the eye. 

“I want this part. I want this part so fucking badly. I know I can do it too. I’m going to do this project and it’s going to blow your fucking socks off. You can count on me. I’m responsible now, I promise.”

At that, her green eyes soften. “Responsible and married? Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Dieter Bravo?”

Early on in their careers, she had been right by his side, doing line after line of coke off hookers and strippers. But then she grew up. If she can have a family and a beautiful wife, then why can’t he? 

“Dee, look,” she says softly and touches the hand around her shoulder. “I’m not worried about any of that. I always knew you were something special, if you could just get out of your own way.” She glances away, shame making her mouth tick. “But I should have checked in more. I knew you were still in rehab, even after those times I called. I should have stayed in touch. I’m sorry.”

Something about her pity was unbearable. “Don’t. Please. It’s in the past. It’s over and I want to move on. This time, it’s going to be different.”

Heidi nods, smiling. “For sure, dude. We’ll do this together.”

He can fucking breathe again. She sees this and takes him by the arm, letting him get his feet under him. The air is warm, and Heidi’s hand is firm against his forearm. 

“I know the email said to meet at the sound stage, but everyone’s working out here, so I just put us in the back of the studio. Much more quiet. C’mon, I think I saw Mark’s car up front.”

She leads him to the next building, chattering on and on about the composer they got. How the music is gonna fuck so hard, they’re even trying to convince the studio to let them record a full fake album for the movie — “if you don’t wanna sing, Dee, that’s totally fine but I am begging you to do at least some of the guitar,” — and the building door opens.

It’s a squat building, probably more offices than anything to do with production, but it’s where Heidi is taking him, and a man, much younger than he is, stumbles out of the doorway, giddily laughing over his shoulder. He looks to be a PA of some kind — wiry, a little strung out, probably with dreams of writing the next Citizen Kane someday — but he’s looking at something over his shoulder. 

Or rather at someone. 

A woman, barely that but with all the cosmic designs of one, steps out after him. Her white cowboy boots hug just below her knee, her smooth legs, rich with the sun, curl up into a men’s white collared shirt. She walks and only a flash of denim shorts peek out the shirt tails.

She isn’t laughing, but smirking. Knowing something this poor PA has no concept of. Her black aviators push her lush hair out of her face and her fingers glitter with silver jewelry. She’s smiling at the PA like a leopard seal smiles at lemmings. 

She chews something in the back of her teeth and then blows a bright pink bubble. The PA’s smile falls off his face, watching, wide-eyed, as the gum snaps in her mouth. 

Dieter immediately and, without question, dislikes her. Dislikes her so much, he can feel it burn in his chest.

Her wicked eyes slide from the PA, over his shoulder, and land squarely on Dieter. She blinks. Heidi walks up to her and shakes her hand. 

“Oh, hey, kiddo, you found the right place.” 

That sharp-toothed glint in her eye is gone as she eagerly chats up Heidi, and the PA might as well have disappeared off the face of the earth. 

Heidi waves Dieter over and it takes a full two seconds for him to remember how walking works. The sun is hot on his back. 

The woman — the girl — is looking him up and down, calculating and cool. As if she, unlike him, hasn’t quite made up her mind about what she thinks of him. 

Heidi waves a hand in between you two. She says your name and his mind suddenly locks onto it. He suddenly knows who you are before Heidi says it. He skimmed it on the cast list, barely memorable, at the time insignificant because he didn’t recognize it. Still doesn’t, but that name is embedded in his brain now, nailed down spikes and taken up residence. 

“This is your new co-star, Natalie Lorraine. The other lead. You two will be working very closely together for the next couple of months.”

You’ve stopped chewing gum. Either you’ve swallowed it or tightly packed it to the back of your gums, because there’s no slur, no crumpled edge to your words, when you extends your hand and says:

“Hi, Dieter. Nice to meet you.” 

Your hand is soft in his and your lotion reminds him of lilac. 

Today is just a fucking table read.

He tries to unclench his jaw when he says, “Nice to meet you too.” 

He’s on his third bottle of water and he’s eyeing the trashcan in the corner, wondering how many plastic bottles he could throw away before it looks weird. He’s got the script out in front of him on a long, white plastic table and a few people have stopped by to say hi. He had gotten up to stand and shake their hand, and several of them had blinked up at him, as if they had forgotten how tall he was when he wasn’t hunched over, fighting a hangover. Heidi was gathering the last of the castmates before the table read and had been gone for twenty minutes or so. Maybe — 

In the corner, she laughs, the sound brilliant and loud. In a world full of perfect, practiced laughs, hers is noticeable but not entirely bad, and a few people turn to look at her. She’s got a hand on Mark Bronson’s arm, clearly delighted at something he said, and he is obviously starstruck. 

Dieter actively fights the scowl on his face. He’s known Mark for a while. Good guy, little vices, always put in the work. Been married to the same waitress he met out in Oregon on a shoot a decade and a half ago, and never once stepped out. Dieter had been thrilled to see him, to catch up on old times, purposefully making a joke that referenced the one time they were on that old cop show together when they first got to Hollywood. “Nobody would really believe we’re gangsters, now, eh, Dee?” Mark had said with a grin. “Too fuckin’ old.” 

Mark had stayed and talked and that again eased the tension in his chest. If Mark actually hated his guts and that easy smile and loose handshake were fake, then the Oscar really should go to him.

But as more people filed in, he excuses himself to catch up with one of the directors of the art department and Dieter takes the opportunity to grab as many bottles as a reasonable person would from the cooler. He likes ice cold water. The colder, the better the burn. 

But here Mark sidles  up to that girl, laughing it up like they were old friends. Traitor, he muses glumly, and thumbs the white plastic cap. He’s thought about Googling her — who the fuck is this girl — but didn’t know how to justify it if someone caught him.

The back door to the room opens and Heidi steps in.

“Alright, five minutes. Take your final smoke breaks, your pee breaks, your whatever breaks. Hopefully not all at the same time, but I ain’t here to judge.” 

He keeps his eyes trained on the water bottle as bodies weave around him, chairs squeaking as they are pulled out and sat on. The atmosphere is relaxed, easy, everything he wanted. So why is he so fucking tightly wound?

“Thirsty?” 

It takes him a second to unstick his gaze from the bottle. He knows you’re talking to him. 

He glances up at your face from under his lashes. You aren’t exactly smiling at him, but there’s a light in your eyes that feels . . . playful. What a normal, innocent question. But when he doesn’t respond, you lean forward on your elbows, your rings interlocking on your fingers. Your gaze drops his and nudges the two empty plastic bottles around his script.

“And there’s two more full ones under your chair. So are you—”

“I like to keep hydrated,” he says, cutting you off. “It’s summer in LA and . . . uh, it’s hot.” 

“Uh huh,” you reply, slowly. “Can I have one? You know, since it’s hot.”

His mouth twitches — get off your perky ass and get one yourself — but then he’s liable to see your bare legs again. And he knows a comment like that would get him some stares, which would not be good. 

He swears you know all of this too by the way your eyes glitter at him, daring him. That’s the worst– he’s figured it out. You look at him from under your thick eyelashes like you want to play a championship round of Truth or Dare, but it would only ever be Dare. You want to see him dance on hot coals, eat a sword, kiss a snake. You want to watch him squirm and it’s so obvious, he clenches his jaw.

He swallows and bends down. He holds out the water bottle by the very end to you, but you somehow manage to brush your fingers up against his anyway. He doesn’t physically recoil but he feels like he needs to go wash his hands.

“Thank you,” you say as you unscrew the cap then drink heavily from the bottle. It’s halfway empty when you put it on the table. Your tongue laps up the water from your lip. 

He grunts as a response. You’re opening your mouth to bother him further when Heidi calls the start of the read. Dieter pulls his reading glasses out of his pocket and sees you’ve done the same. Silver, though, to his black, they’re perched on the edge of your nose, and you’re looking down at the script as if trying to divine lighting rods. You’re focused, the playful, tempting air gone, and there’s an intensity to your eyes that wasn’t there before. You look . . . almost normal. 

He slides his glasses on and looks back to his pages, the tips of his ears burning.

The table read goes well. 

Sort of. 

There’s a handful of scenes Heidi has picked out for the majority of the cast to read together. Mark does well as the manager who is trying to hold all the egos together but struggling with demons of his own. He’s funny when he needs to be, but serious enough to flip a line read that deepens his character. God, he’s so fucking talented, Dieter thinks as the table laughs at one of his character’s jokes. 

The other members of Dieter’s band in the movie are made up of three guys, two girls. They have a natural chemistry that makes it seem like they’ve been friends for years. Dieter makes a note to try and get to know them better as people off set to hopefully find his own rhythm with them. A few smile at him as he’s doing his own line reading and he feels good about it. 

Everything is fine and easy . . . until there are a few scenes specifically between him and you.

You’re putting too much emotion into it for just a table read and it’s making him uncomfortable. These things are just to get to know everyone, to see how the cast can play off each other, but you’re out here acting like there’s cameras ten feet back. Have you ever even been to a table read before? Shouldn’t you know this?

After you deliver a heartfelt monologue about feeling lonely in the world, he hears a few sniffles. The two girls of the band are red-eyed and Mark is intentionally stone-faced. Even Heidi looks affected. 

What the fuck is going on? Is he the only one not swayed by your bullshit? 

All of a sudden, you take his hand from across the table, your eyes pouring into his, and he’s caught off guard. 

“Tell me you understand,” you say, your voice wet with emotion. “Tell me you understand why you can’t ever leave me.”

He wets his lips and sits up straighter in his seat. He squeezes your hand, opening up the light in his eyes. Fine, two can play that fucking game.

“I’m no good for you, baby,” he croons. “There’s a million of me out there and only one of you.”

“But you’re the only one I want. The only one I need.” 

Fuck, you’re good. But he’s better. He turns your hand over, exposing your wrist to the cool air and thumbs your pulse gently. He smiles wistfully at you.

“What we want can kill us. I love you, darling, but that’s not enough.”

The room is silent.

He glances down and read the next stage action:

They meet in a passionate kiss.

His eyebrows raise and he glances back at you, halfway expecting you to throw yourself at him from across the table. 

But, no. Instead of looking at him with love in your eyes, you are fucking furious. Your mouth is pulled into a tight line, and he can see you mentally picture strangling him.

“Alright,” Heidi calls out, her voice gruff. “Alright, let’s move on. Page one-fifteen.” 

The room fills with the fluttering of paper and a few people sniff, rubbing their eyes.

You yank your wrist out of his grip but don’t move to turn the page. And neither does he. 

Oh, you’re mad that I did the exact same thing you were doing, but better? Sorry, hot tits, you have no idea who you’re fucking with. Welcome to the real world.

You look like you want to sink your fangs into him. You’re kind of cute with your nostrils flared, in that megalomaniac kind of way.

A woman to his right asks what page they’re starting on, and it forces him to break eye contact with you. He tells her and thumbs to the correct page himself, where Mark is having an argument with one of the guys in the band.

He glances up at you. Tension still lines your body but you aren’t looking at him anymore. In fact, you’re making a clear point not to. His chest soars. 

He is definitely counting that as a win.

He opens the back door to the studio lot and breathes in the evening air. Day one, knocked down and dragged out back. He feels so fucking good. 

After the reading, Mark came over and congratulated him again on getting the part. He makes sure Dieter has his number before saluting him and announcing he’s heading home for the night. The band is hanging out in the corner, but the talk dies down as he approaches. One of the guys looks positively horrified as he smiles and waves at them.

“You did a great job today,” he says to their half circle. He’s never seen anyone’s eyes so wide in their heads. “Have you all worked together before?”

“We’re an actual band and you’re really Dieter Bravo,” one of the girls blurts out. Her friend, presumably, elbows her and she blinks as though slapped. “I mean, we play real music. We’ve been on the radio a few times, but you’ve probably never heard of us . . .” She trails off, glancing helplessly at her friends to make her shut up.

The other young woman with hair so red it had to have been fake, rolls her eyes. “We’re The Sixers. We started out here in LA and we’ve been on the Strip a few times. Our agent said that it would be great publicity if we were in a movie.” 

“Oh, shit,” Dieter mutters, as surprised as they are, “The Sixers – yeah, I have heard of you before. I’m fucking old as hell, but I still listen to the radio.” 

“You’ll have to give us some acting pointers,” one of the other guys offers up, his hands in his jean pockets. He seems less obviously starstruck but still trying to play it cool. 

“Only if you help me to remember how to play the guitar,” Dieter grins. 

“You know how to play?” The first girl gawks.

He winks at her. “When everyone else around me is too drunk to notice I’m terrible.” 

They laugh, the girl’s face whiter than a sheet, and then the redhead introduces everyone. “That’s Nick, Cooper, and Samuel. Our resident ghost here is Marie, and I’m Roxie.”

He vaguely wonders which of those are stage names, but is absolutely sure that’s not Roxie’s real name. But she seems like the kind of person who’d like it that way. 

“You all are in good hands with Heidi,” he nods to where she’s chatting with Mark and the art director. “She’s a visionary and really knows her shit. You’re lucky you get to have her as your first director.” 

“Have you worked with her before?” Cooper, a guy with legitimate beatnik hair, asks. 

Dieter nods. “Several times, actually. She’s fantastic.” 

“Have you worked with her before?” Roxie asks as you walk across the room to pick up your purse. Dieter can feel that burn in his chest again as you bend over. He shakes his head. 

“Is she new to the scene? Is that why she can’t afford any pants?” Roxie mutters and both Cooper and Samuel chuckle. Marie glares at her. 

“I heard she was a child actress in the early 2000s,” Marie says as if trying to re-right the ship. “Was pretty successful, but then dropped off the face of the earth. Until now, I guess.”

“Maybe she went the Bella Thorne way of child actresses,” Nick murmurs, shamelessly watching your ass as you turn to speak with Heidi for a moment. 

Roxie snorts. “She’s not that slutty. No one is that slutty, to sleep with even the likes of you, Nicholas.”

“Oh, yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you –” 

Roxie slams a hand over his mouth. “I will junk-punch you so hard if you say what I think you’re going to say.” 

They’re like siblings, Dieter muses. Five very talented, outrageous siblings. 

“It was great to meet all of you,” he says and Marie’s eyes flutter back to him. “But I gotta split. We should all go out some time. Meet up outside of work.”

“Oh, I think we’d looove that,” Cooper sing-songs, his eyes on Marie. She flushes bright red and pinches his shoulder, while Samuel laughs. “Ow!”  

Despite himself, this could actually be a fun shoot. He waves but none of them really see it, having devolved into a squabble that makes him grin. 

You’re gone, he notices, and the art director has left too, but Heidi is sitting alone at the table, going over her notes. 

He slides into the seat next to her and she lifts her head, smiling.

“Hey, Dee, you fucking crushed it today. Everyone’s been coming up to me to say how impressed they are with you.” 

He huffs and rolls his eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Yeah, and did they follow it with, ‘especially after how much of a fuck up we thought he’d be’?” 

Heidi playfully frowns at him. “C’mon, man, give yourself some credit. You earned the right to be here. I didn’t have to approve your audition.” 

His throat tightens. No, she really didn’t. He shakes his head.

“You’re right. As always.” 

Heidi grins, pleased, and drops her head back to her notes, marking things in a red pen. 

“So what did you think of your co-star?” 

Be nice, Dieter. “She’s . . . fine.” 

Heidi smirks, but doesn’t look up. “Wow, I don’t think you’ve ever used less words to describe someone, much less a woman.” 

He doesn’t like the way she says woman, as if there’s this cosmic reckoning that’s started and he just doesn’t know it yet. Sam and Diane, Bones and Booth – a destined sort of thing. 

He rolls his jaw. 

“She just acts . . . uppity, is all. Like she’s better than everyone else.” 

Heidi snorts. “Okay, tell me how you really feel.”

“I don’t like her.”

At that, Heidi pauses and looks up, genuine concern on her face.

“Really? You don’t like her? She came recommended by an old friend of the studios and I know she’s a bit much, but I didn’t think you’d actually dislike her.”

He back-pedals as fast as he can. This day is so close to being perfect. 

“I mean, I don’t not like her . . . I just . . . I don’t know her.” If he is being honest, the best time to tell her exactly what’s been on his mind all day is probably right now. “And, fuck, Di, isn’t she a bit . . . I don’t know . . .” He swears he can hear the old Dieter laughing at him. “. . . young?” 

Heidi grimaces, taking his concern seriously, and he loves her even more for that. 

“It was a studio note. Execs say it makes the central conflict feel more . . .”

“Predatory?” His eyebrow lifts, disdain evident in his drawl. She frowns at him.

“Transcendent.”

There is nothing about that girl that is transcendent, he thinks bitterly. 

He sighs and leans closer. Heidi notices his change in body language and leans forward too.

“I just cannot fuck this up, Di. I have to come out on top with this. It’s really important.”

That pity flashes across her face again and his stomach curdles. But she soothes a hand over his, her eyes serious. 

“Dee, I know. I really do. I’m not going to let anything bad happen here. She starts acting up, she’s out. We don’t need her that badly.”

He couldn’t be sure if she actually had the power to kick a co-star off the set, but he wanted to believe she did. More importantly, she wanted him to believe she did. 

“Thanks, Di,” he sighs. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

She chuckles and pulls her hand back. 

“Go home to your wife at a normal hour.” She pauses, making a face as if she tasted something sour. “Your wife – God, I will never get used to that.”

“Hey, I got used to it, after my best friend left me for some brunette out in Bali,” he teases as he stands up. 

Heidi scoffs. “That wedding was sick as fuck and you know it.” 

“You know, I never did bill Lucy for the piercing I got there. Sober Dieter would never have made the decision to look like a Keith Richards knock-off.”

“Oh shut the fuck up and go home. To your wife.” 

He’s laughing as he waves her good night. 

He opens the back door to the studio lot and breathes in the evening air. Day one, knocked down and dragged out back. He feels so fucking good. 

He’s thumbing through his keys when he smells smoke. Acidic smoke. Like those disgusting American Spirits he used to choke down. 

You’re leaning by the trunk of your car, one heel kicked over the other, smoking a white cigarette through your fingers. That would be fine with him except your car is parked tightly in the space next to his and you’re blocking the way to the driver’s seat. He’d rather crawl through the trunk than have to bend around you.

You’re biting on your thumbnail and staring directly at him with unabashed contempt. 

“Your reading was stilted,” you announce and then take a long drag. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your reading today,” you say slowly as though talking to a particularly stupid child, “it was stilted.” 

He pops his jaw. 

“That’s because it was a fucking . . .” He remembers to breathe. “That’s because . . . it was a table read. Have you ever been to one?”

“Yes.” You tap the ash off your cigarette on the heel of your boot, drawing his gaze to the flush of your thigh but he’s not going to fall for it. “It can be a great opportunity for actors to find their chemistry. To find their rhythm.”

“I know that.” 

“Then where was yours? Huh?” You lift your eyebrows. Did you ever not want to play Dare?

“What are you talking about? I had a fine time with the band. We’re actually going to hang out outside–,”

“I mean with me.” 

That burning sensation returns to his chest. You look at him as if you could sear a hole right through him. Your cigarette is left smoking, forgotten, between your fingers at your hip. 

“The only time you ever gave me anything was after I touched you, and even then your performance was so saccharine, it made my teeth ache. I’m out here to prove I belong here, on this big budget film, and you’re stonewalling me. What do you have against me? What did I ever do to you?” 

He runs his tongue against the back of his teeth, guilt smothering the fight you aroused in him. He drops your gaze and puts his hands on his hips. He’s too old to be scolded like this.

“Nothing, alright? You didn’t do anything,” he says quietly. “It’s not you–”

“Of course it fucking isn’t but thank you for saying so,” you snap. 

You take one more drag before flicking the white butt onto the pavement at the edge of the gathering darkness.

“This is going to be a long shoot if you can’t get your head out of your ass.” You step forward and he instinctively takes a step back, but you come close anyway and shove a finger at his chest. “I don’t know what your deal is and I don’t care. We’re going to get through this even if I have to grab you by your hair and pull you to the finish line. Got it?” 

Your eyes are shining, fierce, powerful. Your mouth could crush rocks. 

He nods. 

Maybe it’s the trick of the failing light, but he thinks your pupils are a little too unnaturally wide. 

“Great. See you Monday.” 

You turn away from him, stalking back to your car and hurling your purse into the side seat. The car, a Chevy that’s possibly older than he is, roars to life with just as much vitality as you possess. He leaps back a second before the wheels squeal as the car lurches backwards and darts off into the dark. 

He stands, watching the car pull away onto the road until it’s gone. He can still hear the engine screaming in the distance. He thumbs his keys, shaking his head. 

For the first time in months, he would literally kill someone for a cigarette.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 1.6k words | Sweetheart's POV

The trail gets hot. Sweetheart finds something. They steal themself for what comes next.

TW: dead body, blood, dead parent, could be construed as MCD

Hey, Dad. Just checking in. 

Hey kiddo! It’s been a few weeks. Honestly, I was starting to get worried. 

Sorry. Work. I’ve been busy. 

But safe, right?

Yeah.

Because you promised me you would be when you took this job.

I know, Dad. I promise I can handle whatever DUMP throws at me. 

So could your mother.

Dad. 

I’m sorry. I just worry. You got her strength and tenacity, but you also got her bullheadedness. And I’m sorry to say that’s what got her killed. I worry because I know you won’t reach out for help when you need it.

Then what do you call this?

Do you need help? Kiddo, if you’re in trouble, just say the word. I will DESCEND!!

I’m fine, Dad. Just wanted to say I love you.

You locked your phone before his frantic typing could culminate into a panicked reply and pointedly ignored the insistent buzz of your phone in your coat pocket. That had been more of a tell than you’d intended, but the thought of walking into this kind of trouble without telling him made your throat close with grief. You didn’t say ‘I love you’ often, and you didn’t say it without reason. 

Your mom used to say it liberally. She said it when she woke you up for school in the morning, when tucking you into bed, when you made her laugh, when you broke her heart. She had a lot of late nights, and you never slept when she was away. You would pretend to when she snuck into your room in the wee hours of the night or morning. She would bend over you, smelling like sweat and blood and expended magic. You stayed still and silent as she pressed her thin, shaking lips to the crown of your head and whispered it into you;

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” 

Like a promise. Like a prayer. 

Your chest ached with the absence of her. 

By the time you found it again, the shade had become fully corporeal. Dahlia was a great town for it, full of powerful, magical people, and stupid, stupid college kids who would brush off its after effects as a bad hangover. 

It was actually a rather clever method, how you found it. You got access to D.A.M.N.’s clinic records through less than legal means, thanks to a friend of a friend who didn’t ask questions when fifty bucks were involved. You tracked the shade’s effects through a half dozen students, found a few of them who also folded at the offer of another fifty bucks and found out their frequent haunts. You formed a geo profile (something you’d learned in the Academy but had never had occasion to use, much less with a proper paper map and pins) and triangulated an area where the shade was most likely to be. 

Now, you had an area of about three city blocks to patrol, you were dodging non-stop calls from both your father and Jet, and you were flat broke from all of your very illegal bribes. 

You were considering becoming a private eye. If this was how effective you were with no oversight, you’d have finished this case up in a matter of days. 

Although, you weren’t actually sure how many days it had been. You weren’t exactly sleeping regularly. 

When you cornered it, it was in a little park just off of college town. It was barely a park, really, more of a very large median. It was a stretch of poorly maintained grass, a smattering of small, young trees, and exactly three benches. On one of said benches, there was a crumpled form, curled over one of the arm rests of hostile design, obscured by layers and layers of ratty clothing. When you spotted them, you cloaked without even thinking. Your magic fell over you like a blanket and smothered out a handful of the sensory indicators around you. That was the downside of cloaking, afterall. Your senses weren’t entirely stolen, just dampened. But in your line of work, that could be the difference between life and death. 

The closer you got, the more you convinced yourself that the figure was just someone trying to sleep in a dry, semi safe place. The rounded armrests that cut up the bench were designed to deter this, but something digging into you only worked so long when you were bone tired. You didn’t think it would do much to you at the moment. 

You placed one hand on their shoulder and slowly, as though not to startle them, rolled it back to reveal their face and chest. 

He wasn’t sleeping. You knew as soon as you saw his skin, dewy and gray, that he was dead. Two, ratty jackets pulled back to reveal a slim frame and a drawn, boyish face. As you disturbed him, his body let loose the torrent of blood that his crumpled rib cage was holding in. It spilled, still hot, over your shoes. 

He was young. Barely eighteen, if that. Thick glasses, dusty hair, a smattering of freckles across his nose. Everything he had on him was packed into a well-loved, bright green Jansport backpack. He was a kid, just a kid. 

He had been empowered. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. It was some sort of absence, you thought, some emptiness where he had once been so full. Your threads strummed uneasily towards him, but found no reply. 

He looked so small, curled in on himself on that park bench. 

Your mom had looked small too. She was an exceedingly lively woman, and a fire elemental so powerful that she had struggled to contain her heat even when not impacted by her emotions. Her aura felt visible at times, tangible, like you could wrap your chubby toddler fingers around her power and pull.

It was a closed-casket funeral. The shifter that had killed her very nearly tore her apart. Your father had her buried in a white button up, slacks, something your older brother had snagged from her closet without thinking. You figured that your dad wanted it over with, wanted her in the ground. He had to identify the body. You remembered sitting in the waiting room while he went in to see her. You could hear his wails through the walls. You’d be surprised if anybody in the hospital, anybody in Dahlia, anybody in the world was saved from his screams. 

The doctors did everything medically possible, but there was only so much one could do to make such a mangled corpse look normal, look human. There were thick, medical staples stitching her demure features into another face entirely, lopsided and strange. You had stared at her in the visitation room, tearless, for half an hour before some well-meaning relative or another pulled you away. Your brother and sister had refused to look at her, your father couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to do it, but you couldn’t look away. There was something enticing about it, looking at her and trying to find all of the bits that were missing, to decipher the riddle of her glued-shut eyelids, the hollow, serene pose of her always moving, always working body. There was something powerful about her. Even her corpse held an echo of it. 

You numbly retrieved your phone from your coat pocket and found Jet’s contact. He answered on the first ring and let out a string of protests and admonishments that he must have started long before your call came through, judging by the hoarse quality of his voice. 

“I’ve got a body.” You said, reported. The Investigator overstock you, forcing out the emotion that threatened to topple you and replacing it with the familiar cadence of your crisis training. You felt for his pulse, found nothing. You sent a static shock of magic into him to see if pain or stimulus would rouse him. It did not. 

“What are you talking about?” Jet snapped. “You need-” 

“I’m in the park off Jackson.” You interrupted. “I’ve got a body. Slashed, but not a shifter.” You knew what it looked like when a shifter killed. “I need a unit out here immediately. The shade is corporeal.”

“Investigator,” Jet balked, “you are not cleared for duty. Dr. Collins is calling for a psych eval. Do not tell me you’re still working your case.” 

“Well, I don’t like to lie to superiors.” You sighed. You stood and forced yourself to turn away from the kid- the body, you reminded yourself- taking in your surroundings. It was dark. Shades could hide in the shadows nearly as well as you could. You re-upped cloak, let your magic ripple through your clothes, your phone, muffle the sound of your voice and heartbeat. “Regardless of my clearance, this thing has killed and I intend to finish my work.”

“You’re in over your head.” Jet snapped. “And if you don’t disengage and report back to HQ immediately-”

“Jet, I’m in the heart of college town right now!” you seethed through gritted teeth, “If I leave it, it’s going to cut down a dozen college students before anybody bothers to deal with it. Send backup or don’t. I’m not letting it kill anybody else.” 

You were shaking with rage or panic, which you didn’t know. You turned on your heel, towards the scant tree line, and started walking. The only evidence of you was the bloody footprints you left in the grass. 

You pulled up Milo’s contact in your phone. You typed out your dad’s phone number and sent it without allowing yourself to overthink it. 

That’s my dad’s number. If anybody happens to me, please don’t let him be the one to identify my body. 

You stuffed your phone back into your pocket and turned your mind towards the matter at hand.

[wind-becomes-lightning]

Hi Nisi! I'm cashing in a writing prompt. May I request ""I told you to forget me, but you stayed by my side."" for Kakashi and Yamato plz? I hope you're doing well!!

Hello! Mic check mic check. Do you still remember this request? Well either way, here it is! _

Hatake Kakashi x Yamato Tenzo

mentions of extreme hunger and thirst

Rated T

2138 words.

Ao3 Link

>>In his dream Kakashi was taken care of by a large, sturdy tree. Branches around his legs straightened them out and when he needed nutrients syrup and fruits was given to him. He felt so safe around the tree, leaning against it, listening to its leaves rustle, that he didn’t want to ever wake up again. Here, in these shades, he could reside. Here in these shades, he could finally die.

But he didn’t die. Instead, he woke to the sound of a campfire.<<

It had been 25 hours, 50 mins and 43 seconds since he stopped feeling the pain in his legs. It had been double as long since his body had given up on screaming for food that wasn’t coming and maybe ten hours longer since his eyes had stopped seeing clearly. He was dying. Through the fog of hunger, thirst and emptiness he realised as much.

Kakashi had thought of death many times. When he was younger he’d been lying awake hoping it would come soon. Then as he rose the ANBU ranks he’d faced it so many times that he had lost count. He had readied himself for the situation, the possibility and now that it was staring into his face he felt in some ways calm and in others worried.

The irony of a collapsed cave being the one thing that was killing him was not lost on Kakashi. The fact that it wasn’t a fast death either. Stuck between several rocks with both of his legs made it impossible for him to move forward or back. He had considered cutting his legs off, but what was the point? If he wouldn’t bleed out he could never work as a shinobi again and if he couldn’t work as a shinobi again, what was he alive for?

No, it was karma that he was dying this slow, agonising death over the last few weeks. By all means, he should have died such a death when he was 12 years old and the big bunny goddess just had ways to get back at him. At least he’d say that if he believed in such stories. 

What surprised him was the way his body reacted to the lack of food and water. He was fantasising constantly. It felt like he was in a state of half sleep even with his eyes open. So many different kinds of food suddenly felt appealing to him. Even sweets. He remembered now how his father made a terribly delicious mochi. Side by side in the kitchen they would prepare the little balls so Kakashi could eat them later. Such a long ago memory and yet it was incredibly clear.

Well, they said you’d be shown your life before your eyes before you die. Kakashi was dying after all.

He could see the paste so well. The slow rhythm of hands moving to make the balls. Green, the colour green right there before his eyes, almost as if it were within touching distance of him. He wanted to pick it up but found his arms too weak. His mouth opened and he could feel a sweet, thick fluid on his tongue. Now he was even fantasising about fruit water. Wasn’t his mind occupied with Mochi not even two seconds ago?

“Senpai…” 

There was a voice talking through the fog. Kakashi lifted his eyes and felt more fluids run down his throat. Was Tenzo here? His lids felt heavy and his eyes blurry, but the man in front of him definitely looked like Tenzo. 

The weight he had completely numbed to was lifted slowly from his legs and the next moment Kakashi opened his eyes he was pulled out from underneath the rubble. He felt so dizzy, but even in his state he could now feel the pain again. Probably all the bones in his legs were scattered.

“You have to drink some more,” the voice said and pulled Kakashi closer. Water trickled down his throat again and though he was thankful for it to be a little sugary water that also gave him energy back, he was positive that eating anything of substance would make him throw up instantly.

His eyes cleared a little, the sharingan spun awake against Kakashi’s will and searched the chakra nature right in front of him. The calming, green spiral of his most dearest friend. Tenzo was here. Kakashi clung to him and Tenzo let him, holding him tight as he gave him more and more to drink.

When had Tenzo grown so strong, Kakashi wondered, looking at the only thing he could see clearly, which were the forearms of  the other man. Kakashi still remembered how small and quiet Tenzo had been when they had first met, all the way back when they were kids and already so exposed to the horrors of the world. Since then they’d been inseparable. Tenzo was always right there by his side.

“I told you to go on ahead,” Kakashi’s voice was no more than a whisper. He had spoken to himself sometimes alone in the darkness, just to see if his voice and his mind still worked correctly, but never very loud. It was as if his lips had dried out too much to even move.

Tenzo let out a little “tsk” and then pulled Kakashi even closer to his chest. “And I did. Took care of the mission, just like Danzo taught me.” He sounded bitter, as if the fact that his Root instinct had taken over was somehow upsetting him. “And then I hurried back to take care of you, just like you taught me.” 

Kakashi was suddenly filled with a strange warmth of affection, a little fire he hadn’t felt like this for a while. Tenzo really was a kind hearted man. “It could have been dangerous,” Kakashi murmured. “You disobeyed my orders when you came back for me.” He wanted to sound strict and angry, but the little flame at his heart flickered happily.

“So what?” Kakashi didn’t need to lift his eyes to know Tenzo had rolled his eyes. “You do it all the time, captain.” Then he pushed Kakashi's mouth open again. “Sage, the state of you. I will need to first feed you a little before I can bring you to Konoha. Right now I don’t know if you’d even survive the journey.”

Before Kakashi could even open his mouth he already cut in: “And yes, you are worth the delay. Don’t even think about pulling the “I-hate-myself-so-much” card on me right now.” Kakashi laughed a little inside. Tenzo just knew him too well.

He suddenly felt dizzy again. A heavy wave of pain and exhaustion rolled over him. Obviously his body was not equipped for any kind of movement, talking included and now that he was no longer trapped the pain in his legs had also become apparent. Kakashi’s hold on Tenzo’s shoulder slipped slightly and he found himself falling into darkness.

In his dream Kakashi was taken care of by a large, sturdy tree. Branches around his legs straightened them out and when he needed nutrients syrup and fruits was given to him. He felt so safe around the tree, leaning against it, listening to its leaves rustle, that he didn’t want to ever wake up again. Here, in these shades, he could reside. Here in these shades, he could finally die.

But he didn’t die. Instead, he woke to the sound of a campfire.

The light burned in his eyes when Kakashi opened them. Too long had he been in the darkness alone. Tenzo had covered his sharingan side, he noticed. Tenzo had also bandaged his legs as much as he possibly could and given him a fresh new set of clothes. He had also provided Kakashi with an extraordinarily comfortable pillow.

“Oh you are awake”, Tenzo’s voice said in surprise and Kakashi realised that the comfortable pillow he was resting on was, in fact, Tenzo’s lap. The other man also seemed to notice Kakashi noticing and he blushed so quickly that it would have made Kakashi laugh if he wasn’t so tired. “I-I’m sorry senpai. I just wanted to give you something soft to lie on and I couldn’t find moss and…”

Kakashi shook his head: “It’s fine. It is comfortable. Thank you, Tenzo.” He grinned beneath his mask when he saw the other man's embarrassed face. It felt almost like this was just part of another dream. After so many days of no water and food, of counting down hours until his death it felt almost impossible that he was now laying here amusing himself about teasing Tenzo again. As if the last weeks had not happened.

“How long have I been out?” Kakashi moved slightly, feeling the sharp pain in his legs that told him that there was still a long time to go until he could move again unless a talented healing shinobi found its way up into the mountains of Iwagakure. 

Tenzo looked up for a moment as if he needed to count first. “Well you passed out on the first day at around the height of the rising moon so when you consider that it is now just sunrise… 4 days.”

“4 days? Well I guess I was really exhausted.” Kakashi let out a breath and looked up at Tenzo. There were unusual lines below his eyes as if he had not slept a bit since he’d gotten to this cage. Kakashi felt the urge to move his fingers over them, but found his arm unable to muster the strength, so he said instead: “You took care of me while I was out, huh? Made sure I had fluids..”

He looked down to cross eyes with Kakashi and then immediately looked away in embarrassment: “You are too weak for solid foods.” He was murmuring.

“You also gave me fresh clothes.” Kakashi winked and then reminded himself that it was unidentifiable as a wink if only one eye was visible. 

Tenzo understood anyway. “They were all dirty! I had no choice”, he replied a little more defensively than necessary. Kakashi chuckled. He would never grow tired of teasing him like this.

There was the warmth again that he’d felt when he had realised it had been Tenzo who’d come for him. The odd fondness that seemed so much stronger than the fondness he’d already felt for Tenzo, and all of his friends for that matter, before this. Somehow, through all the disdain he had for himself, Kakashi always found himself glad to be alive when Tenzo was around him. He wondered for a second what that meant for him, but then decided that this was not the right moment.

“It will be another 5 days at least before you are well enough to move,” Tenzo said to the air in front of him. “I will slowly help you get up and on your feed. Also we will soon reintroduce solid foods into your diet. I could carry you on my back of course, but I would worry you're not strong enough to grip me…”

He sounded like he had thought about this for a while. Well, he had had 4 days with an unconscious Kakashi to form a plan, so he probably had. “Do you think that's a good plan, senpai?” Tenzo looked at Kakashi.

“I am at your mercy. I will be good and do whatever you ask me to,” Kakashi said and turned on Tenzo’s lap to the side. He suddenly felt sleepy again, as if the heavy heat of the fire was lulling him back away into the darkness. Feeling the urge to have some skin contact he scooted closer to Tenzo’s body, rubbing his head into him like his dogs sometimes did to him. Of course that was a little inappropriate but right now, trapped in this situation, he did not care much.

“Thank you,” Kakashi murmured into Tenzo’s middle. “For always taking care of me.”

Tenzo squirmed a little and then talked really fast: “I mean that was just what is expected of me, I mean you would have done the same, it's not like I did it for you specifically or for a reason it's just my job and also if you died that would be so much paperwork for me and I’m not saying I did it for you specifically it has nothing to do with how important to me you a-”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” Kakashi laughed to himself. Tenzo really was so cute when he was embarrassed. 

He could feel the other man tense a little. “Still, I will always be there to make sure you will make it back home. That is not only my duty as your co-captain but my promise as your friend. I will always save your life as you have saved mine.”

There it was again, the warmth at his core. “Always, huh?” Kakashi felt so peaceful at that thought. 

Someday death might come and get him, maybe even as revenge for the many times he’d cheated him, but it wasn’t today and not tomorrow and not anytime soon. Because Kakashi, though he’d been so lonely for so long, was actually not fighting alone at all. And that was maybe something to be grateful about and a reason to keep on living.

[mayaflowerxs]

Hi, I hope you’re having a good day. Can you write enhypen reaction to you getting injured? Thank you 😊

ENHYPEN REACTION TO YOU GETTING INJURED

Synopsis: You get hurt and each of the boys react differently.

Warning: Fluff / Slight Angst. May be some swear word usage not much. Injury, rough housing, mentions of blood and bruises. In no particular order.

A/N: it posted randomly so sorry for any errors, did not proofread!

Pairing: Enhypen x reader

HEESEUNG: falling off stage

The boys had currently been doing a sound check for their upcoming concert. Jarkata, Indonesia their last stop before going home, their last ever show until the end of their tour. Due to yours busy schedule you couldn’t go to earlier ones and after much begging, you arranged your schedule to fit your boyfriend’s last show. Now, off to the side you watch as your boyfriend and friends practice their choreography. Only a few hours until the concert and you can see the concentration on all their faces. It wasn’t until they were given a few minutes to relax did Heeseung drag you onto the stage. Sitting behind you, playing with your fingers as the two of you watch the Ni-Ki and Jake play wrestle. “Careful!” Jay tells them when he notices them a little too close to the edge. Cuddling with your boyfriend, you can feel the tension on his muscles that you try hard to snooze. “You’ll do great.” “I know” He mumbles nuzzling his face in the croak of your neck.

“Then why do you look so nervous?” “Because it’s the last concert, don’t want to make anymore mistakes.” Brushing strands of hair out of his face you smile at him warmly and kiss him. “You’ve been awesome the entire tour. You’ll do great tonight like always. Besides I’m here now, there’s no way you’ll be bad.” Rolling his eyes playfully he pressed a kiss on your cheek. “My good luck charm.” hearing a clap come from his choreographer, he helps you two stand. “See you in a bit.” You tell him before walking off. “Come on boys!’ Jay yells out. Still too immersed in their play fighting they fail to see you walk past them. Bumping into you rather hard, you shriek and lose your balance. A one way ticket straight to the ground. “Y/n!” you hear them yell out, the pain shoots straight to your ankle the second you land. Loud footsteps and bodies immediately circling around you. “You okay baby?” You hear your boyfriend ask you, picking you up as he sets you on top of the stage. Settled in between your legs he inspect the ankle you’ve been cradling. “Give me an ice pack!” Taking off your shoe, he massages the red patch of skin looking over at the two responsible for your injury. “Sorry y/n..” They mumble guiltily. “Guess im not your good luck charm after all.” You tell him, “Shut up, you hurt only motivates me to get through the concert quickly and efficiently so I can come back to you.” He says kissing you.

JAKE: pricked by a cactus

You hated hiking. It got hot, which made you sweaty which would result in you being cranky. You liked the shade, you valued a nice cool refreshment as a fan cools your face. What you don’t appreciate is being woken up at the crack of dawn as your boyfriend had a random epiphany the second he woke up. “We have to go hiking!” He says excitedly as he throws your duvet off you. A wrecked looking nest a hair on top of your head as you squint from the sudden sun light that enters your room. “It’s too early, come back to bed.” But he refused. About a half an hour later he has you two in the car and on your way to dry and secluded hills. Biker shorts, a sports bra and a water bottle in hand, sunglasses propped on your nose as the two of you stand at the very bottom of the hill. Having to crank your head up and see the full height of you, you can’t help but sigh. “No way.” You exasperate. “Yes way, come on.” The hike up was excruciating. No matter how early it was, the heat was still unbearable. Water bottle half empty and energy running low. On the contrary, Jake seemed to be having the time of his life. Taking all sorts of pictures of whatever he found intriguing. Running out of breath, you hunched over. “babe please, lets take a break.” Turning back and seeing you absolutely exhausted he snorts and puts his phone away. Brushing the loose hair out of your face he helps you stand up properly letting you lean on him for support. “We’re almost at the top.” “You said that minutes ago and no where do I see the top.” “Trust me, we’re almost there.”

Huffing, you keep going. By the time the two of you made it you had to admit the view was gorgeous. You take a much needed break by sitting on the ground. And although the hike up was painfully difficult, you only stayed there for a bit before Jake wanted to go down to the field full of dirt and dead grass. “Why are we here babe?” “Oh come up, it’s nice.” “It’s dead.” Grinning at you, he goes to take more pictures in which you absentmindedly followed after him. As you take another step to follow him, you cry out in pain by the sudden sting. Whipping his head, Jake is at your side in a second. “What? What is it?” Looking down and seeing the thorn in your hand he hisses at the sight. “Oh god you got pricked by a cactus.” “Jake it hurts, get it out.” “Me? But what if I hurt you more?” “Jake you got me in this mess, get me out of it.” “Okay!” Grabbing your hand gently, he covers his hand in his sleeve and tries to take the thorn out. “Ow!” “I’m sorry!” It was pretty stuck on you and by the time he got it out, your skin was irritated and swollen. “Okay we need to disinfect the puncture come on- OW!” Turning around and seeing his shoulder got stung by another cactus’ thorn the two of you suddenly realize just how many cactus there were. “Okay, remind me to never take us hiking again.” He tells you.

JAY: broken nose

Today the boys were planning on going to the park to play some baseball. After some convincing from the boys, Jay reluctantly let you go. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you there, it was the fear of you getting injured that was causing him doubts in bringing you. He knows how rowdy his friends can get, he already struggles keeping them alive and now add you into the mix? He’ll never know peace. By after some reassurance from you, he accepted. Not like you needed his permission anyway. When the day came, gloves, a ball and baseball bat in arm as the eight of you make it to the baseball field. “Sit right here, where you won’t get hurt.” Jay is quick to say, sat on a bench behind a fence you tell him to go play as you happily stayed back to keep score. All seemed to have been going well until you have began to grow bored. At some point it went from playing to bickering as you got to admit, they weren’t exactly the best batters. On the phone, you’re taken by surprise when you feel Jay sit besides you suddenly. “Bored already?” He tells you, resting an arm around you. “No! Just checking how long its been taking you guys to hit the ball.” “Ouch.” He smirks, “I’m getting sick of baseball wanna go for a walk?” He lowers his voice, motioning his head to the pathway around the park. “Okay.” You grin, allowing him to walk you out of the fence.

“Okay lets do this again!” You hear Jake say, a few seconds later a ‘ping’ is heard from the bat and a gasp to move out the way. But it had been too late, the impact had met with your face and soon the burning pain engulfs you. “Y/n are you okay? Sunghoon!” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean I swear!” The boys go to check up on you but Jay prevents them from doing so. The dirt soon gets covered in red as they gasp in seeing the puddle of blood pooling your face. “I think my nose is broken- Ow!” “Tilt your head back!” Jungwon says and you do. “No! She can choke, tilt your head down.” Sunoo tells you and you do. “No, then she’ll bleed out even more.” Ni-Ki pitches in. “What do I do people??” You snap, feeling Jay’s hoodie come to your face you look up and see his concerned face trying to clean up any of the dripping blood. “Come on, we got to get you to the hospital.” he says sternly, keeping you close to his side without giving the boys another look they comply. His worries came true, the wait was excruciating. You had an ice pack on your nose and thankfully the bleeding stopped then. Jay had bid the boys off and had stayed behind. You knew he was pissed about the situation and it’s why you reassured him that you were fine. “You lost like a pint of blood.” He huffs. Snorting but wincing at the pain you rest a hand on his thigh. By the time you were called and Jay went in with you, you got x rayed and told your nose was fractured. When you were leaving, you were surprised to see Ni-Ki and Jungwon waiting outside with a bag of food in hand. “We decided to get you some food but you took a while so…it got cold.” Giving them an appreciating smile you give them a hug. “I really am sorry y/n” You hear Sunghoon speak up, had just gotten back from the restroom you hug him too. “I forgive you.” Even though Jay was still upset, he managed to let it go by being by your side every second of the day. A bit too literally.

SUNGHOON: Scraped Knee

You have terrible balance lets just say that. But this was Sunghoon’s entire childhood for the most part. Ice skating was very important to him and so when the day came and he asked if he could teach you, you couldn’t reject the offer. Now currently on the ice and grip held tightly onto Sunghoon’s arms you wobbled your way to keeping your balance. A light hearted laugh escapes him as he keeps you at bay. “Relax, if you focus so hard on balancing it’ll only cause you to be more subjected to falling.” “Easy for you, you’ve done this for years.” You squeal before you fall in his chest. You feel his chest rumble before helping you stand up. “I can’t do this babe!” “yes you can.” Holding you by your waist, he moves slightly. “relax just take small steps my face.” Cringing when he hears the rough steps you were taking he speaks, “You’re skating not marching this isn’t some sort of military propaganda.” Smacking his chest he laughs and holds your hand. After a while, it finally seemed like you were getting the hang of it. “See?” Chuckling nervously you follow his strides as the two of you skate further and further into the rink. Away from the safety of the sidelines. You weren’t going to lie, you were having fun. It feel exhilarating and now you understood what all the fuzz was about.

For the first few hours in the rink the population was scarce until noon hit and it seemed everyone got on the same page to go to the ice rink. What started out as four people resulted in about twenty. It started to overcrowd which wasn’t much of a problem to Sunghoon but was leaving you queasy. Ultimately Sunghoon had declared you capable enough to fend for yourself and had been doing laps around the rink but as you tried to make your way out of the rink it seemed almost impossible to do so. Too many people were blocking your way, many sped past you. It felt like a traffic jam and it left you to try and call for your boyfriend but that seemed impossible given the distance. People were zooming past you, many didn’t even try to get out of their way for you and the amounts of couples that refused to stop holding hands made it impossible for you to find and edge to hold onto. Ultimately, you were stuck in the middle for who knows how long. “Sunghoon!” You try calling out the him but the loud voices of others had muffled yours out. You felt yourself get dizzy, you were hyperventilating and a million thoughts racing in your head you felt the inevitable making its way towards you and as expected it did. A hard chest collided into you that caused you plummeting onto the ground. A loud oomph and a seer pain courses throughout your back. “Are you okay hun?” You hear a woman call out for you but you were too out of breath to respond. A voice could be heard excusing itself through the piling crowd until finally you make out your boyfriend’s face. “Babe!” Helping you up, he helped you get off the rink and sit on one of the benches. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left your side.” Giving you an ice pack, he notices the rip on your knee and sees a patch of blood. Quick to grab a first aid kit, he attends your wounds. “Remind me to never let you take me ice skating again.” Giving you one last sympathetic smile he nods and kisses you.

JUNGWON: Oil Burn

You and the group have decided to have a cook out. It’s been a rough couple of months and every one had collectively agreed to have a night in. After a very serious debate on what to eat, you were given on Tteok-bokki watch. As a helping hand, Sunoo was by your side. Jay and Heeseung were busy with the meat, the loud sizzling can be heard along with the smoke. As the two of you had finished making it, the responsibility to look over the meat had suddenly fallen on the two of you. “make sure to turn it after a while.” You hear them tell you two but you didn’t worry. You’ve done it before, and for the time being you spoke to Sunoo about the latest gossip. Too much, you’ve managed to have lost lots of time. “What’s burning?” Sunoo says as he wrinkles his nose. The both of you widen your eyes as you look over and seeing the pan emitting mass amounts of smoke. Quick to run over and turn down the hit, Sunoo had flipped the meat in a hurry. The sudden impact had caused the oil to jump out of the pan and burn you. A good amount of it catching your thigh. “Shit are you okay?” Sunoo is quickly wetting a rag and setting it on your thigh. “Everything okay?” You hear a voice say, turning away to not face your boyfriend you give Sunoo a look to keep low key.

“Oh yeah, we just kinda lost track of time haha.” Eyeing the two of you, Jungwon walks over you. Quick to get rid of the rag you try to hide your leg as much as possible. Feeling his arms come around your waist he sways the two of you side to side. “Hi.” He smiles at you, “Hey.” You nervously chuckle, a hand in a tight fist as you try to ignore the stinging sensation. “You okay? You seem weird.” “Funny look who’s talking, is it hot in here? You know what Imma go freshen up in the bathroom.” Before you give him anytime to respond you make your way over to the bathroom. Taking a large intake of air when the cold water hits your skin. Relieve too feel it slightly cooling the red skin but still through it, does your skin still burn. The faucet ran loud you didn’t hear Jungwon come in. “I knew something happened.” Startled, you watch as he nears and takes a seat on the toilet. “Why didn’t you just say anything?” “i didn’t want to worry you.” Shaking his head, he opens the cabinet and takes out a bottle. “Silly girl.” Turning off the faucet, he dries your leg and applies burn relief gel. Adding elastic bandage over it to keep the gel from smearing. “Next time, please tell me.” He tells you with puppy dog eyes. Nodding, he grins and leans in puckering his lips. You don’t refuse him and kiss him. “Go rest, I’ll take care of the food.” “But-“ “No buts.”

SUNOO: Impaling of a nail

After months of looking for a new place you finally found it. It wasn’t anything fancy but you were planning on renovating it. The boys were skeptical about it, the second they stepped foot on it, it seemed about ready to give out but you were optimistic and for that, you had their full support. As you gave the the tour of the place, Sunoo had noticed the patchy walls. Broken floor that was uneven and the stairs that were way too rough it could cut anyone. There was barely any running water and the were no heater. Overall, the house looked abandoned for a house but at least the backyard looked nice. It was odd how sunny and vibrant it is, such a dark contrast from the inside of the house. The grass was green, flowers had been growing a swing hanging by a large strong apple tree. A small hut with enough space to keep some extra junk and it even had a another small building to the side a room, working bathroom and sink if anyone would to ever want to crash for the night. The house itself had three bedrooms. Despite it looking like a hot mess, you felt excited you had finally got yourself your own house, still paying off mortgage but still. “I’m telling you once its finished, it’ll look fantastic!” Happy to see you so joyful, Sunoo walks over and give you a back hug. “I’m proud.”

Clapping your hands, you turn and grab his hand. Dragging him over to the backyard. “I’m thinking in this corner I was a trampoline maybe. I had one when I was younger and I absolutely enjoyed it. Really took my mind off things, and here maybe there can be some flowers and a small fountain. maybe even a few of those garden bench chairs you know what I mean?” As you try to give off the visual, Sunoo nods along as he takes a further peak inside the small garage. Empty, small and had a bit of a funky smell but that wasn’t what captured your attention. it was the scream you let out that had him running out frantically. Running over to you and seeing your foot had begun to bleed out he helped keep you steady as he looked at it. “What happened?” The rest of the boys run out. “This stupid nail was dug real deep in the dirt.” Wincing when they get a look at how deep the nail went into your foot they help you take a seat. “Go get water and a rag. Get some alcohol if there is any.” Sunoo tells Jungwon. “It’s bleeding a lot.” Ni-Ki comments which ends in everyone giving him a look. “Sorry…�� Sunoo inspects the wound and pours some of the water down your foot. “It looks too deep, you may need to get stitches for it.” “No! We just have to disinfect, it’ll clear up on its own.” “Y/n, I’d usually listen to you but not today c’mon.” Not giving you a choice, you comply. By the time your foot was treated, Sunoo had your leg resting on your thigh on the car ride home. Letting your head rest on his shoulders, Sunoo was surely not going to let you step foot in your house until it was remodeled completely.

NI-KI: Slipped on floor

The amount of times you told Ni-Ki to clean the floor after showering was getting annoying. You loved him but to keep having the same discussion was tiring. You had just woken up late after you slept through your alarm. School had taken a toll on you and you thought an hour nap wouldn’t hurt. Ni-Ki had been sitting in front of you playing video game with the boys so you suspected he had something to do with that. Hurriedly grabbing your clothes set out already you rush into the bathroom. Leaving the clothes on the sink you go to turn the knob but fall, hard. It only took a few seconds before Ni-Ki came rushing in. “Are you okay?” Out of breath, pain coursing through your back and any bit of drowsiness you had left in you had completely vanished. “No! I’m not!” Leaning down to help you sit up, he’s about to apologize when you cut him off. “How many times do I have to tell you to dry the floor after you finished showering?” “I’m sorry I forget-“ “No Ni-Ki at this point you blatantly ignore me, it’s like you do this on purpose.” “No, I swear i -“ “You know what I’m already late for work, go back to playing your game.” Without another word, he nods and walks away with guilt.

By the time you had gotten out, there was silence between the two of you. Ni-Ki really did feel bad. It’s why when you left he managed to convince the boys to leave for a few hours. He cleaned the bathroom floor, the room the entire house really leaving it spotless. And when you got home, he gave you a massage, cuddled you and gave you a bag of goodies we went out o get you. He mostly wanted the boys gone so he could do that without them poking fun at him. Just gotten one of his hoodies out the dryer he hands it to you and whispers in your ear. “I really am sorry y/n.” He pulls you closer to him as the two of you watch a movie. The look of sadness in his eyes was enough for you to know he was being honest. “Don’t let it happen again.” Quick to agree, he nodded profoundly which caused you to laugh. A cheeky smile on his face to know you no longer were mad at him. You forgave him and got cuddles all night.

[yamsgarden]

looong Tales of Symphonia and Tales of Vesperia rambling incoming:

I was chatting with my buddy about Tales of Vesperia and Tales of Symphonia and idk by what miracle this could ever happen, but I truly wish someday Bandai Namco could make a TRUE remake of Tales of Symphonia but with Tales of Vesperia's cel shade graphics

Because so far, all "remakes" are just more or less good ports from what I read/ saw? And TOV still holds up to this day, even 20+ years after even if the animation is a liiiittle stiff it' still works, but yeah TOS could really have a fantstic revamp

I want her so bad to experiement this journey too, but I totally get it that the graphics are a turn off... Which is also so sad because to me they still feel cute and I grew up with them OTL

idk... I understand TOS isn't necessarily the most insane RPG out there, same with Baten Kaitos but they have their own identity and amazing writting and complex stories and charming characters aaa even 20+ years later and I still hold these games in my heart and still listen to their OST, it really feels like magic

It's not like today where you have to constantly play daily for grinding or worry about being tempted to buy micro items in the shop with real money, it was a one time payment and one shot story and had an end... And that's what made it great too imo... if that makes sense, idk what I'm saying anymore, I guess I just miss so much how things used to be haha

Where games had more soul and personnality and passion behind it and ofc you still have that today but i feel it's... Rarer and back then I feel it was still experimental but that's what made it so great, now there are so many copy cats and it feels like a race to which one can be the next lottery... and I know they're all companies BUT LIKE at least I could feel my money was well spent you know?!

Now it's feels like, "we have your money AND you have shitty rushed half-baked product, you're welcome"

If only Llyod could have made it into Super Smash Bros Melee at the time, I feel it could have helped the Tales of popularity even more OTL I remember reading somewhere he was considered to be added to the roaster but maybe it was rumors too... But the thought of it is so cool. I rly don't think it's for nothing TOV and TOS keep getting so high in popularity polls when it comes to general Tales Of games, those two are really memroable and beautiful.

TOS almost feels like the blueprint for TOV to me, so they are very similar but different enough as well. I must have played TOS on my gamecube at least 10 times in my whole life and everytime my gameplay reaches 60h-80h+hours, it's just so much fun everytime

aaa but yeah.. all that to say I just wish it could get the remake of a lifetime so more poeple could experiment it too OTL I don't think it'll ever happen but yeah.... If only if only if only...

and lowkey so i would have more poeple to talk and gush about it.

[rohanabb]

ABBASI, ROHAN: an introduction, of sorts

Following immediately after Seth.

It’s widely considered bad form to start one's story with their protagonist waking. So let us begin, then, what is most assuredly not a story – something quite smaller and grander in scale – with most assuredly not our protagonist – lacking categorically across the board – with, of our own forthright admission, an interlude on morning routines and the spiraling outwards of them.

Like most mornings, Rohan rises with the bile-bitter tongued feeling that he’s already late for something important.

Unlike most mornings, he does so in a bed his body does not recognize and without the usual sunlight streaming across his face. The sky, from what Rohan can see of it, sits lower here than in Arizona, a singular grey plane through which it feels little can escape between. What light does is equally low and flat, casting the as-yet-unfamiliar room in unflattering shades of, well, more grey. Rohan reaches semi-blindly for the bedside lamp for what little it'll help, his face still half-pressed to the pillow and — a protein bar.

He hadn't dreamed it, then. Seth had been here. The silver, crinkling assault of Kirkland's Worst nestled in the indent only just previously occupied by Rohan's head enough to rematerialize — something of the morning. God fuck, what time was it?

Rohan swings his legs over the side of the bed. It's cold. Of course it's cold, it's February, and for most of Rohan's life February has meant fucking cold. But Arizona, clearly, has made him soft. Cold-blooded, in need of a large, smooth rock to stretch out on for a few more hours. Missing the same sun he had complained so thoroughly about for so much of the year. Maybe he should think about investing in a sun lamp; any chance Amazon will still honor a two-day delivery?

...

When Rohan does arrive at the right room, it's under frankly more layers than he has any business wearing and would be embarrassed by in nearly any other circumstance. And he still feels cold — though, if we're to be entirely honest, as much as Rohan is ignorant to it beyond wishing he'd worn another jacket, it likely has more to do with the freezing waves rolling off the rest of the team than any real change in air temperature.

Rohan, for his part, started practically vibrating the second he so much as stepped foot in the building. To say he's operating on a different wavelength than many of his coworkers might be, perhaps, an understatement. He enters brightly, bristling with awareness of each pair of eyes that swivel towards him. This, at least, is in some way familiar. Orientation; a round table of stiff-mouthed and too-rehearsed introductions, even if Rohan is the only one leaking genuine excitement and anxiety on making a good first impression out of every pore.

If there is any hesitation in Rohan's step, it's not in taking his seat. That's easy. He slides into the space held for him, Seth's bag deposited gently on the back of his chair and Rohan's slung the same. A matching pair. He gives Seth a gentle tap on the ankle to say what he needs to and won't in the presence of strangers. Hi. Good morning. Thank you. Don't look at me like that. Pay attention.

Beyond that, Rohan is by all accounts well-behaved and characteristically himself. He does not take notes, does not cross his arms and avert his gaze. Rohan sits forward in his seat, chin propped in hand, making as much direct eye contact with each speaker as they'll allow. In the space between he leans back, settles beside Seth, and allows himself the brief vice of workplace gossip with his best friend.

When his turn comes around, by virtue of it just having been Seth's, Rohan slides again to the very edge of his chair, elbows planted on his knees, and gives a half wave.

"Hi, all," he starts with a smile, trying and failing to meet the eye of everyone left in the room through it. "I'm Rohan. Just Rohan, please. Dr. Abbasi if you feel especially professionally compelled, but really I'd prefer if we kept things more casual and friendly, seeing as it looks like we're going to be spending some serious time together. You're welcome to call me Tree Hugger, if that feels right to you, but you might have to say it a few times to get my attention."

He tries for a self-deprecating smile, drops it, and tries again with something a little more honest and open.

"With that said, please forgive me if I'm slow on the uptake when it comes to call-signs. I'm in my seventh year at the Foundation, but it's all been on the research side of things. Lab work, mostly. I'd be more than happy to go into details with anyone who's interested, as Seth knows I can go on all day about it and then some, but I'll spare you all the gory parts and give you the rundown: I'm a neuroscientist and pharmacology guy by training with a more recent focus on amnestic applications in animal and humanoid SCP recovery. I definitely consider myself a pretty active participant in the Foundation's scientific community. One of my long-term goals that I've had — pretty much since I started here has been to incorporate academic and modern medical research principals into what we do. It's something I bring to work with me every day and I'm more than excited for the opportunity to continue bringing it but on a much larger scale and alongside all of you.

"So — yeah. That's about it on my end. Again, pleasure to meet all of you. Please feel free to grab me afterwards for anything or any reason. I'm also on the hunt for a running partner, maybe someone else interested in starting a journal club of sorts — so. Yeah. Grab me if that's you. Thanks for listening. Onto the next."