#why use ten words when you can use four hundred?

[zebaji]

Just a thought I had...

Lloyd, Nya, and Morro, thousands of years after the Ninja have all died, find themselves back before the Green Ninja gets revealed.

Lloyd says no to destiny.

“... All of my training to become the best ninja wasn't in preparation to become the Green Ninja. It was... to protect him,” Kai says with a sad smile, and everyone turns to look at Lloyd, who takes a deep breath, frowns and crosses his arms, before changing the entire timeline with one single word.

“Nope.”

Everyone around him frowns, “What do you mean ‘nope’?”

“I mean I’m not going to be the Green Ninja,” Lloyd clarifies, hating that his voice sounds squeaky and childish. Seriously, he was ten again! He’d think after years of never aging or even comprehending age at all, he’d be glad to be alive, even if he was ten. Which was definitely not the case– Can he go back to the Departed Realm please? Someone really didn’t like him, that was for sure.

“Can you just decide that?” Jay asks as everyone taller than Lloyd exchanges confused looks. Well, except Nya, who’s trying to hide her smile by looking like she’s swallowed a lemon. “We don’t even know for sure if you are the Green Ninja.”

“Great!” Lloyd beams at him, giving Jay a toothy smile and nothing else. He’s acting like a child, but Lloyd doesn’t mind it as much as he did when he actually was one. He hasn’t been a kid in a very long time and while he may have the brain of a dead twenty-five-year old that has thousands of years of memories in the afterlife, nobody else knows that and he’s going to take advantage of that.

“So let’s just not make sure I am, and we can all be on our merry way!”

Silence fills the Bounty.

“I think we should double check. Just so we know…” Cole trails off with a shrug, when Lloyd glares at him with all the annoyance his ten-year-old self can muster. It’s not a lot, much to his dismay, so he allows for the weapons to be placed around him, just as Wu looks at him carefully.

“But why do you think you are not the Green Ninja, Lloyd?” He asks with a gentle carefulness.

Lloyd shrugs, “I just don’t want to.” 

I’m done fighting, he says silently. I’m done with losing everything because of destiny. Also, I already lived this life and I’m not in the mood to relive it.

The Golden Weapons float up, crackling with green energy, just like it had hundreds of years ago, and Lloyd scowls when everyone looks at him in awe or in Garmadon’s case– despair.

“Lloyd is the Green Ninja. I had thought it would be one of you, but it was him the whole time. It all makes sense. Not only have you four been chosen to protect the Golden Weapons, but also to protect the Chosen One,” Wu says reverently, and Lloyd shakes his head, probably looking like a brat, but this was his decision. 

And he says, “No. I’m not going to do it.”

“Can he do that?” Cole turns to the other adults in the room, “Say no to destiny?”

“Of course he can,” Zane interjects, “He shouldn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders yet,” He says, and Lloyd grins, relieved that someone was taking his side. “But the Golden Weapons have confirmed it, and there is no avoiding that Lloyd is the Green Ninja.”

Lloyd’s makes a face, “It’s not me,” He insists. “Because I don’t want to be.”

He doesn’t want to fill everyone with hope. Or despair, when Lloyd casts a helpless look at his father. It had been a very long time for Lloyd to see his father like this– staring at Lloyd like he was the only thing that mattered.

“If he doesn’t want to be, he doesn’t have to,” Garmadon clears his throat, pulling Lloyd closer to him. “Our family shall not be dived anymore than it has to.”

“Okay, fine! But who’s going to be the Green Ninja?” Kai throws his hands in the air. “If it can’t be one of us, and Lloyd doesn’t want to, who?”

Nya walks up, a small grin on her face with sparkling eyes that have seen too much of life as she shares a look with Lloyd. “I mean we could always ask Morro.”

Wu’s staff clatters to the ground, and half of the group turns to look at Wu alarmed, and the rest looks at Nya confused. 

“Who?” Kai asks his sister, just as Wu pushes away Cole, who had handed the old man his staff, and turns to Nya. “How do you know that name?” He demands, his face pale, gripping his staff like he’ll drop it again.

The smile that Nya gives Wu is filled with mischief and daring, as she shrugs. “Oh you know, Wojira’s descendants all sort of know each other. It’s a weather thing.”

It was very much not a weather thing. It was more of a ‘falling in a rift out of the Departed Realm, thousands of years after Lloyd thought he was done with living.’ They had been trying to prank Kai and Jay, only for the prank to go stupendously wrong and Morro, Lloyd, and Nya falling into the time stream.

They didn’t even know if Morro was here, but Lloyd hopes so. They had come a long way since Morro had possessed him back when he was sixteen. Well, Morro had apologized and made up for it, but that was hundreds of years ago, and it was all water under the bridge in their very long dead lives. 

Now, or at least before the three of them had fallen into time, they were in a decade long prank war with Jay, Cole, and Kai, as they waited for Zane to join them in the never ending party that was the Depared Realm.

Wu looks pained as he stares at Nya. “He died seventy years ago,” He whispers, his eyes turning farway and the Bounty turns solemn.

“Who was he, brother?” Garmadon asks carefully and delicate, but Wu shakes his head and straightens upwards.

“And what do you mean ‘ask Morro’? Why are you talking to dead people?” Kai demands to his sister, but before Nya can say ‘A few minutes ago I was dead,’ or something along those lines– Lloyd is definitely going to say it when he gets the opportunity to– Wu looks at her, pain in his eyes.

“Exactly, Nya. He is at peace, and has been, for much longer than you have been alive. How would we even be able to contact him?” 

Nya shrugs, and points upwards, “The wind,” she says with a shit eating grin, as a huge portal appears out of nowhere, and spits out a very angry ghost. The ninja gasp and grab their weapons, running out to the deck, while Wu stares out the window, eyes wide. 

“Show off,” Lloyd mutters to Nya, “There is no way that was a coincidence!” But she just laughs at him, before Garmadon grabs him protectively. There is no way that was planned. None!  Or maybe they had an alliance within an alliance, and he should get allies behind their backs. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do.

Lloyd wiggles out of his dad’s grip, grabbing Nya’s hand. “Come on!”

The two run out to the deck, as Garmadon follows them, dragging Wu along. “Lloyd, wait!” His dad yells, but Lloyd's grinning like a mad man, as Morro lands on the Bounty, which is swaying violently in the wind, as he rants to the poor Ninja who look increasingly confused.

“Who’s fucking idea was it to put fifty snakes into an errupting volcano?” Morro demands, “I was going to wait until Garmadon showed up, but I swore I wasn’t going to do paperwork in the Cursed Realm ever again!”

“Morro!” Nya grins, waving at him, despite Kai’s command for her to stay back. “You’re here! And super early!”

“Yeah. I’m not doing paperwork for the fucking serpentine, when I could just come through the rift they made,” Morro scoffs, only talking to Nya and Lloyd, and is very pointedly ignoring the weapons aimed at him and Wu’s face, which is twisted in so many emotions, Lloyd is worried his uncle may collapse right then and there.

Lloyd winces, “Sorry dude, that sucks.”

“Yeah,” Morro’s frown deepens, “How far back are we?”

“I’m not the Green Ninja!” Lloyd beams up at him– ugh, he’s so short too, this is the worst– and Morro gives him a very long and hard look.

“Can you just do that?” He asks, and Jay throws his hands up in relief.

“See? Even the ghost agrees with me!”

Morro smirks, ignoring the other’s spluttering, and asks, “Does that mean I can be the Green Ninja now? I have my powers back,” he says, the wind swirling around the Bounty for extra effect.

Lloyd shrugs, “Go for it,” he says, “But maybe talk to Wu first, I think he’s about to pass–”

Cole and Kai yelp as Wu falls to the ground in a dead faint. 

“–out.” Lloyd finishes with a giggle.

[seananmcguire]

That Xiran Jay Zhao video about the amount of time it takes to get paid by the publisher, a couple of time she says "that's just the way it is." Are there actual, legitimate business reasons for holding off paying someone 6 or 8 or more months what they've earned for their book? Or is it the publisher basically going "We'll pay you when we pay you. What are you gonna do about it?" because they're essentially the one in charge?

And is it the same for all authors? Or is there an unofficial "tier" system based on your name? Are they telling people like Stephen King or James Patterson or Neil Gaiman "you'll see your money in 8 months" or are they more likely to be getting monthly checks just because of who they are?

There are some legitimate business reasons, yes.

Okay, so let's look at the way a book is sold to a publisher. I'm going to use very round numbers, because I don't want to do a lot of math right now. So say I sell a book for $15,000 under the traditional three installment contract--signing, delivery/acceptance, and publication. What this means is I sign the contract, I get a $5,000 check! Yay! I will also get checks when the book is turned in and accepted, emphasis because it means I can't just give them a word jumble and claim I turned the book in, and then again when the book comes out. We're ignoring side situations like "book is never turned in" and "book is never published."

But wait! My agent gets 15% off the top of each of those checks, which isn't a whole lot at $5,000--$750--but means I'm receiving effectively a $4,250 check, and then waiting maybe a year for the next one.

In the US, 1/3rd of that check goes automatically to taxes, and I cannot math that very well, but it's about $1,416. So I'm left with $2,834 as my payment for the year. This is why most authors will have day jobs.

This structure makes sense. They pay you to call dibs on your book: they pay you when the dibs pan out: they pay you when they can start making money. Now, recently, some publishers have started going to a four stage advance payment, and I can't see any real justification for that. Maybe someone will give me one. I'd be fascinated to know what it is.

So here's the thing: until the book is out, there is no more money. You've been paid for the book, but it's not making money for the publisher yet, and so of course you're not getting more money. It used to be the expectation that your advance would pay your bills while you wrote the next book; that is clearly no longer the case. I live in Seattle. A single check from a three-stage advance isn't paying my mortgage for a month. But.

Once the book is out, it can start making money, and that's when things get complicated. Say a bookstore places an order for 10 copies of AWESOME NEW BESTSELLER. Yay! That should be ten sales, and ten units of whatever your royalty is, right? Only these are physical items, and bookstores can return them, so your publisher marks it down as "ten sales, five reserve against returns," meaning you're only getting credit for five sales until the return window (usually a year) runs out. Where it gets a little hinky is when the bookstore sells all ten and orders ten more, and the publisher still has it marked as "five (now ten) reserve against returns." Basically, you're only getting credit for half your sales until that reserve window closes.

Sadly, thanks to certain retailer policies, this has been grandfathered into applying to electronic sales as well.

TL,DR: The delay in royalty payments is to give bookstores time to sell the books, and mean that your publisher doesn't pay you for a hundred sales, only to ask for the money from fifty to be given back when books are returned. This could happen faster in the modern world, but that would involve publishers paying us faster, and they like to keep the money in their hands as long as possible.

To the best of my knowledge, no one is A Big Enough Author that they can demand their money now, right now. And this is why trad publishing continues to self-select for the wealthy and the young.

[cameronspecial]

hey lovely!! i’ve been thinking about rafe spoiling angel and taking her to those cute little stores with all of the cute plushies and stuff. idk, but i absolutely love your work, and i literally giggle and kick my feet when i see that you’ve written more 😛

ilysm pookieeee 😋😋

Let Me Spoil You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Sex

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K

A/N: Thank you so much. It makes me giddy that you enjoy my work!

Masterlist

Y/N had just found out that she got into her top-choice Master’s Program and Rafe couldn’t be more proud of her. She’s been working so hard, so he wants to reward her for her accomplishments. “Rafe, why are we at the mall? You know I mostly shop at outlet stores,” she complains. Rafe brings her to his side, “I know, but why don’t you let me spoil you, Angel?” She exhales and bobs her head. “Fine, but not more than a hundred dollars,” she limits. She really does love it when he pampers her, but she needs to set some boundaries or else he’ll buy the whole mall. He shakes his head, “One thousand.”

“Two-fifty.” 

“Five hundred.”

“Fine, except I get to buy dinner.”

Rafe is satisfied with the offer and holds his hand out for her. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty about him always spending money on her. The first stop on their tour is the bookstore. He purposefully picked this mall because of the big indie bookstore inside. This is probably where she’ll spend most of her money. She has been browsing the science section of the store for about ten minutes now and has already picked out a few books. Rafe wants her to choose whatever she wants; however, he has a small request. He resets his chin on her shoulder, “Could you throw in some spicy romance books? I like proving to you that I am the ultimate book boyfriend.” Y/N giggles, remembering what happened when he caught her reading Icebreaker. She takes his hand and heads over to the romance section. She browses the books for a few minutes and picks one out. She examines the back, proceeding to add the whole series into the basket. “What’s the book about?” he asks because he is intrigued by the fact that she wants to buy all four books. She smiles at her, “The first one is a grump x sunshine book. She is a photographer and he is rich and her brother’s best friend. I’ve seen it on Bookstagram.” 

He follows her further down, “That sounds interesting. I can’t wait to see where it has us having sex next.” Shy about his words, Y/N turns her head away and continues to look at the books. They spend about forty minutes in the bookstore before moving on to  Miniso. Y/N stares at the wall of stuffed animals in front of her. She knows she wants one, but can’t decide which to choose. “Okay, so there are four possible ones that I want. The penguin, the cat, the bear, or the banana. Which one do you think, Rafe?” she consults. Rafe doesn’t use words to reply; instead, he goes to each one she points out and puts it inside the bag. He adds an elephant in just because he thinks she’ll find it cute. “Rafe, that’s too many. Where am I going to put them?” she reasons, trying to reach into the bag to return some of the plushies. 

He holds his hand out to stop her, “It’s still within your budget. We can put them in the frat storage if there isn’t space in my room and when we find a house in the summer, we just have to make sure there is enough room for them.” “Okay, I guess we can do that. Come on. I want to buy you some things too,” she tells him. They pay for the toys and she drags him to J. Crew. “You don’t have to use the money on me. It’s supposed to be for you.” She turns to him with a grin, “I know. This is for me too. You are going to do a fashion show for me.” Rafe isn’t one to like going shopping, but he will find joy in it if Y/N enjoys it. 

Y/N sits on the little stool Rafe got a sales associate to bring over, waiting for him to come out of the changing room. The door opens and he comes out wearing the teal and white-stripped button-up shirt with the tanned chinos that she picked for him. He does his best to catwalk towards her and spins around for her to take in the full look. “What do we think?” he questions. She gives him a thumbs up, “Rafe, you look so good. We are definitely getting those.” He nods his head before going back to the changing room to try on the next outfit. He comes out in black shorts and a light blue polo, which compliments his eyes. He mocks taking a golf swing, “This is the perfect outfit for golfing. We are going to have to get you a matching one.”

“I don’t golf, Rafe. You know that.” 

“I do, but don’t you think it would be fun to have a matching outfit? I can teach you how to play.” 

“Fine, it would be cool. We can go next week. Now, go finish trying on the rest of the clothes.”

He gives her a mock solute. After trying on the other outfits, they get her a matching outfit to Rafe’s and then go pay. They head to his car, having spent five hundred dollars in almost three hours. It’s a new record for them honestly. Rafe opens the passenger side door for her and she slides into the seat with a thank you. He puts the shopping bags in the trunk, making his way to the diver’s side. “Did you have a good day?” he postulates. His eyes land on her beaming mouth and she holds his chin in between her fingers. Her head moves up and down, “I had the best day. Thank you for spoiling me, Rafe.” She gives him a sweet kiss. “I will always shower my angel with gifts. Now, where are you treating me to dinner?” “Let’s get sushi!” she announces, pointing her finger in forward. He chuckles at how adorable she is and starts the car, driving in the direction of her favourite sushi restaurant.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @nonbullshit-toleratingkindagirl

[heyhoeudoin]

Can I request a senku x fem reader where she goes with the group to the cave instead of magma and her and senku end up cuddling for warmth and senku is all flustered by it.

WARMTH

"Guess you can still be flustered, huh?"

pairing: senku ishigami x fem!reader

words: 2.9k

genre/s: fluff, comfort?

warning/s: she/her (sorry!), s1 ep 21-22, swearing, mention of tits

synopsis: senku never would have imagined that he'd get flustered over a simple hug (and like it a lot)

masterlist

a/n: i know it's been a year... i got busy, but better later than never! also, while rewatching this episode, i got so emotional like holy sht. the way senku got emotional in this episode just got me tearing up! i love senku so much and i miss dr stone a lot more than i thought i did (IT'S ONLY BEEN A YEAR SINCE IT ENDED LIKE?!?!)

as the group walked up to the edge of the cliff, the sun rises and the stone in suika's hand glowed bright blue shocking everyone around.

"it's blue... a gemstone," chrome says.

"why is it glowing?" suika asks looking at the rock she's holding.

"oh my god, it's scheelite!" you exclaimed as your eyes sparkled at the gem-like-stone in front of you.

senku smiled at you and exclaimed, "ten billion points for you, y/n!" he then walked forward pointing, and bending down at it. "it glows blue when exposed to ultraviolet light. reactions to ultraviolet light are especially visible right before the sun rises. in other words, only right now."

"a magic stone that glows just for this moment... " gen says with a small smile.

chrome went closer to the stone with a curious face. "i've never seen anything like it," he comments.

"me neither," senku says with sparkles in his eyes. "it's an ultra-rare gem. you guys did an incredibly good job, chrome, and suika. this stuff is used in modern filaments. atomic number seventy-four: tungsten!"

"it's the strongest metal in the universe!" you continued his thought as you kept hitting senku's shoulder in joy and excitement.

"ow~" he muttered holding his shoulder. you quickly wrapped your hands around the shoulder you kept hitting to try and soothe it while giving an apologetic look.

the next day, everyone gotten ready to make a cave expedition, and by everyone, it's just senku and chrome.

"this small chunk won't be enough, but it came down the stream in the cave. there must be tons further inside. tons of this heat-resistant treasure called tunsten," chrome says as he held up the stone.

"we only have one set of lights left," senku says holding up the said last pair of lights. "the last member of the exploration team will be... magma!" he called out making everyone shock, most especially you. "tungsten's tough as hell. we're going to need brute force to collect it. let's go cave diving. we're a trio of spelunking buddies. to the fun treasure dungeon!"

"buddies?!" magma exclaimed, shocked, and confused.

"senku, chrome, and magma?!" kohaku exclaimed.

"i've never heard of such a risky group," suika says.

"i-i-is that even safe?!" ginrou exclaimed. "he might be like, 'i'm the chief!', and attack you, or something, senku!"

"come on, let's get going—"

"objection!"

the group turned to where you stood firmly with a hand raised in the air. "what is this? a court?" gen commented.

you dropped your arm and stomped your way to senku with a pissed off expression. "you may be a genius, but you're still a dumbass." you looked down at him as you jabbed your finger into his shoulder. you spread your other arm to point at magma. "i do not trust him yet!" you exclaimed, bluntly. "which is why i'll be coming with."

senku deadpanned at you and sighs. "y/n, there's only three lights and we need magma to carry the scheelite," he stated.

you rose a brow and placed a hand on your hip. "oh? and you're saying that i can't do that," you retorted with a challenging tone.

senku's mouth snapped shut. how can he forget? you're a hundred percent the strongest here! he shakes his head. "well, it can't be helped," he says, shocking the rest. he turned to magma and told him, "you heard her. take those off."

"whaaat? that easily?!" chrome exclaimed.

senku shrugs, sticking a pinky in his ear. "i can't really stop y/n from doing what she wants. if she wants to come, let her."

"then who's going to carry the rocks?" gen asks.

"y/n will," senku answers.

"what?!" gen screamed. "i-isn't that a bit...? can y/n even handle it?" his arms waved around.

kohaku crossed her arms. "are you saying women are weak?" she looked at him pointedly.

gen furiously shook his head at her. "no no, of course not!"

"right, i never told you y/n's last name, haven't i?" senku comments as he turns over to you, who's walking over wearing the equipment.

"my full name is l/n y/n," you announced. "i am more than capable of carrying the scheelite." gen starts foaming at the mouth. however, those who aren't from the modern world, they don't understand.

"basically, y/n's family is famous for a lot of crazy things and she's stronger than anyone else here," senku explains. "now let's stop wasting time and go!"

you and senku followed chrome to the cave where he got the scheelite from where a small stream of water ended. senku dipped his fingers into it. "the water's lukewarm," he mentions with a chuckle. "we can definitely find some treasures."

the three of you ventured deeper into the caves. however, once they got to a certain part, senku immediately noticed something. "get back!" he screamed, extending his arm behind his back.

you and chrome stopped, tensing up. "what's wrong, senku?" chrome asks.

senku bent down, moving carefully, and cracked a piece of the floor. "it's mica. it's like baumkuchen." you let out an 'oooh', but chrome looked confused. "it's a rock that's brittle enough to break with your hands," he says as he tears a layer off of the one he's holding. he then looks up, shining the light in front of him. "look, they're natural pit traps."

the three of you look over to the abundance of pits. "damn," chrome lets out. "nature's traps are nasty."

"is it possible to get out of that once you fall in?" you then asked.

"yeesh, try to get back up with a rope or a ladder and it'll just cave in on ya," chrome grimance.

senku stood back up. a crack, you heard from under his foot. you leaped over and push him away. you tried to land as delicately as possible, but the ground couldn't handle it. a hole formed immediately beneath you, making you fall straight into it. you reached your hand up to try and grab the edge out of reflex. another hand reached out for yours and took hold of it. it was senku's hand... although he is having a hard time pulling you up.

"no, senku! let go! it's going to cave in under you!" you were able to scream out. true to your words, the ground beneath senku did cave in. you both fall into the pit.

"senku! y/n!"

you pulled senku closer to your body, putting an arm under his neck and legs. you quickly moved your body upright and looked down. your feet hit the ground with a thud and you bent down into a squat so that you don't crush your legs. you let out a sigh of relief as you stood back up and gently placed senku down.

"are you okay?" you asked him while removing the stuff behind your back.

senku stares at you dumbfounded. "no, no, are you okay?"

you chuckle. "i'm fine, senku. i continued the momentum, or whatever you call what i just did to prevent shattering my legs," you tell him reassuringly.

"go sit down while i try to think our way out," he says as he walks over to the wall in front of you. you did what he said and sat down, your eyes never leaving him as you didn't want to miss it in case it happens. senku sometimes lets out these cute noises whenever he thinks or tries something out. to your pleasure, he's making the noises! (a/n: bro he's so cute in this scene) you let out a giggle after he slides back down from trying to climb out.

senku turns to you with a raised brow. "what're you giggling about?"

"it's just... you're adorable," you bluntly answer him.

he blinks, then slightly smirks from the familiarity. "how long has it been since you've last called me that?"

"it's been a while that's what," you say with a smile. just then a stream of water flowed down into the cave. you and senku looked up to see chrome peering down, holding a glass bottle.

"chrome, what are you doing?" you ask with furrowed brows.

"if i keep pouring in water from the pond that's nearby, you might be able to swim back out," he explained.

that caught you off guard. you turned to senku and asked, "will that work?"

he starts cackling and from that alone, you already got your answer. "hang on, that's not bad," he says, then raised a finger in front of his face. you perked up, smiling with glee as you listened to senku's calculations tangent. you love it whenever he says his calculations out loud, and he does it with his pointer finger raised in front of him as well! it's adorable... and insanely attractive.

senku lowered his finger and lets out a laugh. he looked up at chrome and shouts out, "chrome, i'm going to tell you how to craft something. can you do it?"

"yeah, of course i can." chrome nods. "don't underestimate chrome the science user!"

after you tossed the bag with the big glass bottles, you waited patiently as you listened to senku instructing chrome on what to do. shortly after, pillars of water starts flowing down into the pit. "huh? how is the water going from low to high?" you and senku heard chrome ask out loud. you giggled as senku explained to chrome what a siphon is.

you looked to see the water slowly, but surely rising from the floor. your feet being already submerged into it. then your gaze went to senku, who's looking up. "are you sure you won't freeze before we could get up there?" you asked with a hand on your hip.

senku turned to you, still looking up. "i did the calculations. it should be fine before we get hypothermia," he says.

you rose a knowing brow. "that's for a normal person, senku, and you're not a normal person." by this time the water is already about half way at senku's body (you're taller than him so it's not really half way at your body yet).

senku stuck his pinky into his ear, shrugging. "it'll be fine," he says.

it was not fine.

the water's only at half way of the pit, but senku's already shaking and chattering from the cold. you slowly floated your way to senku and wrapped your hands around him. this shocked senku, jolting a bit from the sudden touch. "what are you doing?" he managed to ask.

"here, the tits will keep you warm."

senku gapped at you. why are you so goddamn blunt? because of his shock, he missed the part where you gently placed his head on your chest and guided his arms to wrap around your back. "well, aren't you red?" you say with a teasing smirk which brought him back to reality.

"huh?" senku felt flustered and embarrassed. he tried to push himself away from you, but with his strength versus yours... yeah it didn't work. "stop that!" you scolded him. "be glad that it isn't magma who's cuddling with you right now."

senku grimaced at the thought. "don't even mention that!" he exclaimed, looking up at you, making you chuckle. in the midst of your chuckle, he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer to his body.

"well aren't you bold?"

he looked away, avoiding eye contact and letting his head rest on your chest. "i am doing this for the sake of getting warmth so that we both don't die of hypothermia," he says.

you rolled your eyes. "oh please, just admit you're liking this much more than you thought you did," you teased him.

his ears tipped red as he stayed silent.

you watched senku and chrome fanboying at the treasure cove of rocks with a smirk. a chuckle left your mouth, but the mood quickly died down as you pressed your lips together. "are you guys done yet? the sun's going to set soon and we should go!"

"ohhh come on! just a little bit longer," chrome whined.

"yeah, after all, we found a mountain of treasure," senku added.

you hooked your hands on the back of the boys' shirt and lifted them up. "when i say let's go, let's go."

the three of you exited the cave and the sun's already setting. "hurry up," you say as you picked the bag senku's carrying and hugged it against your chest. senku looked at you with protest, but you merely rose a brow at him which caused him to back down.

"why are you suddenly in a hurry?" chrome asked, looking slightly confused.

"you'll see."

once the three of you drew closer to the village, you dropped the bag in front of you took and out your makeshift blindfold. "senku dear~ could you wear this for me real quick?" you asked as he turned around.

he rose a questioning brow at you. "and for what y/n?" he asked. but you ignored his question and covered senku's eyes. you picked him up and threw him over your shoulder like a sack. "y/n? y/n?!" you picked up the bag up from the floor and happily jogged back your way to the village while humming.

chrome blinked then ran after the two of you. "what are you doing, y/n?!"

senku now stood in a room, blindfolded and hands tied. he knows that that's your hand on the back of his neck which means you're standing directly behind him.

"hey, senku-chan~ welcome home," gen says in front of senku, but he doesn't know that.

"huh? what's going on?" senku asks with an unwavering tone.

"hah!" kohaku triumphantly laughs. "don't bother trying to call for help, senku. we're all working with gen," she announced.

senku chuckles. "so you bastards finally figured out the hack, huh?" he says. "all you need to do is hand science and my head over to tsukasa, and the village is safe. it's perfectly logical." you could feel him trembling with nervousness. "...leave y/n out of this," he muttered to which only you heard.

gen lets out a short snort. "well, i have no idea what you're talking about, but..." he gave you a nod. you untied his hands and slowly took off his blindfolds.

senku stared in front of him, eyes swirling with nostalgia. you stared at him with a fond smile. it's been a while since you've seen him that emotional. he stepped towards the telescope and peered into it. he took a step back in awe. "an astronomy telescope... or rather, an observatory..." his voice gotten softer by the end. you blinked, trying to get rid of the tears that threatened to fall.

kaseki lets out an excited laugh. "january forth; rock day!" he exclaimed.

kohaku stepped up with a wide smile. "y/n told us it's your birthday today, senku!" she said.

"we all got you a birthday gift!" suika happily announced. senku walked closer to the window to see mostly everyone from the village standing outside.

"y/n told us everything we needed in order to make the telescope, and the whole village worked hard to make the observatory. you're going to have to fine-tune it yourself, senku-chan," gen explained.

ginro approached senku with a smug look. "are senku~ are you moved for the first time in forever? you can cry, you know. you don't need to hold it in," he teased.

"you're so low, ginro," kinro commented.

senku turned to the group with a smirk. "good job, everyone! this is extremely practical. we can use it as our own watchtower against tsukasa," he mentions with a wide cheeky smile.

"y-yeah, that's true," kohaku replies, not sure what to make of his reaction.

"your feedback's as rational as ever," gen comments.

"a guy doesn't bother mentioning his own birthday, and yet..." senku glanced at you. you gave him a smirk and a smug wave. a chuckle escapes his mouth.

"actually, i found out on my own even before y/n said anything," gen corrected to which senku immediately understood and the two conversed on how gen found out.

a while later, it's only you and senku left in the observatory. "did you really think i'd let them hand over your head to tsukasa?" you rhetorically asked. "and also, i can't believe that's the first thing you thought of. do you not have faith in them? you healed their priestess."

senku didn't reply as he stayed silent, looking up at the stars. you sighed as you walked over and hugged him from behind. "are you mad at me for giving away your birthday?" you softly asked. "well, i wasn't planning on giving it away, but gen approached me for a birthday gift idea and... this happened."

"i'm not mad at you, y/n." he rolled his eyes. "it's just..."

your hold on him tightened. "it's fine. i know. you don't have to say anything," you tell him.

senku turned around and wrapped his arms around you, laying his head on your chest. you felt yourself warm up a bit and held him closer. "so i am right." senku lifted his head up to look at you with confusion. "that you're liking this much more than you thought you did," you explained with a smug smirk.

he turned his head away, avoiding eye contact as he stayed silent and his ears tipped red.

masterlist a/n: this turned out way better than i thought it would.

[ordowrites]

when you are sad

cw: none, simple fluff and comfort, self indulgent, no pronouns used / gn!reader. slight vent, i'm sorry. established relationships.

characters: diluc, kaeya, wanderer

bad days, weeks, months are simply just bound to happen. that's sometimes how it is, and kaeya is no stranger to such things. he'd mourned the loss of family many times, and has his own, long bouts of depression.

misery loves company and he finds you out at starsnatch cliff, staring up at the endless sky and for a moment, he considers leaving you to yourself, knowing that sometimes being alone is better but he can't help but linger for a brief moment.

finally, kaeya simply elects to sit next to you and gently drapes his arm around you and pulls you close.

"it's gonna be okay." he murmurs as you slump against him. "i promise." it feels like lip service but it's all he can offer when in reality, he would take on all your troubles if it means never seeing that somber, upset look on your face ever again. he holds you closer and you rest your head on his chest. "i love you."

he never says those words out loud to anyone - let alone you, the one who caught his eye so long ago.

"i love you." he repeats, firmly. "i know it can't fix whatever is going on, but just...just remember that."

you are all the things that are right in this world - you are ambitious, outspoken, there is not a moment where you have surrendered simply because the going got tough. yet, seeing you in tears and frustrated has diluc at a loss.

your spirit is like wildfire, it burns everything in its path and here it is, damped and gone, in the wake, ashes.

"what's the matter, my beloved?" diluc is tender when he gently cups your face and wipes away your tears. it doesn't matter if you tell him or not, you'll talk about it when you're ready. "hey, hey, shhh..." he grunts in surprise when you grip him into a tight hug. "it's okay, it's okay, i'm here."

unlike kaeya, diluc isn't very good with words and he doesn't always know how to make things better (and sometimes tends to worsen things) so when you hug him, all he can do is hold you just as tightly.

he has adelinde make you your favorite food - after all, food is a love language - and prepare you a bath that you can soak in. it doesn't fix the problem, but he hopes it can at least provide some sense of comfort.

there's something about your expression that's frustrating him - the wanderer is not unfamiliar with human emotion, in fact, he understands them quite well after four hundred some years but he is perplexed by you. normally, you return his snark ten fold, you're loud, you're obnoxious, and pushy, and when he calls you an ass, you have ten times worse words for him.

"what do you want?" you ask him, tone flat. you're exhausted, he notes as he takes the seat across from you. "go away, i don't have time."

"well, i do." he retorts.

you roll your eyes. "news flash, the world does not revolve around you."

"it should," the wanderer responds, crossing his arms over his chest. "tell me what's wrong."

"i don't want to." you respond.

he snorts. "fine, have it your way." he says, grumpily. "but don't think, for a minute, i'm leaving your depressed ass alone."

"why?" you have the audacity to ask.

the wanderer, for once, does not have a proper answer for you. or a retort. he simply just stares, hopes you drop it and let it go. after awhile, he gets up and goes inside the cafe and orders you some cake and some weird sounding cold coffee. humans and their need to change things.

"a wise deity once told me that sweets can sooth the soul." he says, upon your quizzical look. "i assume she must be right."

for the first time in the two hours, you crack a small smile. and the wanderer feels victorious.

[irisintheafterglow]

The Archer (gojo x you)

summary: after your best friend becomes viewed as a monster, the only thing to do is cling to the ones that loved him too. (or, screaming who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?)

wc: 1.1k

cw/tags: hurt/comfort, angst but heartwarming ending, manga/anime spoilers, established relationship, pet names (babe, baby, sweetheart, etc), mention of vomiting but nothing descriptive, yeah did i mention angst

note: i just need to hold gojo satoru and tell him that it's going to be okay is that too much to ask for (anyways hope you enjoy the pain that my brain farted out)

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated <3

“Su?” He freezes, rooted in place as the sun casts shadows on his unreadable expression. “Where are you going?” He sticks his hands into his pockets and turns to you with a smile so fake you need to take a step back. He'd lost a lot of weight but what terrified you the most was the calm aura that surrounded his weakened body, a contentment that was scary to see on someone in so much agony.

“Mission, just a few Curses plaguing a village of about a hundred.” Forcing normalcy into his voice was as successful as forcing a square block into a round hole and you couldn’t stop the worry from leaking onto your face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I had another dream.” His face falls, washing over into careful blankness. He was used to this, your technique and the consequences it brought. It was, however, a long time since you confronted someone directly about what you see. “You know, Future, it doesn’t show me what will happen.” He won’t meet your eyes and you hesitantly take a few more steps toward him.

“It shows me what can happen.” 

His words are cautious, delicate as if saying the wrong sentence would break you like a fragile piece of pottery. “And what did you see?” 

“Something that I’m begging you not to fulfill.” You swallow the lump in your throat and blink back the fear threatening to spill over from your eyes. “I’m so scared, Suguru. I’m so fucking scared.” You stumble the rest of the way forward and his arms wrap around you instinctually, holding you tightly as you continue to plead for him not to go. He pulls away to look at you and a sliver of hope pokes the back of your mind when you see the conflict in his eyes. It disappears as resolve hardens on his face. 

“You’re family. Whatever I do, I will not harm you.” 

“I need you to promise you won’t–”

“I can’t promise anything beyond that.” After a moment you have no choice but to nod, defeated, and he pulls away for the last time. “You have my word.”

The news hits you like a train that you saw coming ten miles away, knocking the air from your lungs and sending shards of invisible shrapnel into your body. Because of your technique, you know before everyone–Yaga, Shoko, Nanami, the higher-ups, Satoru. You feel the moment Suguru makes his decision in your own body like cruel twin telepathy and you rush into the nearest bathroom to expel everything you’d eaten that day. You feel the same sensation again when word reaches Yaga, the whispers of massacre and Curse User and traitor seeping into your ears. Nothing, however, could compare to the storm you felt when Yaga told Satoru. 

You fall asleep early in the days after Suguru leaves. Not because his absence didn’t keep you up at night, but because you didn’t really know what to do except hide in dreams. Dreams that kept you in a state of blissful ignorance; you, Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko at the fair or the park or the beach, not scattered into four separate corners by indifferent Fate. Suguru’s departure felt like a severing of your soul, like your brother died rather than your best friend leaving. You avoided others like prey escaping a predator, paranoidly checking reflections in windows for people you didn’t have the energy to talk with and ducking behind corners when voices got too near. When the few missions you completed were over, you were back in bed, curled into yourself so tightly that no one could reach you. 

No one, at least, except Satoru.

He calls you some nights later and you squint against the harsh light of your phone screen. 

“Satoru?”

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” There’s a forced smirk in his voice that you see through like glass, immediately noticing the way his pained tone wavers with every uttered word. “Did I wake you from your beauty rest?”

“Mhmm,” you hum exhaustedly, groaning as you sit up in the darkness and swing your legs over the side of your bed. “Door’s open if you need it.”

“Yeah…okay.” The melodically teasing tone in his voice drops in an instant, as does its volume. You make sure there’s an unopened bottle of water ready for when he gets to your dorm. He was probably just as dehydrated from sobbing as you are. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what, love?” 

“Waking you.” You laugh softly, rubbing your eyes and sitting back on the edge of your bed. 

��No, you’re not.”

“You’re too good at that.”

“What, knowing when you’re lying? I thought we weren’t supposed to lie to each other. Relationships 101.” He huffs as much of a chuckle as he can. “What are you really sorry about, Satoru?

His voice cracks and your heart feels like it’s been stabbed a hundred times. “I need you. Really badly.” There was no suggestive air or promiscuous tone in his voice, just unfiltered desperation not to be alone. “Can I–”

“Of course. Get over here; I miss you.” 

You time the duration it takes for him to get to you, two minutes on the dot. He opens your door slowly as if to check if you’re still awake, and shuts it just as gently. You flick on your nightstand lamp and feel your stomach sink when you fully take in just how tired he looks. There’s no trace of anger or frustration on his face, only pure loss. The bags under his eyes deepen as he sighs, avoiding your eyes for the first time you can remember. He just stands there in the middle of your room, deflated and suffering. When he speaks, it’s a strangled and helpless choke. 

“I couldn’t–”

“Shh, just come here.” You rise from your bed and catch him when his knees buckle, his face buried in your shoulder. He doesn’t cry or heave like you did; he just grabs whatever he can with his hands and holds you so needily his arms start to tremble. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” 

When you finally slide under the covers with him, he’s still clinging to you like you’d float away if he let go. “Stay.” He pleads with you even as you have him locked against your chest, gently carding your fingers through his hair. It’s soft between your fingers and reflects the little moonlight seeping through the cracks in your curtains. 

“I will.” You press another kiss to his forehead as if to seal your words, but he doesn’t feel safe yet. 

“Please, stay.” 

“I swear on my life that I will not leave your side.” You try to lace Cursed Energy into your words, make them as unbreakable as you command them to be. Squeezing your eyes shut, you breathe him in, willing him to let himself go. To not be the honored one or the strongest sorcerer, but Satoru, to break down and grieve just as any other man would. 

“I’m so sorry.” There it is, baby. Just let go. 

“I know, sweetheart. Rest now, I’ve got you.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[jimmy-j-james]

okaay hii can i request something?🤭 Ghost x male reader who is stuttering and have some speech impediment? shsjsj i hopeyou have a good day!!

JITTERS

- M!reader x Ghost

- Proofread:

- Genre: Fluff

- Synopsis: Reader has a speech impediment caused by past injuries, and while training some of the newest recruits, he finds that they aren’t as respectful as they should be. Slowly enough, the stress of their words builds up, and Ghost is the first to notice, giving the rookies a piece of his mind.

════════════════

“Alright c-chumps, prac-practice today won’t be as easy.” (Y/n) starts up as he enters the gymnasium, tossing down the files on the recruits. He’d been assigned to train the new guys, expecting well prepared and mature soldiers, though it’s clear that won’t be the case.

A couple snickers follow after his words, delivered by a small group of privates. Their hushed whispers accompanied by laughter as they poke jokes. It’s clear they gave no care for whether they were caught or not.

“S-something to sh-share p-private.” He gives himself a silent curse, knowing that the sentence was filled with struggling words, though he pushed through.

A scowl sat on his face as the self-claimed leader of the ‘posé’ stepped forward. “Sh-shouldn’t someone more.. skilled, be teaching us?” He mocks, crossing his arms over his chest. The other three give their own sounds of agreement, earning a tight frown from the sergeant.

“I’m p-perfectly sk-skilled for this job.” He argues, standing tall before the group. His confidence wavers though, knowing his stuttering wouldn’t provide useful for intimidation.

“Sure you are, Jitters.” The cruel name stuck, earning silence from the sergeant as he silently calmed himself.

“T-ten laps around the base.” He demands firmly, his eyes glued to the private. “All f-four of you.”

The group groans and curses him out before making their way out of the gym, leaving the rest of the group stood patiently.

“C-continuing wi-without them..”

════════════════

The bickering didn’t stop there. The snide comments continuing as he passed them within the halls. Having the bitter group mock and pick at him.

It grew to the point that the other began noticing (y/n)‘s stress. The way he seemed so irritated to teach the privates. Flinching as people struggled over their own words.

The harassment had a clear impact on himself, and Ghost was not going to let it continue. He worked hard to track it back to the source. The pathetic group of privates that deemed themselves worthy of talking down to a sergeant.

He wasted no time gathering them into the gym. They stood anxiously beneath his glare. Practically sweating bullets as his cold glare kept watch over them.

“You lot think it’s funny to disrespect your superiors, do you?” He questions rhetorically, shutting down the first private to try and speak. “Think makin’ fun of sergeant (l/n) is amusing?”

Their faces notably pale, looking anywhere but towards the lieutenant. “Did you even bother asking why he’s got those stutters? Bet you slags didn’t even care to ask, just thought it was funny to pick fun.”

Ghost grunts, rolling back his shoulders as he eyes the four. “M.I.A, sergeant (l/n) kept us all safe despite the risks of his life. Kept his mouth shut as a group of terrorists interrogated him.” He starts up, basking in the way the privates flinch at his tone.

“He spent weeks with a broken jaw. Weeks of barely being able to make out simple noises. When we finally found ‘im, he was unable to speak without slurring everythin’. All to keep us safe, like a loyal soldier should. And you lot think it’s funny to go poking about his ways of speech?”

Ghost gives a weak huff, one of mock amusement as he scowls. “That man is more of a soldier than any of you will ever be. You’ll be transferred to a different team. Expected to be on the tarmac by five-hundred exact tomorrow.” He informs before making his leave, leaving behind the pathetic and guilt soaked privates.

════════════════

The sergeant’s mood noticeably picked up at the lack of the privates. Happily working with the rest of the group, going back to happily chattering with friends, and living worry free within base.

And all due to his ‘secret’ admirer’s work, or as he would place it, blessing. Removing all threats, small and big, so that the sergeant could live a decent life.

Going as far as to twist the harmful things into new opportunities. And of course, (y/n)‘s favourite, being his new call sign. Gifted with a new meaning of playful banters and pure affection, the team had slowly progressed to call the sergeant by the call sign Jitters.

And he couldn’t be any happier to have such a fitting name. A name that started with harmful intent to becoming an adoring title from his own lieutenant.

════════════════

© Copyright @jimmy-j-james, 2023

All rights reserved

do not copy/paste, claim as your own, post on different sites, or translate without prior consent from me

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TEN (see full series list here)

1993

"Now, the mean temperature on Venus is four-hundred and sixty-two degrees celsius, making it hotter than Mercury, despite it being further from the Sun. Can anyone tell me why?"

Your third-years look around the room at each other uncertainly. You have them sitting down at desks as you teach some theory to them.

"Is it just...'cause it is?" Ron guesses, and Harry snorts beside him, earning a dirty look off Ron.

"A perfectly vague answer, Mr Weasley," you reply. "You should consider becoming a politician."

You glance expectedly at Hermione, who has fallen asleep, head held up by her right hand. Lavender Brown pokes her and Hermione wakes with a start, blurting out, "G — greenhouse effect!"

You nod, turning back to your whiteboard. "Yes...the greenhouse effect. There's an incredibly high concentration of carbon dioxide in Venus' atmosphere, which produces the greenhouse effect. All the heat gets trapped in the atmosphere, like a blanket, and makes it unbearably hot." You glance back at Hermione again, adding, "Ms Granger, please see me after class."

You continue on and later, when the class ends and the last of the students are filtering out, Hermione approaches your desk nervously.

"Professor, please, I didn't mean to fall asleep! Please don't be angry I didn't — "

"Hermione," you say gently, gesturing to the seat in front of your desk. "Sit, please. I'm not angry with you at all, relax."

Hermione relaxes slightly, taking the seat in front of you.

"How many classes are you taking, Hermione?"

She bites her lip. "Thirteen, Professor."

You're quite taken aback at this. "Thirteen?"

"Y — yes, Professor."

You sigh. "Hermione, your workload is far too much for a young girl to handle. Far too much for anyone to handle! It's not good for you — how are you even getting to all these classes on time?"

"My — um, my timetable was fixed by Professor McGonagall..."

You shake your head. "Please, Hermione. All this is clearly taking a toll on your health. Why, the last essay you turned into me was about Arithmancy."

Hermione's eyes go wide. "Oh, no! That means I gave Professor Vector my Astronomy one, oh my goodness — she's going to be so mad with me."

"I'll talk to her," you say reassuringly. "For now, Hermione, I want to see you go straight back to your dorm and sleep. And you are not to attend your next Astronomy class."

"But, Professor — "

"Hermione," you say sternly. "I don't want to see you in my next class. You won't miss anything important, I promise. I want you to use that time to rest, please. Now, straight to bed with you."

"Professor..."

"Goodnight, Ms Granger," you say and she reluctantly stands. "And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to tell me. Anything at all. I'd be happy to help."

Hermione gives you a small, tired smile. "Thank you, Professor."

"Goodnight."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

On a Saturday, when most of the students have gone to Hogsmeade, you sit in Remus' office, drinking tea and snacking on a few cupcakes Bitsy made you.

"How's the potion treating you?" You ask casually, taking a bite out of another sweet cupcake.

Remus grimaces, eyeing the empty goblet on the corner of his desk. "It's rancid. But it works, so I shan't complain."

"What's even in it?"

"Well, Wolfsbane, of course..moonseed, dittany — "

You gag. "Gross."

He hums. "Exactly."

"Lupin! I want a word!" Comes the voice of Snape from Remus' fireplace suddenly, along with his angry face. "And bring her with you!"

You glance at Remus in confusion and he just shrugs, before you both step into the fireplace and clamber out of the other end in Snape's office. You brush ash off your jumper, scowling at Snape and then noticing Harry.

"You called, Severus?" Remus says mildly.

"I certainly did," Snape says, face contorted in fury as he returns to his desk. "I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this."

He points at a piece of parchment in front of him, laid flat on the desk. Inked upon it, were four sentences:

Mr Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business.

Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.

Mr Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a Professor.

Mr Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.

Well, fuck.

You do your best not to laugh and keep your expression as blank as possible. Those boys, no matter what, will always find a way to send Snape an 'up yours' in some shape or form.

"Well?" says Snape, scowling.

You stare at the parchment, mind running. "This seems to be a very...childish slip of parchment."

"Childish?" Snape repeats. "This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?"

Remus sends you the tiniest, near-imperceptible glance and you look straight ahead, boring holes into the parchment.

"Full of Dark Magic?" he says mildly. "Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who tries to read it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a joke-shop — "

"Indeed?" Snape's jaw is rigid with anger. "You don't think a joke-shop could supply him with such a thing? You don't think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?"

You cough lightly. "Hardly. Harry, surely you wouldn't be too keen to take something from someone named Wormtail, would you?"

"No," Harry says quickly.

"You see, Severus?" says Remus. "It looks like a Zonko's product to me — "

As if he was waiting for his moment outside the door the entire time, Ron Weasley bursts through Snape's door, red-faced and breathless.

"I — gave — Harry — that — stuff," he wheezes. "Bought — it — in — Zonko's — ages — ago..."

"Well!" Remus says cheerfully, clapping his hands together and giving you a happy grin. "That seems to clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?" He grabs the map, folding it up and tucking it inside his robes. "Harry, Ron, come with me. I need a word about my vampire essay."

"Oh, I also need to discuss your star charts!" You blurt out, smiling at the two young boys.

"Excuse us, Severus," Remus says, and the four of you leave the office and walk in silence all the way back into the Entrance Hall before speaking.

Harry glances nervously between the two of you, starting, "I — "

"I don't want to hear explanations," Remus says shortly. He glances around the empty Entrance Hall, lowering his voice. "I happen to know that this map was confiscated by Mr Filch many years ago. Yes, I know it's a map," he says, and you take in Harry and Ron's amazed faces.

"I don't want to know how it fell into your possession," he continues. "I am, however, astounded that you didn't hand it in. Particularly after what happened the last time a student left information about the castle lying around. And I can't let you have it back, Harry."

"Why did Snape think I'd got it from the manufacturers?" Harry questions.

Remus hesitates. "Because — um..."

"They're a bunch of gits who'd have loved to put you in danger," you finish.

Remus frowns at you and you shrug.

"Do you know them?" Harry says, seeming impressed.

"We've met," Remus tells him curtly. He's got that extremely serious Remus expression on his face that he used to get during exam season, when he'd act like he wanted to study but really he didn't.

"Don't expect us to cover for you again, Harry," he says sternly. "I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously."

If it wasn't for his grave tone, you would laugh at that.

"But I would have thought that what you have heard when the Dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them — gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks."

You're surprised at his last words, but can barely comment on them because he's spun on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. You catch up to him as he enters his office, throwing the map down on his desk with a sigh.

"Jeez, Moony, that was a bit harsh," you mutter and he nods grimly.

"I know, I know...but it's the only way to make him realise the severity of this situation."

You stare idly at the folded parchment on his desk. "So, what, Harry nicked the map from Filch's?"

"I suppose so," Remus answers. "We are lucky to have caught it."

"And, Merlin, that charm...Snape looked like he wanted to rip your head off."

"I'm aware. I...I don't remember writing that," he says abashedly.

You chuckle. "It was brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

It's not long before the Quidditch Cup Final arrives, and the tensions are high in the castle between Gryffindor and Slytherin. There's been more than one occasion where you've had to break up scraps between students, deducting a few points from each house.

The match falls on a beautifully sunny day and you sit in the stands, watching the Gryffindor team elatedly dance around in celebration, hoisting the Cup into the air enthusiastically. They're all smiles and happy faces and it warms your heart to see.

It reminds you of the time Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup during your sixth year at Hogwarts.

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

You clutch the megaphone in your hand tightly, leaning forward to watch the match.

1997

"GRYFFINDOR'S RYDER IN POSSESSION AND SHE'S GONE!" you cry. "SHE'S BOMBED THROUGH THE AIR AND OH, HERE COMES LEVINSON FOR THE CHALLENGE...PASS TO BURNS, BURNS SHOOTS...SCORE! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor side of the stands erupts into cheers and Burns grins proudly. You spot James Potter ambling around the air on his broomstick, his eyes dancing around the pitch in search of the Golden Snitch. Slytherin's Seeker, Regulus Black, is watching James closely, waiting for any slight movement to indicate that he's seen it.

"SLYTHERIN IN POSSESSION AND IT'S MALFOY..." you gag dramatically, earning a glare from Professor McGonagall beside you. "MALFOY PASSES TO LEVINSON...LEVINSON TO PHILLIPS, PHILLIPS JUST BARELY DODGES A WELL-PLACED BLUDGER FROM GRYFFINDOR'S BLACK...he's quite handsome too — "

"Focus on the game!"

"Right, yeah — got it, Professor!" you grin at her and she sighs. You glance down at Sirius, who sends a wink in your direction and you blow a kiss back.

Then, movement on the side of the pitch catches your eye: Slytherin Captain, Lynx Phillips, has just punched Gryffindor Captain, Ryan Carr, who launches his Beater's Bat right back at him, clocking him in the jaw. Madam Hooch blows her whistle furiously and zooms over to them, an enraged look on her face.

"PENALTY, PROFESSOR! THAT'S A PENALTY RIGHT THERE!"

"Penalty to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Beater! Penalty to Slytherin for an attack on their chaser!"

Ryder flies up to the Slytherin goal to take a shot.

"COME ON, RINA...YES! SHE SCORES! TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Next, Levinson comes to take the Slytherin penalty, scowling at Gryffindor's Keeper, Fleming.

"FLEMING'LL SAVE THIS ONE, NO DOUBT...WELL, OKAY, MALFOY CLEARLY SABOTAGED THAT ONE. TWENTY-TEN TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Time passes, scores ticking up on both sides. Everyone is on the edge of their seats, waiting in anticipation for each blow.

"HERE GOES PHILLIPS WITH THE QUAFFLE...HIT BY GRYFFINDOR BEATER SIRIUS BLACK ONCE AGAIN! YAXLEY DROPS THE QUAFFLE AND IT'S INTERCEPTED BY RYDER AND SHE'S GONE — WAIT, WHERE THE FUCK DID SHE GO? I'M AFTER LOSING HER — AND SHE SCORES! ONE-HUNDRED- EIGHTY TO GRYFFINDOR!"

"Language!"

"YEAH, SORRY, PROFESSOR...BUT IT LOOKS LIKE GRYFFINDOR SEEKER, JAMES POTTER, HAS SPOTTED THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN'S BLACK IS TRAILING CLOSE BEHIND..."

James bolts through the air, heading towards the Gryffindor goals where he's spotted the Snitch. Regulus is barely an inch behind him, hot in his heels.

"FASTER, JAMES, HE'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU!"

Finally, James is upon the Snitch and he clasps it in his right hand and raises it triumphantly. The crowd explodes. Gryffindor flags are waved like mad and McGonagall cheers excitedly beside you.

"WOO! JAMES POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH, ENDING THE GAME TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO NINETY AND WINNING GRYFFINDOR THE QUIDDITCH CUP!"

The Gryffindors collide with each other mid-air, and you watch as Sirius and James throw their arms around each other, landing quickly and jumping up and down elatedly. You quickly drop the megaphone, jumping out of your seat and running down the stairs towards the pitch. You sprint out along with all the other Gryffindor supporters.

Everyone is cheering and shouting in the middle of the pitch and you stop just beside Sirius. He notices you and beams, his handsome face lighting up, and he detangles himself from James to throw his arms around you. You kiss him and he lifts you up to spin you around, making you giggle in delight. Eventually he sets you down.

"You were brilliant!" You exclaim. "You did so well, Siri — "

He kisses you again, and you can feel him smile against your lips. You pull away and grin at each other, before finally you let go of him and hug James.

"Not too bad, Potter!" You say with a laugh, ruffling his hair good-naturedly.

"We won the Cup!" He shouts happily, unable to quench the huge grin stretching his face.

"We won the Cup!" You repeat, grinning just as enthusiastically back at him.

You hug everyone in sight, giving Remus, Peter, Alice, and Lily especially tight ones and by the end of it you're bouncing on your toes in happiness.

It can't get any better than this, can it?

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

Exam season starts and there's a hush around the castle. You watch as your third-years filter into the Astronomy Tower looking especially nervous. Hermione Granger has her eyes closed and is reciting the names of Saturn's moons to herself — somehow managing to remember all one-hundred and forty-six. You're amazed at that really, but feel bad because she only needed to know one.

"Okay, everyone. Please take a seat and start filling out the papers in front of you. There's four questions on it. When you've finished, go to a telescope and I'll give you three constellations to chart. Best of luck everyone!"

The students sit down at the desks, and start filling out the papers in front of them. After a minute, Ron Weasley is already scratching his head at the first question; Hermione Granger has already managed to reach the end of the parchment; and Harry Potter is just blankly staring at it.

Later, Hermione springs out of her chair and you ask her for three constellations, which she charts very neatly and accurately.

It's not long before their time is up and they all leave the Tower, and you're stuck with a stack of parchment to work through.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter eleven here!

→ all kinds of interaction are appreciated ♡

+ thank you especially to my new taglist loves:

@wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin

[apocalypseornaw]

Don't Blame Me (Pt 3/5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean confronts Crowley who recounts exactly what did happen to you, sparing no details to Dean's horror. You look for a way to ward yourself from Dean finding you.

Dean was half in shock when you blinked out. You were alive? When he looked at Crowley he knew the anger he felt showed in his eyes because the demon took a step back even before Dean grabbed him, slamming him back into a wall. "BRING HER BACK"

Crowley shook his head slowly "I didn't send her a way and I try not to summon her. She gets upset, it causes a mess. She killed ten demons the first time I summoned her and let's just say I like keeping her as calm as possible"

Dean shook his head before pulling the demon blade up to hold the point against Crowleys neck "Last time I saw her she was getting on a plane. What the fuck did you do to her?" Crowley laughed sharply "What did I do? Squirrel you should really ask what did you do?"

Dean's grip loosened at Crowleys words "What do you mean what Dean did?" Sam asked as Crowley untangled himself from Dean's grasp. Crowleys eyes were on Dean when he said "She made a deal. I didn't go after her soul. It was already in hell"

Dean shook his head "She wouldn't. Y/N knows the risks" Crowley shrugged "and yet she did for you" "for me?" Dean asked and Crowley sighed "This is dramatic. Her soul already went to hell so contract fulfilled. She's gonna try to kill me but.." before Dean or Sam could ask Crowley touched two fingers to Dean's forehead. Flashes of an Okami, pain of claws ripping into his chest and the heartbreaking sound of your sobs tore through Dean's head.

"She couldn't face losing you so she made a deal. Be glad I took over when I did. Lucifer and his flunkies were having fun with your girl" "She wouldn't agree to be a demon" Sam argued but Crowley shrugged "A little over four hundred years of torture. A hundred of those were under Lucifer and Zachariah. She's stronger than most of the souls in hell but the things they did to her.." he trailed off and Dean could feel his jaw clench with anger even before Crowley met his eyes "No angelic interference for her, guess she wasn't important enough. I needed an attack dog. Someone who if they were spotted working at my side the threats were taken seriously"

"So you've been using her?" Sam asked. Crowley scoffed "I gave her freedom from the racks. I put her body back together so she'd have it. I made sure to keep her off the angels radar. I've gotten her to kill a few dozen demons but nothing she wouldn't have done in life. How the hell have I been using her? Would you two prefer me to have left her to an eternity of whatever being decided to plunge a blade or other things into her?"

Dean swallowed down the bile in his throat at Crowleys words and the images that accompanied them to ask "Why didn't she let me know?"  and Crowley laughed again "Did you not see that little performance? She was afraid you'd hate her so she stayed off the beaten path" "Then why did you bring her here tonight?" Sam demanded.

"She's wrong for lack of better terms. She shouldn't care like she still does, shouldn't have so much left of her human personality. Her soul was stronger than I gave it credit for. If she stays a demon she's gonna e a threat to my throne" Dean swung without thinking and connected a hard punch to Crowleys jaw "You've kept her from me for years, YEARS. and now you're only telling me so she can't dethrone you? The only reason I'm not killing you is so you can help me find her"

Ireland, Scotland, Australia, New Zealand and South America. It was hard to find a coven that would play well with a demon, let alone one marked by the king of hell as his right hand woman but you finally did. 

You sat in the middle of the circle, watching the woman paint sigils onto your skin. Once she was done she rejoined the circle. You sat silently as they chanted, the sigil glowing then absorbing into your skin. You looked at the head witch "No one can summon me now?" She nodded "Your boss can probably still get a feed on where you are but no one can summon you" you paid her the fee and thanked the rest of the coven before blinking out. You were back in Washington state, almost at the Canadian line. 

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

You had a cabin there, somewhere you stayed when Crowley didn't need you at his side. Somewhere you were able to ignore everything that had happened. You weren't right as a demon. They weren't supposed to feel, weren't supposed to care yet here you were. 

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

You washed your face then looked at yourself in the mirror letting your eyes slip to black. Even as a demon you were held together by paperclips and rubber bands. The memory of the look on Dean's face flashed through your head and you smashed the mirror. What the hell were you supposed to do now?

@lacilou @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @decadentstrangernacho @nix-rose @irgendwas122 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @tas898 @starkleila

[fastlikealambo]

Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader Chapter Nine

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This will not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and  if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

18+ only

trigger warnings for blood, vomit, injuries.

We are finally at the end, wow, this has been so much fun. I'm still a little unsure about this ending but I just want to say thank you for reading over these past few months, thank you so much.

  “And we’re back with our President and First Lady to be! It’s so good to see you both smiling after such a tragic time.” Lucky Flickerman beamed into the camera.

    “Thank you for having us Lucky and thank you to everyone watching at home.” You said with a soft smile, taking Coriolanus’ hand in yours.  In return, Coriolanus lightly kissed your knuckles and the studio audience cooed in response.

    “Let's get down to why we are all here, shall we?  It’s been three long and sad months since that fateful day and what a day it was. I should know, I was there and vomited all over my favorite suit!”

    “It really was a great suit, Lucky.” Coriolanus chimed in, earning a  laugh from the audience. 

  “Tell us, Coriolanus, what was it like in those moments?  We’ve all seen the footage of you cradling your beautiful wife, the danger, the drama! In your own words, tell us and everyone watching at home, about your wedding day.”

With a last look at you, Coriolanus Snow, husband, murder, and President-elect of Panem, opened his mouth and began to speak.

The night before his wedding, Coriolanus Snow was not in search of a final fling before an eternity of matrimonial bliss nor was he drinking himself into a stupor to bid his old life behind.  

When he kissed you goodbye after your long important walk and talk, he watched you get into the waiting car, shut the blinds and got to work. Crassus Snow’s record player crackled to life and with a sonata filling the apartment, Coriolanus surveyed the upwards of hundreds of champagne bottles on the dining room table.

He had not lied, if you asked him to burn down Panem, he would fetch a match yet after tomorrow, that would not be necessary.

For you, he would poison his wedding guests and murder President Ravinstill.

And for him, but that's besides the point.

As night turned to dawn, Coriolanus packed the champagne, the scent of apples and rosewater hiding the danger beneath. His guests would get something of his own collection, sweet and light, just enough to make them vomit and collapse, enough chaos to distract from the main attraction.

For President Ravinstill, he would not stray from tradition.

Nightlock.

Not just nightlock berries ground with a mortar and pestle, that was lazy, noticeable.  Every little piece of the berry was used, sprinkled in with champagne already designated for the soon to be former president. 

He watched, oh how he watched Ravinstill, take flute after flute upon his arrival. 

Yet at the very end, the person whom Coriolanus wanted at his side to witness the end of an era was currently unconscious on the floor beneath him.

Coriolanus Snow, with all his careful planning and plotting, had lost.

It had been two minutes since you had stopped talking, one minute since you stopped breathing and ten seconds since Coryo had tried another dose of the antidote. Coriolanus looked to the purpling corpse of Ravinstill, face frozen in death, and refused to let him win. 

There was no Panem with you.

    “ Not yet, Mrs. Snow.”

 “Coryo!”

A small gasp and the click clack of heels brought Coriolanus out his head and back to you as Tigris came running into the room. He had made sure Tigris was away from the venue before the champagne was served  by simple timing but now he was glad to have her here by his side.

    “Coryo, Coriolanus? Is she-

  He did not, could not, answer that. 

    Coriolanus brushed tears back and gave you another rescue breath, watching your chest rise and fall with his help only to remain just as still.  He checked for a pulse again, felt that weak irregular beat beneath his fingertips starting to slow.

Please don’t go, he whispered.

     “Coryo, I can hear sirens, we have to get her outside.” Tigris urged, voice thick with tears and Coriolanus was vaguely aware of himself pressing his lips to your forehead before gently picking you up. It all became real in that moment and Coriolanus began to run. 

The sight in front of him was more horrific than he had imagined to be with his wedding guests in various states of consciousness and the pungent aroma of vomit and blood wafting through the venue. Peacekeepers and medics were beginning to swarm the area and  with you in his arms, Coriolanus remembered there was still a part of his work that needed to be executed.

    “Help, somebody help! There’s something wrong with my wife, I don’t know what’s happening but President Ravinstill, he’s back there, he’s collapsed! I tried to help him but-” Coriolanus broke off, false tears in his eyes as he shook his head at the listening medic. The medic nodded at two other medics and peacekeepers who ran towards where Tigris was pointing. 

  Coriolanus reluctantly let the medics take you before following them into the ambulance himself without a word, barely hearing Tigris’ promise to meet him at the hospital.  Alarms and instructions between medics faded away as he squeezed your hand.

Please don’t go.

At some point, a shrill monotone sound invaded Coryo’s ears and it was then and only then that he let himself splinter. There was more noise and action around your body and unable to hold your hand, Coriolanus curled in himself, hands in his hair, caught between suffocating fear and such incredible rage.

The ambulance came to a stop at Capitol Hospital and all Coriolanus could do was watch a nurse climb onto the gurney take over compressions and let that same gurney carrying Panem’s possibly dead next first lady pass him and race inside.

Only then when standing alone did Coryo care to notice that the inside of his mouth was stinging, letting his tongue pass over the beginnings of a bloody sore. Every time he had breathed for you, what remained of the poison on your lips traveled to his own. 

The taste of blood in his mouth was nothing new to Coriolanus. 

There would be no Panem without you, all would crumble and perish before him, there would be no capitol, no games, just the end of all.

Coriolanus Snow had made up his mind: should you pass this day, Panem would know the dark days once more.

   “I’ve never been more afraid in my life, Lucky. If I could go back and save our dear President Ravinstill too, I would have done more, I should have done more, there was just so much happening.  I couldn’t lose my wife, without her I would lose myself.” Coriolanus broke off, a small sob escaping him and the audience was more than happy to lick up his grief.

 With a soft kiss on his cheek, you guided his hand from your thigh to your stomach with a smile.

Lucky loudly blew into a hanky before gasping when he saw Coriolanus’ hand on your stomach.

   “Mrs. Snow, is there something you’d like to share with us?”

   “Because of Coriolanus,  the extraordinary medical team at Capitol Hospital, and the support of Panem, I’m still here and I’m so happy to announce I’m pregnant.”

The audience roared and it was then you knew the girl from District 6 had all of Panem in the palm of your hand.

But there were games left to play.

FIVE MONTHS LATER

  “Ma, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.” You urged, your hand wrapped around hers, tears in your eyes. 

A few long seconds later, your mother weakly squeezed your hand, the same as your Pa the day before.  

You were taking it slow but the doctors promised they would fully wake any day now and pre- inauguration press and third trimester be damned, you would be at their side the moment they opened their eyes.

You kissed your mother on her forehead, promising to come back tomorrow. 

But now, you had a very special appointment.

   “Little thief, you’re glowing! How can I be of service?” Dr. Gaul looked up from her research with that all too familiar venomous smile.

  “I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done in aiding my parents’ recovery. The doctors say they will wake up any day now.” You said, taking the seat she offered.

   “How wonderful! It’s good to hear my favorite lab rats are on the mend. Hopefully seeing their daughter pregnant and married won’t send them right back into a coma.” 

 You gave a hollow laugh but sat up in your chair.

  “ They’ll be happy to know I’m still alive.  I almost wasn’t, as you well know. It took the doctors so long to treat me, they couldn’t figure out why I was so much sicker than everyone else. So many tests were run and even now they still don’t know.”

  “Have you asked Mr. Snow? He’s always had such an insight into poison.” Dr. Gaul remarked pointedly. 

It was no secret that Coriolanus was involved in Ravinstill’s death but thanks to your dramatic yet romantic near death experience being caught on camera, Panem did not care.

  “ I would but he’s been so busy touring the districts, preparing for the inauguration. Speaking of, there’s something I need to tell you, actually it’s easier if I show you.” 

 One of your security detail came forward and turned on Gaul’s television. 

Lucky Flickerman came on to the screen excitedly, a breaking news banner beneath him and to his right sat Coriolanus.

  “ Mr. President, I’ll cut to the chase, my producers have told me you have something to share with the fine people of Panem? ” Lucky asked, bouncing on the edge of his chair.  Coriolanus smiled into the camera, hands folded on his lap.

   “To honor the tragic death of former President Ravinstill and to celebrate the upcoming arrival of our daughter, the First Lady and myself would like to announce the suspension of The Hunger Games this year.”

Last night, you had asked Coriolanus if would rather be feared than loved.

This was his answer.

You couldn’t hear the TV due to the rather dramatic shrieking of Volumnia Gaul.

As if on cue, peacekeepers entered Dr. Gaul’s lab began to take it apart, boxing up research, emptying cabinets and Dr. Gaul herself stood in front of you, laughing.

  “I underestimated you, little thief. Will you kill me now or televise it?” She asked, head held high as two peacekeepers appeared on either side of her.

You stood up from your chair slowly to face the now former Head Gamemaker.

  “I don’t need to kill you. You tortured and poisoned my parents and through your puppet Ravinstill tried to kill me, death is an afternoon treat for you. I want you to witness the future of Panem, witness them forget your creations the more time passes, and one day, when someone asks what The Hunger Games were for, the answer will be simple: nothing. From now until the day you die you will remember me not as a hostage or the wife of a President, but as the little thief who stole your greatest treasure, your legacy.”

Your time with Dr. Gaul ended in the place where it all began.

If only she had chosen a girl of fine capitol breeding.

EPILOGUE

One week after the presidential inauguration of Coriolanus Snow, Rose Snow comes into the world screaming, Coriolanus holding your left hand and your mother holding your right.

Once upon a time, you had three rules.

Never be seen.

Never take what you could not carry.

Never intervene.

Now you only have one.

To live without fear, now and forever. 

Thank you to everyone who has been waiting, I hope that this was worth the wait! Thank you all for reading and I’m so happy this is out now. If you would like to see a sequel to connubium, please interact and reblog this work!

[whoretan]

ARK 45 | 01

Summary: Actions have consequences and when your boss Jimin lets you know you'll be working undercover at ARK 45 for no other than Jeon Jungkook, you feel as though you've gotten yourself into something that will eventually get you killed.

WC: 4.4k

Play me while you read.

Pairing: Club Owner/Mafia!Jungkook, Hitman!Reader

Genre: Dark Romance, Angst and Smut (Eventual)

Chapters: 1 (ur here) | 2

Warning: undercover working as stripper, reader has done some fucked up things and will witness much worse, graphic and explicit themes, trauma is ur new best friend, people will die and there is a lot of betrayal, but at least it'll have some good porn, right?, reader is badass tho

“Do you work here?”

Your eyes lul over from the desktop to a redhead with a face full of freckles. Pretty? Sure. Dumb as hell? Apparently. 

Your eyebrows knit at the question, unsure if she really asked you that, given the fact that you’re sitting at the receptionist's desk. You can’t help the amused tug of your lips when you say, “What does it look like, cupcake?” 

Redhead apparently does not appreciate your question because her nose immediately scrunches as she scowls. With a huff and a roll of her dark brown eyes, she points to the ‘Employee’s Only’ door to your right. Your brows lift and you look behind at the black doors then back to her. 

“Is Jimin in today?” 

Now, you’re intrigued. You plant your chin on your palm, which rests on the surface of the glass desk, and grin, “And how do you know Jimin works here?” 

Her face flashes and the red hue of her cheek instantly pale. Looks like Jimin didn’t give Little Miss Sunshine the notice that she shouldn’t be here without an appointment, asking stupid questions that could get her killed. 

“I-“ 

You cut Redhead off because it looks like she’s about to cry and you’re not in the mood to listen to her whining. Besides, it’s ten in the morning and you clocked in an hour ago for fucks sake. 

Lifting your pointer finger toward Redhead, you grab the receiver to your right and press number one— Jimin’s office. 

It rings once, before a familiar deep voice answers, “I’m listening.” 

“There’s a pretty Redhead standing right in front of me asking to see you, isn’t that interesting?” 

Jimin sighs, mumbles a few explicit words, and finally says, “Bring her to my office.” 

Looks like Redhead does know Jimin.

Your grin grows wider, and when you meet Redhead's gaze she suddenly spins around. You hang up on your Boss with a murmur and by the time you place the phone back into its original spot, Redhead’s gripping the handle to the exit. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

 Your words hold no malice, but the message is there. She will regret walking out now that she’s made her presence known. Now that you’ve seen her face. 

Redhead halts, body unmoving for a solid few seconds before retreating from the glass. When she turns back to face you, her cheeks burn a bright red which matches her hair delightfully. Her lip quirks inward as she sucks on it using her teeth, and you somewhat feel bad. 

Her fuck up will either result in her miraculously walking out of the office, or not. Simple. Once you walk her through the doors, she’s no longer your problem. 

Yet, you can’t help but feel intrigued. Why would a girl like her come here? What made her grow the balls to show up to a place like this alone and unannounced? She knows Jimin, but so do the hundreds of others that flock to his side like insects.

“What’s your name?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop the wandering thought. 

Her gaze lingers on yours, she releases her bottom lip and looks to the carpet. “Miranda Ricci.” 

Instinctively, your finger taps the glass, long nails clicking against the surface at the familiar name. She’s here about Richard Ricci, the man you killed four days ago. An old, sleazy fuck that’d been meddling with Jimin’s shipments in the Terrero Region. The shit-bag had it coming. 

Jimin even had the courtesy of sending you out a month prior as a warning. Senior Ricci had too much pride though, and it was exhilarating draining every ounce of it out of his body.

You wonder if she knows her best friend ratted Daddy out to Jimin. 

Not like she’d ever find about that. 

So, like any good secretary would, you stand from your desk, and motion toward the black door. As Miranda approaches you, you place your hand on the small of her back and lean in, “Don’t say anything that’ll get you killed, darling.” 

She tenses under your hold indicating your message was heard loud and clear. 

“So?” You ask as you push open one of the double doors leading to Jimin’s office. 

About two minutes ago, Redhead ran out of the black door with tears streaming down her freckled face. She didn’t even bother to spare you a glance on her way out. 

Jimin’s sat at his desk with his head bent over the top of his chair. 

He groans.

Someone’s unhappy. But then again, if the daughter of a crime boss you ordered to have murdered came into your office you’d be irritated too. 

“She’ll do it.” 

You plop onto one of the leather couches in the middle of his obnoxiously large office and scarf down the Dunkin Donut’s jelly-filled donut you Uber’d. 

“So what’s the problem?” 

Swallowing down the drier-than-expected donut, you peer over to Jimin who’s lifted his head to look at you. There’s a twinge of concern etched on his pretty face and your stomach flips because when Jimin’s concerned, there’s a fucking problem. 

Jimin’s eyes blaze and he crosses his feet in front of him. “She wants to know who killed her father.”

Well, that could be a potential problem.

You tilt your head and smile, pretending like the statement doesn’t phase you in the slightest. 

“You think she’ll try to have me killed?”

Jimin breaks his gaze, looking over toward his shelves of books. He’s deep in thought, most likely weighing out the options you two have. If it’s worth the potential risk of admitting that his secretary killed her father, or simply lying. Either way, Redhead will convince her brother to get rid of all of the shipments coming from Terrero. 

“I do.” 

You can’t help but glare at Jimin. Even though the answer is expected, hearing the words leave his mouth leaves you grinding your teeth. 

You’d kill the bitch before she even gets the chance to tell her brother who’d murdered their sweet little Daddy, hell— you’ll drop off a letter with every single fucking detail. 

“I need you to spy on them.” 

Your eyes turn to slits, and you bite at the inside of your cheek. Spy on one of the most influential Mob families in New York? They have undercover agents, security, and influence from every fucking corner to alley. It’s like Jimin wants you to die.

“More importantly, on Jungkook.” 

The sound of Jungkook’s name piques your interest. The stepson of Richard Ricci. Jungkook’s biological mother married Richard after immigrating from Korea, who’d given his stepson half of his businesses, letting him run drug transactions disguised in form of clubs. 

The corner of Jimin’s lip tugs upward and you chuckle because he’s challenging you. Pushing you past what could very well be your limits. What might just finally get you killed. 

You lick your lips, tasting the sweetness left over from the donut. You suck on your bottom lip between your teeth, unable to stop the smile from forming on your face. “And how exactly do you want me to do that?” 

Jimin’s mischievous eyes hold yours. You’re not going to like his answer and he knows it.

He runs a fingertip over his bottom lip as he assesses his words, their weight, and how you’ll react. 

“You’ll work at ARK 45.” 

You snort, then puff out a breath, completely baffled, “You want me to work at his strip club?” 

“I need you to,” he says flatly. 

“And if he recognizes my face?” 

He glares at you because the question is stupid and you almost turn away from embarrassment because you’re being irrational.

“No one knows your face, Viper.” 

Your eyes hold his, clenching your jaw, and the air crackles between you both. 

Jimin rarely uses the name, like it’s been forbidden from his tongue. But it reminds you of who you are. Not a receptionist, but a weapon which he yields at will. 

You blink and your Boss’s eyes flash with sympathy, as though you’d gotten yourself into something that will eventually kill you. 

You swallow, tear your gaze away, and walk from the couch without another look back. You don’t want to think about what will come out of this. 

ARK 45 pulses with slow-paced, sensual music. The walls drum with vibration and the street thuds beneath your stilettos with each passing beat. You inhale sharply, taking in the red hue illuminating from the grand windows fifty floors above you. 

“Name?” The bouncer asks, giving you one solid look from head to toe. 

You peer at the man who’s holding a clipboard with what you guess is a list of names. Jungkook doesn’t like strangers entering his territory. He thrives on keeping his enemies under his radar. 

The bouncer wears black-rimmed sunglasses regardless of the fact that it’s well past midnight and the dragon tattoo snaking its way up from his nail into the shadows beneath his shirt convinces you he does more than just play security. He’s attractive even with the grays in his beard and the wrinkles around his mouth that give his age away. 

“Joanna Webb,” you lie, providing him with the name Jimin fabricated for you.

He nods and quickly flips through the pages, skimming down the list of what feels like ten thousand names. He then grabs the pen that's lodged into his ear and presses it between his lips, leaving the cap between the folds. He writes something down and nods towards the two glass doors. 

With a quick thanks, you push past him and head toward the entrance. The two doors are completely transparent, except for the large black handles, the left with a number four and the right with a five. 

The first floor of ARK 45 serves as a receptionist area, and if it wasn’t for the three grand chandeliers that hang from the ceiling that conceal the painted ARK 45 in red bold letters, you’d mistake it for any other lobby of an overpriced hotel. 

The real action comes fifty floors above, where the core of ARK 45 sits. 

The bar turned Strip Club after ten is Jungkook’s main event. What draws people into the ARK 45 is its enticing women and mysterious owner. 

To everyday people, Jeon Jungkook is a young multi-millionaire who built his clubbing empire without using the aid of his Daddy. A single bachelor that has girls from all backgrounds coming to try out for a position at his club, for a single glimpse of him.  

To others— people like you and Jimin— Jungkook is a pest. A menace with a presence too large for the entirety of New York. Killing his father was a pinch in his ass, nothing more. Truthfully, he’s probably happy the fucker is dead. 

Jimin had you kill Richard as a warning to Jungkook. 

Because Jungkook runs the shipments from Terrero, not his father. 

Because Jungkook decided to keep them running even after Jimin warned him not to. 

Jungkook will kill you after he finds out you slaughtered his father. Not because he loved Daddy dearest, but because you ruptured his ego, his pride, and tested his territory. 

He’ll kill you as a warning to others to not fuck with the Jeon name. 

Luckily for you, no one bats an eye at Jimin’s secretary. Which makes your job eerily easier. 

You saunter toward the elevators and press the metal button to your left, it glows red as the elevator hauls down to you. The elevator doors slide open, revealing an empty box with mirrors on all sides. 

Momentarily, you take a good look at the red cocktail dress Jimin had delivered to your apartment. The way it clings to all your curves, hugs your body in the right corners without making it feel like you’re suffocating beneath the cotton. He knows what kind of man Jungkook is, what he likes on women, and what he doesn’t. The attached note of, “Wear this, and nothing else. Love, Jimin” confirmed your assumption. 

The doors begin to slide inward before you’d stepped in and with a quickened step you squeeze past the closing doors and heave a sigh. You glance at the columns of numbers and linger on the ‘P.O’ at the very top, the button to Jungkook’s office. 

Which is most definitely guarded by security. 

Huffing, you press the number fifty and watch it erupt with light. The elevator thuds and then proceeds up. You watch the numbers increase, from one to ten, twenty, thirty, forty, till the elevator dings and the wave of music hits you like a tsunami. 

It’s louder— way louder— than outside and your ears pop as you step out of the elevator. ARK 45 is well known for its exclusivity. The walls are painted a dark brown, and the booths are designed into the walls, making the space feel intimate. The stage is in the center of the room, with a single spotlight shining down on it and an array of diamonds and jewels hanging from threads. Every booth has a girl assigned to it, and VIP has two girls with a separate area on a loft to the corner of the club. Attached to the loft are booths that hang from different areas in the upper walls, giving its special guests a view unlike any other.

It’s packed to the brim with men hungrily eyeing the workers, their exposed breasts, and petite frames. The sensual rhythm pumps through your ears and as you make way through the floor your heels vibrate. It smells like vanilla with a hinge of musk which is predominantly radiating from the men. 

You scope the area, and your eyes fall onto a dip in the wall where the mirror in the walls deflects the booming lights ever so slightly. There are two-way mirrors on the upstairs floor. 

Men like Jungkook need control— crave it, and you can bet your life that his office is located at the very top, overlooking the guests as if he were God. 

Below one of the panels lights pulses a red ‘LADIES ONLY’ sign. 

You make your way through the main floor, avoiding the lingering gazes from the men sitting at the tables which are scattered throughout the floor. The last thing you need right now is to draw attention to yourself, unwanted attention specifically.

Without much thought, you push the door open and are met with girls sitting at vanities fixing their makeup, hair, or outfits. Some are half naked, or entirely, while others wear burlesque type of outfits, big feathers and all. 

Blinking, your eyes adjust to the white light that contrasts the dark red in the main area of the club. You stand there like an idiot, but they pay you no mind, too enticed in the music and the atmosphere of the club to worry about someone entering the dressing room. 

“You’re late.”

You spin and an older woman with brown hair and red lipstick scowls in your direction. 

Here goes nothing.

“I need to speak to Jungkook,” you say.

Her lips purse and she eyes your silhouette before sighing, “You have fifteen before you need to be on the stage.” 

You nod and she points in a direction to the right. With another turn, you walk away and head toward another door. After pushing through, there’s a staircase and two more doors with white letters that read “Showers” and “Lockers”. 

Stairs it is. 

You look over your shoulder and peek through the circular hole before booking it up the stairs. 

Confused, and completely lost you feel a tinge of disgust in your sloppiness. 

You’re not thinking properly. You stormed into the dressing room, lied and now you’re standing at the edge of a door that you don’t even know leads to Jungkook’s office. 

Your hand hovers over the wood, and you’re unsure if you should knock or walk the fuck away.

Jimin sent you to the Lion’s Den and you’re lost for the first time in your life. 

You kill. That’s your job. To kill, mercilessly and selfishly.  Not to play dress-up and dance on a pole for the same men you torture daily. 

You turn away, ready to walk down the stairs and out of the club when you remember Miranda. She’s searching for you, so is Jungkook, and when they find you they’ll end you. They’ll do everything in their power to make sure the Viper hangs from a noose outside of ARK 45. 

Are you willing to risk everything you’ve worked so hard for because the Jeon’s need their ego fed? 

You wipe the perspiration from your forehead. When you look at your hand, you glimpse at the cut beneath your thumb, the one Richard managed before you slit his throat. Your temples pound in sync with your increasing heartbeat.

To hell with Miranda and Jungkook.

With a wicked turn, you gouge at the handles and force the doors open. Swinging in full force as a bull would, you’re prepared to meet the gaze of Jeon Jungkook but you’re met with nothing. 

It’s empty. 

You look around the over-the-top luxurious office. It’s ridiculous, with a 180-degree view of the dance floor, the fucker can see everything happening downstairs. It has a large lounge area with a fully stocked bar and leather stools that line up the front of the conference table area. You even notice a hallway with a private bathroom and an extra door. 

You step forward, nearing the desk by the wall. 

You’ll kill him. 

“What are you doing in my office?”

Your heart thumps against your chest with the speed of light and it almost hurts. Breathe, Jesus fucking Christ breathe. You’re the Viper. You’re used to situations where you’re caught off guard, where you risk your life for the “greater good” as Jimin jokes. 

So why the fuck are you paralyzed?

You turn and you see the Grim Reaper himself. 

The man—undoubtedly Jeon Jungkook is tall, well built, and dark. 

He’s wearing a black suit, perfectly tailored. It compliments the tan accompanying his throat and tattooed hands. His black hair, shorter in the front with longer ends frames the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen.

Jungkook’s dark eyes are narrowed to slits. His straight brows, the small bump to his nose, and the flawless curve of his lips are all enhanced by the metal ring pierced into its corners. 

His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail. But his features remain motionless, and in all your years you’d never seen such coldness in a human face. 

You’re staring at him open-mouthed, frozen in horror as if you hadn’t murdered his father a week ago and enjoyed every fucking second of it. His mere presence has reduced you to a shell of who you truly are. 

It feels like twenty minutes have passed. The silence ticks by, and he cocks an eyebrow up, amused by your reaction.

Finally your voice rasps out, “Job. I’m here for a job.” 

“You’re here for a job?” He questions as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever been asked. 

“Is that a problem?” Your voice rises, the edge of hysteria sharp as barded wire. 

He tucks his hands into his pockets and laughs, perfectly straight teeth on full display. His laugh echos tauntingly in your head and your patience hangs on a loose thread. 

“I don’t just hire anyone, sweetheart. My girls are top of the fucking top,” he muses. 

You blink.

“I am the top of the top.” The words are out of your mouth before you could stop them, instantly wishing you could reach out and take them back. 

The last time you danced publicly was ten years or so ago. At a Christmas Recital, your parents forced you to participate in. And the last time you stepped foot into a Strip Club was when you had to lodge a knife between the owner's eyes.

Jungkook takes a small step forward and as if you’re the same poles of a magnet, you take one step back. 

He removes one hand from his pocket and a glint of amusement stirs in his eyes as if you’d just performed a trick that entertained him. Your stomach churns and you can’t stomach the sinking feeling that you did not want to be Jeon Jungkook’s personal entertainment for the night. And an even stronger feeling that you already are. 

Jimin said this would be easy. Walk in, shake your ass a little here and there and you’d get the job. Yet here you are standing a mere foot away from the one man he said to stay away from completely engulfed by his presence. 

“What’s your name, darling?” 

You gulp, and the name Jimin gave you runs in mismatched pairs in your brain. Jocelyn? Jaclyn? Jacky? Think. 

An odd thumping begins in your chest as Jungkook’s gaze falls down onto your body once again. Joan, Joanelle, Joanna. 

Joanna. 

It’s Joanna. 

“Joanna.” The name is foreign on your tongue, but, Jungkook’s face remains emotionless. 

His eyes narrow on your stilettos. “And you think I’d hire you, Joanna?” He drawls the last syllable of the name and his heavy gaze travels upward eventually meeting yours. 

Your eyes burn from the intensity. How can the face of an angel have the eyes of a blackhole? 

 Too afraid to tear away from the darkness pulling you toward him. You nod, slowly.

“Dance for me.”

You stare at him, probably looking dumbfounded as hell. He nods his head toward the chairs beside you. 

“I-“

“You want the job, don’t you? How else would you get it besides impressing me?” A frightening smirk lifts his lips and he approaches you. 

His dress shoes are heavy against the wooden panels of the floor and you’re cemented to the floor. Unable to move an inch. 

You’ll have to dance for him. 

Your heart pounds so loudly you think it’ll rip from your ribcage. 

You don’t even know if you can dance. 

Something caresses your skin and when you stare at the finger, Jungkook’s seated in the chair directly beside you. During your daze, he must’ve turned on the speakers because a Weeknd song you recognize vibrates the room, consuming you. 

Imma care for you, you, you… 

Your eyes fix on Jungkook once more, on his cold, malicious and painfully beautiful face. 

Jungkook’s head cocks to the side and so does a strand of his hair, following the axis of his body with haunting motion. Every instinct in your body is keeping to run away from him, fuck Jimin’s plans and reap his rath as punishment later.

But Jungkook’s hand envelopes your wrist and you swallow the saliva that’s gathered in your mouth and step in front of him. 

You make it look like it’s magic. 

Jungkook’s hand slides from your wrist to the top of the armrest. His dark eyes remained locked with yours and in your life, you’ve never been as frozen as you are right now. It has everything to do with his cold touch, face, and demeanor. This must be what it feels like to have your soul ripped out by the Grim Reaper. 

He’s going to eat you alive. 

Cause I see nobody, nobody but you, you, you… 

Your heart soars with explosive fireworks when Jungkook opens his legs, giving you the access to his lap. 

He’s expecting a lap dance. 

As if noticing your hesitation, he says, “You can always suck my cock.“

Your finger twitches and the unnerving ease in his manner of speech sends your throat into anaphylaxis. 

You have to dance.

I’m never confused. 

You shake your head, and inch into the space between Jungkook’s legs. You’ll kill Jimin for this, rip his balls out and serve them on a platter. Right now though, you have to dance. 

Hey, hey. I’m so used to being used. 

You spin around, because if you have to look into those scorching eyes for another moment you’ll surely pass out. It’s easier facing his desk, facing a blank wall. 

So I love when you call unexpected, cause I hate when the moments expected. 

Using your heels as leverage, you sway your to the rhythm of The Weeknd’s voice. His soft words coursing your ears, guiding you through this torture. 

Your hands find their way to the back of your thighs, grazing the exposed skin ever so slightly before proceeding to your ass. You linger at the shell of your asscheeks, and you use your index fingers to carve out the shape of them. 

 So imma care for you, you, you… 

There’s warmth on your hip, and you try to steady your breath after realizing Jungkook’s using his hands to guide your hips lower and lower. You allow him because rationality is out of the window at this point, you lost it the second you stepped foot into this cell. 

Cause girl you’re perfect, always worth it, and you deserve it, the way you work it.

It’s like your ass collides with a wall. Jungkook’s hard muscles tense beneath you and you grind yourself into him. Into the darkness that’s consuming you from every possible angle.

 The warmth of Jungkook’s body sends shivers down your spine, and the way both of his hands are now gripping your hips, ushering you to glide back and forth on his erect cock. You’re grinding against him, feeling the thick swell of his cock pressed between your clothed ass. 

“Get off,” he growls into your ear.

The trance you’d put yourself in lifts and you blink repeatedly as Jungkook pulls you off his lap. 

When you’re back onto your feet, you spin and Jungkook’s eyes blaze darker than you’d ever seen them. 

He was— is hard. 

What’s the problem? 

The sweet melody of The Weeknd comes to a close and you finally take notice of the remote on the armrest. 

Jungkook stands and there’s no space between you now. His face is inches from yours, bodies so close that his heat and yours radiate in one continuous loop, feeding the tornado brewing. 

He wets his lips, his features dissolving the lust present seconds ago.

“I don’t hire whores.” 

And with those words, he pushes past you and walks the fuck away. 

Next Part.

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : SECRETS AND REUNIONS

At age ten your parents had taken a job offer that paid more than what they were used to seeing. That offer resulted in moving from your hometown and to Louisville.

Starting school in the middle of the year was never fun, kids were always mean but a certain curly boy with blue eyes had stepped in and taken you under his wing.

It was a beautiful friendship that blossomed into a high school love.

A love with so many first evers.

Jack was the first boy you held hands with.

He was your first kiss.

He was your first everything.

You were there besides him through everything. You supported his dreams, and his drive to get out there and get noticed with his music.

Him, alongside his friends- they were hustling to get their music out and be something. Of course being the supportive friend and girlfriend, you were there at every little show, every little project they had around town, until eventually it meant traveling back and forth from Louisville and Atlanta.

Everything was going well, everything Jack had dreamed for, he was making it come true and you couldn’t be more proud.

You had moved with him to Atlanta, and that’s when he started getting noticed. His song What’s Poppin had been a hit and that just opened up more opportunities for him.

You were happy for him, you really were. But as he got bigger, that meant getting the attention of girls all over the world.

He never made you feel unloved or unhappy, but you just couldn’t understand the need for him to be too friendly with women.

You’d fight more, more often than usual and it was driving you both crazy. You knew he wouldn’t end things, too afraid to lose someone he’s familiar with. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I- I don’t understand babe.”

“You don’t have to.” You shrug, “It’s what’s best for both of us.”

“How is leaving me best for both of us? What happened?.”

“Jack, look around.” You lift your arms, gesture around you. “This isn’t a home, it hasn’t been for a while.”

“So we try, you don’t give up.” He yells.

“I can’t, that’s the problem.” You whisper out.

“Y/N, please don’t do this.”

“This is for our own good. You can focus one hundred percent on your music and your career. I could start focusing on what I actually want to do. I can't follow you around all my life.”

“So that’s it?” He asks, glaring at you, his chest puffing in and out. “You’ve given up on us, on me?”

“It’s not that I gave up, Jack.”

“That is exactly what it sounds like.” He yells, making you jump. “If I walk out that door right now, I’m not coming back.”

“Jac-“

“Are you done then?”

You nod. “Y-yeah, I think I am.”

He scoffs, grabs his keys and heads to the front door. “I love you, I loved you since the first day you walked in school rocking pigtails and braces. You broke us, not me.” With those final words he walks out, slamming the door behind him.

With a broken heart you continue to pack your stuff. You honestly thought this would’ve gone better since it felt like Jack had already checked out from the relationship.

You weren’t just moving out from your shared apartment, you were actually moving away from Louisville. You were going to leave without letting anyone know, and it was bittersweet but you knew Urban, Clay, even Maggie would try to convince you to stay and you’d give in.

That’s why you packed in silence, a few tears running down your face and having second thoughts about your rash decision.

****************

When you moved away four years ago you didn’t think you’d be back here. But here you were and you wore more nervous than excited for so many reasons.

Throughout the four years Jack was very well known now. He's been accomplishing everything he once dreamed about and you were always happy and proud of him.

You’ve had no contact with him or anyone in his circle whatsoever. You know coming back will be the talk of the town and you were not ready for all of that.

You were taking down boxes from your car when you heard someone calling you. “Y/N?” A voice comes behind you. “Is that you?”

You close your eyes and mutter a quick “fuck” and turn around. “Clay, hi.”

“Oh shit it really is you.” He comes up to hug you. “What are you doing back?”

“I came to spend some time with my grandpa.” You tilt your head to the side “What are you doing here?” You notice that he’s carrying a few bags.

“Oh, we always bring him groceries and we try to have lunch with him.”

“We?” You asked confused, but deep down you have a feeling you know who he’s referring to.

“Jack.”

You nod, “Since when?”

“We’ve been doing it since you left.”

You nod, “I appreciate it, thank you.” You close the door to your car and smile at Clay. “I can take the bags in.”

“Na it’s okay, we have a game of cards to continue.” He shrugs.

“I don’t think that-“

Clay nods, understanding. “Okay fine, I’ll give you the weekend to settle in and get your story right. After that, I’m resuming my schedule with your grandpa and telling my brother.”

You smile, “Thank you Clayborn.”

********************

“You can’t open the door, you have to wait for me to come.” You tell him.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You open the door and freeze on your spot. You can’t believe he’s here in front of you.

You knew it was only a matter of time the news of you coming back would reach him. But you thought since he just had an album release and a movie, that he’d be busy and it’ll give you enough time to settle in.

“Who that momma?”

Jack furrows his eyebrows and looks behind your legs, then looks back at you. “He yours?”

You nod, “Y-yeah”

He kneels down. “I’m Jack, what’s your name?”

Jack smiles at him, stares at him, studying him, looking at his face and his entire body.

“A-Anthony.” He answers behind your legs.

“Toni, go see if grandpa finished building your fire truck papi.” You push your son inside the house and close the door.

“What are you doing here?” You’re both standing outside on the porch now.

“Clay told me he saw you moving in and your grandpa told me to come over.” He answers you, confused as ever. “He said you’ve been wanting to talk to me.”

“Viejo metiche.” You mumble. “Look I don’t know why he’d tell you that.”

“He’s mine isn’t he?”

“What?”

“Anthony” he points behind you, “That boy inside is my son huh?”

You shake your head, “N- he’s mine.”

“Y/N, you left four years ago and he looks around that age.”

“Jack, don’t do this.” You shake your head

“You left and didn’t even bother to tell me I have a son? How could you do that to me?.” He raises his voice. “Wait, is that why you left?”

“N-no of course not, I found out a few weeks later after I left.”

“You didn’t think to tell me? To pick up the phone and let me know?”

“Honestly? No, you were busy with your career and I wasn’t going to be the reason why you stopped chasing your dreams.”

He laughs, nodding his head. “You’re something else.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I knew it was wrong but I just didn’t know how to tell you.” You wrap your arms around yourself, you can feel a wave of emotions flowing through you.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” He pulls out his phone, types something quickly and places it back in his pocket. “You’ll hear from my manager soon, she’ll contact you with my lawyer.”

“J-Jack, what do you mean lawyer?”

“I’m never going to forgive you for keeping him away from me.” He heads down the steps, into the lawn and you’re quick to follow him.

“Please don’t, don’t take him away from me.” You’re sobbing now.

He turns around to glare at you, his nose flaring “I would never.” Pointing a finger to your chest “I’m not like you.”

With those final words, he makes it into his jeep and speeds away. Leaving you a crying, worried mess.

*****************

TAG LIST

@heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @arination99 @cmalass @jackharloww @minkookie95 @deannaard @jacksmoviestar @harlowcomehome @fdl305 @httpkoylinnn @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hoodharlow @automaticpeachsong @amethyst09 @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @stefansalvatoresgf @violetdreamsworld @carma-fanficaddict @jasminxts @itsaaliyah2 @itsyagirljaz @harrycanyonmoonn @neon-lights-and-glitter @awhore4moree @toocriticalharlow @thefemalestorywriter

[bumpkinspice0]

Recovery Time: Chapter 1

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Ten years into the outbreak and you'd seen a lot. Through it all you'd managed to make a comfortable life for yourself in the end. A lonely life, but a comfortable one... then a bleeding man comes stumbling into it.

Warnings: dude in distress, serious injury, descriptions of wound care, blood, stitches, shock, I think that's it???

A/N: Let's see if I can write slow burn, kids! (please hold my hand) Got tired of just contemplating stuff in this story and just decided to post it to light a fire under my ass. This fic is inspired 25% by my love for The Last of Us (Games and series) 25% for my love for Pedro Pascal and 50% for my deep desire to abandon everything I know and live in the woods.

Series Masterlist

Next

AO3

_______________

Chapter 1: Mystery Man

Your ass has already gone numb from sitting in your barebones tree stand. It was little more than a seat strapped to a ladder strapped to a tree, but it got the job done— Less conspicuous than a proper deer stand, anyway. Even with numb ass cheeks and a runny nose brewing, the early fall breeze was still nice, not too bone-chilling. The sunrise was exceptionally beautiful today. You don’t recall the last time you watched the sunrise. You don’t really recall the last time you sat this still for this long.

It was too early in the season to start hunting, but you were feeling lucky. And, if you were being honest, just needed to get away from the cabin. From the monotony of daily life you’d created. This was as outside of the box you could think of— coming out to stare out a field while slowly freezing your ass off.

But it was nice… peaceful. A break from routine. Routine was all you had lately. Routine was safe. Routine kept you alive.

It started out as a little hike. Something to get your blood pumping. You had to justify it, of course, so you turned it into a hunting trip. Nothing can be done without purpose. Not in this world. What’s the worst thing that could happen— you actually bring some meat home?

Four hours without a single animal passing through your vantage point and you start to have your doubts. You would have been better off walking through trails and looking for rabbits, but something about just sitting sounded so fucking nice. Just sitting. Not doing a goddamn thing.

You both cherish and hate it at the same time.

Finally, you see movement just over the hill of the clearing. About damn time. Your grasp tightens around your bow in anticipation. You click your cheek to get Gus’s attention just below you. He’d more than likely fallen asleep by now. You look down the trunk to see your loyal companion's ears perk up. The black and white border collie rises and shakes off the leaves from his coat, ready to pounce and give chase as soon as your arrow flies. Both your eyes fixed on the movement in the clearing. It was big. You’re praying for a deer or, god willing, an elk. God, you’d be set through most of winter if you got an elk.

The animal stalks closer, a little over a hundred yards away. The tall golden grass obscures most of its body but once it takes a few more steps you can finally make it out— it’s definitely not any deer.

It’s a man. A very, very injured man. He’s limping, blood staining nearly every inch of him.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

You’re instantly tense, a rush of adrenaline pumping you to full alert. This was the first person you’d seen in— you can’t recall how long— and look at him. Any inkling of him being a possible threat is instantly dismissed. He’s barely walking, if you could even call it that. The possibility of him being infected crosses your mind, but there’s too much purpose to his movements. Too much humanity still left in his face.

Then why was he out here?

The likelihood of this being a trap crosses your mind next, but you quickly abandon the thought when you see him drop his rifle and pack and take a good ten steps past them. If he was acting, he deserves an Academy Award. He looked absolutely exhausted. If his pitiful walking wasn’t convincing enough, his dirty, tattered body was.

You let out a gasp when he finally collapses with a nasty thud. Gus lets out a small ruff below— just as engrossed with the stranger as you. Now what?

What do you do with this? What the hell do you do?

You could help him— of course you could. That’s who you are, what you used to be at least. Someone who helped people. You have all the skills and necessities to do so. You want to help him. Everything in you is screaming to just go up to him— but you have to be smart. You don’t have the luxury of acting on kind will anymore.

The mystery man lies there motionless as you quickly weigh your options. 

This could still be a trap. Even if he wasn’t the one setting it, he could be the bait. You hadn’t encountered it before but you’d heard stories of the raider's tactics. To lure people out with sympathy. Even if he was, Gus would have surely alerted you if there were more nearby by now.

You test this theory as you slowly crawl down from the tree stand and lurk low to the ground, Gus prowling beside you. You take a few steps into the grass and he doesn’t stop you. The coast must be clear. You always trust that dog's instincts above all. He hasn’t led you astray yet. 

Still, there’s more to debate while you let a man bleed out in front of you.

He could have been followed, but something tells you that wasn’t likely either. Or at least if he had been, they would have easily caught up to him in his condition.

Or you’re just hoping that was true.

And the worst option… He could still be infected. You’d never seen an infected come out this far. Hell, regular people never came out this far. They just didn’t. Nothing about his movements or mannerisms suggested he could be infected. And again, Gus would have let you know. He knows their scent. Maybe he’s bitten but it hasn’t taken hold yet? There’s no way to tell.

And there’s really only one way to find out.

You take a deep breath, sliding your bow across your back. You run swiftly through the grass with your dog close at your side, doing your best to remain low and somewhat hidden by the foliage. This was insane. This was stupid. This is risking so much and yet you can’t stop yourself. Even after all these years, that need is still embedded in you. The need to help.

You kneel next to the mystery man and Gus circles the two of you, the ever-vigilant guard dog. 

“Hey…Um, sir?” you say awkwardly as you tap the side of his face. There’s some small movement in his rugged features but nothing resembling consciousness. He’s out cold. 

You quickly assess the obvious damage to him. Your hands lightly glide over his body, checking for broken bones, any bloodied wet spots…or bite marks. He’s bandaged something across his stomach with some ripped fabric and duct tape. You carefully peel back the soaked-through fabric to see two nasty lacerations stretch over his stomach, one on each side. You’re not sure how deep they are and you don’t want to dig your unsanitized hands in it to find out. That was the worst of it. He was covered in small scrapes and bruises. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised. He’d fought his way out of something. A twinge of fear pricks in the back of your mind that he may have been followed after all. You end your examination on his left ankle— definitely badly sprained if not broken entirely. The flesh around his boot was swollen and red. 

But nothing that remotely resembled a bite. Gus gives him a good sniff over and you get the final approval. This man isn’t infected. Just mortality wounded— great.

You sling his gun and backpack across your back and lean over the stranger, giving yourself one final chance to debate all of this.

You could take his stuff and run. Leave him for the birds. Had the world really made you so bitter? No, you know it hadn’t. If you left him here, this man’s death would be on your conscience every day. A death you could have prevented. It’s just not in your nature to be so selfish, even after everything. Even if you couldn’t save him, you’d at least know you tried.

You had the means to get him back home. You’d wheeled out one of the small wagons with you in hopes you’d be bringing some fresh meat back. Well, you guess you still are— It’ll just be live meat. Hopefully live, at least.

If you help him, it’s another mouth to feed. Someone to take care of and bandage on top of your daily work. Are you willing to do it? You’d done it for others before, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Is it still worth it?

Yes, you decide.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.” You assure him as you hook your arms under his shoulders and start to drag him back into the tree line. Even if he can’t hear you, talking at least comforted you. You always talked to your patients anyway. 

“Christ, you’re heavier than you look.” You wheeze, shuffling as quickly as you can back to the tree line. 

Gus walks with you, still on edge. He sniffs at the curious stranger cautiously. You’re sure he’s not going to like any of this. Gus was never a fan of any of the men you brought home— not that you brought that many.

You awkwardly lift Mystery Man into your two-wheeled wagon and toss in all of your combined supplies. Time was of the essence if he’d lost as much blood as you thought he had— and your home was over a mile away. You take a moment to gather yourself before picking up the wagon handles and marching as quickly as possible through the wooded terrain back to the cabin. 

At least the September air was still pleasant. Not too hot, not too cold. The humidity of summer dissipates as fall creeps into the woods. You wish you had time to admire the changing of the leaves, but not today. At least you got to watch the sunrise.

You’re absolutely drenched in sweat by the time the cabin’s finally in sight. You don’t recall ever being so happy to see it. No one’s followed you and Gus hasn’t alerted you to anyone else's presence. Well, that at least makes you feel a little better. You likely still won’t light a fire for the next few nights, just in case.

The journey isn't over yet, though. You drop the wagon with an angry thud against the porch.  

“Here we are!” You say to the practical corpse of a man as you hoist his upper body back into your arms, “God, imagine how much you’d weigh with all your blood.”

You drag him to the living room floor, deciding to roll him into a proper bed once you clean his wounds and take care of whatever needs taking care of— a lot. A lot needed taking care of with him. First, you get his filthy flannel out of the way, unbuttoning it to reveal the full map of bruises across his toned torso. It just further confirms your suspicions of him being in a fight. A bad one.

“Don’t move!” You instruct the still man. You’re probably talking too much given the situation,  but it’s helping you process it all. Gus waits silently at the door as you panickedly rush through your home. You start to boil two large pots of water over the wood stove. One empty and one with gauze and towels. Your water was decently filtered but you’re not taking any chances on possibly making this gravely injured man even sicker with an infection because you don’t have fucking chlorine in your water.

While the water boils you ready your other supplies. You grab your untouched medical supplies from the closet and drop them next to Mystery Man. You quickly dig through the old bag, praying you have any kind of antibiotics left. Luck seems to be on your side for once today, finding a still half-full bottle of amoxicillin in the bottom of the medical bag. You organize the chaos, lining up all your necessary supplies on a towel. It wasn’t an OR but it was…something. This wasn’t necessarily a sterile environment but it was the best you could do.

The water should be sanitized by now. You take the pots off the stove and gingerly place them next to your other supplies. Another few minutes to thoroughly wash your hands and you’re good to go. While this man had lost a lot of blood, his biggest risk factor at this point was infection— the slow painful death kind, not the walking fungus kind. Both are terrible options, really. 

You kneel next to him amongst your scattered supplies, taking a deep breath to gather yourself once more before you begin your work. When was the last time you did this? Who was your last patient? It’d been years , what if you’d forgotten everything? Your isolation out in the woods could have slowly rotted your brain. Still, going through the process in your head, you can recall every step. Sure, it’d been a while but you knew what to do. Just because it’d been so long doesn’t mean your skills dried up like a well—right? You’re still a medic. You’ve got this.

“You can still do this,” You assure yourself with another steady breath. You’d done this thousands of times before. He’s no different than the rest.

Your clean hands ghost over him, deciding where to start. The massive cuts on his sides seem like a good place. You need to clean them, both to get any filth out of them, but also just to see how serious it is. If this wound was deep enough to puncture any organs there’s a good possibility there’s nothing you could do for him. 

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

The wound on his right stretches from his stomach to just below his ribs. The left one is smaller, stretching down vertically about 6 inches, stopping just above his hip. They look maybe 2 days old, based on the bruising and ridiculous amounts of dried blood. He may have saved his life with those shotty duct tape bandages in the field, but there was still a lot that needed to be done. You take a cup of clean water and pour it over the first wound. Blood and dirt trickle out of it. His muscles react to the sensation but he still doesn’t wake up. You pour more water over it and start dabbing it with a towel. You had to take this part slowly. You had to be gentle and observant just to see how bad it was.

You breathe a sigh of relief when there’s eventually only blood rinsing out. No pus or mystery liquid that should definitely be somewhere else. After a thorough cleaning, you feel confident enough to stitch him up. Fishing line is the best you have, but it’ll have to do.

You repeat the same process for the wound on his other side— also a clean cut.

Once he’s all cleaned up and closed, you tape a few layers of gauze over each one and a layer of compression bandages over that. You even top it off with a shot of amoxicillin. Better care than you were able to give some of your other patients, that’s for sure. 

“God, I hope you’re not allergic to this,” You say as you inject the potential life-saving liquid. If that does its job, this guy might just have a chance.

His other wounds were trivial in comparison. Smaller cuts or bruises you couldn’t do anything about. Less life-threatening than the giant new holes around his stomach.

“Well, that’s the worst ones taken care of,” You sigh with little relief, wiping some sweat from your brow, “Unless you’re bleeding from somewhere else I can’t see.”

You looked down at his remaining blood-soaked clothes. If you had to guess you’d say he lost nearly a liter, but maybe not all of it was his— again, you try not to think about it right now. 

You turn your attention to his other grave injury— his ankle. The skin around the joint is tender and red, swollen to nearly double the size of his other leg. You have to get his boot off. If you were treating this like a proper emergency situation you’d have just cut the boot off. Instead, you take the time to carefully unlace them completely and they slide off with no problem. Good boots are hard to come by and this guy's clothes are almost all trashed as it is. The stiffness of the leather boot may have just saved this man’s foot in the long run.

His ankle was badly sprained, if not broken.  None of the tendons seem completely severed so he’ll walk again— thank god. Lord knows you don’t know how to perform actual surgery. The best option for it regardless is to stabilize it. You wrap his foot in compression bandages and immobilize it on each side with a ruler and a wooden spoon. It’s not pretty but it gets the job done just the same. You wished you had ice to help with the swelling. You’ll have to check and see if you have any anti-inflammatories left to help with that.

With his two main injuries stabilized you continue to look over and patch up any of his smaller wounds over the next hour. None as nasty as the cuts on his stomach, but plenty were just more risk for infection. Some are just scrapes… some look fairly similar to shallow stab wounds you’d seen before. You repeat the same process for all of them— Your two bowls of water slowly become crimson red as you work.

His breath remains steady the whole time. Whoever this guy is, he’s a fighter. The scars that already littered his skin were proof enough of that. 

Once satisfied with your work you drag him over to your bedroom and wrap him in a few blankets. With no shirt and tremendous blood loss, he’s going to wake up cold. You do your best to hopefully make him comfortable. 

That’s it. You’ve done everything you can do. All that was left was to wait. 

More premature relief blankets over you as you wash your bloodied hands off in the bathroom sink, fingers trembling from the adrenaline coming down. Your mind drifts back to your brief time as a nurse— back when the world was whole. Within your first week in the ER, you’d seen dozens of injuries worse than his. After the breakout, you’d seen hundreds more. Still, your proper education was nearly ten years ago now. 

The rest of your medical history was stuff like this. Injured folk at the end of the world who needed an actual doctor, but you were the best they had— and that’d been a long time ago too. You still can’t quite recall when your last patient was. 

And of course, the first person you see in years just happens to end up a patient as well. A long-term patient.

With him tucked away and bandaged up, you turn your attention to his supplies. You unload his gun. Only four rounds left. You place the bullets in your junk drawer in the kitchen and drag all his gear into the room, placing it at the foot of the bed. Despite having hovered over him for the last few hours you finally take a moment to just… Look at him. He’s rather handsome, you suppose. For a guy living through the apocalypse. A strong chin and nose framed with a slowly peppering beard. Dusty curls with rich tan skin. If you had to guess you’d say his eyes were brown. The lines on his face are deep with character.  Okay, he was very handsome.

Upon just observing him, more of your foolish decision-making hits you. You didn’t know this man, and you brought him into your home. You put him in your bed! You don’t know his past or what he’s capable of. In his condition, he wasn’t currently capable of much at all. You’re sure you could overpower him if it came to violence when he woke up. If that’s how it had to be, then that’s how it had to be. You pray it wouldn’t come to that, though.

If Art were still here, he’d be absolutely livid right now. Then again, there was very little that didn’t set him off. He’d be so disappointed in you if he’d seen what an idiot you’d been here. Probably both for bringing a stranger into his home and your shotty patch job. 

“You don’t owe anyone anything, and neither do I. Not anymore,” Your old mentor’s voice rings in your head. Stubborn, brutish old man— you missed him so much. 

You suddenly remember who your last actual patient was. You’d learned your lesson once. Helping people had a price. A physical one sometimes. Suddenly you can feel every ridge of the scars on your lower abdomen. A constant reminder of the risks something like this came with. Someone you tried to help took something away from you. 

You hoped this man was different.

And really, what kind of asshole would wake up and murder the person that saved their life? A lot of assholes probably. This new world is full of them. 

You decide to keep your hunting knife on your belt, just in case.

It’s hours later until anything happens.

You’re sitting in the living room when you hear a crash from the bedroom— followed by a pained grunt. Gus is there before you are, his hair raised and a defensive growl in his throat. You rush to the door and there he is, your mystery patient up and walking. Well, sort of. 

He’s rolled out of the bed, knocking over a lamp that hasn’t been turned on in months in the process. He’s trashing in the tangled sheets, trying to get himself up. 

“Easy!” You say first to him, “Easy!” You say again to Gus. The dog backs down, still standing defensively between your legs. 

“Who are you?” The man wheezes out, “Where am I?” His voice is deep and raspy but there’s barely any power behind it. You can tell he’s trying to be threatening but he’s too weak to do much of anything. He’s shivering. His eyes are darting around the room, likely looking for anything he could use as a weapon.

He can’t manage to stand on his own two feet so you think you're probably safe.

You raise your hands and crouch down to his level. He’s tense— A panicked animal backed into a corner. You have to be calm, show him you’re not a threat. You slowly offer a hello and your name. “I saved your life. You’re beat up pretty—”

“Where am I?” He repeats with more force this time.

“Safe. My house.” You say calmly but with force, not letting him have control of this conversation, “I assume not far from wherever you got the shit beaten out of you.”

He flinches with a hiss of pain, grasping at his side. He’s going to open his stitches if he keeps thrashing around like this. You need to get him back into bed. He needs to rest. You need to calm him down.

You take a careful crouched step towards him. 

“Don’t.” He snarls. 

“Look, mister,” You sigh, sitting back on your heels, “Why would I have brought you here? Why wouldn’t I have just left you out there to die, hmm?”

“You might want somethin’. I don’t know what side you're on. Who you work for. ”

“Yes, because you have so much to offer right now,” You can’t help but roll your eyes, “I’m on the side that gets you in the bed and to stop writhing on the ground. You’re gonna—”

“You a raider?”

You raise your eyebrows and almost scoff at the accusation. Did you look like a raider? Is this what raiders looked like? You?

“I’m your fucking doctor and I’m ordering you to get back in that bed.” 

You should be more patient with him. You really should. You have no idea what he’d seen or what really happened to him. You thought you had given him ample reason to trust you but you’re still a stranger to him. And he’s woken up in a strange place after god knows what. 

Give him more reason to trust you. Kindness can still go a long way in this world. You believe that. 

You reach over to the foot of the bed and drag his backpack and boots into view, “Here’s your stuff. I’m washing your shirt, though I’m not sure it’s salvageable at this point. Your rifle is there in the corner. I have the bullets for safekeeping.” You push the bag closer to him, “I saw you go down in a field about a mile north from here, I brought you here, I fixed you up. I’m nobody. I just want to help.” 

You hold each other’s gaze for a moment, searching for answers in the other’s eyes. You were right, his were brown. He looks down, snagging the pack from your grasp. He riffles through it, taking a quick inventory of everything. Trust established— however minuscule it was. 

Or that’s what you thought.

In the split second your guard is lowered he springs forward, pushing you out of the way and tumbling into the hallway. Luckily, he doesn’t get far. Gus bites at his pant leg almost needlessly. The stranger didn’t even have the strength left to make it to the kitchen.

“Have to get back. Have to—” he mumbles incoherently as you approach his curled-up form.

A sane person would cut their losses here, toss him out in the cold, and wash their hands of such a burden. Lucky for him, you hadn’t been completely sane in years. With another heavy sigh, you lean over to help him to his feet. He doesn’t fight you.

“Tess?” Mystery Man deliriously mumbles, limping back to the bedroom on your arm. Well, it seems like your entire interaction was a faded memory. It was common with this kind of trauma. He’s still in survival mode. 

“No,” you grumble, laying him back down on the bed. “Not Tess.”

“I have to– Tommy—” his delirium continues, eyes fluttering open and closed just trying to grasp consciousness. Calling out to the people he knows, not you.

“Hey,” you lightly grab his shoulder. His attention focuses on you again, “You’ll see them again, I promise. Right now you have to rest.”

He studies you again and you start to wonder if he’s going to make another break for it. Thankfully, his only response is a single nod.

“I’ll be right back,” You quickly step out of the room and grab him a glass of water. You offer the glass and he studies it for a moment before chugging it down like a feverish child. He slowly rolls back into the bed with a heavy sigh. You take the empty glass back. “Rest for now. Call me when you're up again and you can have something to eat.”

He’s already passed out again before you finish your sentence. 

[syrikif]

Gamer Etiquette

Kodzuken x Streamer!Y/N

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Genre: SMAU, Written Elements, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Fluff, Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Streamer/Youtuber AU

Upcoming content creator/streamer, Y/N, has gone viral for lots of things. Her infamous dumb moments, her blended cookie recipe (which tastes better than it sounds), the way she rages at her friends during games, and about a hundred more.

But her most recent viral moment? Accidentally knocking famous streamer, Kodzuken, off the Bedwars map and making him lose his two year winning streak.

Now with more attention (and hate) than she ever asked for, her only option left is to go to the source: the man himself, Kenma Kozume.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Chapter 2 (b): Boredom

Word Count: 2187

It’s been an hour since Kenma started streaming, and he’ll admit that he’s starting to get a bit bored. He usually enjoys playing Bedwars on stream but he’s been doing it so often lately that it’s beginning to get repetitive.

“What the hell is this guy doing,” he asks as he notices someone start building a tower of blocks on the emerald island. Kenma sprints over to the player, jumping up to knock him off the tower. 

“Hype_boy2000 was killed by Kodzuken!”

“People that play minecraft are brainless sometimes I swear to god,” he hears Kuroo mutter in his headset. 

Despite living together, his best friend usually only joins the stream via voice call, so he can interact with Kenma’s viewers and still be comfortable in his own room. Kenma honestly actually prefers this, it’s easier to hear him and he doesn’t have to worry about his roommate doing anything dumb in front of the camera. 

He shakes his head, “You play minecraft.” 

“Exactly!” 

Kenma snorts, taking a quick glance at his chat to see how his audience is feeling. 

Kodzuken is a GOD

People who play mc are losers🙄🙄🙄 (I play mc)

I’m not bad at the game but watching Kenma makes me feel like I am 💀

He looks bored 😕

His eyebrows furrow then because he’s almost completely positive that he’s hiding his feelings well enough for no one to notice. Apparently he’s not. 

He feels something tug at his neck and briefly looks down to see what it is, resisting a smile at the sight of one of the younger cats, Mars, playing with the drawstring of his hoodie. “Do we wanna try playing something else after this?” 

“Why? You gettin’ bored of winning all the time,” his roommate teases and Kenma has to force himself not to react to his words because he might just be joking but he’s hit the nail right on the head. 

Kenma pretends he doesn’t hear him as he kills the last player (winning himself yet another game),“I’ll go one more round and then we can figure out something else to play.” 

OMG do you guys see the paw????

SHOW US THE CATS

We wanna see the cats

“I think the only reason you’re famous is because we have a million cats,” Kuroo announces and Kenma can almost see the accompanying eye roll. 

“I’m fine with that,” he shrugs. “But I guess I can show you guys the cats before we start.” 

He changes his scene in OBS so that it’s only showing his camera, making sure he’s in full view before he scoops up the bengal cat still sitting in his lap. “This is Mars, we got him like a month ago. How old is he? Um like five months I think?”

He sets him back down on his desk, “There’s only like four cats in here right now by the way.” 

ONLY FOUR???

How many cats does he have lol

“I think there’s like fifteen in the house right now,” Kenma’s head unconsciously tilts as he silently counts all their cats. “No- wait. Seventeen now, plus however many Minnie will have when she gives birth.” 

“Yeah but don’t worry we have three different rooms in the house for them, plus the loft and then the house itself is three stories.” Kuroo chimes in, defending Kenma’s apparent obsession despite the fact that he supposedly doesn’t care. “And then we have like ten cat towers and eight litter robots.” 

EIGHT?????

Oh so they’re rich rich

Half of those litter boxes would pay all my bills 💀

“Anyways um-,” Kenma pauses to reach for the orange cat currently laying in the cat bed beside his desk. “This is Enji, she’s been with us for three years now and she’s five years old.” Enji meows in disapproval as Kenma picks her up and tries to show her to the camera. She fights against him, her claws digging into his forearms and making him grimace. “She doesn’t like being picked up.” 

As if on cue Enji jumps out of his arms and lays right back down in the bed, eyeing Kenma like he’s just committed some sort of grave sin. 

“Well now that she hates me,” he shoots the camera a look, “Let’s go grab another one.” 

He stands from his chair, taking a cursory glance throughout the room to spot any other animals lingering. “Oh-,” he notices a ball of fluff hiding in the cat tower sitting in the corner of his streaming room. 

Miomi is much more willing to be picked up, her purrs echoing throughout the room as he cradles her in his arms and walks back to his desk. “This is Miomi, she’s a ragdoll obviously.” 

“She’s my favorite,” Kuroo suddenly chimes in. “Literally so cuddly I love it.” 

“She is very sweet,” Kenma agrees as he strokes the cat’s stomach. She blinks up at him slowly, her purrs lessening as she drifts back to sleep. “We’ve had her the longest, ever since we moved in.” 

Kenma gently moves to set her back into the cat tower, to which she stretches only once before immediately falling right back asleep. He then looks up towards the cat shelves he’d put on his walls a few years ago, snorting when he spots exactly who he was expecting to find up there. 

“Come here little buddy,” he coaxes the animal into his hands who meows in protest as his little paws reach out to cling onto his shoulders. And Kenma is just barely able to move into the camera frame before he starts practically screaming. “This is void,” he pauses to lightly pat his head, knowing that usually helps to calm him down. “Any guesses as to why we named him that?” The question is entirely rhetorical. 

“Dude he’s like blending into your fucking sweatshirt,” Kuroo suddenly laughs. 

Kenma leans forward to look at the viewfinder of his camera, “Holy shit he is.” 

Void starts meowing again at the change in position and Kenma can feel himself flinch from how loud it is. “Hey hey hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he swiftly places him back on the shelf. 

“That’s all the cats in here,” Kenma tells his viewers as he sits back down. “I might do a full video introducing everyone but it would just take a while to film because a few of them like going outside a lot.” 

“Yeah I haven’t seen Binx inside in like two months,” his roommate further adds. 

“I see him in the backyard a lot but he’s usually sitting up on the fence,” Kenma notes as he reopens the game on his stream. 

Kenma goes outside???

He went out to touch grass

Binx is such a funny name lol

He ignores their jests, running in game to play his final round of bedwars for the night. “How about a three v. three?” 

“Oh yeah you haven’t played in teams in a while have you?” 

“A couple months I think,” he responds as he selects the game. “What do we wanna play after this?” The streamer directs his gaze to the chat while he waits for his character to load into the game. 

“I was thinking something like Spiderman, or we could play Stardew with Kuro,” he adds just as he’s spawned into the map. 

“Um, hello?” His roommate’s voice is loud with disbelief. 

“Hi.” Kenma takes a moment to collect as much iron and gold he needs before sprinting to get a stone sword and some wool.

“Do I get a say in this at all?”

Kenma feels his eyebrows furrow, “You realize that you’re here solely for the viewers entertainment right?” 

He begins speed-bridging across to the emerald island as he hears his best friend scoff. “Fuck you.” 

“No thank you,” Kenma hums as he finishes off the bridge and jumps into one of the emerald spawners. 

“Sometimes I wonder why we’re friends,” while the words themselves are mean, both men know that Kuroo is entirely joking as he says it. 

Kenma subconsciously nods, “All the time.” 

He spots another player from a distance and moves to crouch behind a pile of blocks next to the spawner. “I think my strat is to just kinda run and kill everyone and let my teammates worry about the bed,” he explains. 

The player passes by then and Kenma manages to take him out within a few simple hits, as he usually does. He looks over at the chat, expecting the same praise he always receives after getting a kill but is entirely thrown off by seeing a completely random topic of conversation instead. 

AHHHHH IT’S Y/N

Most unexpected duo ever💀

I was literally watching her stream twenty minutes ago

Wtf is happening lol

“Y/N?” Kenma is more than confused at this point, completely lost as to who or what his chat is obsessing over. 

“What’s that? Is that like the name of the map or something?” 

Kenma’s in slight shock for a moment at his question because there’s no way he lives with someone as stupid as Kuroo. “You’re literally an idiot. Look at chat, dumbass.” 

He decides to start making his way back to his team’s island, building a bridge to the diamonds to collect any that spawned on his way. “Oh she’s a streamer too apparently.” 

“Oh really?” He turns his character to look in the general direction of their island just out of simple curiosity, only to see something totally unexpected. 

He watches as one of his teammate’s suddenly jumps out from behind a giant pyramid of blocks, running towards an encroaching enemy player and knocking him into the void before they’re even able to make it onto the island.

But that’s not what makes Kenma stop and stare. It’s when the player starts jumping around, punching the air and spinning in circles as they seemingly celebrate the kill, that Kenma pauses. “What the fuck are they doing,” he hears himself mutter as he finally remembers to finish bridging to their island. 

GIVE HER THE STUFF

She needs supplies to cover the beeeeedddd

Y/N kinda sweaty ngl

He blinks, “That’s Y/N?” 

He runs over to her, abiding to his chat and throwing the stuff he collected on the ground in front of her (it’s not like he’s going to need any of it anyways). But she just stares at him, and he realizes that she must be dumber than he initially thought because she definitely doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

He tries his best to non-verbally tell her to pick it up - which takes longer than Kenma would like - but she finally understands and runs forward to grab the items. “Holy shit,” he mutters to himself as he turns and sprints back the way he came. 

He decides to start getting the beds of the enemy teams and he’s in the middle of killing the last player on the purple team when he sees a highlighted message pop up in his game chat. 

“Thanks :)” 

He knocks the player off, hearing the tell-tale sound of their death as he opens game chat to look back at the message. “Shouldn’t she be paying attention to the game?” He says it like he’s annoyed, and he’s sure that it comes off that way to his viewers judging by their reactions to his words. 

But he’s almost certain that Kuroo is able to tell that he’s not (he’s the opposite really) when he teasingly says, “Aw, she said thank you Kenma.” 

“Shut up.” 

And despite always being notoriously calm on stream, Kenma’s face suddenly feels warm.

~~~

“You guys saw that right?” Kenma is in disbelief as he spectates Y/N, who’s currently just standing and not doing anything to stop the enemy player running towards her. “What the fuck is she doing now? Is her game frozen?” 

Y/N doesn’t react at all as she’s being attacked and Kenma can feel his jaw literally drop when she’s abruptly killed.

“Red Team has been eliminated!"

He sits back in his chair, his eyes wide and mouth still agape as he tries to process what just happened. 

He didn’t really care when she knocked him off the bridge, was even slightly impressed that she was willing to take down her own teammate to survive. But that all changed when she didn’t even try to fight back against the other player. 

“We just lost,” he whispers, mostly to himself, and the sentence feels foreign on his tongue. 

He can hear his roommate saying something over the headset but he can’t quite understand what it is, nor does he currently care enough to try to figure it out. 

“We lost,” he repeats, louder this time and it’s insane because he feels like laughing. 

He can feel himself grinning as his character loads back into the lobby, “I can’t believe we actually just lost.” 

And he feels almost giddy as he watches his win streak fall all the way back down to zero; because, for the first time in two years, something is different. 

And never has he ever been so happy to lose.

Taglist: @crazy-people-are-here, @existential-traveller, @peachesncats, @royalz658

Any names in bold are unable to be tagged.

[alpaca-clouds]

Why AI sucks so much

(And why it doesn't have to.)

AI sucks right now. Because it was never to be used, like it is used right now. Because the way AI is currently employed, it does the one thing, that was always meant to be human.

Look. AI has a ton of technological problems. I wrote about it before. Whenever you have some "AI Writer" or "AI Art", there is no intelligence there. There is only a probability algorithm that does some math. It is like the auto-complete on your phone, just a bit more complex, because it has been fed with basically the entire internet's worth of words and pictures. So, when the AI writes a story, it just knows that there is a high likelyhood that if it has been asked to write a fantasy story it might feature swords, magic and dragons. And then puts out a collection of words that is basically every fantasy story ever thrown into a blender. Same when it "draws". Why does it struggle so much with teeth and fingers? Well, because it just goes by likelihood. If it has drawn a finger, it knows there is a high likelihood that next to the finger is going to be another finger. So it draws one. Simple as that. Because it does not know, what a finger is. Only what it looks like.

And of course it does not fact check.

But all of that is not really the main problem. Because the main culture actually just is the general work culture, the capitalist economy and how we modelled it.

See, once upon a time there was this economist named Kaynes. And while he was a capitalist, he did in fact have quite a few good ideas and understood some things very well - like the fact that people are actually working better, if their basic needs have been taken care for. And he was very certain that in the future (he lived a hundred years ago) a lot of work could be done by automation, with the people still being paid for what the machines were doing. Hence having the people work for like 15 hours a week, but getting paid for a fulltime job - or even more.

And here is the thing: We could have that. Right now. Because we did in fact automate a lot of jobs and really a ton of jobs we have right now are just endless busywork. Instead of actually being productive, it only exists to keep up the appearance of productivity.

We already know that reducing the workdays to four a week or the workload to 30 or even 25 hours a week does not really decrease productivity. Especially with office jobs. Because the fact is that many, many jobs are not that much work and rather just involve people sitting in an office working like two hours a day and spending the rest with coffee kitchen talk or surfing the internet.

And there are tons of boring jobs we can already automate. I mean, with what I am working right now - analyzing surveying data - most I do is just put some parameters into an algorith and let the algorith do the work. While also part time training another algorithm, that basically automatically reads contracts to make notes what data a certain contract involves. (And contrary to what you might believe: No, it is not complicated. Especially those text analysis tasks are actually super simple to construct, once you get the hang of it.)

Which also means, that half of my workday usually is spend of just sitting here and watching a bar fill up. Especially with the surveying data, because it is large, large image files that at times take six to ten hours to process. And hint: Often I will end up letting the computer run over night to finish the task.

But that brings me to the question: What am I even doing here? Most of the time it takes like two hours to put the data in, run a small sample size for checking it and then letting it run afterwards. I do not need to be here for that. Yet, I do have to sit down for my seven and a half hours a day to collect my paycheck. And... It is kinda silly, right?

And of course there is the fact that we technically do have the technology to automate more and more menial tasks. Which would make a lot of sense, especially with the very dangerous kinda tasks, like within mining operations. Like, sure, that is a lot more work to automate, given that we would need robots that are actually able to navigate over all sorts of terrain, but... You know, it would probably save countless lives.

Same goes for many, many other areas. We could in fact automate a lot. Not everything (for example fruit picking is surprisingly hard to automate, it turns out), but a lot. Like a real lot.

And instead... they decided to automate art. One of the things that is the most human, because art for the most part depends on emotions and experience. Art is individual for the most part. It is formed by experience and reflection of the experience. And instead of seeing that, they decided to... create a probability generator for words and pixels.

So, why?

Well, first and foremost, because they (= the owner class) do want to keep us working. And with that I mean those menial, exhausting, mind-numbing jobs that we are forced to have right now. And they want us to keep working, because the more free time we have, the more time we have to organize and, well, rise up against the system, upon realizing how we are exploited. Work itself is used as a tool of oppression. Which is why, no matter how many studies show that the 30 hour week or 4 day week is actually good, that UBI actually helps people and what not, the companies are so against it. It is also why in some countries, like the US, the companies are so against paid sick leave, something that is scientifically speaking bonkers, because it actually harms the productivity of the company. And yes, it is also why still in the midth of a pandemic, we act as if everything is normal, because they found out that in the early pandemic under lock down and less people working, people actually fucking organized.

And that... also kinda is, why they hate art. Because art is something that is a reflection upon a world - and it can be an inspiration for people, something that gives them hope and something worth working towards to. So, artists are kinda dangerous. Hence something has to be done to keep them from working. In this case: Devaluing their work.

And no, I do not even think that the people programming those original algorithms were thinking this. They were not like "Yes, we need to do this to uphold the capitalist systems", nor do most of the AI bros, who are hyping it right now. But there are some people in there, who see it just like that. Who know the dangers of actual art and what it can mean for the system that keeps them powerful.

So, yeah... We could have some great stuff with AI and automation... If used in other areas.

I mean, just imagine what AIs could do under communism...

[adriancatrin]

Best Zukka fic recs and/or Azula centric fics (bonus points for both!) I'm desperate for more content.

(digging thru my bookmarks) hoo boy ok let's see

i'm gonna put a cut because this might be long!! idk what all of the zukka 'classics' you've read so i just included 'em if they're my faves. list is in no particular order, pls heed warnings/tags on AO3 as some include potentially triggering content ~

like the sun inside of you by ofherlionheart: Zuko is sixteen years old when he’s handed a crown, a throne, and a hundred-year ancestral legacy of colonial imperialism. He’s not scared of the work; he’s scared of being consumed by the responsibilities and burdens he’s claimed. What Zuko doesn’t quite realize, yet, is that he’s not alone in this. Still in progress, one chapter left to go. Very slow-burn Zukka, and some great Azula stuff

To Cleave These Roots We've Made by Erisenyo: Sokka and Zuko have been roommates and best friends through college and graduation, through first jobs and new jobs and promotions, through friends getting married and sisters being pregnant and everything in between. But that all ends in four days. Four days to pack up an apartment. Four days before Zuko goes to law school and Sokka stays behind. Four days to untangle two lives that Sokka and Zuko have spent ten years weaving together. Can you call it a divorce, if you were never actually together in the first place? I don't remember Azula's involvement in this, but gosh darn it's a good one

i won't stumble as i follow down this path (cause words that are spoken are just other things to have) by jublis: It takes Zuko one year to visit his sister again. Featuring birthday weeks, struggling with your own goodness, and a future. Pretty sure this is a Zukki, ft. Azula very heavily

Destiny in the details by salytierra: Sokka heard that story before. Of course he did, the turning point of Zuko's destiny, the single bravest and most noble (or stupid) thing he's ever done. He retold the thoughts that went through his head back then, the repercussions... but he left out a single detail. And it's that detail that changes everything.  I need to see his soulmark. Sokka thinks, heart hammering in his chest. Fantastic post-canon soulmate AU. Azula's not in it, though

Divine Intervention by AggressiveStress: Sokka has had a lot of dates but they never stick around and he doesn’t know why. Literally everyone else knows why. Honestly I don't remember much about this one I just know I really liked it hahaha

Maybe I Don't Want Heaven by inkfingers_mcgee: Zuko does not realize that he wants to break up with Mai until she says, “We need to talk about us,” with an unmistakable finality, and the candles around his meditation mat don’t even flicker. // Five years after ascending the throne, Zuko reaches yet another crossroads of self. Sokka helps him through it. Mai incites national legislative reform. Azula is listed as a character in this one but I don't remember her role. The fic is great though. slow burn in case u haven't caught onto the trend of my fave fics yet haha

Of Tea and Turtle Ducks (and the Turtle Duck Guy) by Erisenyo: Sokka is nothing if not enthusiastic about his interests--Learning. Campus traditions. The campus turtle ducks. The guy who's watching the ducks so intently this year.  Zuko is nothing if not intense about duck watching. (It's not really about the ducks.) (Is it ever?) No Azula again but gosh darn it this fic is so cute. (expect more erisenyo on this list whoops)

this ultraviolet morning light by GallifreyanFairytale: sokka and zuko break up, make up, go undercover, thwart a rebellion, watch the sunrise, and change the course of fire nation history. not necessarily in that order. I don't remember the level of Azula's involvement in this fic, but I do remember she's in recovery and Zuko thinks about her a fair amount.

Empty Bodies, Empty Smiles by attackfish: Zuko sorts through the wreckage of his childhood and comes across a doll given to his sister. Not a shipping fic, just a character study of sorts of Azula as a child. It's... very sad, but incredibly nuanced in its understanding of her as a very unhappy and unfortunately disturbed child

Will We Last the Night by CSHfic/VSfic: Chief Arnook never assigns Sokka to protect Princess Yue, so he goes to fight the Fire Nation with the other men. When the moon dies, and the ocean spirit takes its revenge, Sokka is caught standing on the deck of a Fire Nation ship. Sokka should have drowned… and he would have drowned, if not for a certain Fire Nation raft fleeing the North Pole. An enemies-to-lovers season 2 rewrite, where Sokka is separated from the gaang during the Siege of the North, and travels the Earth Kingdom with Zuko instead Azula is just S2 Azula w/o redemption I believe, but my goodness the Zukka is just so. SO sweet

Burning Bright by Erisenyo: On a particularly hopeless night, Zuko sends out a messenger hawk to nowhere. He didn’t realize that his messenger hawk is deeply committed to completing the job. And that Sokka happens to be traveling straight through nowhere, at the time. I'm currently rereading this series for the umpteenth time, it's amazing, highly recommend, Azula is hyper intriguing in it too w/ a very complicated relationship with Zuko

All's Fair by Lovely_Elbow_Leech: Book one ends with two major diffrences: 1. Sokka went on the mission with Hahn (it did not go well) 2. Zhao survives the North Pole and that proves unfortunate for everybody (except Zhao, obviously)  Imprisoned on Zhao’s war ship, Sokka and Zuko have to work together to survive. They are not very enthusiastic about this prospect.  And they argue. A lot. Another of my top faves. Book 2 is in progress

Real Slow by surveycorpsjean: “I see.” Zuko closes the scroll. “Is the Water Tribe sending a replacement?" “Uh yeah,” Sokka gestures to himself dramatically. “You’re looking at him.” No Azula I believe but heckin' slow burn

this is a gift (it comes with a price) by WitchofEndor: There is a ghost on the Wani. But the crew have grown used to - even fond of - Prince Zuko. And no matter how many times General Iroh tries to gently explain the boy’s predicament, tries to suggest that he might attempt to move on, Prince Zuko can always be found watching the sea. There is a prisoner in the palace. Not Zukka, but the relationships in it are fantastic, including Azula and Zuko.

 While Mighty Oaks Do Fall by WitchofEndor: The newly-crowned Fire Lord Ozai offers his firstborn son to service in the temple. This turns out to be a catastrophic mistake. Wacky crazy fic. There's something funky fresh happening with Azula, but it's an in-progress fic so. who knows where it'll go

I probably don't need to include The Art of Burning but it's in my fave bookmarks so. Same for Blue

Also in retrospect I have a lot of issues with this fic, but here's my post-canon Zukka w/ Azula redemption fic: New Heights