#what nobody here knows is that i edited this because i hate the scans from this book that are on the wiki

[mrsaltieri-real]

Alright! Request time! Lemme get a request with Mickey, natch, but hear me out. You and he, catching a mid-afternoon movie for a date, starts off sweet, and the theater is empty except for you both. He cannot keep his hands off you when twenty minutes after the trailers happen he realizes no one else is showing up. He teases and touches till you give in and let him fuck you in the theater. Some risky, public, try to keep it down, don't get caught sex in the theater. Passionate, needy, messy, some begging, make it so, so good just like I know you will.

When Boredom Strikes (Mickey Altieri x Fem!AFAB!Reader)

You and Mickey have an afternoon date at the movies, but boredom quickly consumes him, forcing him to find alternate ways to entertain himself.

Word Count: 3k

Warning/s: language, smut, p in v, slight degradation, fingering, public/semi public sex, praise, begging, almost caught fucking, teasing, thirsty Mickey, riding, ect.

Bex Bex BEX. You know damn well what this request has done to me these last couple of days. I’m happy to oblige. Here we go!

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Mickey stood with his arm casually slung around your shoulder as he eyed the movie options up on the board, pulling a face at every single one of them. “Fuck, there’s really no halfway decent movies.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, looking up at his dramatically disgusted face. “Well, whose bright idea was it to ditch class to come watch a movie in the middle of the afternoon, Mick?”

He glanced down at you, his pretty brown eyes playfully amused and a smile lit up his face as he lifted your chin with his finger, ducking his head down to peck you lightly on the lips, in which you eagerly reciprocated. “We missed our last date because I had to edit my short film and you’ve got a packed schedule for the rest of this week so I didn’t really have much of a choice now, did I?” He pointed out, reluctantly moving his face away from yours.

You nodded your head a little as you looked up at the board yourself, eyes scanning the cheesy rom com movies, every single one of them containing the exact same main plot point of a girl who didn’t realise love was right there all along. You knew Mickey hated these sort of movies with a passion, claiming they had no depth and no entertainment value whatsoever.

Being with a film geek like Mickey meant you were subjected to listen to his intensely angry ramblings about how cinema was quote “going down fucking hill,” and how there’s “nothing like the classics anymore.” You’d listen to him with a cocked eyebrow and watch him as he would rifle through his seemingly never ending cases of illegally pirated films that varied from action to mystery then to his personal favourite, horror.

As much as you loved him, you never quite understood his affliction with horror movies. Sure, you enjoyed them, but you’d see the intense excitement in his eyes as he watched some blonde girl with big tits get brutally butchered and ripped apart and you’d listen to him rant about the “authenticity” of the production value with blank but affectionate eyes. Nobody could say that he wasn’t passionate.

The theatre attendant sighed, her nails drumming impatiently on the counter as she stared unseeingly past the two of you with a bored expression. Mickey glanced at her, unable to stop the small roll of his eyes at her attitude.

“Just pick one and we’ll watch it. And choose fast because this one’s about to fall asleep.” Mickey said to you under his breath, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. You knew better than to offer to pay, knowing you’d be met with a disgusted look of horror at the very idea of you wanting to pay for absolutely anything.

You loosely gestured to the least sappy looking movie for his benefit, secretly relieved you didn’t have to sit through yet another bloody mess of a film and Mickey paid the attendant and took the tickets as she mumbled, “enjoy your movie,” He nodded his head at her politely and picked up the popcorn and drinks, begrudgingly making his way into the theatre with a grimace on his face at the thought of having to sit in the freezing theatre for two hours and watch this god awful movie. But as he walked toward the theatre doors, popcorn under one arm and you under the other, he noticed how deserted the place was. Just you, himself and 3 attendants in the entire place. He smiled a little to himself, knowing full well he could have a lot of fun with this little benefit when the boredom would truly take over.

As you both settled down in your assigned seats beside each other Mickey placed the popcorn by next to his feet, leaning back on the chair with his eyes scanning the room. Just as he’d hoped, it was completely deserted apart from the two of you. He glanced at your face, the smile still on his lips as you looked back at him, asking him in a suspicious tone, “what?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He said, diverting his eyes from you and to the large screen as the trailers began to play.

“Give me my popcorn.” You said, holding out your hand expectantly.

“No, no, absolutely not.” Mickey shook his head as he spoke, pushing your hand away gently.

“What? Why?”

“Baby, you always finish your popcorn before the movie even starts and what happens? Oh, Mickey.” He mocked your voice in an absolutely terrible impression, twirling imaginary hair around his finger as he spoke. “I finished all my popcorn, give me yours.” He looked at you with knowing eyes and a playful smile on his lips as he dropped his hand back down onto the arm rest. “Just wait for the opening titles at least.” He said in his normal voice.

“You think you know me so well. I don’t fucking sound like that. Ass.” You grumbled under your breath, slumping back in your seat with a pout. He laughed at you affectionately, reaching for your hand and bringing it up to his lips, kissing it gently.

“Huh, guess it’s just us.” You mused as you watched one of the attendants close the theatre doors, leaving just you and Mickey in the large dark room with nothing but the glowing light of the screen shining down on the two of you.

“Guess it is.” Mickey said lightly, shifting in his seat and dropping your hand in favour of resting his palm on the smooth bare skin of your thigh, his fingers lightly tracing shapes and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Mickey was big on casual physical contact, especially whilst watching movies. The cheerful opening of the movie caught your attention and your eyes set on the screen, deciding to make the most of your date together by actually enjoying the movie, even if he didn’t.

Twenty minutes into the film and Mickey was bored out of his mind. You seemed engrossed with the movie, shushing Mickey every couple of minutes when he tried to talk to you or complain about the “god awful” film.

“This is so fucking sh-“

You swatted at his arm lightly, shushing him once again and he groaned, slumping back in his seat and letting his head fall backward against the soft material of the chair. The two dimensional characters seemed to mock him through the screen as the actors paraded around with an awful performance. He physically recoiled as he heard the cheesy lines being spoken.

Nobody fucking talks like that. He thought to himself with a grimace.

He began to think of what he could do to make this date a little more interesting. He quickly scanned the theatre double checking the room once again to make sure it was empty before his fingers slowly danced across your thigh, casually moving in between your legs.

He chuckled a little as you slapped his hand, pinning your legs together as you sent him a small glare. “No, Mickey.” You said as sternly as you could muster. He looked at you completely unphased and raised an eyebrow, but said absolutely nothing.

One of Mickey’s favourite pastimes is fooling around with you in semi-public places. Semi-public was okay, semi-public was fun and exciting. It was even encouraged. There was only a risk of being caught. You knew exactly what he was thinking at the moment, what he wanted to do. But doing it here, in the middle of a movie theatre? That was a little too risky for your liking. You felt his hand move back to your thigh after a couple of seconds, still tracing small shapes onto your skin with a feather light touch. You clenched your teeth, staring at the screen to try and focus on the movie again, but now that felt almost impossible.

How the fuck did he always manage to do this to you? Completely divert your attention and make you focus explicitly on him and what you wanted him to do to you? The fact he didn’t even need to speak in order for you to waver on your insistence not to fuck him in a movie theatre was almost making you angry with yourself and your lack of ability to stand by your decisions.

He waited until you relaxed your rigid stance and your legs unstiffened, his fingers still grazing your skin gently before he made another much slower move. His fingers hardly even touched you as he lightly brushed your inner thigh. He smiled to himself a little when he heard your breath hitch a little and felt you look up at him with imploring eyes. He made sure his eyes were still set on the screen as if he was completely sucked into the crappy movie. You looked down at his hand, tugging at your bottom lip with your teeth as it moved upward underneath your skirt, feeling his fingertips glide up your inner thigh, your legs opening for him as though they had a mind of their own before feeling him very lightly grazing your clit through the soft cotton material of your already damp panties.

You shifted a little, fingers digging into the dark red upholstery of the arm of the chair, your legs instinctively inching even wider for him and you heard him let out a small, satisfied laugh as he felt the damp patch.

Fuck.

“Look who's changed her mind.” He murmured softly under his breath. You ignored him, eyes fluttering closed as you felt him move your panties to the side, his index finger slowly sliding up the length of your slit to collect moisture before torturously circling your clit with a pace that was so slow, so light, that it was almost painful. He let out another chuckle as he felt the heat on his fingers and heard the small whimper fall out from between your lips, his eyes still not moving from the screen.

Your head fell back against your seat as his fingers gradually increased speed, circling over your clit in the way he knew drove you crazy, but not quite applying enough pleasure for you to genuinely enjoy it. Mickey shifted a little in his seat so he was leaning toward you, eyes finally dragging away from the screen and to your face, watching you with dark and almost amused eyes as your chest heaved and your grip on the armrest tightened so hard your knuckles turned white. His fingers suddenly abandoned your clit in favour of plunging two of them knuckle deep into your pussy and causing you to let out a loud, unfiltered moan.

“Shh.” He whispered to you, his free hand covering your mouth as he continued to move his long fingers inside of you, hooking and curling them to graze the spot inside of you that was bound to make you cum sooner rather than later if he carried on.

Your eyes nervously flickered around the room again, terrified you’d missed a spectator in one of the chairs that would turn around and find some girl getting fingered by her boyfriend in the middle of a movie theatre. Of course there was no one, but his free hand remained on your mouth as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and before resting his forehead on your temple.

“You gotta be quiet, okay?“ he said in your ear, another twist of his fingers inside of you causing you to moan against his hand in response. His fingers abruptly stopped moving, frozen inside of you and you looked at him in desperate confusion as his other hand moved from your mouth to slide down behind your head, gripping your hair firmly by the roots and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Do you promise you’ll be quiet?” He whispered, hand dropping from your mouth so you could respond.

“Mmm- mm yes.” You gasped out, your voice pleading and almost whiny as you bucked your hips against his hand, desperate to feel friction again. “Please, Mickey.”

“Look at you.” He said tauntingly. “Twenty minutes ago you were slapping my hand away and now here you are, dripping down my arm and begging for me to get you off in the middle of a movie theatre.”

He suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them up and pressing them against your lips. You eagerly took his fingers into your mouth, sucking your own arousal off of them eagerly. He let out somewhat of a growl as he felt your tongue swirl around his fingers as you greedily tasted yourself and he quickly glanced behind him at the door before he slid his fingers out of your mouth slowly to unbuckle his belt. As he did, you were almost too eager to drop to your knees so you could blow him but he stopped you with his hand, shaking his head once whilst saying, “No, no,” and pulling his jeans and briefs down so his cock was just about out, already hard and pressed against his toned stomach. “Panties off, leave the skirt on.”

Your eyes widened a little as you hesitated, glancing up at the theatre doors. Mickey followed your gaze and rolled his eyes a little at you. “What, so you’re fine letting me finger your pussy here but you don’t want to fuck? Come on now, baby.”

You could hear the sarcasm in his voice and you scowled at him, but obediently removed your panties, discarding them on the floor by your feet.

“Good girl.” Mickey grinned at you, looking victorious as he grabbed your arm as soon as they were off, practically yanking you onto his lap. You straddled him with your knees either side of him, just about hovering over him as you felt the flushed head of his cock lightly graze your swollen clit, the sensation so slight yet so intense it sent a small shiver throughout your entire body. Mickey felt it too, sighing a little as he felt you just barely touching him.

The light of the huge screen dully illuminated the two of you as Mickey hitched your skirt around your waist before sliding his hands around to grip your ass, spreading you open for him as he angled his hips up, groaning quietly as he slowly began filling you. You let out a gasp that was a little too loud at the satisfying stretch, causing Mickey to stop abruptly, gripping your hips so you couldn’t move.

“What did I say?”

“I- I’m sorry, please don’t stop.” You begged him as quietly as you could. He could feel your body trembling with need and he couldn’t help but oblige you.

His eyes remained on your face, though you were hardly visible in the dim light of the screen and he smiled at your desperate expression before continuing to push up into you, sighing in satisfaction at the familiar feeling of your pussy clenching around him as he did. You angled your hips downward, impatient at his slow pace so you could envelop him completely and almost too eagerly. The thrill of fucking him in a public place where a stranger could walk in at any given moment and see the two of you was more exciting than you had anticipated, your earlier anxiety and concerns becoming nothing more than a distant and irrelevant memory. It made you more eager and hungry for him, more than you could have even begun to imagine. It took Mickey by surprise as he let out a small, breathless laugh as your hips rolled against him, thoroughly enjoying the reluctantly quiet moans you were panting in his ear.

“Such a whore.” He whispered into your hair, sliding one of his hands up your back and gripping the back of your neck under your hair. The sound of his voice in your ear as you rode him sent tingles through your body, spurring you on. “Look at you, riding me like a slut in the middle of a movie theatre, fucking acting like you didn’t want this the whole time. Bad fucking girl.” You groaned at his words, throwing your head back and moving your hands to rest behind you on his thighs, feeling the familiar need for him to take control. He obliged you once again, his hands resting your waist and holding you still as he began to grind his hips upwards and fuck deep into you, treating you as if you were his very own sex doll.

You almost cried out, turning your head and biting into the soft skin of your shoulder as you felt him thrust up into you, feeling his cock hitting all of the right places. You felt the slight stubble of his trimmed hair prick and grind over your clit, stimulating you perfectly as your nails dug into his thighs, making him let out a small hiss and grind up into you even faster, watching intently as your tits bounced from behind your thin tank top.

Your body was held still in his firm grip with your only movements being a reaction from him as he fucked you to his own accord as you tried hard not to make too loud of a sound. One of his hands moved from your waist to slide between the two of you, his thumb applying pressure to your clit and moving in small, calculated circles. His head fell forward to watch himself sliding in and out of your convulsing pussy, groaning as he felt you clench and tighten around him. He knew you were close to cumming when he felt your legs start to shake beside him and he knew he was close too. Just watching you with your mouth biting into your own shoulder to stop yourself from screaming as he fucked up into you in the middle of the day in a movie theatre was driving him insane, and he didn’t feel the need to prevent your impending orgasm or his own, the need to tease you disappeared in favour of feeling you cum on his dick.

Your head lifted from your shoulder and you looked at him, panting desperately with wide eyes. “I- I’m gonna- p- please can I-“

Mickey suddenly let out a sharp gasp and quickly grabbed you by your arms that were still propping you up by your hands on his thighs and hastily pulled you toward him, gently but quickly turning you around so you were sitting on his lap and he tugged at the end of your skirt so it covered the sight of his dick still stuffed inside of you. You frowned a little in surprise at the sudden unwelcome change, his heart hammering against your back and his panting breath on the back of your neck. You went to glance back at him in confusion only to see the theatre doors wide open and an attendant stroll in.

You looked at Mickey’s face in alarm but his eyes were set on the screen, refusing to meet you. You turned your head back around and looked at the screen, seeing nothing. You weren’t even sure what the movie was about anymore but you stared at the characters desperately. Mickey’s hand rested on your hip as the theatre clerk stood by the door, eyes scanning the room. It was just dark enough that the man wouldn’t be able to spot your panties bunched up on the floor, let alone you sat with your boyfriends still rigid cock up inside of you. To him, it probably looked as though you were sat on his lap cuddling him.

You shifted anxiously, feeling Mickey’s breathing change as you did so and you realised that at this angle, he could really feel you. Your eyes flickered to the utterly bored looking attendant who seemed to have his attention grabbed by the movie as an idea started ringing in your head. You slightly adjusted yourself, rising up a little and angling your hips back down. You heard him take in a sharp breath, his fingers bruising your hips as you moved very calculated and slow, unable to wipe the satisfied smile off your face as you felt his cock twitch almost pathetically inside of you.

“Filthy bitch wants to get caught.” You heard him mutter between his teeth.

You shrugged every so slightly, responding to him in a hushed whisper, “you started it. I’m finishing it.”

[little-paper-ghost-child]

GODS I SPENT TOO MUCH TIME ON THIS

Here’s the first song story I did

It’s shit because I like barely edited it but whatever it’s done and going out into the world

Tw for: murder, child abuse, strangulation, police (idk if I should add more but Weh)

This is the song

Please remember!!! This is not based off of the song specifically and is just what my brain came up with!!

Anyways here you go

Alex combed his fingers through his hair as he stared down at the photo album. He didn't know how George had gotten a hold of it and he figured it was something violent, but it was still a monster load of unwanted evidence and a hurt in his stomach that worsened as he flipped through the pages. He and Ivan never looked happy per say but everything had seemed so much brighter back then, back before he was alex at all. While he scratched out any mentions of demetri, ivan, or emily, Noticeably, Though he cautiously checked every page and pocket, there was no mention of his father.

He had separate reasons for all of them to be defaced, three separate reasons for three separate things.

Demitri was crossed out because he was dead, he was an idea of what could have been and he was lost. His mother had named him that, and he would not let her have that pride, so he had erased demitri as his quietest form of retaliation.

Emily was crossed out because the bitch didn't deserve to be remembered. She didn't deserve anything she had. And still somehow, she got everything she wanted from the children she hurt and there was never a consequence in the world for her. She was a violent disgusting person unfit to be a mother or a person at all and he hoped nobody had to know her ever again.

He crossed out Ivan for much less angry reasons than the other two, he wanted Ivan to be safe. his little brother. He loved Ivan more than the world itself and hated himself for leaving him.

“Coward” is what the voice in his head called him.

“ monster. Coward. You left him to die in her care.” it gnawed at him every second of everyday and he knew he couldn't go back now. Not while there was evidence still.

“Soon”, he thought.

“Soon is good.”

So Alex continued his work of scratching and defacing all three of the people for all three of his reasons..

It was difficult to do what he needed all the time and never what he wanted, he still felt trapped even out of that hellhole,it really felt like the only difference was that the blood being shed was supposed to mean something.

—

George caught him off guard with the blow to the side of the head and Alex went skittering across the concrete floor.

He felt like everything was underwater and everything was all wrong.

“The fuck?” was all he could manage to string together as he tried to push himself up.

“I've had a change in interest,” George said as he lumbered over.

“Somebody knows how to pay better”

It took longer than Alex liked to form a coherent enough thought to make sense of that.

“To kill me?” choked its way out of Alex's throat while he frantically searched his pockets for any sense of self defense. George twitched a little as he wound up for another hit but didn't answer the question. Alex got to his feet and just barely dodged the second punch, He was racking his brain for something he could use- there was no way he could stand a chance in a fistfight. Alex made it to the drawer in his desk and pulled it open scanning for something, anything that could be used and came back with a letter opener. He thought for a second on how he could use something so small, which hurt considering the previous hit to the side of his head that was definitely less than soft, but he figured something out in the end.

As the larger man approached Alex pretended he could hear his little brother cheering him on, telling him that he could do it, but it was a cruel thing to do because a child let alone a child like Ivan would cheer for something like this.

When George trew his third punch Alex used his smaller frame to an advantage and ducked behind him as quickly as possible.he only had a second to do this correctly and so much of him didn't want this.

“Murderer” said the voice in his head.

“You leave your little brother all alone and you murder the man who has been helping you.”

Alex took a breath for nearly a second, jumped, and planted the letter opener in George's neck.

He made a squeak, and promptly fell over onto the cold concrete.

He was frozen, then. he was locked in place staring down at the presumably dead man

That he had thought was his friend.

“It's not your friend if you have to pay it to care” he reminded himself and closed his eyes tight.

Why did it have to be so hard?

Why did stuff like this come up?

Why couldn't everything just be okay?

Alex wanted so badly for everything to be okay, but there was no way to obtain something like that. He wanted it more than anything in the world and he would never get it, and even when things finally seemed to work out, it always went to shit.

Why did it have to do that?

Why did it have to be so hard?

Why did stuff like this come up?

Why couldn't everything just be okay?

It hit him in a second that all the evidence was gone. All the evidence he could possibly get rid of was gone with George, if everything was gone, there was only one place he was supposed to go.

—

Alex got in his car after he had finished defacing anything that he had left remotely close to a normal keepsake. He left the body, he didn't care. He knew where he was going, he remembered being dragged back by walk or car every time he tried to run away. He could practically hear Emily screaming at him that she swore he was trying to get them in trouble.That he was a disgusting excuse for a child. That his father was waiting for him at home.he could never remember anything but angry flashes after that.

Even though he knew the way perfectly, it still took something out of him to get to the right streets. He figured he had a concussion but now was not the time to worry about that. There was that, and there was the voice in his head as well.

“Why would you go back when you are just going to hurt? Murderer murderer murderer.you left little brother all alone to kill your own father, and you couldn't even find him. Why would Ivan want to see you ever again? Not to mention Emily will be there too. Can you really face her? Maybe you want to see her, because for all of the shit maybe you are a mama's boy. You probably failed to protect your brother. You are failing to stay away. Maybe Emily will hurt you again, maybe you deserve it. You probably even liked it when-”

“Shut up”, Alex said aloud. “I hate her and I hate you.”

he looked in the rearview mirror for the last comment, glaring at himself like it would leak through into his thoughts and make them go away. He hated remembering, hated thinking about it at all, hated her voice echoing around his head, but things would never change so he did his best to push her out of his mind for now.

As he turned the corner, one side of the road opened down a lake miles below. Alex weighed the possibilities of anyone finding him if he drove off and into the water, but he had heard that drowning wasn't exactly as quick and easy enough to make it all that tempting.

—

Alex got out of the car before he turned the street corner. He had grabbed his gun from the car, and the voice inside his head bubbled up to hiss at him.

“A gun?” it said. “Murderers use guns. Monsters use guns. What do you think that makes you? What are you going to do with it anyway? You could end up hurting ivan.”

Alex shook his head as if to shake the voice right out of his head and shoved the gun into his belt.

“It was just in case,” he told himself.

“Just in case anything went badly like it always seemed to.”

Seeing down the street he grew up on hurt Alex more than he wanted to think about.

“No” he thought

“Dimitri grew up here.” was easier to think about but only by a little.

Nothing was easy here, it never had been and it never would be but he would take what comfort he could get, and if that was by remembering a dead dream then he would remember but not connect.

As Alex walked towards his inevitable destination he scanned the roads and felt like a little kid again, recounting things that had happened in certain places. There was a tree that dimitri was once sitting under when a branch fell off, there were the bushes where dimitri had been bitten by a stray dog who roamed around, from which alex still had a small scar. There was the spot on the road where the police had been called the first time- and the spot where they had been called the second. And finally, there was the house.

Walking down the driveway he could see the trash bags all up one side of the fence. Piles of empty bottles and cans were shoved under the rotting porch and as he walked down the driveway Alex could smell the house reeked of beer and mold and filth.

“This was a bad idea” said the thoughts in his head.

“Your brother doesn't want to see you anyway. And you know what emily will do when she finds you-”

Alex forcefully shoved that voice out of the way and stared at the door. From inside there was something that might have been a yell, and something glass breaking.

He couldn't stall any longer.

After a minute all too short to prepare himself, Alex opened the door and went in.

—

The smell was worse on the inside.

The carpet was dirty and the ground was littered with all sorts of things that couldn't be safe for walking on, which made him more so glad he had kept his shoes on. Now that he was inside he could see that the disarray of the place had only gotten worse after he left, which made sense considering most of the cleaning was done by Alex himself, but was still upsetting to see. As he moved through the house, he remembered a thousand awful little things. Pins under fingernails, the feel of uncooked, moldy fruits or vegetables in his mouth, little cockroaches and worms that made homes in the mess. He didn't like thinking about it, remembering it made him want to scratch at his skin, made him feel dirty.

Nothing in this house was nice, but nothing had gotten under his skin until he saw the whiskey on the counter.

It was half empty and there was a dirty glass set beside it. Alex gaged like he was trying to throw it up, but there was nothing to throw up. He hated the sight of it, hated the burn of it, he remembered crying, crying made it worse.

For every cry he let out she would always pour a little more into the cup, a little more, a little more, until he stopped crying, sometimes he threw up, sometimes he fell asleep, sometimes he couldn't remember.

Alex’s hand raised instinctively to his mouth.

“you are going to throw up oh no, oh god no you feel sick you are sick and everything is wrong, stop crying you're only going to make it worse it burns you are suffocating it burns it hurts you are going to be sick you are going to throw up-”

The crash of something glass and a strangled yell upstairs broke Alex out of his headspace, and his focus snapped to the staircase. Alex ran up the stairs and turned the corner so fast he almost fell over. He barely even thought as he ran to the one open door, and he barely even thought as he reached for his gun.

—

Emily Volkova had never been a good person. She only hurt and ruined and broke people and things and really anything she could get her hands on. And her own two children were things remarkably easy to get her hands on.

Ivan was on the ground, just barely struggling against Emily, who had her hands around his neck so tight it looked like she herself was straining. She was never particularly strong but she had the advantage of being a grown woman fighting against a nine year old boy, and the advantage that the nine year old boy she was fighting wanted nothing more than for her to love him.

Alex could see ivans mouth moving, trying to choke out words that were lost to his excuse of a mothers screaming. Alex could barely understand what he was saying, but he didn't need to. What he did know was that Emily volkova had never been a good person, and that he was going to make her stop.

The sound of the gun cocking might have been what had gotten her attention, or she had just happened to notice at the moment he was leveling it to her head.

“Demitri, why the fuck are you here?” she said, barely loosening her grip on ivan. Her shock turned to anger turned to vicious manipulation faster than Alex could keep up with.

“Did your little trip go well? you leave right after your father so i have to take care of this stupid fucking kid by myself, why would you leave your own mother?”

“Shut up” was all that Alex said. He had built up all this hatred for this woman in his head but being with her now, seeing her, he hated himself for being scared.

She put on a face like she was hurt before shoving Ivan to the ground and getting up.

“dont tell me to fucking shut up you little shit. You would really shoot your own mother too? In Front of your little brother, the world out there has ruined you demitri.”

She took a step towards Alex and he had to fight himself not to step back, shaking as he tried to hold the gun in place.

“Ivan, close your eyes and cover your ears” he said, trying to see around Emily to his brother, who moved slowly and shakily.

“That's it.” Emily said with a little more fear in her voice.

“Put the gun down, Demitri, you can't do this to your mother.”

“You were never my mother, I was never your son.” was all Alex said before he pulled the trigger.

—

Alex didn't like guns all that much because they were very loud and sometimes made big messes. He didn't like this situation much at all but he had to make sure that Ivan was okay, Alex could wait for later. As he moved his way into the room, he locked eyes with Ivan and felt a gut wrenching tear in his stomach. He could feel how hurt this little boy was. Then, he could see it. The bruises around his neck were to be expected, he had a black eye too. Ivan was covered in bruises, over his arms and legs that Alex could see. He seemed to have little cuts too, burns or razor slashes, cuts from kitchen knives or cut up soda cans might have been in the mix too. Some looked new, some looked old, more than a few looked infected.

“Oh god ivan.” Alex said involuntarily.

Ivan just stared, shaking, scared.

“I'm so sorry.” didn't get a response either.

So Alex sat with Ivan for a moment, a few more, what felt like an eternity, until Ivan reached and grabbed a hold of Alex's coat sleeve, then buried his face in Alex's shoulder. Alex held on like he was going to lose him again.

He never wanted to let go.

Ivan was cold and he was shaking, Alex could feel it radiating off of his body. He felt a pull of guilt, but he buried it, that's not what either of them needed right now.

“I'm going to take you away from here okay?” Alex told him.

“I'm going to make sure that nobody hurts you ever again.”

He scooped Ivan up and carried him slowly down the stairs, whispering gentle reassurances that he knew meant next to nothing.

He just wanted it to be okay,

He just wanted Ivan to be okay.

Alex hated that this gentleness felt like a lie after all that he’d done, but as long as Ivan could be alright again he would fake a whole world.

Quietly reaching the bottom of the stairs, Alex shifted his hold on Ivan to open the door. The doorknob was sticky under his fingers as he turned the knob, opening the door to the porch. From the porch you could see the whole yard, and you could see Domonik Volkov standing in the grass.

—

Ivan could feel his older brother tense, but the way he was positioned, he couldn't quite see.

“What is it?” he wanted to say, but words couldn't find their way to his mouth. A man's voice said something in a language he heard grown ups speak sometimes and Ivan tried to squirm to look, but Demitri held him too close. His older brother slowly, very slowly, walked off the porch to a bush and very carefully sat Ivan down on the dead grass.

“Stay here,” he said to ivan.

“Stay here, and don't look over there, and cover your ears, okay?”

Ivan nodded, and turned in the opposite direction of where he wasn't supposed to look.

Alex gave his hand a tight squeeze and got up.

Ivan tried his best to cover his ears but his wrists were weak and his hands shook so he opted for cradling his face between his bruised knees.

It wasn't good sound protection, he could still hear the two talking, arguing in the language that he didn't know.

There was a word he did know though,

“Monster.” Demitri kept saying.

“Something-something-monster.”

.It sounded so cold off of his brother's tongue that the sharpness felt like a whole different person entirely, sounded more like mother if Ivan had to place it, but he didn't like to place the two in the same category.

There were sirens too now, they started far away but they kept getting louder and louder, and so was the arguing. The sirens eventually stopped and flashy red and blue lights painted the grass around Ivan with a fractured looking glow, but the arguing still went on. Ivan tried to pretend that everything was okay, that somebody was just having a dance party with some nice, police coloured lights.

The argument sounded more frantic now, like they were running out of time to be mad at eachother.

Everything sounded scary, the flashing lights felt dizzying and the yelling was too loud even when ivan tried to cover his ears and then-

The gunshot made everything go dead silent. Ivan squeezed his eyes shut so tight that he saw little spots in his eyelids. Somebody started walking over to the bush and Ivan looked up in hope but it wasn't Demitri, it was somebody that Ivan presumed to be a police officer. The officer scooped Ivan up in his arms and carried him to the back of his car where he gave him a blanket and stale cookie.

Ivan looked out at what he could of the scene, dead grass,lots of blood, the man that must have been the angry voice that weirdly looked alot like his father with a big towel over his face, and then dmitri, being arrested.

The eye contact was short, the brief message that his older brother sent was a fierce look and a nod.a nod as they shoved him into the back of the police car, as Ivan got driven away too.

[littlewestern]

[hes-a-rainbow]

Crimson And Clover

(photo not owned by me but edited by me)

Summary: Eddie is shocked to see the girl of his dreams just standing there in the Hawkins High parking lot and even more surprised when she seems to know Henderson. (I suck at these!)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, fluff, hot girls, stupid boys.

A/N: Not me coming out of retirement for Eddie Munson...I wrote this in like two hours and it’s probably shit and definitely not edited but it’s been rolling around in my head since before vol. 2.

Dedicated to @harry-writings because not only was it her birthday yesterday but she’s the only person I can freak out about Eddie with ❤️‍🔥

.

“All I’m saying is why give pop quizzes if you know nobody knows the material? It’s like she’s setting us up to fail.” Eddie rambles on as he leans his weight on the steel doors leading out to the parking lot. There is a consistent buzzing of chatter all around him as students rush to make their buses on time. Gareth and Jeff walk on either side of him, all three decked out in their Hellfire t-shirts, courtesy of Gareth’s mom.

Eddie doesn’t let his companions say anything before he adds, “And that’s the problem with authority nowadays, man. You give some lonely widow the tiniest bit of power and she acts like she’s the fucking president or something.” All three boys pause as a school bus rushes past them narrowly avoiding hitting a junior on a bike. Eddie swears the bus drivers hate this place almost as much as he does. They continue walking through the gust of smoke released by the bus and head towards the back of the student parking lot, towards Eddie’s beat up van.

The sun is beating down hard on them as summer heads for Hawkins at full speed. Eddie only has to endure one more month of this hellhole before he can finally break free. Just him, his guitar, and his van as they take on the open road. Or at least that’s what he keeps telling himself, but Ms. O’Donnell seems to be going out of her way just to sabotage his plans of finally graduating.

“Dude, I literally told you this morning she was giving out pop quizzes to all her classes. I told you to study during lunch instead of going out for that deal.” Gareth tries to reason with his older friend, but Eddie shrugs it off easily, “And miss out on $30 bucks? Fuck no! And what the hell is Hamlet gonna teach me about the real world anyway? I swear she’s had it out for me since sophomore english…” Eddie trails off as he notices his friends abruptly stop beside him. He takes another step before turning back, “What?”

Both Gareth and Jeff look star struck, completely dazed as they stare off into the distance.

“Who is that?” Eddie’s not sure if Jeff’s genuinely asking him or speaking out loud. When Eddie first looks over to where the two boys are transfixed, he’s not entirely sure what they’re looking at. He sees some cheerleaders grouped together, probably talking shit about one of their ‘friends’, and a small group of freshmen who still haven’t hit their growth spurts yet. He opens his mouth to ask the boys what the hell they are going on about when he finally sees her.

She’s leaning up against an old red car, cigarette up to her lips as she scans the crowd. She has multiple rings on, that seem to glisten in the sunlight as she takes a puff. A large pair of aviator glasses shield her eyes, not the reflective ones, but the ones with the large brown frames that you can’t tell who she's actually looking at.

She’s far enough away that he can’t get a good enough look but if she looks pretty from here, she must be gorgeous up close. Her brown hair looks messy but also like maybe she styled it to look that way. She’s definitely giving off an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude as she removes the cigarette from her lips to blow out a puff of smoke. She has one arm crossed around her torso, blocking most of her shirt but Eddie can recognize that signature lightning strike from anywhere.

Eddie has lived his entire life in Hawkins and he has never, never, seen a girl wearing an AC/DC shirt. Most of the people around town thought their music was some type of satanic shit, which honestly, only made Eddie like them even more. He was starting to think girls like her only existed in big cities like LA or New York, definitely not in Indiana.

She was every wet dream he’s ever had and now she was standing there looking completely out of place but also like she somehow belonged. Eddie finally notices the whispers and points around them as the other students take note of the mystery girl. If she notices, she doesn’t react, just takes another hit from her cigarette as she again searches the crowd. Eddie can feel his stomach drop at the thought of her waiting on some asshold jock boyfriend.

Who was this girl? And what the fuck was she doing at Hawkins high?

Now one of the most unfortunate things about being a thrice over senior, is Eddie is aware of every person who is coming and going from this school. With less than 200 kids per grade and Hawkins being such a small town, everybody knows everything about each other and he knows for a fact he’s never seen her before.

It’s like she can hear all of his thoughts out loud because she’s suddenly staring right at him. He can hear Gareth’s breath catch from beside him as she goes to stomp out her cigarette, a small smile breaking over her face. If she was beautiful before, doing something as mundane as smoking, her smiling face was enough to nearly knock Eddie over.

She pushes herself off the car, and Eddie can’t help but think that maybe this is a dream, something straight out of Fast Times, as the smile remains and she takes a few steps towards them.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…” Jeff lisp starts becoming thicker as he seemingly tries to wrap his head around the image of this goddess walking towards them. Eddie is convinced this has to be a prank, some stupid joke on the Hellfire club because they didn’t fit in like the ‘cool’ kids. He wouldn’t put it past Jason Carver to do such a thing but his mind rears at how Jason would even know someone like her.

She’s still smiling as she gets closer, she has to be a little over ten feet away from them by now. “Do you know her?” Gareth whispers from beside Eddie, voice cracking lightly.

“I–Um–,” Eddie feels like he’s visibly stumbling as he tries to make out any type of coherent sentence, but nothing seems to be working. And then the craziest thing happens.

She waves at them.

She fucking waves at them.

Jeff makes a sound and Eddie swears that if Jeff passes out right now he will literally kill him for embarrassing him in front of this girl. This girl who he has absolutely no shot with but hey, a guy can dream.

As if under her spell, all three of the boys automatically lift their arms up to wave back at her. They all notice at the same time, and with their arms still up in the air, they look over at each other, “She was waving at me!” Gareth starts before Jeff interrupts him, “No, she was not! She was very clearly looking directly at me.” Eddie opens his mouth to argue that she was obviously waving at him, when their attention is turned back to her by her yelling a name across the lot.

“Henderson!” Her voice booms across the lot as more and more people take notice of her.

Gareth jaw nearly hits the ground, “What the fuck?”

Jeff quickly follows with, “She’s here for Henderson?!”

“Is this the mormon chick from Utah?”

“No way, mormons don’t dress like that.”

“And what do you know about Mormons?”

“I’ll have you know my mother’s cousin is a Mormon—” Eddie tunes out the two bickering boys beside him as he finally takes his eyes off of her, turning to look in the direction she was headed. Because it wasn’t towards them, it was towards his tiny little proteges and the newest members of the Hellfire Club, Dustin Henderson and Mike Wheeler.

“Henderson!” He can hear her calling out again behind him, this time closer and louder as she finally gets the freshmans attention.

“Holy shit!” He watches as Dustin starts to run, or what can only Eddie can only qualify as a run/shuffle hybrid, towards the beautiful girl.

Eddie is absolutely perplexed, mindblown, insanely confused. Because how the fuck does this girl know Henderson?

Dustin doesn’t even seem to notice his fellow club members as he meets the girl in a hug just a few steps away from them. They embrace for a few moments and Eddie swears time has stopped as the entire school watches the insane scene unfold before them.

Henderson pulls away from the girl, putting his hands on her shoulders as he seemingly examines her to make sure she’s really in front of him, “What the fuck are you doing here?! I thought you weren’t coming until Saturday?”

“I took my last final earlier today and drove straight from Indianapolis to surprise you! I haven’t even seen Claudia yet.” Her voice was melodic as she refers to Dustin’s mother who Eddie has been outright banned from ever meeting due to the fact that Dustin insists he won’t be able to do Hellfire Club anymore if his mother got a look at their president.

“Holy shit, dude. This is amazing!” Dustin pulls her in for another hug which she gladly accepts. She looks over his shoulder at Mike, a surprise gasp escaping her, “And look at you, Wheeler! Holy shit man, you’re taller than me!” She releases Dustin and drags Mike into a hug that he awkwardly accepts but somehow still looks like he’s hugging his grandmother. She pulls away but keeps him at arm's length, “How’s the family? Did Nancy graduate yet?”

Eddie finally snaps back to reality, knowing that this is his only shot. Now he may have failed senior year twice already, but he was no idiot. He takes a deep breath as he walks towards the trio. “Eddie!” He hears Jeff whisper yell behind him. But he’s too close to them now, Dustin’s already spotted him and it would be too obvious if he were to just turn and go the other way.

“Eddie!” Dustin exclaims, arms up in the air and greeting Eddie like they hadn't just eaten lunch together two hours ago. “Henderson!” Eddie responds, laying a hand on Dustin’s head to shake his cap around a bit. The girl finally steps away from Mike, seemingly giving him a break from her interrogation about his family. She moves her sunglasses up into her hair, giving Eddie the perfect few of her face. She was beautiful in an effortless way, and her smile, it was something Eddie would never forget and something he wanted directed towards him a thousand times over. His stomach flips as she makes eye contact with him.

With her sunglasses off, she squints her eyes as she looks him over, “Eddie?” His heart skips a beat as she says his name. “As in the Dungeon Master?” Her tone is mocking but the fact that she even knows who he is makes his knees nearly give out right there on the concrete. A smile overtakes his face that he can barely keep contained, “In the flesh,” He holds his hand out, a gentleman as always, “And you are…”

Her eyes glide from his outreached hand back towards his face and she reaches up her hand to shake his firmly. The rings on both of their fingers clink together as they meet grasps.

“Honey.”

“Honey?” Eddie’s eyebrows come together not fully understanding the joke, or if there even is one. Dustin perks up beside him, “She’s my cousin! Honey Henderson!”

“Yeah…my parents are kind of hippies.” A small blush rises on her cheeks and Eddie nearly dies a happy man knowing that he caused her to be flustered. Their hands are still moving together in the air as Eddie tries out her name, “Honey Henderson.”

“In the flesh.” Eddie huffs out a laugh as she repeats his words back to him. A throat clears besides them as Dustin speaks up again, “Yeah so, since you’re here early,” Dustin pauses for dramatic effect as he holds his hands out in front of him, “can you drive me and Mike to Hellfire tonight?”

The young woman is snapped out of whatever trance she is in and abruptly pulls her hand out of Eddie’s, placing both of her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.

“Yeah, of course. You two are literally the only people I know around here so, consider me your chauffeur.” Honey does a little mock bow that has Dustin giggling. Eddie could barely see any resemblance in their looks but he’s starting to see the classic Henderson sense of humor sneak through.

“I’m Jeff,” The four of them jump as Jeff and Gareth seem to pop up out of nowhere beside them, their conversation about Mormonism seemingly solved.

Honey smiles towards them both, reaching her hand out in a friendly greeting, “Hi Jeff!” Eddie swears he sees Jeff’s knees shaking as he shakes Honeys’ hand. She releases her grip and turns to point at Gareth, “And you must be…Gareth?” Gareth nods slightly and Eddie can see the blush rising across his face.

“Awesome! Dusty’s told me so much about you guys!”

“Really? Because he hasn’t told us anything about you...” Jeff trails off when Eddie hits him in the arm.

She puts a hand on her chest in mock annoyance as she speaks directly to Dustin, “Really Dusty? No love for your favorite cousin?”

Dustin quickly tries to justify his actions, “You’re my only cousin!” Honey wraps an arm around his neck, bringing Dustin into a headlock, “Yeah, and it still counts you little shit.” Dustin quickly taps out, slipping out of the headlock and out of reach from Honey.

She’s still laughing when she turns back towards the three older boys, “It was nice meeting you guys,” Her gaze slides over to Eddie and he holds his breath as she looks him up and down. “I’ll see you guys around.” Before Eddie can even fathom that she just obviously checked him out, she’s turning towards where her car is parked, slipping her sunglasses back on and walking further away from them.

“We’ll see you guys later!” Dustin calls over his shoulder and Mike gives them a quiet wave as they follow Honey towards the car like lost puppies.

Gareth, Jeff, and Eddie stand in the middle of the parking lot as they watch Honey get into her car with Dustin and Mike scrambling in shortly after. She doesn’t look back over at them as the car turns over and Eddie heards the distinctive call of Ozzy Osbourne’s voice playing over her car speakers. The car quickly drives off but Eddie can swear he sees a small smirk on her lips as they turn out of the parking lot and disappear out of sight.

“She’s–”

“That was–”

Jeff and Gareth both start at the same time before Eddie finishes for them, “A fucking rock goddess.”

This might be a collection of short one shots but who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[mcheang]

Exclusive

Edna Mode was a renowned designer, famed for her harsh but accurate critiques, her fierce and practical lines, and of course, being the designer of the majority of superheroes.

And now she was hosting a fashionista gala, inviting those worthy of a Mode gala. As for those asking for an invite, Edna just asks who they are and calls security.

Lila, as the self-proclaimed BFF of Ladybug, and Gabriel’s muse, had already boasted of receiving the glamorous invitation. It didn’t just come in an envelope, it came out of the sky in a rosewood chest, accompanied by a bottle of wine and canapés. (Or so she says. Adrien and Marinette rolled their eyes. Chloé wasn’t paying attention)

Alya: Girl, I’m so jealous. But hey, maybe this will be a good thing. After all, Adrien is going with Kagami. Chloe will just stick with her mom. That means it’s a chance for you and Marinette to know each other better.

Oh yeah, did I mention that everyone knows Marinette is MDC?

Lila forced a grin but didn’t want to make any promises.

Imagine Lila’s rage to know she wasn’t given an invite because she was just a model. Adrien was the heir to a fashion company. She was not.

With all the bragging Lila did, she can’t back out or Chloe and Marinette will call out her absence. (Chloé learned about Lila being a guest from Sabrina later from gossiping)

So, she stole Marinette’s invitation. She did some editing and made her own customised invite, brandishing it for her class to see.

Marinette saw her invitation missing, rolled her eyes and reported the theft to Edna. Plz, everyone knows Edna invited her. She didn’t really need a piece of expensive paper.

The day of the gala arrived, and Lila brought out her invite.

The guard looked at his clipboard. “You’re not on the list.”

Lila: No, but I do have an invite. Obviously someone must have made a mistake with your list.

The guard snorted. “If that’s the case, then your fingerprints and eye scans should have already been registered. That’s what opens the doors.“

Lila gulped and thought about sneaking in with the next guest. But no such luck. Security made sure one person entered at a time.

As the security guard moved to push Lila back into the crowd of fans, Lila cried out that she knows Ladybug and Gabriel.

Guard: what’s your point?

Lila: You’ll be fired for this!

Guard: Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this all before.

Another guard just scoffed. “You’re only a model. One of many in the industry. Miss Mode doesn’t care for models.”

Lila: what are models if not the face of fashion?

“Spoiled, stupid little stick figures with poofy lips who think only of themselves” Edna herself was at the entrance, wondering what was causing the disruption in her guest entrance flow.

Lila: How can you say that? Then why would Ladybug be my Best Friend?

Edna: the day Ladybug says she is your Best Friend is the day I wear crocs. And I don’t mean crocodile leather.

Edna points at a random guard. “You, get this so-called model out of the way. She is blocking the queue.

Oh by the way, Edna calling out Lila was caught on camera by the reporters.

One of them questioned why she was kicking out Gabriel’s muse when his son, a supermodel himself, was invited.

Edna: I did not invite the boy because of his face. I invited him because I saw potential (basically she realized he was Chat Noir. She would never invite Adrien otherwise. As seen from her quote, she doesn’t have a high opinion of models) That is, if he ever gets out of his father’s shadow. Because, let’s face it darling, what can Adrien do besides look pretty and play with swords and piano? You would think the boy would be in part of business meetings, but no. At this rate, Gabriel needs this gala to get out of that stuffy house. Realize that maybe his parenting methods are flawed compared to some other talented figures here. Look at Miss Kagami, focused on upholding her family legacy of fencing. MDC already knows how to run her own business after learning a bit from her parents. Even Audrey’s daughter has been joining in on becoming a fashion critic and throwing parties for political parties. But I must go, my guests await.

Back inside the party, guests were avoiding a seething Gabriel’s eyes. He had come to scout out the superhero guests, only to be called out by Edna on live tv.

Marinette went up to Edna and asked one of her fashion idols why she burned the Agrestes in public.

Edna: do you think Gabriel would change his parenting ways if we did not expose them to the influential figures of this industry, as well as the public eye? I guarantee you Adrien will be allowed more freedom of choice, lest Gabriel wants his son to be known as a coddled boy who can’t even make his own decisions.

Edna didn’t bother softening her sharp voice as she says these words.

Adrien flushed.

Quickly changing the subject, Marinette asked why Edna hated models.

Edna: it’s not that I hate them personally. I just hate their jobs and what they represent. Models nowadays are beautiful only according to the world standards. People who see them want to be like them, never mind that the models they see on the screen are airbrushed to unrealistic and impossible perfection. Now models focus only on their own appearance, trying to maintain their beauty as time ages them. They go on diets and become superficial. Whereas outside the modelling industry or such like, you don’t need to be stereotypically beautiful to be worthy. Where your worth is measured in kindness and bravery and talent and intelligence and anything beyond superficiality.

Adrien overheard and he frowned, not liking the idea where his appearance on ads is not exactly right. He only joined the company to make his father happy. But maybe it’s time he stepped into the business side of things and exit the modelling world. Bonus: no more Lila!

Edna snorted, “Though I must admit Gabriel surprised me with his newest model. Her attitude is lousy but she doesn’t strike me as a model. She just doesn’t have that model walk. But enough about the old man, my dear MDC, let’s talk about you. I love your gender-neutral line. And was wondering if you would like to join me in creating my next line of clothes for the Incredibles. A rare opportunity but I like style. Now take this offer before I change my mind.”

Marinette: wait, do I have to fly over or-

Edna: you are too excited, darling, but don’t worry, my assistants will send you the details.

Why are the Incredibles getting a new look? The kids are growing up and Edna wanted to move on to new styles.

As Marinette was flabbergasted, Audrey congratulated her for landing the job. Kagami and Adrien also beamed at her good fortune.

Even the Incredibles admitted they looked forward to working with her. Violet was a big fan.

Gabriel was seething and thought about akumatizing himself but come on, one villain against a room of superheroes? No thanks.

Drinking a glass of wine, he eventually admits that Edna had a point, however loudly and rudely it had been announced.

He would not be around forever and he wanted to leave the company in Adrien’s hands. In order for that to happen, his son needs to know business (if he can’t design, he can hire designers)

And yes, Lila was a lousy model. She survived by shooting with professional models who managed to overpower her mediocre work. But a deal was a deal. Besides, her contract was only for a year.

After the gala, Adrien happily quit modelling (aka Lila) to spend more time with his father, learning about how to run a company.

Marinette and Edna proudly claimed credit for the fashionable Incredibles.

Violet also became the talk of the school for her MDC exclusives.

Lila had been humiliated on air. Alya hesitated but finally did her research. At the end, she collapsed over the ruined credibility of her blog. But she can still get revenge by informing the principal, Ms Bustier and Mrs Rossi what Lila lied about. The perks of being a class vice president for a busy class president is that she also has the contacts list for emergencies.

Considering how Lila framed Marinette, there would be no suspension or detention. Only expulsion. Good luck finding a new school when Edna’s gala was a global topic.

When Lila returned to school for her last week (it takes time to gather evidence and get the attention of busy adults), nobody wanted to talk to her or even exchange glances. She quietly kept to herself, hoping for this to blow over soon. She was still a model working for Gabriel. She could befriend other supermodels (as if. Like they would want to befriend her after Edna called her out)

Hell, even her jobs were down. Gabriel just told her to take test shoots to fill up her portfolio until the hype died down (aka her contract expired)

When Lila was expelled, she was ready to be akumatized into Chameleon again. Except one problem. Everyone avoided her like hell so how could she kiss her target. Even Adrien was told to stay away lest his reputation be tarnished.

Ok, I admit it. I was hit by “I’m no Angel” quotes as I wrote this. But seriously, does anyone feel weird at the idea of trying to become thinner when your weight is just right, all the while you know there are people out there even thinner than you are and are starving, not because they want to be stereotypically thin, but because they cannot afford food?

[qjhughes]

Sunsets and Surprises

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: A trip to Italy isn’t the only thing that Harry surprises Y/N with.

Warning(s): itallyrry, lost luggage, y/n constantly in harry’s clothes, harry being an absolute sap, surprises, not edited (sorry, i hate having my betas read the shorter pieces)

A/N: anon requested: harry and y/n visit a small town in italy. harry takes y/n to a private beach and he proposes. Yet again, this gif has like, nothing to do with the fic, i just like it fjshdak!!! This is only like, the third (?) proposal scene I’ve written so I apologize if I still suck at the proposal speech!! Normally I wouldn’t give away the big surprise but it was quite literally in anon’s request so I figured I may as well apologize for it now. I hope you like this anon!! I don’t know how I feel about it completely but yeah!! I hope you enjoy it!!

Masterlist | Taglist | Request - Guidelines | Come Talk To Me!!

Reblogs help a lot and are greatly appreciated!!

*

When you originally imagined visiting Italy, you imagined a peaceful getaway, all worries left back in the States. 

You should have known that it wouldn’t be that simple. Your luck forbids anything from going as it’s supposed to. Which is why you’re standing next to the baggage claim in Catania Airport, waiting patiently for your bags to roll around. Harry’s already gotten his bags, so he asked you to watch over them while he quickly runs to the bathroom. 

After almost ten minutes of watching the same bags roll around the claim, you decide that there’s no way your bags are here. They must have gotten lost somewhere. You try to keep calm, knowing that as soon as Harry gets back from the bathroom, he’ll calm your nerves. 

You turn away from the baggage claim and look in the direction of the bathrooms. What is taking him so long?

After a few more minutes of waiting, Harry turns the corner and all the tension immediately leaves your body at the blinding smile that he flashes you. 

“Sorry for taking so long, baby. There was a lone in the bathroom and then I stopped to take pictures with a few fans.” You smile at him and wave it off. 

“It’s fine, honey. I get it.” He looks around you for a moment before training his eyes back on your face.

“Where are your bags?” You grimace, almost having forgotten about the missing luggage until he brought it up.

“Yeah, about that…” He frowns at your words.

“It got lost, didn’t it?” You nod and he just sighs.

“Alright, well, let’s just go. I’ll call and get it sorted out. Until then, you can just wear my clothes. I brought extra knowing you’d probably want to wear them anyway.” You smile at that, loving how he remembers that you always prefer to wear his clothes over your own. 

“Hey, baby?” You speak up as you’re following him out of the airport to where the car is supposed to be. 

He hums in acknowledgement, encouraging you to continue. 

“Can I play the music in the car?” He laughs slightly and nods.

“Of course, doll. Play whatever you want.”

*

The drive to Sicily isn’t as bad as you initially thought it would be. The fact that Harry let you pick the music (as he does most times, he still swears he has no clue why you act surprised nearly every time he agrees) helped the drive go by much faster than it really was. 

“Where exactly are we again?” You wonder as the both of you climb out of the car in front of one of the most beautiful villas you’ve ever seen. The outside of the building is an off white stucco design. There are arches that make the place look slightly asymmetrical, but it all just adds to the appeal. The shutters, trim, and porch covering are all wood that’s been stained a brown so dark it almost looks black.

“We’re just about on the coast of Riserva Dello Zingaro beach.” You swoon slightly at the light accent he has while pronouncing the name of the beach. 

“Go on in, dove.” He throws you the keys to the place you’ll be calling home for the next week. “Get comfortable, I’m just gonna bring the bags in.”

You do as you’re told, venturing into the villa and taking in the space. It’s not huge, and you’re grateful for that. You know Harry handpicked this spot, knowing exactly how much you hated having unnecessary amounts of extra space. The floor plan is open, the kitchen, dining room, and family area all visible, no walls separating them. The decorations that make you smile, the homey feel that they give off making you feel like you could stay here for the rest of your life. 

You walk to the back of the house and into the bedroom that you and Harry will be sharing for the week. The moment you lay your eyes on the room, you gasp. It’s possibly the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen (besides Harry). The bed is larger than any you've ever seen, the frame matching the white bedspread. There’s a white couch facing the floor to ceiling window that faces the view of the beach. 

As you’re ogling the room, a pair of arms wrap around your waist and you immediately relax into them. “Do you like it, baby?”

You nod and hum in approval. “Love it.”

“I’m glad.” He places a kiss to the crown of your head and you turn in his arms.

“Can we go to the beach?” He pouts at you for a moment.

“I can’t today. Gotta make that call about your luggage, remember?” You nod.

“It’s okay. We can stay in today, get used to everything.” He expected you to be slightly more upset about not being able to go out, knowing that you barely get to go anywhere anymore without someone recognizing you.

“We can go tomorrow if you want.” He offers.

“I thought you wanted to go explore tomorrow. Wasn’t your plan really to go to the beach starting Wednesday?” He smiles fondly at you as you speak.

“Yeah, but we can always change plans if you want to.” He’s trying to reason with you so you get what you want, but you know how much he likes sticking to the plan. You’ll be fine without the beach for a few days. 

“No, baby. It’s fine. We’ll go on Wednesday like we planned.” He leans forward and places a peck to your lips. 

“If you’re sure, then we can do that.” He’s scanning your face.

“I promise I’m sure.” You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and push yourself on your tippy toes to give him a quick kiss.

“Alright, then let me go make this call really fast.” You nod and let him make his way to the family room while you begin to rifle through his suitcase to find a comfier outfit of his to slip on.

*

The next few days with Harry are perfect, and you’re not sure how it could possibly get any better. He had been constantly loving up on you every chance that he got. He blamed it on you always being in his clothes, but you figure it’s probably just because he’s been happier, more carefree while he’s been here.

“Are you ready to go to the beach, baby?” He peeks his head into the bathroom and is faced with you in a navy blue bikini top and a striped pair of bottoms. 

“Yeah, I’m ready. Wanna help me finish applying the sunscreen to my back?” He just nods and reaches his hand out blindly for the bottle. You chuckle at his actions.

“You’re like a teenage boy, H. Act your age.” You notice your mistake the moment he begins to hum under his breath. “Great, now you’re going to have that song stuck in your head all day, aren’t you?”

He just shrugs, a smirk on his face while he applies the sunscreen to your back. He uses deep circular motions, almost like he’s massaging you, and you have to tell him to stop before you never make it to the beach.

The walk there is short, five minutes at most. In the heat, however, it feels like it takes a lot longer. 

You’re confused when you get to the beach and nobody’s there. You’d think that there would be more people here at this time of day, especially at a beach this nice.

“Honey, why is there nobody h-” Your breath catches in your throat as you turn on your heel and see Harry down on one knee, a velvet box in his hands.

“It’s a private beach, not many people come here. At least not at this time.” He chuckles lightly and you can’t help the way that your heart swells at the look of the smile on his face.

Before you can say anything, he clears his throat. “Y/N, I know this is unexpected, it wasn’t planned out much or anything. But that’s okay, because neither was falling in love with you.” He chuckles again, almost like he’s nervous. But you can’t really blame him. You’re nervous too. “I didn’t expect to ever fall in love, really. I thought that nobody would ever be able to understand, to cope with the hectic lifestyle that came along with being in my life.” His voice waivers for a moment. He pauses to gather himself before continuing. “But then you came along. You walked right into my life and said you didn’t care what baggage I already had or what we picked up on the way, you were here for it all. Looking back on it, there wasn’t a distinct moment that I fell in love with you, but there was a distinct moment in which I knew. I knew the minute you came to my house in the middle of the night just because I was stressed out and you didn’t want me to be alone. You put my happiness and health over yours that night and that’s when I knew, without a doubt, that I was royally screwed. You make me so happy every single day that you’re around me. Excuse my cheesy reference, but you light up my world like nobody else.” He pauses while you giggle lightly and roll your eyes at him. “I look forward to making you smile and laugh every time that we’re near each other. And, if you’ll let me, I’d love to continue putting a smile on your face every single day. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Y/N. Will you marry me?”

You don’t hesitate before saying yes and throwing yourself into his arms, letting him spin you around and take you back to the villa to show you just how glad he is to have you as his fiancé. 

*

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[nanabbi]

Look. I love Hizashi as much the next person. But his Hero Hairdo? No. Just a plain no from me. I like the memes and yeah, it’s pretty characteristic, but what the heck was he thinking???

It’s A Matter of Spite. Thank you, @onemaebee for checking this over!

“Excuse me…?”

Hizashi couldn’t help but wonder if the battery of his hearing aids was running low again.

“Objectively.”

The Hero Public Safety Commission representative --or the stickler for short, as Hizashi had mentally dubbed him in his inability to gather enough investment to memorize his name-- who had summoned him here to supposedly speak about his Hero career, gestured vaguely in Hizashi’s direction.

Well… More precisely, he gestured at all of him.

“Objectively speaking, you are pretty,” the stickler added and sat straighter up his chair. Someone should have colored Hizashi surprised at this point, because he wasn’t expecting the dude to be able to sit any more like he had a cane up his--

“You have nice features,” he continued, clearly missing Hizashi’s distaste with how this conversation was going “And despite your--” his eyes very pointedly scanned over Hizashi’s leather jacket and its extra spiky shoulder-pads “--packaging, you have managed to attract certain demographics.”

Sure he had, and not thanks to your organization, bro.

Newbie Pro Hero with loud personality. Self-sacrificial and badass to a tee. Endearing human flaws. Excellent fashion sense and taste in music --thank you very much-- and all of that at barely twenty one.

Of course Present Mic was appealing to certain demographics.

“You are interested in media entertainment, aren’t you?” The stickler continued to speak when Hizashi failed to find a proper way to respond.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have a comeback, it was more that… HPSC did kind of have the power to defame him if he ended up running his mouth as he felt it right now. Having his fashion sense insulted by a man wearing a terrible plaid tie was one thing, but having them chip strongly on his career because he insulted their bureaucracy? Better be cautious with that.

“Radio,” Hizashi replied and hoped that he didn’t sound as annoyed as he felt.

“I am interested in radio, specifically. I have a voice quirk, as you might be aware?”

If the stickler noticed the sarcastic tone, he didn’t show it. Instead he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh as if Hizashi was being unreasonable.

“Yes, I know. But why? That’s kind of a waste, isn’t it?”

“Because that’s what I like!” The water glass he had been offered vibrated threateningly. Hizashi didn’t raise his voice much but catching the right frequency would be enough to shatter it. He took a deep breath and composed himself. “What exactly am I here for?”

“What do you think you’re here for?” The stickler asked, not seeming particularly bothered by the small ‘outburst.’

Hizashi glared. It wasn’t that he didn’t have many reserves of patience to offer, but this particular occasion didn’t feel worthy of his restrain.

“You want a poster boy,” he stated. If they stopped beating around the bush, maybe he could get this over with already.

Bad-tie-man had the audacity to smile and give Hizashi a patronizing nod of approval.

“Precisely, Mic. Appearances are the beginning and end to preserve good relations between Heroes and regular citizens. You have the looks already, and your persona is appropriate for handling crowds. If you decided to work with us and became a little more camera-friendly, we could put you on the top ten –if not top three- popularity chart when it comes to Heroes. You could help us keep common folk happy.”

“Camera friendly.”

There was no much hiding the pure un-amusement and borderline disgust Hizashi’s tone held at this point as he repeated these words.

The stickler’s plastic smile fell slightly, being replaced with a more professional strictness.

“You have a style. We respect that and wouldn’t dream of changing it completely. You are remembered by it after all, but we would have to implement some edits to show off your features more. Your fashion choices are so loud that I doubt people even notice what’s underneath it.”

Yeah. That was kind of the whole point, actually.

Hizashi loved the persona he had created. Present Mic was a great escape for him. He loved to entertain while being him. He loved to save people and be as over the top as he felt like, without worrying about how that looked, since it was part of the act. As an over-the-top Hero, acting the part didn’t raise many questions. He loved forgetting Hizashi’s problems when he strolled around like a peacock in Present Mic’s shiny leather clothes too.

He also loved how rarely he was recognized when he wasn’t Present Mic.

Hizashi needed some time of his own, to be as silent and still as he felt like, with no expectations to be anything more than a lazy pile. Kayama and Tensei didn’t mind him when he was like that. Aizawa… Well. Who knows what Aizawa was thinking about Present Mic, these days. Or even Hizashi for the matter.

The sleazy voice, coming up after translating his silence as an invitation to continue, was welcome this time.

That was a line of thinking he would rather avoid for the time being. It only ended to long alcohol-filled nights and Hizashi couldn’t afford that again. Present Mic was supposed to be on patrol tonight and he already had to ask Kanaya to cover for him twice this week.

“I’ve noticed you’re growing your hair.”

Taken aback by the observation, Hizashi’s fingers reflexively came to brush the hair, styled to heavily fall on one side and kept there with many layers of hair-spray. Hizashi had yet to decide how to style with the additional length so for now he had settled on the emo-punk look. It went well with Present Mic and nobody expected appearance-consistency so early in a Hero’s career (plus he hated people touching his hair and having it gelled discouraged them from it). The audience knew they would get Present Mic 2.0, 3.0 etc. It happened with most heroes.

“Yes?” He asked, sounding much more tired than he did a few moments ago, still feeling the remnants of pain that came whenever he thought of Aizawa these days. “What about it?”

“It is what drew our attention actually,” the stickler almost sung with a grin that made Hizashi fidget uncomfortably in his seat. “Made us take a closer look. Notice your potential.”

“Glad to know that through my work as a hero, it was my hair getting fancier that made you notice my potential,” Hizashi replied without even bothering to fake politeness. This felt like it was supposed to be a compliment but to Hizashi it sounded very much like an insult towards his abilities. “Cool priorities, there.”

This time, the stickler didn’t give him an eye-roll, but Hizashi felt the spirit of it passing over him anyway.

“I wouldn’t have called you if we didn’t already know of your skill.”

“But you did call me, because ‘I am pretty,’” the last words rolled off Hizashi’s lips laced with three doses of sarcasm and two of venom.

“It’s a package deal,” the stickler’s reply was drowned at the end by the sound of Hizashi’s chair scrapping against the floor as the blond stood.

“And a deal you won’t be getting,” the sleazy sweetness in his own voice, was overstated enough to make sure it was seen as fake. “Thank you for the interest. I think I am doing fine with my current agency.”

Hizashi expected to be interrupted before reaching the door. HPSC should start hiring less predictable people, with less predictable approaches (though it might be a good thing, no unpleasant surprises).

“Mic. Even if you don’t work with us, keep my words in mind. Image is important and you could use it.”

“Certainly,” Hizashi sang without even sparing the man a glance.

The door closed soundlessly behind him.

The bang came a week later.

Hizashi made damn sure that the fight in which he debuted his extra-gelled, pointy, cockatiel-stage-one hair was captured on camera and broadcasted on skyscrapers. It wasn’t even the final touch to the message he wanted to send to the Commission. It would take a few more months or maybe even years, but boy, could he not wait for their commentary on the upcoming moustache.

💛💛💛

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Among Us: Mansion Edition

Aight because I’m feeling stupid--I’m talking absolutely Willy Wonka--in this Chili’s tonight, I think it’s time I inundated you all in random crack ass Among Us Headcanons for the mansion. In no particular order: 

-Y’all see this post? This right here is Leo and MC. Don’t even @ me. He’s such a bastard and she glares at him the whole time while he just fucking dies laughing in their room. When Theo finds out? He howls with laughter too, later high fives Leo

-Dazai, Sebas, and Comte are the MOST sus players on earth. Like these mofos will handle accusations so calmly and dismantle them so quickly nobody fucking knows what they're actually doing??? The others always skip until there’s hard evidence, but because of that they will often survive by the time the tasks are done 

-Every single time Arthur has even the slightest bit of suspicion directed at him for being the imposter, everyone just immediately votes him off. Half the time he isn’t the imposter, and every single time people can hear Theo cackling from wherever he is

-One of the easiest ways to narrow down Theo as the imposter is to see how long Vincent survives HAHAHA (Vincent takes 13 yrs to do tasks)

-Since Vincent struggles with tasks a lot, Theo will often do buddy system (MC will often tag along too--but Theo will just straight up kill her when he’s imposter and tell Vincent she’s busy with another task LMFAO Vincent always scolds him after)

-Isaac hates being imposter. With every. Fiber. Of. His being. HE HATES IT!!! He vents, they see him immediately, they boot him. FML. Also gives himself away because he will usually kill Dazai and Arthur first, and stutters like a maniac trying to defend himself--has no good alibi in a pinch LMAO

-Isaac groans every single time he gets a task in the electrical room. His palms start sweating because he just knows someone is going to sneak in and snap his neck while frantically trying to connect wires. Arthur most often kills him that way just because he finds it hilarious to hear Isaac curse

-Leo, Arthur, and Shakespeare are the ones most known to sabotage while they’re imposters. Leo just loves being a headache of a person, Arthur finds it most efficient to murder in the course of the chaos (after there’s a kind of false sense of security, he picks them off), while Shakes just love watching everyone scatter desperately like mice.

-Shakespeare is 100% that imposter that like stays beside Vincent the whole time while he’s doing tasks, playing buddy system, and then the second the game is about to end just straight up murders him in cold blood out of nowhere

-Comte will almost always enact petty revenge if someone kills MC early in the game--or at all. Catch this mofo finishing his tasks lightening speed and sitting at the security monitors, slamming the emergency button the second he’s deduced who the culprit is. He’s usually the fastest to figure it out; how quickly he responds is another matter lol

-Jeanne gets caught in milliseconds because he won’t even care about the mechanics of the game, and finds sneaking boring/stupid/too much effort (also just bad with technology, it takes him forever to learn the controls). Will at least attempt to kill in isolation, but otherwise doesn’t much care about being stealthy--and so is often caught fast (always kills Comte first much to the man’s dismay)

-Mozart is...surprisingly good at the game? Not quite as skilled as the trio mentioned earlier, but he’s very good at coming up with air-tight alibis and employs a slow, methodical approach. Will have 5 or 6 of them dead before anyone suspects it’s him, kills randomized targets, and will frequent the security room while people are trying to figure out who it is. Will do buddy system with Jeanne, and will usually find the imposter to avenge his good friendo--otherwise just does tasks and chills if he ain’t imposter

-Leo just plays to have fun! He’s good at it but doesn’t really go hard enough to evade suspicion for very long if he’s imposter, mostly kills people he thinks will be most frustrated with being killed/least suspecting. People are usually yelling at him to complete his tasks bc he often zones out when he becomes a ghost LMFAO

-Leo and Comte sometimes do the buddy system, but honestly? They just devolve into murdering each other so fucking fast it’s pointless AHHAHAHAHHAHAH they’re just constantly squinting at each other; they don’t trust the other as far he can throw him (Idk if y’all have seen any of Vanoss’ streams on yt but I just keep seeing that clip of him in MedBay getting scanned and going “nogla you gonna kill me? just fucking kill me you fucking french bastard” when nogla lingers a little next to him and I start wheezing because all I see is literally Leo and Comte)

-Napoleon rarely gets imposter, so he’s usually spearheading the crewmate effort. Gets his tasks done very quickly (if he doesn’t get murdered; though he often has Isaac for buddy system) and camps outside the security room after making a few rounds. Usually figures out who it is fairly quickly--though his accuracy is spotty

-If Napoleon is imposter he tends to have a hard time killing people, so he’ll literally just pretend to do tasks and vibe until the time runs out. It’s the inactivity and aimlessness that tends to give him away

-MC tries to be stealthy, but she usually times her kills poorly or gets walked in on. Sometimes she manages to conceal the body or her boo looks the other way to let her indulge in the fun, but otherwise she gets found as imposter fast

-There are a few legendary rounds where MC manages to fool most of the house into thinking she’s a crewmate because they’re so busy pointing fingers at each other she just skates by easy, but she always feels horrible after for betraying their trust (the men all silently agree it was uproarious)

-Vincent as imposter is fucking hilarious because he’ll just turn himself in???? Like he won’t even try. Everyone will tell him it’s okay if he gets a little stabby--it’s part of the game--but he just has no heart for it. Theo will often switch devices with him to relieve him of the stress. These rounds are always so chaotic because it usually takes the residents a second to deduce the switcheroo

-You know how I said Shakespeare plays buddy and then kills Vincent in cold blood? The hilarious inversion of this is that Dazai will often try to follow Isaac to protect him but Isaac will run away, so they will often be chasing each other all over the map LMFAOOOO Dazai will do this regardless of whether he is imposter or not, so there’s really no way to tell if he’s just messing with Isaac or has a lurking killer intent

-If Theo is imposter? Pandemonium. He will kill people off one by one in isolation and vent so fast nobody can figure out who did what, always paying close attention to the tasks that need doing so he has a solid alibi. Because Vincent tends to believe him and verifies easily, it can take a little longer for people to figure out it’s Theodorus. Arthur and Dazai tend to be the ones that are the first to suspect it’s him

-Sebastian will often be doing his tasks, just chillin. One can usually see him buddy system with Napo and/or MC. He loves to watch the other men be imposter and notes down their go-to tactics and reactions to killing and being killed in the game; especially if it’s uncharacteristic of them. All well and good right? 

-Sebastian as imposter? The funniest shit in the world. He’s similar to Isaac in that he hates it, mutters apologies and grimaces every time he has to kill people (note: he does not include Arthur and Dazai among people, sometimes smiles a little if he takes them out;;;;). Will lie convincingly only because his voice/writing does not waver--his stoicism serves him well. When he has to kill Napoleon, though? Forget it. He apologizes a million times after, but honestly Napo just finds it hilarious--will just be like “well-played, Sebas, as expected of our resourceful butler.” Sebas still. Feels guilty. Like you can literally look at the chat history and see Napo as ghost like “AAHAHAHHA oh he killed my ass, nice” while MC’s like “lolol” and Jeanne like “he got me good too, never saw him coming in nav”

-Person who gets killed the least? Vincent (I mean come on, it’s Vincent.) MC is runner-up. They don’t like killing her, but there are a lot of idiots in the mansion that do it just to get a rise out of her (cough Leonardo/Dazai) or just because she’s an easy target in the moment

-Person who gets killed the most? Usually Arthur, runner-up Isaac (Arthur because everyone seeks to get back at him for his shenanigans irl, Isaac because he tends to get indecisive/nervous)

-Also this happens to Dazai once as imposter (Isaac plans it out of sheer spite) and the entire mansion was wheezing about it for weeks

In-game Colors: 

Comte: yellow/white/black (when he’s feeling emo) + little baby accompaniment or party hat  Napoleon: black or green, cyan when he’s feeling chaotic + sergeant/army hat Leonardo: brown + toilet paper roll Vincent: yellow + green sprout Theo: dark blue or red (feral energy) + cowboy hat or gladiator helmet Isaac: pink + cherry Arthur: dark blue or lime + backwards cap Dazai: purple or yellow + toilet plunger or bird’s nest Jeanne: always purple + “DUM” sticky note Mozart: cyan + surgical mask Shakes: red or orange + flamingo hat Sebas: always black + either the ninja mask or the chef hat

[im-whatchamccallit]

New Normal//Mark Tuan (Got7)

Request: Could you write a Mark Tuan Scenario where he starts crushing on the shy short cute girl that works at his local grocery store? I hope this makes sense and I hope you are staying safe and healthy!

Pairing: Idol!Mark Tuan x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of Covid-19

Words: 4.5k

(A/N: This is kinda all over the place so sorry about that (Also running on 0 hours of sleep for the past two days so the editing is a little sloppy). And I feel like I didn’t really execute the concept too well but this was just one of the plots I came up with that honestly stuck with me

Mark put on the fakest genuine smile he could as the two girls snapped photos, quickly pulling his mask back on as they checked to make sure the pictures came out perfectly. He was prepared to walk away as they said their thanks, bowing politely and even inching further from the area, only to stop with wide eyes.

“Wait, Mark, do you live in this neighborhood? We live just a few blocks away, I can’t believe we haven’t seen you bef-“

“N-no! No, I’m not from the area, I just had to find a fully stocked grocery store is all. Everyone’s been going crazy since the outbreak so-“

“Right!” The girls spoke simultaneously, still not moving away as they discussed how people have been handling Covid-19 so far, Mark staring intently and nodding as if he were listening but, really, he was using all his willpower to not roll his eyes in annoyance.

Mark didn’t hate his fans, he adored them more than anything, but the idea that even during a pandemic they would bother him for photos and autographs, even in a busy and buzzing grocery store, was irritating. He didn’t even want to leave his home that day, but the fact he was running low on toiletries and needed more perishables made the trip essential. But after standing in this one spot for the past ten minutes with a shopping cart filled with food, tissue, and body wash, and two girls that seemed to be in their own world as their topic jumped from Covid to Loona fancams, he was determined to make this his last trip for at least a month.

“But did you see Yves?! She’s so pretty and-“

“Excuse me, I’m going to have to ask you to move from the area and maintain a distance of 2 meters between all of you.” A man said with a cheery voice and smile that could be seen through his mask although it reached his eyes as well.

“Oh! Sorry! Thank you for the photos!” One of them said, dragging her friend along as Mark let out a sigh of relief, the man stepping slightly closer to him but not enough to invade his space.

“You don’t have to leave the area. One of our cashiers said those girls wouldn’t leave you alone and assumed you needed help. Sorry to disturb you.” He said, preparing to walk off before Mark hurried to tap his shoulder.

“Wait, which cashier?” He asked. He was tired of human contact at this point, but really thought they deserved a proper thanking.

“Oh, right there. Her name’s (Y/n).” He said, giving one more smile before finally walking off.

It seems like you had been watching the scene unfold for a while, gaze intense and focused on the male ahead of you and, even as you watched your manager point in your direction, causing him to lock eyes with you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Well, not until you saw him walk in your direction with his cart ahead of him.

You didn’t mean to stare at him, it was natural for your eyes to wander to people entering the store, but to see someone this attractive? It felt like you spotted a unicorn. You would glance up occasionally to see if he’d pass by again, watching him going back and forth in the aisles as if he’d been there forever, yet you’ve never seen him before. Maybe it’s because you were working full-time now that you didn’t have to travel so far out to school, or maybe he was just new to the area. You wanted to ask, but how could you just approach someone like him? He was cool and you were…Well, you. He’d probably walk past you like you were some nobody. But once you saw him stop to speak with two girls, you knew you most likely had a chance, but you couldn’t just interrupt their conversation to start your own. So, you waited. And waited. And waited, until so much time had passed you managed to check out three customers with enough groceries per person to feed five villages, but you couldn’t shake off how expressive his eyes were. He was miserable, obviously not in the mood to stand around and chat all day, and if you weren’t going to start a conversation, you could at least help him go back to shopping and getting back home instead of lingering in the virus hotspot you called work. You thought all would be well and done once you alerted your manager, but you didn’t expect the very man you were creeping on to approach you.

You were freaking out, trying to look busy in hopes he’d go away but the sound of his cart only grew louder, a pathetic whine leaving your mouth once you looked back up, putting on the bright smile you typically did as you greeted him, not wanting to seem even more ridiculous than you did.

“H-hello, sir, are you ready to check out?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Mark said, clearing his throat as he began unloading his cart, eyes trained on you although your head was low, gaze focused on the items slowly approaching you on the conveyor belt.

He couldn’t see your face but he knew you were cute, your voice evidence enough of that. You were working fast but just slow enough for him to notice small quirks about you. You mumbled under your breath about how ridiculously priced a bag of rice was, making some joke about how it was probably the cure to every disease since it was so expensive. You weren’t talking to him but he could tell you had a sarcastic nature to you, your jokes making him stifle chuckles to save you from being anymore nervous around him. He didn’t like the awkwardness though, the way you avoid his eyes to continue scanning the candy he threw onto the belt in an attempt to stay in your line for as long as possible without speaking not what he had planned when approaching you. He was naturally timid, but the way you were watching him proved you knew who he was, so he didn’t have to be himself. Right now, he just had to think of you as one of the fangirls you saved him from, and his idol persona could ease the situation immediately.

“I just wanted to thank you for your help. I don’t think I would’ve gotten out of here if you weren’t watching.”

Your eyes snapped up to see his face, a blush creeping onto your own as you tried to find some excuse as to why you were staring before, nothing coming to mind except maybe just being honest, but is telling him you only noticed his distress because he was so gorgeous the right way to go? No, you had to be cool about this, maybe it’ll keep you from turning into a tomato, especially with the way his eyes went from doughy and sweet to sharp and flirtatious.

“W-well, I figured you just wanted to hurry out of here, y’know? No one wants to be out during a pandemic, right?” You giggled and Mark could’ve sworn he was having a heart attack.

He swallowed thickly, eyes scanning your entire being as you finally bagged the final item, pressing total and reading it back to him, your eye smile all he could see. He figured you knew who he was once he took of his mask earlier, but it seemed like you were completely oblivious. He didn’t want another encounter like before but, knowing he could simply pay and leave at this point was comforting, so giving a quick thanks to a potential fan that saved him wasn’t too big of a deal.

“You probably don’t have idols come by a lot, do you?” He asked, watching to see your reaction, only to find your eyes glancing to the side and brows furrow in confusion, deep in thought before gasping out loud.

“Well, not idols, but Son Heung-Min stopped by once and took photos with some of us! He was a lot nicer than he looks!” You joked, Mark nodding in both understanding and confusion.

So you were more of a sports girl? You certainly didn’t look that way. Even from behind the register, he could tell he towered above you by a good 6 or 7 inches, your introverted personality made it hard to believe you’d work well in a team, and you seemed just a bit too young to care more about sports than idol groups. Not that it was anything rare, but almost every girl in your age group knew one or more kpop group, but you managed to name a soccer player that plays six months out of a year instead of a single idol that had promotions almost year round. You treated him as if he wasn’t famous, like any other customer. And he loved it. He didn’t feel the need to repay you by making your heart flutter at the mere presence of his celebrity status, but rather as a human would another human.

Before he could think of such a way to do so, he found himself in your debt once more, your hands filled with ten bags of various items he purchased, placing them neatly into his cart before sighing in relief, giving another smile to him.

“I’m guessing we won’t see you here for a while.” You joked, his lips unable to curve upward in amusement at the statement, knowing he really had no reason to return any time soon, but his curiosity made it impossible for him to accept that.

You were strange to him. Other idols treated him like a celebrity even when they were at the same height of fame, fans treated him like some god, but you? You were instructing him to use the pin pad to complete his transaction like you did any other person to walk through your line. Maybe you didn’t care that he was an idol, maybe you just didn’t know, but to think you were someone he didn’t have to fear when leaving his home, someone he didn’t have to hide from in case they wanted to invade his privacy and risk his health. Ironically, you were the breath of fresh air he couldn’t seem to get in the outside world.

“Yeah, I guess I won’t be seeing you for a while.” He commented, watching you bow politely before diverting your attention to an elderly man slowly unloading his basket, Mark’s body reluctantly heading to the exit as he tried not to stare at you any longer. It really would be a while before he saw you again.

But a while for Mark was only three days. He made the excuse that he forgot to buy kimchi to come back, scanning the store until he spotted you pushing a shopping cart filled with cans, scanning the shelves before grabbing a few to place them into empty slots. He was hoping he could talk to you personally at your register again, but he figured this would do for now.

You didn’t sense him as you hummed an unfamiliar tune, hands busy tidying the two rows of canned corn before moving on to the canned bread, a grimace on your face at the idea of bread in a tin can.

“That sounds gross.” You nearly screamed as Mark’s voice echoed behind you, your body turning to face him as you shrank under his gaze. It wasn’t scary, just very intense despite his eyes being so soft and inviting.

“Oh. How are you today, sir?” You asked, bowing politely as you smiled brightly at him, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tried to keep his face from going bright red, silently praying this interaction goes the way he fantasized in his head the past few days.

“’sir’? I’m surprised my hero doesn’t remember me.” He wanted to hide at how stupid that sounded, suddenly rethinking his entire plan of even showing up here, but the way your eyes grew in size while scanning the floor around you, picking apart your memories to decipher what he meant and who he was, slightly put him at ease once more.

“I-I don’t kno-“

“It’s me.” Mark chuckled, pulling his mask down just enough to give you a warm smile before covering his face once more, a relieved giggle leaving you as you realized it was only him.

“You really had me worried. I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” You admitted, turning back and continuing to placing the cans on the shelves behind you, not wanting to slow down on your work.

Mark was anxious, not wanting to lose your attention but not wanting to seem desperate. You were most likely going ask how was his day then move on without another thought, but he didn’t come all the way back here just to have a two minute conversation with you. But that’s really all he needed, just a bit of normalcy in the now upside down world.

“Yeah, I just needed some kimchi. Didn’t realize I was running low.” He chuckled, growing worried as you remained silent, only to see you jumping pathetically to place a can of mackerel onto a higher shelf, your free hand grasping the shelf below it to hoist yourself up, a gasp leaving you as you stumbled backwards, Mark placing his jar onto the floor and catching you by your waist to hold you steady.

Your eyes were wide, flickering up to him as he set you back onto the ground, grabbing the can from you and placing it into its spot.

“How about I help you? I don’t want you to get hurt.” He said, your cheeks burning as your body felt like it was shrinking in on itself, trying to escape the tingles his invisible handprints left on you, your head low as you nodded with a meek ‘thank you’.

You stood at his side as he placed cans onto higher shelves, you working on the lower ones to keep him from feeling like an unpaid worker. It was a bit too quiet for your liking, your eyes glancing at him every once in a while to take in his appearance, hoping you could find something to talk about. He was only wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt, his hair a honey brown shade, the only thing that stood out was the beauty hiding beneath his mask, but you couldn’t start a conversation like that! It’d be too weird! You had to stop overthinking, the answer right in front of you as you noticed the jar of kimchi waiting idly by as he focused on making each row straight.

“Are you sure one jar of kimchi’s gonna be enough for you? I usually finish an entire jar with one meal.” You said, partially lying considering you could finish half a jar before feeling full.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t really eat it all that often but I was craving it today.”

“Oh.”

More silence. You didn’t bother to speak again, feeling as if he didn’t want to talk to you anymore. Maybe it’s because you’re making him do your work, or you’re just boring, that last idea causing you to feel a little embarrassed seeing as he happily came to you with the intentions of talking, only for you to have nothing to say. You wanted to just crawl back to your tiny register and hide at that point.

“You must work a lot.” He commented, your eyes snapping up as his words, body jolting when you realize he had his eyes locked on you.

“I would’ve figured you’d have a few days off since I last saw you, just so you aren’t too overwhelmed.” He added, a dry laugh leaving you as you returned to your work, crouching down to straighten the bowls of instant ramen that were suddenly mixed up and unorganized.

“Well, I could took some days off but if I don’t work, this place would be in chaos with everyone trying to stock up before this virus gets worse. Plus, it keeps me from being bored at home every day.” You admitted, not thinking the conversation would take such an upsetting turn, your mood a bit down as you finally felt weeks’ worth of exhaustion hit you, your words flowing out precariously as he listened carefully.

“I’m honestly really socially awkward, but I value human connection, so I try to stay positive and pretend nothing’s changed but, it’s like I’m always having one-sided conversations with customers. No one has time to talk when they’re busy trying to stay healthy, so I can’t really blame them. But, I was really happy when you talked to me, I finally had an actual conversation again. Talking to you makes it feel like nothing’s changed.” You giggled, finally facing the man above you.

Mark’s eyes were hard with a strange mixture of sadness and understanding. He had his groupmates to talk to, his family and friends as well, but facetime conversations were nothing like being there and present. It was comforting knowing you felt somewhat normal when talking with him, the same way he felt just by seeing you, but it pained him knowing that he could show up any day and you wouldn’t be here, cooped up in your home with nothing but your thoughts, or him staying home while you assisted customers that only acknowledged you when they were ready to pay and leave. He didn’t know why you made him feel this way, not acting on pity but a protective instinct that seemed to gnaw at his very being with every second that passed. You were his new normal as he was yours, and he wanted you to know that.

“You know, I only really came here to see you.” He admitted, slowly lowering himself until he was crouching at your level, your eyes locked on one another’s as he tried find the right words.

“When I met you, I thought you were so weird, but it makes me want to see you even more. And I hope you’re fine with seeing me too.”

“S-seeing you?” Your voice was small, the way you swallowed as you anticipated his next words was visible as he gave you a final glance before fishing his phone from his back pocket, pressing the ‘Create New Contact’ option and handing it to you, your eyes going between the device and his hidden but noticeably kind face.

“Whenever you’re working, let me know so I can at least stop by to keep you company, even if it’s for a few minutes. And, on your days off, we can talk as much as you want, m-maybe go out to any place that’s open.” He didn’t want that last part to sound like a confession, it was way too soon for that, but he was silently praying you took it that way.

It took a second to comprehend the situation, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside of you as you slowly took his phone, typing away at both letters and numbers before pressing ‘Done’ at the upper corner. Mark allowed you to slip the phone back into his hand, a smile on his lips at the random string of numbers followed by a name he couldn’t stop thinking about since he met you. He hurriedly sent you a text before placing his phone back into his pocket, holding his hands out once more for you to take as you both slowly stood.

“I should probably get back to work. The cool manager isn’t here today.” You joked, hand cupping his as a silent plea for him to stay, but you knew he couldn’t, that’s what his number was for, right?

“You can always reach me if you need someone to talk to. But, I don’t think I’ll be back for a few days.” He said with a sad tone, your head nodding understandingly although your disappointment was evident.

“Don’t overwork yourself, okay?” He released one of your hands to ruffle your hair, your body shrinking under his touch as you giggled unconsciously.

The air around you seemed thick as you watched him collect his jar of kimchi and head down the aisle and away from you. It felt like an empty promise the way he said he’d be there for you, but you knew you couldn’t keep him there forever. It wasn’t fair.

You sighed, returning to the now empty cart to take it back outside for customers to use, but not before checking your phone. It was always on silent because they weren’t allowed to use it during work, but you never knew what kind of emergency could arise during your shifts. You took a quick peak, expecting nothing important before seeing an unsaved number had texted you, your finger quickly opening it and, at that moment, you couldn’t be happier about the sly lie you were just told.

‘I’ll stop by before the store closes :) -Mark’

Ever since then, Mark kept his word. He was always in the store whenever you told him you’d be working, he would pick you up from work and go to any available restaurant to make sure you’ve eaten, and he always text or called you on your days off to either invite you to hang out or just pass the time in your own homes, separate but together. You were two weeks into the new arrangement and haven’t felt more alive, mainly because the nervousness you felt in the presence of someone so handsome turned into a full blown crush, every interaction sending you into a fit of blushes and giggles. You both were shy but grew to be playful and a lot more flirtatious, Mark’s confidence with every pick-up line causing your once bold behavior to fade into the bashful one he experienced upon your first meeting.

He thought you were cute, he said it all the time. You thought he was cute, you admitted it just a few nights ago once you gathered to courage to explain how you ended up “saving him”. He was smart, kind, always sharing funny stories about his old “roommates” that you couldn’t get enough of. He would sing songs softly as they played from the speakers in his car, his voice soft and angelic just like the smile he adorned, everything about him screaming perfection. You never wanted someone more than you wanted him and, tonight, as you finally settled into the passenger seat of his car after an eight hour shift, his free hand in yours as he steered out of the parking lot, you know he felt the same.

“You’re a lot touchier lately.” You joked, your free hand playing with his fingers as his eyes flickered between you and the road.

“What? You don’t like it?” His lips curled into a smirk, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“It’s not that. I just didn’t think you’d be into awkward cashiers.”

“And how do you know I’m into you?” Luckily there was a red light so that Mark could give you his undivided attention, a wave of contentment washing over him as you looked away, still flustered by his simple acts.

“I don’t know. I guess the same way I knew you were a k-pop idol.”

“So you knew?” He chuckled, giving a quick glance to the light that had yet changed.

“You were really obvious about it. You asked me about it when we first met, you sing like an angel, plus you kept saying ‘your friend BamBam’ and, knowing he’s already pretty famous just for being hilarious, it wasn’t hard to find a simple picture of you two with the rest of your group.” You said smugly, almost as if you decoded a million piece puzzle that no one else dared to touch.

“I’d honestly spend hours daydreaming you weren’t an idol, just because the thought of dating a regular person is easier. But you’ll always be an idol, and daydreaming about dating an idol is no different than actually dating one; you’d never have time together so it’d never really work.” It was such a strange confession, almost as if you were pushing him away but begging to be by his side. Your eyes were low, voice filled with sadness at the realization this was all unreal and all fairytales had to come to an end, but Mark didn’t think it had to.

He didn’t expect to be here with you, not this soon or this fast, but the last few weeks felt like months to him. You were his biggest weakness now, a constant fear that his desire to be with you would cause a slip up. Maybe a tabloid will discover your yet-to-be relationship and expose who you are, maybe some fans will catch on he lives in the area with how often he visits you at work. He was scared by how reckless he was being, yet he didn’t care. For every reckless act he was met with a bright eye smile, a warm hug only for you to scream ‘2 meters apart!’ and launch yourself away from him, and the sound of your giggles. You were the best risk he’s ever taken and he’d be damned if he’d give you up after jumping through so many hoops to get to this moment

You looked at your joined hands, his fingers weaving between yours until they were firmly intertwined, your eyes slowly ascending to his face that held no amusement or playfulness, just sincerity and a sternness that demanded you take in his every word.

“(Y/n/n), I could be a million miles away or right next to you every day and night, and I’d always have time for you. And if I don’t, I’d find a way. I promised you that.” You felt like you could faint with the way his eyes bore into yours, or that you could melt with the way his voice was so gentle yet firm, but you damn near died with the way his face slowly inched closer to yours, heart hammering against your ribcage as you silently applauded yourself for taking off your mask earlier so that nothing would slow him down.

Your eyes fluttered close, waiting for the impact of his lips on yours when a sudden honk brought you back to reality, Mark’s body withdrawing from yours reluctantly before facing forward once more, the green light causing him to immediately step on the gas, both of you hot faced but at ease. Mark might not have gotten his kiss, but he got the confirmation he needed that he wasn’t crazy for feeling the way he did, that it wasn’t a one-side attraction. The weight on his shoulders finally gone as he was free to enjoy the night with no awkwardness, no tension, just you. It truly felt like he could breathe freely again.

[sweetsubharry]

hey ! sorry to bother you but could you reccomend me some fics of footballer louis?? thank you !! love your acc

Hiya!!  💖you can never bother me!! ^-^ ohmgosh I’m so glad you like my blog! I love footballer louis djskasdhjag tysm(sorry it took soooo long!)

please make sure you read the tags and stay safe everyone!💖

Also these are not in any particular order, however I will say the first two are probably my favourites ;) I have to read them again right after this!

freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this by rosesau

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

Definition of Beauty by zanni_scaramouche

“Your book is upside down.” Harry nods at Louis’ book, his history text now that he sees it too.

“I’d rather study you.”

They both blink, startled by the slip.

“With you. Study with you,” Louis rushes to say. “Liam says I’m shite at history, can you help?”

Louis’ caught off guard by an omega he nearly takes out with an errant footie ball. It’s not that Louis’ never seen Harry before, it’s that he can’t stop looking, and he’s desperate to figure him out.

Coffee Cups and Football Boots by kimtaedumb

Harry’s stood behind the counter again, but this time he’s painting his nails. Louis strolls up to the counter and, thanks to his no brain-to-mouth filter, blurts out, “Isn’t that a little girlish, Haz?” leaning closer to inspect.

Harry lets out a little huff as his hand slips, “Oh, damn, now I’ve messed it up,” he pouts and turns to Louis, “Why should making myself feel pretty be girly?”

Louis holds up his hands in surrender, “’M not judging, jus’ curious is all.”

(The entirely cheesy and cliché Christmas AU, in which Harry doesn’t give a damn what people think about him – mostly – and Louis may be a little bit in love.

Alternatively, the one in which Harry owns a café that’s barely scraping by and Louis is a footballer and he takes Harry away for Christmas.

Featuring Zayn as a cocky little shit that most definitely needs to be put back in his place, Niall as the loveable Irish dude who drinks too much and flirts with Zayn more than the average girl, and Liam who loves everyone but hates them all at the same time.)

Way in the World by flowsque

When Louis Tomlinson enters the waiting room, Harry can distinctly feel his heart sinking to his stomach. The man's hair is ruffled and dishevelled and his red jersey, damp with sweat from training, clings to his perfect and chiseled body. He stands there, almost unreal, against the glass door, peering inside the office. Harry knew this would’ve happened, sooner or later. That he would have bumped into him. They play for the same club after all, even if they’re in different leagues. It’s not weird. It is not. Except it totally is. - Or, the one where Harry has a knee injury and an embarrassing crush on Manchester United's pretty number ten.

I Long For You by AnotherAnonymousWriter

Thirty minutes later, he's sat on a bench in Hyde Park with a book in his lap and a travel mug with hot tea in his hand. Not far from where he's sat, a group of boys are playing football and a bunch of children are chasing each other. Life is good.

Or at least, life is good until he hears a familiar “LOOK OUT!” and sees a football flying in the direction of his face.

And then everything is black.

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

ease the quiet and talk me down by cabinbythesea

Harry's a model and Louis' a footie player.

(Louis teaches Harry some football and Harry is insanely good at giving a lapdance).

Baby, It's You by Bearandleonardwrite

"Oh, yeah. Um..” Harry lets his hands fall to his sides. His brows furrow, face full of concern, and he asks, “You’re not, like, stalking me, are you?”

Louis can’t help the loud cackle that escapes his lips and immediately slaps one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my god, Harry, no!” Louis tells him, a little breathlessly, giggles still bubbling out of his chest. “Lottie’s one of the makeup artists here today and she somehow got me to agree to come. I had no idea you modeled for, uh.. this brand until I saw you walk.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly, eyebrows still pinched. He lets what Louis just said sink in before a bright grin takes over his face and he goes back to doing up the buttons on his shirt. “Well, that’s alright, then. I’m glad you could make it.

(Basically, Louis' a footie player for Man U and Harry's a YSL model. They meet at a masquerade.)

Touch by kotabear24

Harry's shy and virginal with a past, new on the football team; Louis' the (experienced) popular star of the team and Harry's new mentor.

Come In and Change My Life by lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes)

He’d had the same neighbours since he’d moved into the building, a lovely, wealthy couple in their late sixties who had always invited him around for tea on Sundays. Martha had dropped off homemade biscuits the day he’d moved in, so Harry figured he may as well repeat the sentiment. He could hear someone getting closer to the door just as a flush ran through his body; oh fuck. His heat was close, too close to be knocking on a potentially unknown alpha’s door, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Harry’s mouth dropped. He’d never been overly interested in football, couldn’t find the fascination in watching men run around after a ball for hours aside from their uniforms, but he knew who this was. Louis Tomlinson, alpha, captain of Manchester United, star in a number of Harry’s heat addled fantasies, was his new next-door neighbour.

Or, Harry and Louis become friends when Harry looks after Louis' cat during away games, until one night at a party changes everything between them. It's just a shame Louis' going to be away for the FIFA World Cup for three months.

see the truth (it's me for you) by orphan_account

If you asked Louis the first day of his French Literature class what he’d be doing on the last, he’d probably never have guessed it would involve helping a poorly Harry Styles study for the final exam. Good thing he’s not a betting man.

(Or the one where Louis and Harry spend an entire semester ignoring each other after a one-night stand, only to come face to face when Harry manages to catch the stomach flu during finals week. Sometimes fate is funny like that.)

Use Your Words by zedi

based off this prompt: collage au where jock!harry always serenades flowercrown!louis with love songs in their music class. what nobody knows is that harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

Stop The World (I Wanna Get Off With You) by ilikepianos

"You like this, don't you?", he asks breathlessly.

What? Sucking cock? Being dominated? Yes, all of that. A big fat yes.

Harry nods, lips still wrapped around Louis' throbbing dick.

Louis' lips curl into a smirk. "Keep going then. You're doing amazing, love."

OR: The uni-football AU where Harry may or may not have a minor crush on the captain of the team and suddenly discovers that the feeling is very much mutual.

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

I just think about my baby; I'm so full of love I could barely eat by mercutionotromeo

Harry and Louis are six hundred miles apart, but they have the same solutions to the same problem.

Or: a masturbation drabble featuring pillow humping, locker rooms, and copious amounts of dirty talk.

into another (another) serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo

Harry wants this year to be different - wants it to be the year that he finally gets over this stupid crush. He’s going to uni, he needs to decide what he wants to do with his life.

Instead, he’s deciding what he wants to do to Louis Tomlinson.

Or: Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey.

note: it says it in the tag but this is the edited version written in 2019, rather than the 2017 original- so there’s two put I put the link for the newest one :)

need a little sweetness in my life by mercutionotromeo

Harry's always liked feeling desperate and small when Louis touches him, but when he sucks Harry off...it’s fucking otherworldly. Desperate’s not really the word at that point - it’s helpless. Like… like the fucking world could stop spinning and Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything about it until Louis finished him off with his lips and his tongue.

Or, Harry and Louis go to university together. Harry really likes it when Louis sucks him off, and Louis really likes it when Harry calls him Daddy.

(Sequel to "into another serotonin overflow")

I made a map of your stars by brightbluelou

Harry does not have a crush on Louis Tomlinson. Yes, Louis is very pretty and funny, and Harry may have had more than a few inappropriate thoughts about him, but he certainly doesn’t like him. (Except for the fact that he totally does.) or, Harry is the shy boy in the back of the class that no one really notices. Louis is the loud, outgoing football player that everybody likes.

We Made These Memories for Ourselves by supernope

Breath held, Harry squints his eyes open and focuses on the first stick. A blue line. Harry breathes out an unsteady breath. He’s pretty sure he read that one blue line is a negative, but he fishes the box from the bottom of the pile just to make sure.

“Negative,” he confirms, voice echoing around the small room. “Next.”

Now that he’s feeling a little less shaky, he scans the rest of the tests at once, is met with a headache-inducing mixture of pink plus signs and blue double lines. His heart rate picks up until it’s pounding triple-time in the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, thundering in his ears and throbbing in his temples. He flips over the rest of the boxes slowly, but he knows what they’re going to say before he even looks.

[or, Louis is a footballer, Harry owns a bakery, and they're having a baby.]

Kiss Me on the Mouth and Set Me Free by ls2k14   

Louis has his head thrown back in a laugh, his wet fringe hanging in front of his eyes, and a beautiful flush to his cheeks. From this angle, the sun hits his face just right to where the beams of light are shining in between the spaces of each individual clump of watered down eyelashes. His chest is showing through the soaked material of his white jersey and it seems that his biceps are attempting to break free from the sleeves that are clinging to his skin.

And Harry can do nothing except take it all in. He doesn’t even think he’s breathing at this point. He is literally stuck in place, admiring the true beauty of Louis Tomlinson, while being surrounded by fit footballers and generally attractive people. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before, but if Louis let him, he’s pretty damn sure he could change that in the matter of a few nanoseconds.

[booksbabybooks]

The Old Guard comic and killing what you love

I see so much excitement on here about the Old Guard comic coming out in April, that I kind of feel like a buzzkill bringing this up and I'm sure I'll get hate for this but: some of you at least are going to have to buy the damn thing.

Because we all know what's going to happen. Days after it comes out, the whole book will be scanned and online. Blogs will share the whole thing page by page. You'll know where you can download an illegal PDF. And most of this will be done from no more malicious reasons than love and enthusiasm. And in doing so, you pretty much guarantee that there won't be another comic after it.

There's a real culture online - especially on Tumblr - of feeling that all creative products should be free, and that by making them freely available you are doing an uncritical good, and sticking it to the system while you are at it.

Some of this comes from reasons it's hard not to have sympathy with: a screw you to the system, a 'fuck it, Disney can afford it', or genuine poverty / lack of access to a legal version of it.

Less attractively - not to be your salty aunt here, but it's true - it stems from an entitlement, a belief that you should be able to consume any art you want, free, immediately and without ads. (And often with no sense of irony or awareness: the same people who will RAGE against people liking but not reblogging fan art are happy to share a link where you can download books for free.)

But artists need to eat. They need to pay rent. And in almost every creative industry, the vast majority of people do not earn enough to live off. I don't have the exact figures to hand (you can get them from the BPI / Society of Authors websites if you are intetested) but something like 90% of musicians earned less than £200 from streaming last year. A similar percentage of authors earned less than £1000. This likely includes some of your favourites. Some people you view as successful. Some people that, if you took a moment, you'd be heartbroken were harmed by your actions.

(I work in the creative industries and I can tell you: they don't make many people rich. I have friends who are best-selling authors who survive on teaching gigs. And while it is about the money, it's not just about the money: I've seen comics artists deeply upset because a day after a book landed someone has uploaded the last five pages onto their blog as a "tribute".)

So pirating isn't a victimless crime, however easy it is it to pretend otherwise. (Also, it's not without risk: 'but I love them, your honour,' isn't actually a viable legal defence for copyright infringement).

But it also sends a message to the companies (including those who, yes, probably do deserve to be robbed) that IT'S NOT WORTH PUBLISHING THIS ART.

No publisher ever thought, it got a load of hype even though sales tanked, so let's publish another one. No film studio thought, ticket sales suck but illegal downloads were high so it's a win.

And it's especially important if the art you want to consume challenges the existing narrative of what sells. The companies that create these things - that pay the artists and writers and filmmakers - will continue to believe that nobody wants a queer superhero / Black romantic lead / disabled central character until the bottom line proves otherwise.

(Not to also point out that if you don't believe creatives should be paid, you encourage a system where only rich people get to make art, or at least get to decide who makes art).

So: if you possibly can, buy the damn book.

Club together with your mates to buy it.

If you can, double what your money does by buying from a comics store or indie bookshop.

If you are broke, order it from your library - most libraries stock graphic novels now and also offer digital lending. Remember, authors get paid for every loan out.

I'm sure there are some people for whom these are impossible options - this being Tumblr, I'm sure many people are already frothing to tell me how privileged my viewpoint is. And it's not like I don't know comics are expensive, or that not everyone has a local library.

But a lot of you do. So it's to those people I'm saying:

You want more of these books to come out? You have to support them.

EDIT: While I am here saying pay for your art I would remind people that my 2020 Kindness project is giving away my stitches to good homes for free so if anyone wants these Joe and Nicky stitches they are still available. HMU. (UK only due to postage, sorry)

[carewyncromwell]

*sings* Cinderella...you’re as lovely as your name, Cinderella~...

Okay, some quick notes before we start. Despite the beauty of their work, painters’ palettes were actually rather limited on pigments during the Renaissance, only having three pigments more than artists did during the Middle Ages. The Moly is a magical plant that appears in Homer’s The Odyssey. Hermes gives it to Odysseus as a charm to protect him from Circe’s spells. It’s been most commonly compared to the snowdrop flower by scholars. It also is referenced in the canon Potterverse as a powerful herb that can counter enchantments.

The Willow Song appears as a motif at the end of William Shakespeare’s Othello, though it was written at least thirty years earlier. In Othello, Desdemona sings a few stanzas of it in response to her husband’s growing distance and madness -- to the audience watching the play in Shakespeare’s day, which would already know the song, its inclusion foreshadows Othello and Desdemona’s tragic ending. “No One is Alone” is from Stephen Sondheim’s well-regarded musical Into the Woods, which features Cinderella as a semi-major character -- the song is actually even partially sung by Cinderella in the show!

I edited the art for this section, as you can tell. Badeea’s painting is a modified photograph of the Chateau de Chambord in France, overlaid on top of my own drawing. (Thanks, Lunapic!) This is also my very first time drawing Badeea!! GOD, is she pretty!! I think her eyes are my favorite of all the HPHM cast.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When Carewyn followed up with Andre the next morning, he was quite disappointed when he saw Carewyn wasn’t wearing the new shoes he’d made for her with her uniform. He honestly hadn’t even considered that they wouldn’t be comfortable for walking in -- and honestly, Carewyn could sort of understand why. Andre had never been able to leave the palace grounds, so there no doubt were a lot of practical things he’d just never considered...such as how very flashy royal fashion was, compared to that of the common man. He was pleased with the feedback Carewyn “passed along from her cousins” for him, though -- completely unaware of the fact that all three comments were really opinions that Carewyn herself had had about the dress.

“Hmm...that is a good point,” said Andre, his hand resting on his chin. “Red is a beautiful color...but a deep blue would not only bring out your eyes, but it would also perfectly contrast your ginger hair, since blue and orange are on opposite sides of the color wheel...”

His face burst into a bright white smile. “Your cousin Iris really has an eye for colors.”

Carewyn successfully fought back a groan, even as her eyes drifted up off toward the top corner of the room.

“...Well, she has taken up embroidery as a hobby. I suppose when one spends a lot of time doing samplers, one could develop an eye for colors.”

And also create a lot of initialed handkerchiefs to conveniently drop in front of noblemen so they pick it up and return it to you.

Andre, however, reacted with some interest. “Is that so? Hmm...well, maybe when I’m working on your new pair of shoes, I could invite her over for tea so she can give me her second opinion before I give them to you.”

Carewyn had never disliked a thought more in her life that Iris having a say in what she wore -- but knowing that she shouldn’t be the one to sabotage Iris, especially when her cousin would no doubt be able to do it well enough on her own, she put on her best smile.

“...I’m sure Iris would enjoy that very much.”

Sure enough, within a week, Iris had been invited to the palace for tea with the Prince. Carewyn could only imagine how thrilled Iris, her aunt Claire, and Charles were. As for Carewyn herself, she knew it was now time to do as Charles said and stay out of Iris’s way...and so when Iris arrived, she made sure to clean the rooms in her wing of the palace in a different order and not sing so that Andre wouldn’t be able to “check in” on her with Iris in tow. She didn’t think she could stand it if Iris got to look down at her polishing the palace floors.

Her lack of singing, however, did catch Badeea’s attention. When Carewyn collided with the court painter in the hallway, she expressed some concern.

“I missed your accompaniment, while I was painting,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Carewyn felt guilty as she leaned her broom against the wall for a moment. “Oh...yes, Badeea, I’m fine. I merely...well, my cousin Iris is spending time with the Prince today, so I thought to...well, not draw focus.”

Badeea nodded in understanding. “Mm, yes...some things are meant to be background details, while others are meant to catch the eye straight away.”

Carewyn and Badeea caught the sound of Iris’s twittering, bird-like laughter echoing down the hall toward them. Not wanting to be seen when or if Iris and Andre came out into the hall themselves, Carewyn quickly picked up her broom and went around the corner -- Badeea adjusted her easel under her arm and followed.

“Say, Carewyn,” said the court painter thoughtfully, “why don’t you dress up in that nice yellow and green dress you have and come to the market with me?”

Carewyn blinked.

“I need to pick up some more carbon black and indigo for this painting I’m working on for Andre, but the man who sells those paints loves to price gauge. If you were dressed up all fancy and you slid in a reference to your family, though, he might be less likely to try to rip you off,” Badeea added with a tiny, coy smile.

Carewyn frowned, feeling a bit unsure. “I don’t know, Badeea -- I still have a lot of work to do...”

“You have the whole rest of the day to finish,” Badeea reminded her. “It would only take maybe an hour or two. And it would get you out of the palace while your cousin’s here.”

Carewyn considered the matter. Truthfully she’d been hoping to finish her work quickly so she could stow away back to the library and scan more troop deployment records...but she really did hate the thought of bumping into Andre and Iris, not just because of how much Iris would hate Carewyn getting any attention and therefore delight in tormenting her in front of the Prince in order to puff herself up, but because she didn’t want to provoke Charles’s ire unnecessarily.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go change.”

Not long later, Carewyn had put on her mother’s old dress, pinned her hair up, and joined Badeea by the front gates, and the two headed into town on foot. The sky was still rather gray -- it had been raining and thundering for the last couple of days, and there was still a lot of mud in places. Carewyn was glad she was wearing her worn brown shoes under her gown rather than the pretty heels Andre had made for her -- particularly since nobody would likely be looking at her feet.

The shopkeeper in question was indeed a bit intimidated when Carewyn offhandedly referred to “her grandfather, Charles Cromwell” -- and soon enough, Badeea had been able to skip most of the haggling she would’ve normally had to make just to get her paints at a decent price. They left the shopkeeper’s stall, several jars of paint in hand.

As fate would have it, as they walked at the market, someone else was also shopping, and at the sight of the familiar dress and mane of ginger hair, he ran up to meet them.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Badeea both looked up, to see Orion striding up to them. He once again wore his slightly-too-clean, but modest white shirt, olive breeches, and boots, and he was carried a basket full of henbane.

Carewyn’s red lips spread into a smile. “Orion...hello.”

Orion brought a hand up to his chest and offered her a short bow.

“It seems the stars favor us after all, my lady,” he said, the corners of his own lips kissed with traces of a wry smile.

Carewyn shot a quick glance at his basket and quirked an eyebrow.

“Purchasing some more incense?” she asked pointedly.

Orion’s black eyes sparkled. “I’m afraid we’ve already used up what I bought previously. Fortunately the gentleman from last time remembered my face and didn’t give me too much grief.”

“That’s fortunate.”

Carewyn glanced at Badeea to Orion and back.

“Orion, this is Badeea Ali -- she’s the Crown’s court painter. Badeea...this is Orion Freeman. He helped me retrieve my horse the other day.”

Badeea’s dark brown eyes were very bright. “Ah, yes -- KC had said that you were thrown off your horse. Thank you for helping Carewyn, sir,” she added to Orion.

“It was my pleasure,” said Orion. “What’s the subject of your next piece, if I may ask?”

“A foreboding sky and a distorted reflection,” Badeea replied.

Orion looked intrigued. “That would explain such dark shades. Who commissioned the piece?”

“The Prince,” said Badeea. “But his request was just of a view of the entire palace, from a distance -- I was simply inspired by the rainstorm that passed through a few days ago, and how the turrets of the palace looked reflected in the castle moat.” 

“I wonder how the castle of Royaume would see itself, if it had eyes,” said Orion levelly. “Would it see its beauty, or would it be the type to be critical of its flaws?”

“Hm...or would it see the beauty of its flaws?” asked Badeea.

“True,” granted Orion. “Flaws make us more human -- would that make something more beautiful, by serving as contrast to our strengths?”

“Flaws aren’t something you should simply have to accept,” said Carewyn demurely, her arms crossed. “One should strive to be better than one already is. Even if one is only human, that doesn’t mean they can’t work to be something better.”

Orion turned to her, interested. “And what would be better than being oneself, my lady?”

“Being a better version of oneself, of course,” Carewyn said, sounding matter-of-fact. “One can always be kinder, braver, stronger...more cunning, more passionate. One can always learn more, and do more, and be more.”

“Yes...but it seems like those could be crippling expectations to hold over yourself, to never be enough,” said Orion, and although his expression was very inscrutable, his lips twitched with something of a frown.

“Perfectionism is a disease that affects every artist sooner or later,” said Badeea sympathetically.

Her dark eyes flitted from Orion to Carewyn thoughtfully.

“I must be getting back to work on my painting...would you like to join us at the opposite bank, Mr. Freeman? I would be happy for some feedback on my work, before I present it to his Highness.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn for her approval -- she offered a small smile, and his lips turned up in a full smile of his own.

“I would be honored.”

So the three set about finding a less muddy spot by the castle moat, across from the palace. They found one right by a beautiful willow tree, where Carewyn very carefully lowered herself onto the grass. Badeea fetched her easel and chair, setting it up so that she had a good view of the castle. Orion looked over her incomplete work appreciatively.

“It looks like it could breathe, were it a living thing.”

“Thank you,” said Badeea. “Now then, I’ll need to concentrate while mapping out the sky, so no initiating conversation, please. These paints stay on fabric just as well as my canvas, so they won’t easily wash out. I would appreciate some accompaniment, though, Carewyn.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn curiously. Carewyn avoided his eye.

“Badeea, I don’t think -- ”

“Ah, ah,” said Badeea, holding up a gloved finger quickly, “no conversation. Accompaniment or nothing, please.”

She then set about mixing certain shades and color spotting sections of canvas.

Carewyn frowned. It was one thing to be singing while she was working herself, to pass the time, but Orion’s focus was still largely on her, and it felt weird. Still, she thought to herself, it wasn’t like she was bashful about singing in front of others, exactly -- she knew her voice was more than serviceable. There was really no harm in it. So, glancing up at the willow tree above her head, Carewyn rested her hands in the grass, leaned back, and sang.

“The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

Her hand in her bosom, her head on her knee --

Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...

She sighed in her singing and made a great moan --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

‘I’m dead to all pleasure -- my true love is gone --

Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...’”

Carewyn felt Orion’s dark eyes on her at the start. Before long, though, his eyes had fluttered closed, and he sat in perfect silence. As he listened, his shoulders loosened and his expression seemed to clear of all tension or pretense, like a child peacefully falling off to sleep. Badeea painted and shaded to the sound of Carewyn’s low, melancholy singing, adding white highlights to the dark gray and black shadows to create a cloudy sky with sunlight poking through.

When Carewyn was finished with the song, Orion slowly opened his eyes, meeting her gaze again at last. His eyes were oddly hesitant, almost shy.

“Y -- ”

He hesitated. Then, his black eyes softening handsomely, he closed his mouth, and it slowly spread into a smile gentler and warmer than Carewyn had ever seen before. He clearly approved.

Carewyn smiled in return and inclined her head in a silent “thank you.”

Carewyn sang some more songs until Badeea had finally finished and Orion and the two women had to part ways so that Badeea and Carewyn could pack up the easel and finished painting and bring them inside.

The following morning, Carewyn was surprised by KC pulling her aside to hand her a packet of what looked like handwritten sheet music.

“Your friend Orion stopped by a little while ago to give this to you,” she explained.

Carewyn was taken aback.

“I reckon he must’ve hopped over the wall,” said KC, unable to fight back a laugh. “I caught him strolling through the southwest gardens. I told him I’d bring it up to you, so that he wouldn’t get himself in trouble.”

Stunned, Carewyn looked down at the sheet music, shifting the pages so she could scan each line. Her blue eyes softened, growing deeper and darker with emotion, as she read the words and notes.

“...This...this is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up at KC, unable to fully keep the awe from her face. “...You don’t think he wrote this?”

KC shook her head. “No, he said it was a song he learned when he was young, and that he tracked down the sheet music for you since he didn’t think he’d be able to properly sing it for you. I’ve never heard it either, though.”

Carewyn spent her meal times and about an hour before bed that night perusing the sheet music so she could learn the song. The following day, she felt confident enough to sing some of it while she started about cleaning the Queen’s Chambers.

“Mother isn’t here now...who knows what she’d say?

Nothing’s quite so clear now...feel you’ve lost your way?

You decide alone...but no one is alone.

You move just a finger, say the slightest word --

Something’s bound to linger...be heard...

No one acts alone...careful -- no one is alone...

People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers --

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own...thinking they’re alone...

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good.

Just remember...”

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn stopped sweeping and looked up, to see Andre striding through the opened door of the Queen’s Chambers toward her.

“An -- your Highness,” Carewyn corrected herself very quickly, after noting who’d accompanied Andre.

Just behind him in the door frame was her dark-haired cousin Iris, dressed in her best rose velvet and her own almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed with loathing at Carewyn over Andre’s shoulder.

Andre, perfectly oblivious to the silent tension between the two cousins, gave a laugh.

“Oh, Carewyn, we’re not back to that again, are we? It’s ‘Andre,’ ” he said with an indulgent smile. “I haven’t heard that song before -- did you learn it recently?”

“Ah...yes,” said Carewyn. She could feel Iris’s fierce glare burning a hole in her face over Andre’s shoulder even without looking at either of them.

“It’s really quite lovely,” said Andre. “Please, do sing the rest of it when you’re able.”

“Of course, Prince Henri.”

Carewyn was absolutely not going to call Andre by his nickname in front of Iris -- she knew how Iris would shriek her head off about it to Charles.

Andre sighed and shook his head in something like tired amusement.

“I was hoping we’d catch you on your rounds,” he said conversationally. “I’m just about finished with your new shoes! Iris said your favorite color was ash gray -- I’ve never really worked with that color before, so it’ll be a bit of a challenge -- but I’m sure I’ll find a shade that might suit you...”

Ash gray? Running with the ‘Cinderwyn’ nickname, then, are we, Iris?

Carewyn forced a smile. “...Thank you. That’s...very kind.”

Feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, she quickly rushed over to pick up her full dust pan with her other hand.

“Forgive me, I really should go and empty this -- ”

At that exact moment, Iris had strode forward, bumping Carewyn’s shoulder in just such a way that the pan was knocked backward onto Carewyn, covering her, her orange and tan dress, and the floor with all of the dust, dirt, and grime she’d swept up over the last hour.

“Oh!” said Iris in feigned surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

Her gaze, however, was just as hard and unapologetic as it had been when she’d ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress at home.

“Carewyn!” said Andre, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Carewyn coughed.

“...Yes, of course,” she said, her voice very hard and stoic in the back of her throat. “It was merely an accident.”

She shot Iris a cold look as she looked over her now thoroughly ruined uniform and the dust and dirt all around her feet.

“Please, go on ahead with Iris, your Highness. I’ll clean up this mess.”

Once Iris had successfully steered the reluctant-looking Andre out of the room, Carewyn closed the door, took off her dress, and finished cleaning the room in her undergarments, so as not to spread the dust and ash around any further. Then, very carefully, she darted across the hall from the Queen’s Chambers to Andre’s, so that she could fetch the high-necked, gold-embroidered dress made out of white linen and light blue velvet he’d recently finished for her from his walk-in closet. After all, she told herself, she needed something to wear while she was getting her uniform cleaned -- and well, at least Iris would be less likely to ruin this dress, since Andre had stitched it himself.

Holding her dusty, ashen dress in a folded pile against her chest, Carewyn headed downstairs toward the laundry. On her way through the entrance hall, though, KC -- who’d just come out of the library -- ran up to walk alongside her down the hall.

“Seems your friend is back.”

Carewyn’s messy ponytail flapped over her shoulder when she looked at her in surprise. “Orion?”

KC nodded, her lips curled up in a wry smile. “I thought I saw someone hopping over the wall through the library window, just now. Shall we go investigate?”

Carewyn bit her lip, looking down at the ruined uniform in her arms.

“Let me drop this off at the laundry first,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Carewyn ran down the stairs and threw her uniform into one of the tubs to soak, before quickly doing her hair up in a simple, but slightly more presentable braided bun and hurrying back up to join KC. The two women then headed out to the gardens, only to hear something of a scuffle.

“A man with innocent intentions does not hop over castle walls,” said Bill’s voice, though it sounded much lower and harder than Carewyn was used to hearing.

“In this case, sir, I assure you, I do.”

“You will declare your true name and business at once, sir, or I shall see to it that you’re locked in irons and hauled before the King himself -- ”

“Bill!” cried Carewyn.

Bill looked up, startled. The ginger-haired castle guard had slammed Orion back-first against a tree, holding him up off the ground by his collar with one hand, but at the sight of Carewyn and KC running forward, the suspicion and righteous anger in his face dissipated instantly.

“It’s all right, Bill,” Carewyn reassured him. “He’s a friend.”

“Put him down,” said KC.

Bill looked from KC to Carewyn in confusion, before glancing at Orion warily, but he nonetheless did as they said. Once he’d lowered Orion to the ground and let go of his shirt, the dark-haired man calmly adjusted his collar and picked up a satchel that must’ve come off in the struggle off the ground.

“Thank you, Carewyn...Lady Katriona,” he said pleasantly, as if he had not just been in a loose choke hold.

KC grimaced. “Orion, I’ve saved your butt twice now -- we’ve more than gotten to the point of you calling me KC.”

Orion smiled wryly. “I’m glad of it.”

Carewyn, however, still looked a bit harried. “Orion, what were you thinking? Hopping the wall...it’s no wonder Bill thought you were up to no good!”

“Well, the gate was locked, and no one was there to greet me,” said Orion airily.

“Well, of course the palace of Royaume has very strong security,” Carewyn said exasperatedly, “the royal family lives here.”

“I must wonder how the royal family ever receives visitors, then.”

“They don’t,” said Bill rather coolly. “They invite them, and very rarely, at that. And they clearly didn’t invite you to trespass on the grounds.”

Orion was unfazed. “Well, fortunately, I wasn’t looking for such an invitation, to begin with. I merely wanted to give this to Carewyn, as a gift for Madam Ali.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a jar of unusually shiny silvery-white paint. Bill, KC and Carewyn’s eyes all were very wide as Orion handed the jar to Carewyn.

“I asked a few people where best to locate materials for paints,” he explained. “One man pointed me to a flower that grows at the border called the Moly. He made this paint himself. I don’t think any colors  like this are made and sold at the market, so I thought I would bring along one of his jars for Madam Ali, so she might use it for her next project.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes were very bright and touched as she looked up at Orion.

“Orion...it’s wonderful,” she said, her soft voice incredibly warm. “Badeea will love it.”

“You said he used the Moly?” asked KC, as she took the jar from Carewyn and looked at it. “Maybe Badeea could mix up some more paint of her own, then.”

Bill glanced at Orion with a raised eyebrow. “Or the Crown could simply buy it from the vendor who sold you that paint.”

Carewyn noticed a strange, almost skittish glint flicker through Orion’s eye.

“...I’m afraid that jar was a favor, not a purchase,” he said softly.

“I think Badeea would be fine with making her own, Bill,” Carewyn said firmly. “The Crown wouldn’t want to set aside extra money for materials anyway. It’d be a lot cheaper to make a paint like that in house than to buy it from someone else.”

Despite his frown, Bill nonetheless sighed and nodded. “...True. Charlie’s needed a new set of scratch awls for ages.”

Orion looked pleased. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“Perhaps the next time you want to see Carewyn, you might figure out a way to do it that doesn’t require you scaling walls like a prowler,” said KC amusedly.

Carewyn shot KC a slightly reproachful look. Orion’s muted smile rather resembled that of a satisfied house cat.

“I’d be happy to arrange more regular meetings outside the palace, if Lady Cromwell would be open to it,” he said, his black eyes sparkling as he glanced at Carewyn.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly at him. “Once again, Mr. Freeman, you seem to have an unusual amount of freedom, if you’re able to consider allocating time just to meet me.”

Her lips then spread in a wry smile.

“Still...I can hardly sit by and let you get arrested for trespassing on my account. I have some time available late tomorrow morning, before noon. I could meet you by the gate then.”

Orion grinned. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”

[plumoh]

[NatsuYuu] ever here

Rating: G

Word count: 2282

Summary: Natsume Takashi is fifty-two years old when Madara leaves. It's not a spontaneous decision, but it's not a well-thought-out one either.

Note: AO3 link. Originally written in 2018, did some light editing. I will never stop thinking about Madara dealing with Natsume’s eventual death,,

Natsume Takashi is fifty-two years old when Madara leaves.

It's not a spontaneous decision, but it's not a well-thought-out one either. Forty years spent living with a human is nothing more than the blink of an eye for a youkai, but this same span of time is half of a human's life—Madara knows that much, and he curses himself to have let down his guard enough to be lulled into the illusion of safety.

There is no meaning behind that age. It could have been forty-seven, fifty-three, or even sixty. Madara hasn't pondered on it much outside of the fact he can sense life forces flickering, losing their brightness to let darkness consume them. He's seen and sensed that many times, for years and decades, watching the phenomenon unfold with both curiosity and disinterest. Human lives are short and fleeting, nothing worth paying attention to, as they will always disappear sooner than expected.

(Reiko vanished from the town and next thing he knows, she is no more.)

He retreats to the mountains farthest from Yatsuhara. He doesn't tell anyone. He doesn't let anyone know where he is. The peaceful and soothing rustling of the trees' leaves and the river's water help appeasing his heart in a frenzy, and pushing back his swirling thoughts. It's pathetic, in a way, to let himself affected by so little. It's not like it's the first time he's been in contact with a human before—and he still believes that not meddling with their affairs is less troublesome and more beneficial to his sanity.

(He thinks about the mess left by a lonely woman, that a brave boy tried to fix.)

Madara spends his days napping. He finds a new patch of grass to sleep on on a regular basis, right under the sun to keep him warm, and at night he takes walks or watches the starry sky to chase away unpleasant thoughts. He pointedly ignores any scent he recognizes, as they never travel close enough for him to get worried. Not that he's worried about anything, not really, it's just more convenient that way. Being alone is much easier to deal with his own pitiful state than being seen by some fool and having to explain something he doesn't want to think about.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a familiar voice tells him he's running away. He brushes it off.

It has only been forty years, but he's already forgotten how silent life is when he isn't surrounded by idiots and accident-prone kids. He's a great beast, someone who holds power over low-class creatures and who rivals most of the strong youkais. And just for a second, one vulnerable moment, he wonders what good there is to possess such tremendous power if he doesn't have anyone to protect anymore.

Dizzy and perturbed, Madara stops in his tracks, and howls—a cry piercing the sky until it cracks to let untold messages squeeze through.

Human lives are short and fleeting.

***

He doesn't know how much time passes. It can't be more than a handful of years, though, because the scents are the same and the landscape has not yet warped. Nobody reached out to him either, and he doubts that no one is able to track him if they tried hard enough—even if he's escaped to far away mountains, he's not impossible to find. He knows for sure that Misuzu will be smug about finding him, and Hinoe is too stubborn to let him disappear without a word.

Days resemble each other. Madara misses manjuu and dango.

Then one day, the wind carries a different breeze; there is a quality to it that almost spells familiarity, ruffling his fur and sending shivers down his spine. He catches the whiff of a strong smell and overwhelming power, one that gently pushes at him with care, considerate and soft.

Kind and warm.

Madara jolts and scrambles up, mind racing and heart beating too loudly, eyes scanning the area like he's on the lookout for a prey he's waited for weeks, wild and cautious. Only then does he realize this aura isn't alone—and of course it isn't, of course it would come with two other ones that announce trouble.

He does not stare. His eyes do not linger on the gigantic silhouette of Misuzu descending from the sky like an omen, his grin ever plastered on his face, not quite landing (Misuzu never lands) but he lowers his hoof to let his passengers get down. Madara stays still.

“Damn, Madara, if you wanted us to leave you alone that badly, you could have just asked,” Hinoe sighs with fake casualness, as she takes a drag from her pipe, pinning him with a hard glare.

But Madara doesn't listen to her. He's too focused on the second figure stumbling on the ground, like he hasn't alighted from the body of a beast a hundred and a thousand times over, wincing when Hinoe has to put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Madara can't tear his gaze off him.

“Sensei,” Natsume says, something akin to relief and desperation in his voice, and Madara chokes on his own words, unable to dig into his arsenal of insults to deal with the situation. Instead, Natsume takes a step forward, and another, and another, until he's standing right in front of him. “Were you here all this time?”

His eyes didn't change—that damn kindness is still lurking behind them, the fervor of his own stupid faith shining through it, like he hasn't found any reason to stop believing he could help anyone coming his way. Eyes never lie; eyes are what differentiate the humans from each other.

Natsume's trembling hand tentatively reaches up to stroke his snout and—Madara lets him, lets this light touch wash away his countless worries, and he closes his eyes. If he tries hard enough, he can be transported back to the youthful days of returning names and being wary of any youkai approaching them. He can summon the smell of Touko's tenpura and the tatami of Natsume's bedroom. It is comforting, wrapping him in a blanket of tranquility he wishes could last forever, but when he opens his eyes he sees Natsume's tired but never broken face, features drawn old, his once light hair taking a shade of gray only age can paint.

He releases a breath, tickling Natsume, just like he once did a long time ago, and this time Natsume smiles.

“I missed you, Sensei.”

Natsume keeps his hand on Madara's snout, and if he's pressing a bit harder than usual (when was the last time it happened?), Madara doesn't comment on it. Instead, he lays down, and carefully wraps his tail around Natsume, a silent invitation for him to settle in the white fur. This stretches Natsume's hesitant smile into a full smile as he sits down and starts scratching Madara's chin.

“The Book of Friends is empty now, do you still want it?” he quietly asks.

And Natsume must have felt his jaw clench, because he stops, lowers his hand, and gazes directly into Madara's eyes, waiting, expecting. Madara hates the feeling of helplessness.

“I have no use of a tool stripped of its power,” he croaks out, looking at a point past Natsume.

“...We've talked about it, Sensei.”

“What do you want me to do with the cover of a book?”

“That's up to you. I'm still going to give it to you, so please come home.”

Madara finally, finally meets Natsume's earnest eyes, after trying for so long to avoid reading the emotions in this brittle, human gaze when talking about the Book of Friends. He doesn't know what he expected to find; he probably expected nothing, except for something inherently Natsume in them, warm and affectionate, much like the stupid self he's always been. Natsume is looking at him with the same determined expression he's always worn when he set his mind on doing something. There is also fragility in it, an open wound waiting to be healed. Madara basks in the familiarity it provides him.

He gently knocks Natsume's head with his snout.

“The Book of Friends is exactly the reason why I left, and you cheeky brat has the nerve to come and dump it on me.”

There is no heat in his words, and everybody knows it. They all look at him without judgment, though if he had paid close attention to them, he would have seen pity coloring their faces. He holds Natsume's gaze as best as he can—Natsume assesses him quietly, carefully, like he's expecting Madara to flee again. He won't.

“I keep my promises, you know that,” Natsume chides gently. “No matter how much time passes.”

Natsume's hand comes up again to stroke the fur on his head. The movement is assured, but slow, nothing like it used to be; Madara swallows the uneasiness, the fear, and stops running away.

“How old are you?”

He doesn't register Hinoe shaking her head in the back. All he notices is the way Natsume's smile takes a hue of sadness, his aura enveloping them both in resignation. Madara is certain his own sorrow is seeping through the seams of his fake calm demeanor.

“It's July 1st, today.” There is a brief pensive look on Natsume's face. “I'm turning seventy-seven.”

Twenty-five years is nothing to youkais. They let them fly by without thinking much of it, but for humans it's enough to raise a new generation of people that will become their hope. Madara has a thought for Natsume's descendants, who probably don't even know why their father, their grandfather (great-grandfather?), decides to take a trip to the other side of the mountains, visibly unaccompanied. He realizes with horror he doesn't know for sure that none of them has the ability to see youkai.

“It didn't feel that long to me,” Madara whispers.

“I know. That's why we came to see you. According to Hinoe, you would have slept through a decade if nobody tried to annoy you.”

He knows there is no accusation behind these words, but he can't help bristling, sharply shooting a glare in Hinoe's direction—she waves around her pipe, dismissing his irritation.

Natsume continues. “It's perhaps not my place to say that, but this is how life is, Sensei. Please let this old man have his one selfish request granted.”

He wraps his arms around Madara's neck, burying his face in his fur.

“Come back home.”

Madara is tired. He's tired of fighting all these emotions, all these worries that shouldn't exist (he's a great beast with overwhelming power), all these thoughts that cross his mind and twist his heart. He's tired of pretending and of living with the heavy lead settled in his stomach, putting him into a state of lethargy and incapacitating his ability to think rationally.

So he nuzzles Natsume, bringing his tail closer to completely protect him from anything else that can still happen, and lets out a deep laugh that sounds too watery and shaky to his own ears.

“Idiot.”

It can't be that bad, if Natsume emits a similar laugh, purposefully keeping his face hidden in his fur even if Madara can feel something wet against him.

Natsume climbs on his back for old times' sake. And if Madara is flying a bit slower than before, Natsume doesn't say anything. Misuzu and Hinoe follow them close.

This might not be the wisest decision. Many youkais would have chosen to stay away to cut all ties with humans, even though it doesn't erase their memories of them. Madara thinks himself foolish to have gotten so soft and attached to one single human, so he might as well be stupid until the end.

There is no worth living a boring life, when he can create new memories to cherish as they come, and for the after.

Reiko always said that people will regret not going through what they wanted, while they rarely get upset over doing something, even if it was a failure or a mistake. Mulling over her words from forever ago, Madara finds himself agreeing, closing his eyes as he curls up at Natsume's feet, listening to the quiet conversation he's having with someone that is without a doubt his grandchild. There is a different air about that kid, and Madara immediately recognizes potential.

That night, Madara digs through Natsume's belongings, and retrieves the remains of the Book of Friends. The green cover is barely worn, defying time and deterioration. He traces out the kanjis with a paw, and is certain the Book retained some power, though very little. These traces of power persevere, fluttering and placating, in a way that makes it look like they are unable to let go of that realm either. Madara shakes his head at the thought, but he keeps his paw on the Book.

“I'll protect your family.”

Natsume finds him hunched over it, and naturally picks him up, acting on pure instinct.

“Old men should be sleeping,” Madara states flatly.

“Then you should be sleeping too,” Natsume retorts. He casts a quick glance at the Book. “It became a family treasure, I guess.”

“Hmpf. Only you would consider something that put your life in danger as a treasure.”

Natsume looks at him, and Madara knows it's useless to argue further.

Years later, the children of the Natsume household will always find the family cat curled around a green book by the altar. The cat doesn't age, is somehow always able to tell when one of them is in trouble, and only a handful knows the secrets he's keeping.

Madara never leaves again.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 7)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 6

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Your life was on the edge again as you were close to being sold to men in their dimension. With a kind and selfless heart; you've tried saving Cirilla. Though, despite of the failure of a rescue, a certain witcher wouldn't let you stay in danger as he came to your aid and massacred whoever comes in his way. Thus, he'd recognized the person holding you and it made him curse deep beneath his breath as he remembered what he wanted from him after years of avoiding them for their regal favors.

Warnings: Gore. (I’ve added a gif that kinda..ugh. You get my point. Hehehe.) Death. Swords. Curse words. Modern references. Hehehe. Blood. Anger. More descriptions than dialogues. (I mean, who fights while talking? XD Also, it’s Geralt. You know how he is. XD) Assholes selling women/children.

Words: 6.3k+

A/N: Chapter 7 is out now! I've used Gifs of Geralt while the story goes on. Heehee! Just wanted to. IT’S GETTIN’ LIT IN HERE. AYEEEE!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

It took a narrow, derelict looking alleyway for Cirilla and her friend to be found. This was why you never trusted kids playing alone because they needed supervision at all times. There were black, grey and brown stone build houses designed for the outmoded era surrounding the alley.

You taciturnly stood in the middle of the dirt ground, scanning the whole place and finding a kid who wore a light blue kirtle. The sound of sand and gravel was apparent as you've taken conniving steps till you were about to enter another aisle that looked deserted. But, you were stopped as a silhouette of two men who wore dark brown furry sheep coats emerge from the gully.

The man holding Cirilla had a horrible beard looking like the man in the movie 300 with a sly smirk that could get you to know that he was part of the villains in a show while the other was a blonde chevalier that can pass as the prince's bodyguard.

They had sharp looking daggers across the children's necks and it made your heart cease because of the panic rising through your head. Yet, you try to calm down to make better decisions.

Not that it was a habit. You were bad a making decisions; look at how your life ended. Forgetting why you were drowning on a lake and suddenly emerging from another dimension like you had your next life in just a snap of Thanos' gauntlet.

"Nice, very nice." you mindlessly mumbled, avoiding their scowls and grins; giving the kids a once over as you've seen the fear straight out of their eyes.

There were no guns, anything to use for defense nor do you know any kung-fu that can make Jackie Chan watch you with popcorn on his hands.

You were currently a useless human especially that you were teleported with no supernatural powers or magic. What a nice way to be brought to a world you didn't know and had people who are experts in brutal fighting.

"Why, why, why," The man looking like King Leonidas mischievously announced as he tightened his hold around Cirilla and held the dagger close to her neck. The princess shrieked and growled before him, struggling against his hold as you winced at your mind who couldn't help but utter the most awkward sentences in panic.

"Delilah?" your nose scrunched so hard you were sure you looked constipated. It was a pun, and so it wasn't the best as you couldn't help but cringe for your stupidity.

"Ain't she a beaut," The blonde knight cackled as he strolled towards a wooden cage that can be used for lions or any feisty animal as Ethelia was dragged and locked in like a fauna being pulled around; never forgetting to give Cirilla's friend a pinch to her delicate cheeks as she flinched away from the asshole.

"Don't hurt Ethelia!" Cirilla struggled against her captor's arms, but he tightened his hold around her a lot more, "---Get her out of the cage!"

You've squinted your eyes at the large cage where Ethelia has been violently captured and saw not only one but a dozen of children taken to their account. Some were grubby and clean, though that one thing that made them all the same was that they were women.

They were freaking women and you definitely saw red because they all seemed innocent with all their wailing and bloodshot eyes.

The princess has managed to bite Tybalt on the arm; making the latter grab onto her roots brutally, igniting a frightened scream out of Cirilla, "You are next to this wench that shall be offered to the king!"

Thus, her screams made your palms sweat. You needed to do something and not just stand there like an idiot.

Tybalt's attention was suddenly turned to you; cocking his head to the side as smugly as he could, giving you a menacing grin that gave you the nervous shivers.

"---Or not?"

"Leave the child alone!" you suddenly had the courage to muster out loud; but it was no use as it didn't sound frightening for the party. Tybalt aimed the sharp edge of his dagger along Cirilla's neck as he moved them both forward, his appearance more discernable from the sudden cloudy day as he stepped outside his shadows. "---If it isn't another whore that I could sell to the duke,"

You could see how tall he was and utterly buff just like Geralt. His face was a complete epitome of a bandit as you noticed those sharp fangs and thinking he just had that type of teeth,  "---Your beauty...Only passes for a knight's whore,"

Well, that sounded mean.

Tybalt continued, keeping Cirilla steady in the width of his arms as the child went on to struggle against his hold, her movements accidentally giving her a short slice of a wound that you quickly saw. Crimson liquid dripping down her neck like a breeze; not much, yet it was enough to give a wince, "---not for a king," the latter continued as he gave a low baleful laugh.

He'd studied you from head to toe, his gaze utterly making you feel uncomfortable. It was obvious that it consists of obscene thoughts running inside his brain. You couldn't help but feel your sweat turn cold from the panic you were feeling, "You are one short fella'! But, also kind of adorable like a dirty mouse not even worth for a penny,"

"Don't--Don't touch her," you stammered, biting on the insides of your lips as you tried thinking quicker. His wicked plans and diabolic ideas inside his head were enough to make your knees tremble; like you were being hunted by an Alghoul for the second time. You always had the luck in being involved with such ill-fate circumstances and it was making you crazy. Tybalt loudly scoffed, brown eyes glowing with malevolence and his smile turning sinister, "What are ye' going to do, little one? Cry like a bairn?"

The princess breathed in deep breaths, her heart beat running as fast as a cheetah. She'd gave you a look and you could quite see that she was deep in thought. Was Jaskier lying about her abilities? Was she a mutated one as well? Were the men holding her the Elvens?

"Cirilla," you subtly shook your head to distract her from doing anything that could give you both more peril than it should have.

"I can bring your little friend and this woman," Tybalt gestured to you and it made you step back; nevertheless, more of his bandits marched into view and roughly grabbed onto your arms, leaving you no chance to escape as you've tried to battle from their hold. "---Ethelia has been sold to the king by her father who had killed one of his knights. You know how King Viduka loves his knights,"

You wrestled against their hold. Two men strenghtened their grasp on you; rooting you to the ground as they were pretty much stronger, lanky and muscly with their fur coats. They were laughing on either side of you because of how you were struggling, "What is your name?" Tybalt drawled his words like a snake teasing his prey.  

You loudly huffed and tried to wrench your arm away from both as you breathed hard; languidly feeling as if you were having a panic attack. It was there; again and it wasn't the right time, "You don't want me dropping down memes, I swear. I'm close to screaming John Cena," pause. "---You're gonna hate me, King Leonidas." A small guiltless smile was given to Cirilla's captor and it was enough to infuriate him because of how you didn't make sense.

Out of the blue, Tybalt unceremoniously pushed the princess off the ground; giving both his men that stood on either side of you a look as they roughly pushed you to him; passing you like a tennis ball as he caught you in his arms. You shrieked and have your heart flying off your chest as the chess piece suddenly moved and you were now their target.

Cirilla coughed her shock out of her chest; face scrubbing the ground which soiled her pretty face as she crawled and trembled away from you; sitting on her backside as she had her eyes focused on the the whole scene; thoroughly staggered at the sudden shift of victims.

Tybalt had his fingers grabbing onto your roots like a bitch; making you yelp as loud as you can to get anyone's attention from the other side of the city. But, no. There was no saviour. "Nobody owns ye', little scrubber! Come, to the palace!" he mercilessly yanked you with a handful of your hair, painfully dragging you to where the cages for humans stayed behind them; covered with a thick brown cloth for decency purposes if they even have dignity in their bloods.

"There's a place for little whores like ye'!" The other man who held you on the arm announced in a snobbish manner; ending his statement with a mirthful laugh that petrified you because of how presumptuous they were to find their actions fine for their world.

Your nerves were spiking up like a sparking electric circuit. The more closer you forcefully strided towards the cage, the more your emotions was flying up the sky. Adding the pain that Tybalt has been pouring on your roots was triggering your sensitive self to shed some tears from the fear of being sold by some dirty, old man who treats women like some kind of doll to relieve their sexual pleasures.

The lioness of Cintra dreaded the moment to see you walking towards a cage full of women going to be sold to different people. She couldn't do anything but think of ways that could get time ticking before Geralt could feel that there was something wrong. Accepting the fear of not saving you will never die down; if she would've not tried to help as she was saved by you.

Cirilla stood on her soles, feet shaking like a leaf as she had both hands in front; halting the forceful kidnap happening, "No! Stop! A man owns her with the name, Geralt! Geralt owns her! Geralt of Rivia! The Butcher of Blaviken!"

All men had their brows in a twist, tugging you back and making you face her. You were wincing and tears were falling from the hopeless feeling; it was much better to be living in their family rather than another man's home whom could have the power in owning you like a damn animal.

Tybalt jibed at the princess, poking fun at the lies she was saying. The name rang a bell; it was a name that they've been searching for so long but have been considered as a myth that isn't real. They've had their latest witcher be killed by a lethal beast. This known Witcher that they have been searching was no where to be found for years after years; or he just didn't want to be found was more of a logical reason at the same time.

"The Witcher?" he belittled with a grin, "---He's long gone, child. Hiding like a birdie! Cease your fantasy in having a witcher in the Kingdom of Kaedwen! We will all be killed by beasts! Just like them!"

Your captor tightened his hand on your head, giving it a sting that made you shriek. You didn't want to grow bald because of this. It was humiliating; you thought at the back of your mind as you sobbed from the fright. Tybalt inserted his dagger back in his pocket and swiftly opened the cloth to reveal ten children scared to death or even more, "This dirty maiden can be more useful than this lioness of a kid! It bites and roars too much!"

Thus, you never know how satisfying it was to hear a strum of a lute from afar. The echo resonated from the far end as you whipped around in zealous. Your heart beat coming to life as the hope flew back to where it should've been.

"That...is definitely not a good idea,"

Jaskier. There was Jaskier. Only Jaskier, but no Geralt. Still, it gave you a ton of hope to be saved.

"A bard," Tybalt rolled his eyes from all the pathetic interruption. Just getting you was thoroughly time consuming and he didn't know if he was already regretting it. He should be, when he's got his foot six feet on the ground already by touching Cirilla and you.

The bard stood where you could clearly see him. You eyed him with that agitated look. Nevertheless, he'd given you a cheeky wink as he continued to strum; his foot signalling Cirilla to take her flight and leave the hell hole before the men even had second thoughts of grabbing her again.

Hence, she hurriedly did; with a need to find the witcher.

You knew what Jaskier was doing. You've seen this in the movies for a lot of times. Some ended well while some didn't.

He was distracting Tybalt and his men. Hence, the bard was doing a damn great job at it because of how he was great at not showing his anxiety and trembles from being stabbed or beheaded like he was already...used to the thrill and danger.

"Get out of my way!" Tybalt frustratingly barked; giving him a nasty glare, "You are making the massive mistake ever---," Jaskier articulated, sounding like he was telling a story as he sounded informative and factual.

"---You are plotting your own demise, Berk."

The nickname was a wrong move for Jaskier. He'd wince after seeing Tybalt's nose flare like a dragon in heat. Now, it was the perfect time you've seen his fingers stop from strumming his lute and actually seeing the little tremble from his fingers.

He was doing good; so good, but he had to just insult the guy and let the mistakes flow.

You've sniffed and felt the tears have subsided. Eyes thoroughly bloodshot as well because of how you've felt the man holding you captive exhale a breath of vexation. Tybalt was mad.

Which gave you a reason to mouth at the bard that he had only one job, one job and he ruined it.

"What did you just call me?" Tybalt seethed like there was fire coming out of his mouth. Forehead creased to the extent that he was tempted for his horns to come out. "Ughm," Jaskier spluttered, eyes rolling elsewhere as he heard footsteps coming closer from behind.

"I'm--I'm--I'm just actually uttering out the most foolish things ever! Just wasting time until a witcher has your head in a platter or more so; cut in half!" Jaskier spun around and saw those two men who has held you was now treading near and his eyes wanted to come out of his eye sockets when he'd seen them scowling.

A tiny shriek came out of the bard as he swallowed his nervousness and swiftly spun and kept his lute behind him.

You've felt Tybalt shifting behind you; fishing for his dagger as you'd remember it from a while ago. "There are no more witchers in this kingdom," he harshly spat with spite, "---If so, Sorceress Ingrith and I would've found him and asked for help,"

The bard halted from backing away from the two men who wanted to corner him, peeking back at Tybalt as his back felt the stone walls and they were looming before him. "What?"

"---So, just let me take her, bard!"

Jaskier was swift enough to dodge out of being cornered, quickly jogging to where you were at arms reach from him as he had his hands on his hips; still having the time to be sassy after being threatened. "No, no! You cannot take her! I second the notion and refuse for you to take her!"

Those two bandits who had eyes on him unsheathed their swords from behind. He'd heard the metal slash out of its home as he felt the tip of the sword from one man on the edge of his neck; like a warning to shut his flowery mouth from even saying anything less.

"Impossible! You are close to being beheaded!" Tybalt scoffed, cackling as he saw the bard tap his foot in anxiety when he'd seen another pair of Tybalt's men emerge from behind you. Jaskier was thinking and also having an internal monologue of feeling the adrenaline rush. There were more; maybe a maximum of nine people who came with the kidnapping monster.

"Oh gods, where is Geralt when we need him," Jaskier mumbled to himself and calmly breathed out of his nose; languidly closing his eyes to keep him from panicking out loud.

Yet, the bard couldn't control it and began to yell for help.

"Fuck!---GERALT! This is no time for your bone aching moments because of how senile you are! You are certainly getting old when you want me bleeding after this just to rescue your darn midget!"

Jaskier was heaving deep breaths as he was having his panic attacks right now. He stared at you with hysteria and thinking if Geralt didn't come too early, he would already be beheaded. You swallowed the fear stuck in your throat for the third time around; patiently waiting for your demise that you had been wishing on the first day but was now dreading the idea of it when you had lived in for days in their dimension.

You thought it would take hours for the witcher to find you; or even days after being captured. But, seeing him make an appearance as he finally turned a corner was the best feeling you've ever felt.

Now, you know how it feels to be captured then saved by a man who lives in your fantasy. It felt utterly fulfilling and joyous. Specially, when he'd cautiously trudged along with that brooding facade he had.

You were elated to see him; huffing out a breath you were holding for far too long. Too happy as you were saved for the second time; having a chance to live for the second time.

"Geralt! Oh gods, great timing!" Jaskier yelped when a man roughly kept him still. The witcher came with nothing but his bag of sword strapped behind him and his brooding charm, his anger obvious on his face and a humorless expression.

"Fuck," thus, he deeply snarled beneath his chest; knowing what was bound to happen.

A look you have never seen before; ever. Hence, it was a facial expression you didn't want to encounter because it was as if you felt like he wouldn't bat an eyelid to everyone who would come his way and end up creating a massacre.

It technically resembles the look of destruction.

Geralt stood on the middle of the area, a few meters away from you; thoroughly calm and collected but with a stony-face you didn't want to poke on. Shoulders and chest puffed to an extent that screams strength and resilience. He'd given Jaskier a once over to check if he was okay and based on how talkative he still was; the bard was totally fine.

Then, he'd taken a look at you. Those golden eyes were blazing with indignation. His forehead slowly creasing together so tightly as he realized Tybalt's fingers grabbing onto your roots; a shiny dagger catching his eye that was hidden behind your clothing. Your attention right on the witcher as you didn't realize that it was painstakingly lifting Geralt's tunic in which you wore as the asshole grinned back at him with devilry.

"What took you so long?!" Jaskier still managed to hollered out loud. But, took no answer from the witcher as he squinted his eyes at you who was held captive.

You felt the cold, brisk wind hit your thighs; lately realizing that Tybalt was playing with your clothes like the debauched man that he is as he was slowly lifting the damn tunic and making people see your black underwear which made the man eyed it weirdly. Your heart was hammering out of your chest as you stared back at the witcher who was sending a grimace at the man behind you.

Your eyes was pleading for him to come and get you. Geralt knew and could see it in your eyes and it was making his blood boil for everyone.

"The infamous witcher," Tybalt announced in shock. The tip of his dagger probing at the side of your hip like a warning to never move. Geralt hoarsely gave a groan deep within his chest, languorously unsheathing his sword from behind him and never shifting his eyes away from you.

“---He’d finally shown himself to us! Perhaps, you really aren’t just an epic created by the blue-eyed dunce!” 

The men who held Jaskier was foolishly eyeing the witcher with their faces twisted like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. They've seen his face in the parchment paper that they had. Though, Geralt was considered as a myth that was never true. To Jaskier's luck, it was the right time to snatch the blade from one who has held it loosely; spinning on his heel and aiming the nib on his neck with an awkward stance. A triumphant grin given from the bard as his friend continued to gawk at the witcher like he'd seen the heavens.

"We've been finding yer' kind!" Tybalt grinned from ear to ear, feeling the tine of his whetted dagger pointed on top of your hip bone and you felt your blood rise from the adrenaline starting to take over. Your feet shuffled and it took one move for him to yank at your roots that was already throbbing from the soreness, "---Or a particular one! Long white hair, brooding and a stubborn arsehole who keeps on rejecting the king's favors like some notable man!"

You can feel Tybalt sniffing out loud, thus a loud shriek came out of you when he'd vulgarly dropped his head to inhale your scent in between the pillar of your neck which made your face twist in utter disgust because of how peculiar he was acting; like a vampire in the movies who couldn't get enough of your scent. "Oh, hell no! You're no Edward Cullen! I'm also no Bella! You don't glimmer against the sunlight and you're not as pale as I think you are!" you were terror-struck from his actions and tried to fight away from his face that was strapped on the edges of your neck and suddenly felt canines teasing that part of your neck where he wanted to bite, "---OH MY GOD, A VAMPIRE! PLEASE DON'T BITE MY NECK! NOBODY HAS DONE IT YET!"

All hell broke loose as Tybalt plunged his mouth on your neck like a deprived creature; but not giving a bite. Thus, his men rashly took charge from the moment Geralt lifted a foot as he fully drew his blade out from behind; including the man who'd tried threatening Jaskier; leaving the other weaponless man to the bard as they both looked at each other in wonder.

The witcher knew Tybalt was a vampire. A higher one. He sensed it and he knew him.

A knight from the palace was the first to pounce on the witcher with persistence, lunging after Geralt as he dodged his attack and stabbed him from the back with no penitence. His focal point on you and his senses were heightened a lot more than it ever does with a will to keep you from harm.

Without even batting an eyelid, the witcher was aware of the men ambushing him one by one. Second man who had an unlucky fate tried to strike a blow to his upper leg but the witcher was more skilled than the latter and shielded the attack by his sword; the loud metallic retorts when the blades collide with one another, it was ringing in your ears as you felt Tybalt licking a stripe from your nape to your jaw, making you shiver from disgust.

You shrieked out loud as you felt so gross from his ministrations; but never taking your eyes off Geralt who managed to skillfully dodge all blows from the fighters like a virtuoso as he stabbed them to anywhere they were vulnerable and fatal; giving them no chance to live. There was blood, lots of bloodshed happening as Tybalt cackled from behind you; watching his men be killed with one stab of the witcher's sword; amputating them with no pangs of conscience.

He was that dedicated that he'd assassinated five of his men without a blink of his eye.

You've felt the dagger poke at your sides, and you were too distracted on watching the witcher edge closer to where you were as he fought men. You didn't feel Tybalt stabbing you on the hip; not fully sheathing it inside you but it was enough to ignite a loud cry that made Geralt stop and snap his head away from the previous attacker as he fought him off, his Aurum eyes narrowing as he gruffly growled to himself and saw Crimson dripping from your hip to your thigh; tears dripping down the sides of your eyes when you've felt the excruciating pain sting like a damn train hitting you on the face.

Tybalt took a loud whiff as the pungy, metallic smell wafted through the air; from you and from his men that Geralt have slaughtered; his eyes burning you as it has been on you since the start of the fight. "She smells different," your captor mirthfully foretold to the witcher who was quick to cast a sign towards a charging man with a mere use of his palm and it was enough to make you breath hitch as it seemed to look like he just used a spell. It was magic. The man propelled backwards as his head hit the stone wall; knocking him out.  

So, magic really does happen in their world. You silently thought to yourself.

The dagger was slowly being dragged out and it even hurt more than it ever should. You sobbed and felt your knees weakening from the pain because of how low your pain tolerance was. Tybalt dragged the dagger to his mouth, his sharp, long tongue giving himself a little taste of your blood, "---Even tastes different," he grinned, inhaling deep as your focus was on the witcher who penetratingly stabbed a man's mouth; slashing him open in between his head without regret with blood splashing his face and on the ground he stood. His focus on exterminating who comes in his way. Your face was twisting in a cringe by the pain on your hip and by also seeing the gore happening around the area made by the witcher.

"---Witcher got himself a bizarre woman!" Your captor announced out loud with a laugh when Geralt was finally close enough. Assassinating every bit of his men into lifeless dolls.

No exhaustion was written on his face except for the sweat. There were splutters of human blood soiling his dashing features. He'd relaxed his stance and had his hands on either side of him, palms on show but the other holding his sword, yielding it away from your captor, yet still showing sign that he wouldn't be doing any more violence.

Jaskier had managed to kick the unarmored man with his foot and hit the butt of the sword on the latter's head, knocking him unconscious as he scanned the whole area with a terrified look on his face.

It was a complete massacre.

The witcher had his eyes solely on you; your eyelashes batting languidly when you've taken a good look at your brawny savior and felt yourself turn jello from the blood pouring out of you. You didn't know if it was already hallucination but there was anger, dismay and fear pouring out of those blazing, golden peepers like he'd already seen the whole event, hoping it wouldn't end the way it was before.

"I take what's mine," Geralt rasped and firmly pressed with that low baritone of his. If one was aware of his change of emotions, you could hear how earnest he sounded as he took cautious steps closer; facial expressions still apathetic and non-readable for the people who sees him. The witcher kept his mouth closed as he breathed and looked away, before keeping a weather eye on you again. His half-tied hair disheveled, dirty and looking greasy from the sweat.

"---Release her," It was a demand from the witcher himself. An ultimatum sent as you've noticed Geralt's fingers tightly wrap around the handle of his silver sword; like he was trying hard not to stab Tybalt who stood behind you because he had you shackled.

Tybalt noticed Geralt who was stealthy prowling to reach you up close and so, he'd positioned his dagger across your neck as you heaved breaths; yanking your head back to show Geralt that he wouldn't think twice in slitting you dead. The witcher was quick to cease his steps when he was a meter away from you; tightly keeping his lips in a straight line as he exhaled a frustrated breath.

"The king will be delighted to see you," Tybalt deliberately observed the witcher from head to foot, shaking his head in disbelief that it only took one woman to kidnap for him to reveal himself from hiding. Your breathing was staggered as you blinked repeatedly back at the witcher as his nose was scrunched to his discontent for everything, "I don't have time for your royal shit," he seethed back at the man; giving him a tight scowl.

Tybalt frowned back at Geralt, feeling the tip of his dagger heavily pressing against the pulse on your neck;  making you whimper, "---But, you wasted your time on killing my men for this useless wench, Witcher."

"She's...She's a different case," The witcher trailed off as you felt his stare on your face, definitely pining than it ever intended to before he'd given the stink eye to the vampire holding you captive, "---I don't want anything to do with the castle,"

"The prince is slowly losing himself, reaching his demise," Tybalt stressed; worried about the royal family whom he was devoted to for already a decade. Geralt scoffed back with a rude remark, "I don't have anything to do with any of their horseshit, Tybalt. I wasn't the witch who have cursed prince Althalos,"

He said his name out loud, catching you off guard as you peered back at the witcher with an intrigued haze of your bloodshot eyes because he knew him.

"You witchers are fucking useless!" Tybalt groaned and loudly sneered before violently fishing out his dagger. Geralt knew what he was about to do and your life held no value for Tybalt as he had no second thoughts on ending you with a stab to the chest.

Yet, from the moment Tybalt held the dagger over your chest; the witcher was fast enough to cast a sign towards the both of you; dragging you from the force as you were pushed off in the air. Though, Geralt was immediate enough to catch you around your wrist, pulling you to him before you could even fall flat on the ground.

The witcher secured his musclebound arms around you, his sky scraping height thoroughly used as your support as you were holding him for dear life. You didn't know how comforting his warmth was when he carefully sat you down against the stone walls as your vision was starting to spin a horizon.

"Ge...Geralt," you whispered as you heave for long breaths, tightly closing your eyes as you tried to take a good look at the witcher who was crouched in front of you; examining your face for more injuries and too dizzy to realized that he'd tuck a disheveled strand of your hair away from your face to observe your status.

You were probably losing blood, having a panic attack and feeling weak from the stab wound.

Your eyes were just straightaway staring at the witcher; seeing his face contort into pure rancor and you tried to smile despite of the pain. It took a kidnapping for him to finally notice you or even care in giving you his attention and you wanted to laugh by how you needed to shed blood for the witcher to care like this.

It looked entirely pleasing and also satisfying to see him care.

"I'm okay! J-Just bleeding--??" it was a yelp as you tried to move your hips and felt your muscles spasm as it gave you another strike of excruciating pain; making you moan and whimper; looking away from Geralt to inspect the cages for the poor children still in the background.

Jaskier finally got off on his feet, running towards where you were and you've seen him crouch beside the witcher with a look of panic and worry. Never uttering a word as his mind was in a mess at all the blood that was flowing. You languidly blinked; trying to fight off from fainting because you didn't want to fall unconscious. The heat from Geralt's palm cupping your face forcefully made you take a look at him and his expressions were unreadable as per usual, "The...The children,"

Geralt couldn't help but sigh; his face frowning from your words. Despite of being wounded and on the verge of fainting, you were still selfless enough to ask to release the children from their cage. Jaskier blinked at the image in front of him. The witcher was cupping your cheek as he worriedly stared into your eyes and the bard needed to blink to stop himself from watching; lifting himself off his feet to answer your requests. "I-I'll free them!"

The Ivory haired man checked your wounds; seeing Carmine liquid dripping from the wound like a slightly open faucet with every breath you take; staining his dark Tunic till blood was dripping down your unclothed thighs. He'd stood on his feet as he was sure to leave you in a position that would lessen for the blood to spill, his angered; golden eyes scanning the area as to where Tybalt was. But, to his dismay...He was gone.

"Worry no more, children or...women! The witcher has saved the day! Come on now!" the bard hooted as he freed the children; noticing some were teenagers and actually close to being young adults. Some of the women gasped at his words because of the fact that they were saved by a monster slayer who was only capable of taking lives and continued to gawk at the witcher who stood in the middle of the area; seeming to be in a deep contemplation within himself.

Geralt closed his eyes to try and get a scent from the vampire. Though, none. It was never found as the metallic scent of your blood has heightened it all; including those he have exterminated. A low grumble vibrated out of his chest as he sheathed his sword and kept it strapped on his back again despite of all the blood it had.

He thought Tybalt wouldn't have lasted long in the castle; even having the luck on earning a spot in the military forces despite of doing all the dirty work for the royalties. His hatred for the vampire growing back in a bigger fire; adding more wrath because he'd butchered the witcher that worked for the king last time because of certain purposes.

It wasn't a little later that you were being carried in somebody's arms. Based on the long hair hitting your face and the strong scent of blood, you knew it was Geralt. Your arms were feebly encircling his neck as you closed your eyes, fighting off from being knocked out. "I...don't...want to sleep," you saplessly whispered to the witcher who was talking to Jaskier and asking if remembers the healer that was close from the city.

You didn't want to sleep because you were worried that when you wake up, he would be back in being distant again; that everything that has happened was all a dream, being carried and saved by Geralt for the second time as he even had the look that he cared and not actually feel as if you were a baggage to their family.

Your forehead leaned on the witcher's neck as you could feel yourself smile as he'd hummed to inform you that he was listening; putting his attention solely on you alone, "I...I...didn't do anything...mean, right?" you continued to question and whispered against his neck, the beat of your heart skipping a beat despite of how shallow it was sounding right now.

Geralt exhaled a deep breath, giving you the side eye as he tried to peer down at you but it was impossible as you hid on the corner of his neck. A weak smile lifting your lips as you continued and felt your head so light; the words coming out of your mouth completely like a whistle of the wind as you accepted the daydream of talking your thoughts out in the open, "I..I...don't want you hating me..and I don't want you avoiding me...at all costs," the vulnerability of your words can be heard. You were too weak to even feel Geralt swallow that uncomfortable but equitable feeling down his throat as he strode past people who were looking at you in bafflement.

It took one last sigh before Geralt felt your head fall in between his neck in unconsciousness and for the first time, ever again. The witcher was scared.

Thus, you were sure you were thoroughly fond of his presence. As if, you were surprisingly taking more than a liking to a witcher without your consent and unbeknownst to your conscience, it has always been from the start as destiny made it out to be.

SO, I WAS SCREAMING WHEN GERALT SAID ‘I TAKE WHAT’S MINE’ (GERALT, YOU CAN TAKE ME HOWEVER YOU WANT---OOPS) OTHER THAN THE WORD FUCK THAT HE ALWAYS SAYS. *sCREAMS* WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS FOR THIS CHAPTER, TATER TOTSSSS!!?!?!?

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​​ @himarisolace​​ @barkingbullfrog​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @hellodevilslittlesister​​ @vania-marie​​ @spookypeachx​​ @grungelovebug​​ @fangirl-inthe-us​​ @nympeth​​ @amirahiddleston​​ @gabethelobster​​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​​ @uncoolcloudyhead​​ @melaninstylezz​​ @psychosupernatural​​ @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ 

[madbucker]

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon.

Eventual Daryl Dixon x female reader.

IV.

Season 1.

MASTERLIST.

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: Y/N follows Rick to Atlanta. They find a group willing to help them.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death, mentions of domestic abuse. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 3.6k.

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! Had this in my drafts for a few days. I hope you like it! ♥

Gif’s not mine.

“Morgan…” You couldn’t find the right words to express how grateful you were. You looked at Morgan and Duane with conflict showing in your eyes: you were happy and hopeful that you were going to find your sister in Atlanta, but you couldn’t ignore the anguish, the heartbreak of leaving them. Every second counted, and waiting a few more days could lower your chances of finding her alive, but those two had saved your life. What if leaving them lowered their chances of making it to safety? Even if you weren’t suited for survival, having someone else around could make a difference.

“Go, this is your chance. We’ll meet again, soon.” Morgan took over as if he knew how much you were feeling at the moment, embracing you not only with his arms but with his words.

Yeah, we’ll meet again, you thought. Your mind softened for a couple of seconds when you felt another set of arms hugging you tight from your side. You had only known them for a couple of weeks, but that was a lot when the world was the way it was. Weeks felt like a lifetime for you, and so it did for the men that had taken you in.

Men, because Duane was far from being a boy. It was sad, he deserved to live the rest of his childhood like you did, or like his father did. He had to, forcefully, become brave, strong, and even cold sometimes.

“We’ll meet again in Atlanta, or somewhere else, I don’t know, but we will.” You said as they let go of you. All you could do after that was forcing yourself to smile reassuringly.

“Now go and help Rick find his family too.”

“You can't leave me here... Not like this. You can't, man. It's not human. Come on, don't do this!”

Merle’s voice was faint as you ran down the stairs with everyone else. Their names were blurry in your head, the adrenaline making you forget about everything but the fact that your life was hanging by a thread.

But Merle, oh, you would never forget his name.

He was the type of person you were afraid to run into, back when you were alone. You were glad Rick was there to put him in his place, even though that hadn’t shut him up. 

Finding other survivors had its downside, you guessed, but not all of it was bad.

They told you that they had a camp, that they had people. The blonde woman’s younger sister was one of them, and they said they had children, too. Maybe it was too good to be true, but since Atlanta was overrun by walkers, then that was the best you had.

Walkers, that’s what they’d named them: because that’s all they did, they were the empty carcasses of what used to be a beautifully complex human being. They just walked, and bit, and killed.

You feared your sister was one of those, roaming around the city. That thought hadn’t left your mind since you first realized how bad things had gotten there. What if she had gone to Atlanta, seeking shelter, but found her death instead? You knew you had to get out of the situation you were in before you made any decisions. The camp didn’t seem like a bad idea, you could stay there temporarily and visit the city a few more times until you found her. Maybe even bring back supplies to thank everyone for letting you stay. That was if you made it, survival was still something new, something you had to train for.

Safety in numbers felt like your best shot. 

You didn’t pay much attention to your surroundings until you got inside the loading dock, your eyes were fixed in what was in front of you. A walker could’ve gotten you from your sides and you wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late. You were lucky enough to get to safety.

So was T-Dog, who at last second caught up with you, right before you heard Rick banging on the door.

You sat next to the two women, hugging yourself with your trembling arms. You were agitated and couldn’t catch enough air to say what you knew everyone else wanted to say.

“Hey, T-Dog,” you moaned once you could stabilize your breath, “where’s Merle?” you almost barked the asshole’s name. He looked down to his knees.

“I dropped the damn key,” he growled, angry and ashamed.

“Well, shit.” You whispered, making sure nobody heard. Merle had it coming, that was clear, but T-Dog didn’t have to carry with the guilt of leaving a man to die just because he happened to be… the way he was.

“Best not to dwell on it. Merle got left behind. Nobody's gonna be sad he didn't come back... except, maybe, Daryl.” One of the men commented. You lifted your head and locked your eyes with his, your heart starting to beat faster once again. If for some reason Merle had someone who cared for him, then they had to love him. That was a difficult man, the one you had met back there… It must've taken a huge amount of patience and devotion to want him around for more than a few hours.

If he actually had someone who cared for him, you were completely fucked.

“Daryl?” you hesitated to ask, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“His brother.”

The scenario was so beautiful it was truly unbelievable. You were stepping out of the dock when Rick’s drowned cry caught your attention. Looking forward, you saw a kid running to hug him, followed by a woman. You quickly figured out Rick had found his family, making your heart flutter. In the shithole you were in, you figured those things were a sight to be seen, something that didn’t happen every day, so you let yourself enjoy the view.

You knew Rick’s son was young, even younger than Duane, but seeing him there made you realize how fragile he was.

Innocent, scared, too little to live through those times. And for a second, you forgot that a few hours before you thought you had no purpose left. Not finding your sister, seeing how one of the biggest cities in the country had fallen… you had started to think that there was no use in trying so hard to survive when you had nobody left.

But there he was, Carl, and there were more kids in the camp. Maybe you could do more than just survive. Trying to help them live their lives with as little worry and concern as possible was better than giving up.

“Why on earth did you leave the apartment?!” A loud, high pitched scream echoed through the camp, and it didn’t take long for you to spot her, running to you.

Her. Mayra. Your sister.

When her body slammed into yours, you fell backward as you hugged her tight, trying not to let her go, as if she could slip away from your arms at any moment. You stayed on the ground trying to take in every detail you could. Her shaky breath, the way her hair felt on your skin, how her fingers were uncomfortably pressed between the ground and your shoulder blades. Her small cries as she tried to find the exact words to say.

“I was looking for you!”, at that point, you were sobbing, not even thinking about the people whose eyes wandered from Rick to you two.

“And I was about to go back home looking for you!” She cried, steadying her breath before standing back up. You followed her actions, your sight never leaving hers.

You weren’t sure how long it had been since it all started. Weeks, for sure. Months, too, although sometimes it felt like decades.

Suddenly, her eyes widened and she scanned her surroundings, fear creeping in her. She put both of her hands on your shoulders and lightly shook her head, still searching for something, you couldn’t guess what.

“Did he die?” She questioned firmly. You didn’t answer, had someone else gone to Atlanta that hadn’t made it? Someone who died before you found the group? She couldn’t be talking about… 

The entire world fell on top of you. You had just discovered your sister was alive and had also just found out you left someone she cared about behind. “Did Merle fucking die?!”

The fire warmed your legs and the frog legs tasted so, so good. You hadn’t eaten anything freshly cooked in such a long time, it felt unreal. You were focused on your food and on Rick’s story, it was the first time you heard him talk in-depth about what had happened. He seemed happy, and the bags under his eyes were more subtle. His entire demeanor had changed.

“They found me…” your sister’s voice interrupted your trail of thoughts. You had a conversation pending; one that the both of you decided to ignore so you could enjoy the feeling of being back together, “... the Dixons, I mean. Merle didn’t want me around, Daryl didn’t either, but he was too kind to let it show. Thank God we found the group, like, a couple of days after I joined them.” Her eyes were lost in the flames as she spoke. She knew it hadn’t been your fault, there was no way you would leave him on purpose. “But I was about to die, Y/N. I felt the walker’s teeth on my skin, it tore the fabric on my shoulder. I just accepted it, didn’t fight back, didn’t try to escape.” She looked at you, and you realized that nothing meant shit anymore… life at that moment was constantly being on the verge of dying and knowing that the people you loved could die at any moment, too. Nothing could ever go back to what it used to be. “And, then, a freaking arrow went through the walker’s head. Clean, just like that, and it fell on top of me. I had never seen death in first person, you know. I had lost my friends after a dozen of those creeps came out of nowhere, but I didn’t see them die, I just heard the screams.”

She was your little sister, you hated to hear her that way, so hopeless and surrendering to death. 

“You’re safe now, these people know how to fight-” you stared, but she stopped you before you could finish.

“I know. But one of the men who saved my ass isn’t safe. Yes, he’s not the kindest, nicest, or most selfless man, but I owe him.” You knew that feeling too well. You owed Morgan and Duane, you owed Rick, and Glenn, and so many people. None of them had behaved the way Merle did, but not only Mayra owed him, you did too.

Nodding, you sighed and looked at her in the eyes, reassuring her you would do something to get him back, anything you could.

“Hey, Ed, you want to rethink that log?” Shane’s loud demand made you jump slightly. Your sister nudged you on your side with her elbow and signaled you to look at Ed. She had been suspicious about him and you both had talked about it a few hours back

“It’s cold, man.”

“Then join us or put it out, we don’t want to be seen…” you spoke, managing to sound as nice as you could. You didn’t want to start anything, but you knew how dangerous it could get. You had to avoid loud sounds and bright lights. But Ed, as expected, ignored you.

“Yeah, the cold doesn’t change the rules, does it? Keep our fires low, just embers so we can't be seen from a distance, right?” Shane continued.

“I said it's cold. You should mind your own business for once.” Ed’s answer has was harsh, you could tell he would be hard to deal with, but not everything could be perfect in such a numerous and diverse group. Everyone had different stories to tell, some of them were more tragic than others.

Shane got up and walked steadfastly towards Ed and his family’s fire, “Hey, Ed... Are you sure you want to have this conversation, man?”

“Go on. Pull the damn thing out. Go on!” Ed bossed and his wife pulled the log out of the fire almost immediately, not questioning his husband’s command. It was sad and frustrating, but knowing that stepping in could cause the wife and the little girl to get hurt forced you to stay in your place. Shane seemed to be handling the situation. He was like some sort of leader in the camp, and he had been around those people for so much longer than you, he knew what to do. At least that’s what you told yourself in an attempt to find comfort.

You saw how Shane spoke to Ed’s wife and their daughter, but you couldn’t hear what he said as the group had started a conversation to fill in the silence.

“Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon? He won't be happy to hear his brother was left behind.” The man -whose name you learned was Dale- questioned, deciding to talk about the elephant in the room. 

“I'll tell him. I dropped the key. It's on me.” T-Dog’s shameful tone showed up once again.

“I cuffed him. That makes it mine.” Rick followed. It couldn’t turn into a competition of who was brave enough, who was the most selfless, or who was willing to sacrifice themselves.

“We were all there, it’s not a competition, any of us could’ve done something-” You intervened, hoping you could bring into the conversation the fact that you were planning on going back, but Glenn interrupted you:

“I don't mean to bring race into this, but it might sound better coming from a white guy.” You hated it, but if Daryl was as bigoted as his brother, then Glenn was right.

“I did what I did. Hell if I'm gonna hide from him.” T-Dog stated, completely convinced of facing the consequences.

“And we keep on making a competition out of this. We all should be there and say whatever we have to say.” You said in a determined tone. You were all responsible, one way or another.

“Look, Y/N… maybe I can tell him?” Mayra whispered as the rest kept on debating who should speak up.

“I don’t know how it could help…” You said back. Yes, Mayra knew him better than you, but she hadn’t been involved, she didn’t have to.

She opened her mouth to protest, but T-Dog’s words captured your interest instantly:

“My point... Dixon's alive and he's still up there, handcuffed on that roof. That's on us.”

When the fire was out and everyone got into their tents, including your sister, you still sat on the same log as before. The scenario felt strange, almost unknown to you: outside at night, under the cloudy night sky, and still not unsafe. It had been so long since you felt immortal and undefeatable, just like any other girl your age felt... like nothing could happen to you, not ever. You missed it. But beautiful as that night was, the imminent danger thickened the air.

You felt your eyes growing heavier each second. You were ready to go to sleep, so you got up and started to walk to the tent you and Mayra would share, but the sight of someone on the roof of Dale’s RV made you stop on your tracks.

Shane was keeping watch, and you wondered if he did it each night, or how had they arranged the shifts. He looked tired and the look on his face was anything but friendly.

“Hey, want to switch?” You asked approaching the stairs and climbing up, not waiting for an answer. Once you got off the stairs, your eyes wandered through the trees and landed up in the sky. If he kept watch every night, then you knew why. The view wasn’t mesmerizing, you had seen more beautiful countless times before, but the air up there was lighter, and the breeze, soothing. 

“Sorry ‘bout Ed today.” Shane ignored your question. You sat down next to the chair he was sitting in.

“Don’t be, he’ll pay for what he’s doing to his family someday. Soon, I hope.” You looked up and realized his eyes were lost somewhere in the horizon. He looked tired, and if you read more into it: defeated. “Go to sleep, I’ll stay. I want to.”

It came as a surprise to you: that was all he needed to hear. He didn’t protest, he got up, handed you the shotgun and left. You didn’t know if he would be able to get some sleep, at least he could try to.

But what you did know was that you weren’t suddenly concerned about the sleeping schedule of a man you had just met. You were desperately in need of being alone. Being around so many people was something you had only dreamt about, at least for the last weeks, and although you felt the luckiest you had ever felt, the safety you had found allowed you to put your feet back on the ground.

Everything had happened so fast. You almost died, and more than once. You met people, they saved you, you left one of them to die, you found out Mayra was alive and safe, Rick’s family was with her… and you still had to figure out how to break the news to Merle’s brother. 

You were going back to the city, too, as if everything that had happened wasn’t enough. You’d do it for your sister, and for the men who saved her, as questionable as they were.

And suddenly, it clicked.

The bag. The guns.

You had to remind Rick. It could save the group from an attack from walkers, or from other people. That way you knew somebody else would go back with you and you would actually have a shot of coming back alive, even if they despised Merle.

“Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up.”

You had just finished hanging some of your clothes to dry when an unbothered and loud voice caught everyone’s attention. From their wide eyes, you could tell who had just gotten back. Merle’s brother, Daryl, sounded, moved, and acted just like him. It wasn’t just the accent, but his words, how his presence made everyone uncomfortable… you could tell they were expecting him to snap as soon as he found out. Behind him, Shane and Rick looked and nodded to each other. You approached them, determined to be a part of it even if hell broke loose.

“Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there.” Rick got to the point with no rambling.

“We locked the door, he’s safe from walkers.” You dared to look at him in the eyes, but regretting it as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Hold on. Let me process this. You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?!”

“Yeah.” Rick stepped in front of you, and without skipping a beat, Daryl attacked Rick, who shoved him off. 

You took a few steps back and spotted your sister, who was just getting out of the RV. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open as soon as she realized what was happening: Daryl, Shane, T-Dog and Rick were yelling at each other. She stood in her place, everyone in the camp knew well not to intervene. Shane had Daryl on a chokehold as Rick explained to him that he wanted to have a calm discussion, which seemed to force Daryl to give in. Shane let go of him.

“What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work and play well with others.” Rick kept going. At that point, you guessed nothing could actually calm Dixon, he was still breathing heavily.

“It's not Rick's fault. I had the key. I dropped it.” T-Dog cut in.

“You couldn't pick it up?” Daryl snarled.

“Well, I dropped it in a drain.”

“If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't.” 

“Hey, I told you, the door’s chained with a padlock. There’s no way walkers could get to him.” You repeated, trying your best to be concise and get to the point: Merle was still out there. 

“And who the fuck are you?” Daryl took a few steps forward and stared at you in the eyes. You weren’t scared, but it did take you by surprise. You stumbled back and raised your hands, putting them in between you.

“She’s my sister, Daryl!” Mayra’s shaky voice made him turn around. You couldn’t see his face, but hers was filled with heartbreak. She felt she had failed him, as if she had broken an unspoken promise. Daryl faced you again.

“Funny, huh? How I saved your sister but you left my brother to rot.” He growled. His voice low and irritated.

Your eyes jumped from Mayra to him. You straightened your body and took a deep breath. He was right. You felt miserable, and you couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Mayra, you knew you would have to do something as soon as she told you her story.

“I know, that’s why I’m going back there. With or without you.”

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

a message.

This whole post is full of things I’ve wanted to say for a very long time. So yes, this is going to be very long.

Before I begin, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to the innocent people who had nothing to do with this. I’ve never ever been involved with online/fandom drama before, I hate being in this position so fucking much with all my heart and soul, and I never thought in my whole life that I’d be in this position, either.

Secondly, this is about the DEF LEPPARD FANDOM ON TUMBLR. If you’re not part of this fandom, kindly fuck off :^) This is not about you.

This post explains why I feel this way. And to those innocent people who aren’t involved with this, I’m sincerely sorry if any of this has changed your opinions of me.

I’m in a mood and a half, so I’ll do my best to effectively tell everything from my perspective. Read if you want, but this is just what I’m thinking.

I’ve been running this blog for almost three years now. When I first joined this fandom on tumblr at the beginning of 2018, there wasn’t really a ‘fandom’ per se; all the main blogs were dead, no one ever really posted, and there wasn’t much content. I decided to start a DL blog of my own to vent my love into it and not spam my main account. 

Within a month, I could quickly see that some sort of renaissance was happening in this fandom; more blogs were popping up, more people were posting, and more people were just participating in general. There were memes now, there were conversations now- it was great! There was a real community; it was all about sharing information, spewing our love, getting creative, and interacting! 

There was integrity, and there was respect for the band as well as one another.

I, as part of this community, wanted to do everything in my physical power to contribute in any way I could. I was insanely active and hyper-productive and could not be stopped. I still haven’t stopped, but I certainly have slowed down significantly (due to lack of new activity from the band and increased mental health issues I won’t get into). I don’t want to be self-centered and say that I was “running” this branch of the fandom for the past 2.7 years, but I was certainly a big player in it, and I feel everyone agreed (and some still agree) with that as well.

There were some times where disagreements happened. There were times where many of us knew that someone else was crossing a line in a post. We knew what qualified as “not okay” in terms of being perverted and such. We’d solve this by not blaming, not hounding, not sending anon hate, not calling out, but by presenting facts, talking maturely, and trying to right the wrongs as maturely as we could.

Yes, it was possible. Was.

I don’t think you guys realize just how much content I’ve contributed to this fandom. I have spent basically every single day of the past 3-ish years trying to spread information/content/photos/videos/links/etc. to everyone who follows me (and everyone who doesn’t). This fandom was (and I cannot stress this enough), literally my entire life for the past 3 odd years, and I really wanted to spend the rest of my life contributing to it the way I’ve been.

I don't think anyone on here realizes everything that I have done for this community. Because of me:

this fandom has access to Animal Instinct for free

this fandom has access to the rare picture disc interview

this fandom has numerous scans of photos that may have not ended up online otherwise (I also paid $70 to have access to some of these. You're welcome.)

we have Fabulist Icons content

we have a decent amount of fanfiction that doesn't only focus on the boys banging each other/sex in general (seriously, this simply didn’t exist on here before I started posting my shit)

we have a little more fan art

we have content from Phil's and Ross's books

we have hundreds (yes, literally, HUNDREDS) of edits/moodboards/memes/etc. that I made myself

we have gifsets of things that no one else would have made

we have achieved justice a lot of the time when content was stolen because I have defended everyone without question/rallied up armies the second I heard it happened

some of you have gotten updates on news/facts/history/details/etc. that you’ve never even heard of

probably a shit ton more things, but that’s all I can think of for now. You get the point.

But that’s only half the story. This band and fandom has given me so much to cherish over the past few years.

Because of this fandom and the people (that were once) in it, I have:

met Rick in person

met, quite honestly, my two best friends ever, @ballistic-lipstick-dream-machine (my true Terror Twin) and @paper-sxn (adopted little sister/cousin)

became in contact with Phil's guitar tech from the mid-80s (Mike)

gained creative ambition to play guitar, create art, write stories, make edits/gifs, travel, and basically just better myself

began a record collection that is now in the hundreds and gained a lot of knowledge from it

discovered a whole new genre of music

found a community/culture where, for the very very first time in my life, I felt like I BELONGED.

fallen in love with something and someone for the first time

felt like I actually mattered to people, like I was actually important (because people would always come to me for information or help if they needed it)

basically impacted every corner of my life

just about a million other things, too, but I will be here all night if I try to list them all.

To put it delicately: Def Leppard and this fandom on tumblr absolutely changed my life, and was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.

I have spread so much information around, you newer people wouldn't imagine. I have gathered and seen so much information, you wouldn't believe how much I know and how much I've learned. I have bounced back and forth between formats time after time again that I feel like I’m stuck in a time warp. I have edited so many things on non-professional programs that I am an MS paint expert. I have been here so long, that I’ve seen 98% of the people in this branch of the fandom rotate in and out at least two or three times. 

That being said, all of the toxic people in this fandom will most likely be gone within the next 6 months. 

Def Leppard has taught me so much, but a big thing was love and loyalty. It's clear that the majority of people in this fandom (read my lips- I am N O T saying anyone’s names. I mean that.) do not know the meanings of either of these words. I've been practically running this fandom on Tumblr for nearly three years now, you’ve seen all that I’ve done for you, and what have I gotten in return?

Slander, cyberbullying, disrespect, consistently stolen content, etc. That’s what I’ve gotten. I’ve never attacked anyone on here, and that is still something I won’t do.

Yes, I am against slash fic, and I can’t believe that THAT’S the only reason why I’m being torn down like this. Something so dumb and immature as that has torn my beloved community in half. I have never attacked ANYONE for writing slash fic, yet I’ve been getting attacked since August (it is November now) for simply believing it is wrong to openly admit you want the boys to fuck each other.

(I’d also like to point out that someone from the KISS fandom ((god knows why)) had the balls to call me “homophobic” for hating slashfic. I can’t even begin to explain how much I laughed at that.)

I just wanna say that these are REAL people you’re writing about, you know. Don’t you think THEY would be against it? I know I cannot stop anyone from writing slash (I’ve said that before, but no one seems to remember it). I don’t think any of you realize that there is a certain line you shouldn’t cross when it comes to the internet, and being perverted in such an explicit and disrespectful way is one of them. We always had integrity in this fandom, and slash was never part of something we stood for. We knew when to stop, and we kept the slash on rockfic.com (where it belongs imo. That’s like their element).

I was very confused when more slash fics started appearing on tumblr this year. Now, it seems like that’s all there is, and I’m disgusted.

Whenever something close to that happened in 2018, everyone would be totally against it, and we’d talk it out and explain. While we all had our fair share of horny (and maybe then some) in this fandom, but we always knew where to draw the line. That was the line. That line doesn’t exist anymore, apparently, and nobody knows how to be mature and respectful to the band, to each other, and just for fuck’s sake. Now, I’m being slammed that being perverted for them fucking their best friends is “just fandom, bitch” and “the norm” and that it’s done “out of respect”, which I will never understand. You can’t use “slash” and “respectful” in the same sentence, and you can’t change my mind, but I know I can’t change yours, either. 

Slash is not, nor will it ever be, respectful. This fandom has become toxic.

Fanfiction is an outlet for creativity to be used for fun, not to be used as an excuse to project your sexually perverted sexuality headcannons/fetishes onto innocent, REAL, LIVE people. If all you write/read is them having sex with each other, then it really makes you wonder if it’s about “respect” anymore, doesn’t it?

In my opinion it’s fucked up that it’s “normal” and “just part of fandom” to create sexualities for- again- REAL, LIVE PEOPLE, and it’s everyone’s first instinct to argue that it’s fine, apparently? If you “respect” your idols so much like you claim you do, then why don’t you maybe respect their actual orientations instead of creating masturbation material for random 12 year olds and boomers, perhaps?

I don’t know what I did that was so fucking wrong in your eyes, as I’ve always tried to keep integrity in this area of tumblr. 

I'm very deeply hurt, more than I've ever been by this. It physically hurts me to admit that this fandom has become as toxic as it currently is. I don’t feel welcome here anymore at all, despite practically running things on here for so long.

I don’t know how I could ever live without this fandom, but now it looks like I’m going to have to try, or at least try and rebuild it on my own (again). I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop posting about Def Leppard, and after all, I only started posting about them for myself to begin with.

We were supposed to be the good fandom, the happy fandom, the fandom with no drama. I am ashamed to be associated with you now. I tried to stop it as best as I could, and hoped people would back me up, but I’ve received nothing but hate for simply trying to preserve some dignity.

You guys have been immature to say the least, and I find it very hard to believe that some of you are legal adults (but let’s be honest; most of you toxic people are probably too young to even be behind a computer, anyway). 

I’ve had to block some people that I really didn’t want to, but the deed is done. Keep your slash to yourself, tag it, do a read more, post it somewhere else, even- that’s how you co-exist. Just don’t come after me because I think it’s wrong. I never came after anyone specifically like that.

This isn’t goodbye, but I certainly am leaving for a while. I hope I got my point, my history, and my perspective across.

And I hope you’re fucking happy, because you’ve destroyed something I loved.

-Rachel