#he becomes what is needed to survive; like he always has
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Hardass
Chef!Sirius Black x mixologist!reader who survive a shift from hell
CW: fem!reader, mention of alchohol/drinking, fluff.
comes from a request from @maladaptiveescapism: chef!sirius and mixologist!reader. sirius is a chef at a fancy restaurant and maybe a mishap happens with booking and reader has to keep the people sitting at the bar waiting for a seat and she does such a good job because she’s flirty and fun and trained for this. sirius who always has such a short temper (chefs, am I right) secretly worships her because she’s the one thing he can count on
Sirius was fuming, to say the least.
He loved his job; he really did. The kitchens were his sanctuary, and it was the first place he fled to when he ran away from home at only sixteen.
Though he knew Effie and Fleamont would have helped with anything he needed (or even wanted, for that matter), he didn’t want to become a burden or take advantage of their kindness. So, he found a part time job in a small family owned restaurant as a dishwasher.
Washing dishes became bussing tables. Bussing tables became hosting. Hosting became serving. He went from a server to a line cook, until finally someone took him under their wing, and Sirius made a name for himself.
Now he was a successful chef working in a successful restaurant and he certainly had made a name for himself.
That name? Hardass.
But it took a certain intensity to run the kind of kitchen that Sirius did, and he expected nothing short of greatness from the kitchen staff.
Fortunately for Sirius, it was the restaurant manager’s fuck up that caused tonights issues.
Unfortunately for Sirius, that fucked everything up for his staff in the kitchen.
“So, quick question for you Jeffery; did you pass year four maths?” Sirius asked earnestly, watching Jeffery shove his tongue in his cheek to avoid snapping back at the glowering chef in all his tattooed intensity. “Because last time I counted, we don’t have this many sodding tables!” He continued, pointing at the number of reservations scheduled for tonight.
“Uh oh.” You carefully called out as you walked in through the front door, in the process of shucking off your jacket as you made your way towards the bar. “Looks like you could use a drink, chef.”
Sirius was almost mad at how much of the rage seemed to settle down into a simmer at the sight of you; he didn’t want to calm down, he wanted to ring Jeffery’s fucking neck out.
But Jeffery, the coward, had used your entrance as a means to fuck off from whatever circle of Sirius’ personal hell he’d been summoned from.
“We’re overbooked tonight.” Sirius grumbled as he sat dejectedly at your bar; mirroring what likely most of your patrons looked like as they spent their weekday evenings with you.
“Shit luck.” you sighed commiseratingly as you poured two shots of vodka and slid one to him. “Here’s to working our sodding asses off then, hm?” You said with a smirk as you touched your glass to his and threw it back like a pro.
And you had indeed been right; the two of you had worked your sodding asses off tonight. But the difference between the two of you was astounding.
Sirius spent most of his evening sweating, cursing, and - more embarrassingly - shouting at the poor servers looking for their orders that ‘clearly weren’t fucking ready yet, were they?!’.
But not you.
Alright, did he take the opportunity to run out the odd plate for the servers just to steal a glance at you? Sure. Sue him. And everytime he did, he’d pass the very busy bar which was always full of couples and groups waiting for a table to clear. None of them seemed to mind, however, as they watched you shake, throw, spin, catch bottles like it was an olympic sport; all with a smile on your face and mischief in your eyes.
It was as if they were your captive audience and you were thriving on stage.
Sirius wanted to stay and enjoy the show; but you were working your arse off, and Sirius should be too.
Sirius’ feet were killing him, which meant most of his staff’s feet were worse; his shoulders ached, his head was pounding, and his fingers were raw.
But they made it to the end of the shift; and he supposed that was all that mattered.
He brought out two plates of the restaurant’s famous (read: Sirius’ famous) pasta alla gricia.
You were no longer wearing your beaming smile and Sirius could now see some of the weight of the night in your shoulders and the way your hair was falling as you reorganised your bar.
“Think you can take a break?” He asked as he sat at your freshly cleared bar and placed one plate in front of him and one behind the bar for you.
You startled, which Sirius thought strange for someone who seemed so confident and assured every time he’d walked past your bar for the past almost year the two of you have worked here, but he didn’t comment on it.
“Oh my God.” You groaned appreciatively as you abandoned your task to take in the plate he’d prepared for you. “I’m starving; thank you!”
Sirius chuckled and suddenly felt shy, which he did not think suited him at all, but you were smiling at him like he was your personal angel on earth and he couldn’t help but return the gaze.
“Let me get you a drink?” You asked, but turned to start pouring him a glass of wine (perfectly suited for the dish, mind you) before he had a chance to answer.
You placed both drinks on the bar and brought your plate around to sit on the stool beside Sirius.
The two of you ate in relative silence; allowing the stress and exhaustion from the shift to wash over you.
“I think I made Chloe cry.” Sirius said finally, causing you to snort.
“You did.” You agreed quickly. “She came and helped me in the bar for a bit and Jeffery had to run her tables after that.”
Sirius barked a laugh as he took a sip of his wine. “I was wondering why that sod was in my kitchen. Well, I’m sorry to Chloe, but happy to have put Jeffery to work.”
Speaking of the devil; Jeffery came out front with his jacket on and a work bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m heading out now; are you two okay to close up?”
You smiled at him, but unfortunately for Jeffrey, Sirius responded first. “Yes we can close up.” He sneered. “We’re not new here Jeffery.”
“Thanks Jeffery, have a nice night.” You relented; giving Sirius a gentle kick in the shin.
The door shut behind the bastard and Sirius felt his shoulders relax. “I hate that sod.”
Thankfully, you only laughed at him.
“I think you hate everyone here.”
“That’s not true.” Sirius disagreed quickly.
“Well you certainly don’t like anyone here.”
“That’s not true either. I quite like you.” Sirius admitted, quickly hoping to god his cheeks didn’t flush at his impromptu admission.
You hummed in acknowledgement with a cheeky smile on your lips. “Is that why you made me dinner? As a thanks for being the most tolerable coworker?”
“Most tolerable, certainly. Also for saving our arses tonight in the kitchen; I’m not sure how you managed to keep those folks so happy all evening.”
“Oh, that’s easy; get them drunk and steal desserts from the kitchen.”
“That’s where all my tiramisu was going?” Sirius asked in faux contempt.
You only smiled at him and shoved the last bite of your pasta in your mouth.
“You minx.” He continued, taking the now empty plates to the kitchen as you followed dutifully behind him with the glasses.
“Get out of my kitchen.” Sirius joked, plucking the wine glasses from your hands as he moved to wash the dishes.
“I’d think not.” You argued. “I got a free meal; put me to work, chef.”
“First of all, it was not a free meal; you more than earned it after your performance tonight. Secondly, don’t call me chef.”
“Why not? You are a chef, aren’t you?” You teased as you leaned sideways against the counter to watch him work.
“Yes; but if you call me chef, what am I supposed to call you?”
Your eyebrows raised at that. “What do you mean ‘what are you supposed to call me’? My name is fine.”
“My name’s not chef.” He countered.
Your eyes narrowed challengingly at him. “What do you want to call me, Sirius?”
Mine?
“Haven’t decided yet.” He said instead, keeping his eyes on the dishes in his hands instead of meeting your gaze currently burning into the side of his head.
“Well…” You started, walking over to release some paper from the chit, and scribbling something out on it. “Why don’t you just call me…tomorrow?” You said, handing him the paper after he dried his hands on a teatowel.
Your number was scrawled out with a dainty little heart beside it.
Sirius looked back up at you to see you smiling shyly at him.
“I can assure you I will be.” He promised.
Your smile grew at that as you began walking backwards towards the backroom.
“Have a nice night, Sirius.” You said before you exited the kitchen.
It was too late to wish him a nice night; he’d already had one.
#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#mutual love#sirius black#sirius being sirius#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#sirius black blurb#sirius black fic#sirius black ficlet#chef!sirius#restaurant au#ellecdc fics
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cherry wine stains 8.0
playing it a little differently and rewinding back to their school years but with an Aegon POV this time.
all previous parts in pinned.
"I like your knee-high socks."
"I like the chain you wear like a crucifix."
"Strange way to describe it."
"I don't know. It just - it hangs around your neck like the absence of something."
Her words dissolve like sugar into the cup of his mind.
Clever people don't realise the riptide of their soul is not being fed until they meet another clever person. Aegon's currents slow to a whispered crawl as his eyes trace Amara's profile, creating images in the tangle of her windswept curls.
She's left a lipstick print on his mother's favourite mug. When he sees it, his soul unhooks from where he keeps it folded away, right there at the base of his neck where the silver chain fastens.
Later, he'll kiss that print, see if the measure of his mouth is enough.
Helaena told him in private: You can't! You can't, you can't, you can't! You ruin everything!
The frantic protests of a younger sister who thinks - knows - that her older brother getting involved with one of her friends is going to end up in a loss for her. He's dated one of Helaena's friends before (it ended in the kind of operatic disaster you only ever see on Eastenders).
He does not want to date Amara as much as he wants to pry her open like a game of cat's cradle and weave apart the strings that keep her mobile. Half the time, Aegon suspects she isn't truly awake. Some part of her is drowning in slumber, deep as Briar Rose. He catches that moment sometimes, as she blinks at him with those sleepy eyes.
The texture of her thoughts - when she gives them up - slips like satin over his fingers.
"Do you want a smoke?" He flips the mint-green box in his palm and grins.
Her gaze is longing. "I told my mother I'd quit. Besides, aren't menthol cigarettes banned here?"
He shrugs, slipping one between his pinched lips to hold it steady. "Nothing's banned if you squint."
"Flawed logic," she laughs.
"She said to a drug dealer."
That makes her laugh harder. He likes making her laugh. Feels worthwhile somehow. Not much in his life feels that way these days.
The younger siblings are all growing up, leaving school, moving onto greener pastures, where the chaotic drudgery of the council estate turns into a crystalline vision in the rearview, something to put into personal statements and add what rich tossers would call flavour.
They don't need him like they used to. He and his mother have raised them to become self-sufficient and now Aegon has to figure out what he wants to do with himself because where the kids are going, they won't want to admit what their brother does - has done - for a living to ensure their survival. He predicts he'll be the family embarrassment every Christmas, the uncle that shows up drunk, with a sliver of something in his eyes that suggests he could have been something once.
He knows he won't end up that way. His need to be someone, get somewhere, is far too aggressive. But he does fear no longer being needed by the people who have relied on him so long he can no longer extricate himself from the identity of protector.
Maybe it's why he likes making Amara laugh.
She doesn't have siblings. Her eyes still dart around, nervous, as if aware her protection in this world is lacking compared to that of others. Her parents won't always be around. When they are gone, there won't be siblings to divide her grief up with. It'll just be her.
If his subconscious is turning her into his new surrogate sister, it doesn't reconcile well with the instinct that stirs when her skirt rides up an inch.
Alicent's stained glass lamp flickers, bulb on the brink of permanent death. Aegon reaches over to ensure it is screwed on properly and it affords them a last burst of weak light. Amara reaches out her hand under the dappled glow of its illumination, slipping her fingers under the violets, yellows and greens, as the crook of her elbow turns rose pink.
"I've always liked your mother's taste in furniture."
"Yeah? Take it. She wants to throw it out."
"No. If she's decided it's dead, it should go. I'll just be keeping the corpse if I took it."
Aegon's eyes wrinkle at the corners, smile disguised by the inhale of the cigarette. "It's not organic material. There's no corpse."
She glances at him, as if aware of his mockery despite the affection he delivers it with. "I think some inanimate objects come alive if they are loved enough. Alicent's had this lamp since I've known her. It's lived with her, and now it'll die. We shouldn't interrupt the process."
No wonder Helaena adores her.
They are both odd creatures, his little sister, and this intense, doll-eyed mirage that turned up at their doorstep one day, hungry for oven chips and love. She reached out her cold hands to Alicent, and found herself overwhelmed with the warmth and affection given in return.
He's known her so long, she should feel like a sibling.
What does it say about him if he can't stop wondering what it must feel like to graze his lips over her stomach and tongue that bellybutton ring she got in a short-lived fit of rebellion?
Aegon flicks aside the cigarette, mouth acidic with guilt.
He isn't the kind of person who wants. Other people want. Aegon goes out and gets. There isn't enough time to submerge in the feeling of want and understand the true depth of craving the human soul can achieve.
But he sees the whorl of soft hair at the nape of her neck and the feeling crawls up the rungs of his ribcage like a creature possessed. He pictures being small enough to curl up in the soft folds of her clothing, to soak in the scent of her until he passes out from exhaustion.
That feels like enough wanting for today.
"I'll see you downstairs, yeah?"
If she looks disappointed, it's just wishful thinking on his part. She knows he's not going anywhere. He'll be in the living room with the rest of the family who've put on Shrek and are split into two groups - the half that sings along, and the half that won't.
"I'll be down in a bit."
"Cool."
A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair, and the flimsy ribbon comes loose. He catches it before it finds freedom. She turns, expectant, waiting for the inevitable return of her almost-lost property. He pulls it between his fingers, wonders if it also carries life inside the woven thread, the way she claimed his mother's lamp does.
The weight of her hair rivals Isolde's.
Irish myths were a rooted part of his childhood, laced into Alicent's quiet voice every bed time. She swears the Hightowers are mostly, if not fully, Irish. But she could never be sure of how far back, or of the intricacies of any bloodlines. Rich people have the luxury of unfurling a family tree across the polished mahogany of their dining room table. They get to find their eyes, noses and mouths in the faces of people who lived too long ago to care what has become of their DNA.
Poor people make do with maybes and perhaps because most of the time, the lives of their ancestors are of no interest to anyone but themselves. Unless a mining forefather was crushed in a collapse and the resulting riots tore down a political establishment.
So, his mother pulled them back to times so ancient, the ancestors became common for all, their bloodlines too distant to maintain individuality.
If Tristan and Isolde are in Aegon's ancestry, that past life becomes tangible when he runs his fingers through Amara's hair and tames it into a braid he's practiced on Helaena a hundred times.
"There's something mythical about your hair," he says, and then cuts himself short because he deals drugs for a living, and whatever fancy thought this was about to be would make more sense from someone more booksmart.
She cranes her neck back and gives him the brightest upside-down smile. "That's the best compliment anyone's ever given me."
Aegon bites the inner corner of his lip and nudges her to look straight so he can keep braiding.
Once her eyes are off his face, it splits into a smile. Warmth drains down his spine like gold egg yolk poured from its shell. Once the braid is done, he rests his chin on the top of her head, and passes it off as brotherly with a goldfish-squeeze of her cheeks.
He lingers, inhales deep, smells her, turns her scent into binary code that he will decipher in isolation later.
"Don't be too long. You'll catch your death out here."
#aegon ii targaryen#modern aegon#aegon ii x oc#aegon x oc#aegon ii fanfic#aegon ii fic#aegon x amara#scalyfreakswrites#house of the dragon#aegon targaryen#cherry wine stains part eight#modern hotd au#Spotify#alicent hightower#hotd oc#helaena targaryen
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Reasons why I keep rambling about Bi!Eddie...
Why? Why would Eddie hide his sexual identity, bisexuality? Because... why not, he thinks.
Dating only women would mean less conflict with his family. His family is religious and Eddie loves them, is scared to lose them.
Eddie also fears triggering more conflict, maybe even fears his family might not consider him a good dad anymore if he came out.
He already almost had to fight for his son's custody with them. What if he comes out and they lash out? He has a dangerous job, works ridiculous hours, is a single parent. A queer man is not every courtroom's favorite person.
So women... That's where Eddie hides, it's what he knows. It's "a safe place to hide"... because in theory, it's fine, it's comfortable. Eddie is attracted to women. So he isn't really sacrificing anything, or at least much, he thinks... Just marry a woman you love, and it's all good. No need to come out and clash with your family, or make Christopher's childhood even more of a challenge. After all, the world is still prejudiced and not all children of queer parents have it easy.
But the truth is... Closeted life isn't a cake-walk even if you avoid detection, and are sort of adjusting. You are still hiding a part of yourself. Acting. Feeling like you need to pretend. Scared and unable to be fully yourself.
I've noticed that Buddie fans keep pointing to Eddie's panic attacks as this "haha gotcha, you're GAY!"-confirmation. It's ignorant.
Did you know that panic attacks are actually not at all unusual among closeted bisexuals, either?
Masks are always suffocating, no matter what you're hiding.
Not to mention, when Eddie starts having those panic attacks, he's under a world of pressure. Trying to recover and get back to dating... Quite soon really, after losing his wife.
He's also got a mountain of trauma and PTSD after surviving several near-death- experiences. To add to the trauma, the way he experienced the shooting? He thought Buck was wounded.
And then he is pressured into asking Ana out even though it hasn't been that long since he lost his wife.
Also I'm quite sure... His heart just isn't in it, dating. I think he has actually by that point fallen for Buck. And ignores it, tries to move on, forces himself to date someone else.
Get back on a horse, even if you don't really want to, feel the need to. Doesn't matter what you like, just do it anyway! "Horses" it is. Dating it is.
So Ana and Eddie? It's a tale of unrequited love, for Eddie, and for Ana. Falling for a concept because the person you truly want is simply not invested like you are, is emotionally unavailable to you.
The anxiety builds when people keep assuming Ana is Eddie's wife or Christopher's mom. It's too soon, it feels wrong. The relationship is just a mask because Eddie hasn't actually moved on. From Shannon, or from Buck. He panics when Ana says. "I'm not his mother... I'm... just a friend."
It's a reminder that she isn't Shannon - not Christopher's mom.
And she isn't Buck either. Buck who isn't really Christopher's father, who is... just a friend.
And like Buck... Ana is becoming Eddie's ready-made family anyway. Actually the third ready-made family, really. Shannon, Buck, Ana... All happened without much room to stop and re-consider.
Shannon... A rushed shotgun marriage triggered by an unplanned pregnancy and catholic guilt.
Buck, (a seemingly) straight friend quickly becoming family - clearly a dead end romance-wise.
Ana... A rushed, pressured romance built out of need to forcibly move on, and find a step-mom for Chris. Three ready-made families, all destroying Eddie in different ways. Anxiety, inner turmoil, panic.
....
So. Eddie's bisexuality!!!
That ice skating scene in "Malfunction"? The episode is very Eddie-centric, and the theme is "Me a tough macho man, me trust nobody, ugh!"
There's Eddie's fight club clusterfuck, his argument with Lena about Eddie being emotionally distant. Eddie, crying in front of Bobby about his grief, about Shannon leaving because Eddie "broke" her, because he wasn't enough...
Eddie = Trust issues galore, abandoment issues galore. Persistent shame and guilt making him unable to go for anything he really wants. Avoidance. Hidden pain. Constant urge to be in control, and never slip.
So let's look at that ice skating scene in "Malfunction"...
It's a blood bath on ice. Figure skaters toe-picking and getting injured, all because of one fallen sequin on ice triggering a domino effect. Bobby knows to look for a sequin because he's got some experience with this stuff.
Chimney: So how come you know so much about figure skating?
Eddie: Always thought you were a hockey player, cap.
...
Bobby: Who says you can't do both?!
(They team is shocked. Buck says "We'll google for photos later"
Chimney waves his hand around like he agrees... But in a way that ends up looking like he's pointing at Buck AND Eddie. And Hen then throws this shocked lingering stare at Buck and Eddie, like she just realised something!)
...Who says you can't do both? Indeed... Is there some secret quota, unknown to me, that dictates how many bi characters a tv show can have?
Is there a law that a queer male ship must always be the sum of one bi male, one male gay character? Why do we expect that? Because it would be more diverse, more varied representation?
Correct me if I've got this wrong... But writing Eddie as gay would in fact not score the show more diversity points, not in the realm of 9-1-1.
The show STARTS OFF with a storyline about a closeted, married gay man! If Eddie was gay... It would be the show's second storyline about a closeted, married gay man. That's not diverse representation. That would be in fact... quite repetitive, unimaginative queer representation!
Also, let's keep in mind that the show already has several gay male characters by the time Eddie joins the team.
Michael! David! Josh! That's already three gay men. If Eddie was gay, Eddie would be the fourth gay male character.
Oh wait. Tommy. So... FIFTH one! Also there are even more strictly gay monosexuals: Two lesbians. Hen and Karen.
However, there are just two confirmed bi character so far. Buck and Eva.
So really, Who says you can't "do both"?
Who says both of these characters can't be interested in women and men, into more genders than one? Who says both Buck and Eddie can't be bi?
"We're everywhere, man." That's Eddie's line in that scene, gif below. (And pink+yellow balloons, blue gloves? Pansexual-coded colors. Multisexuality!)
Eddie, subtly illuminated in bi-coded colors. Blue, purple, pink... On a date with a woman.
Talking with Buck. Bi-coded lighting.
Oh look, what's behind Eddie? The famous bi-cycle. While he talks about "the menu" not being the issue...
"The sex was never the issue", with Shannon. Canonically they actually went at it like bunnies, even to the detriment of their relationship because they failed to talk due to being too distracted by each other's bodies.
"The "menu" is not the issue." And it's not with Marisol, either. Not until Eddie learns of her hyper religious past.
Confronting Marisol, a former nun-student? That's the issue here, that's what Eddie's trying to avoid. Confronting his obviously at least at one point very religious, quite possibly bigoted girlfriend...?? Would certainly be an issue, if you're bi!!! Who wants to date a bigot?! Your very own domestic hate crime.
So... Eddie talks about the upcoming alone time with Marisol (when Chris was away) feeling exciting, naughty... Until he learns she was almost a NUN!
He talks about "eyes on the ground". And that's what dating a fundamentalist would be, if you're bi and closeted. Eyes on the ground, close to you.
Suddenly being judged for same-sex attraction is no longer just a distant fear, a vague idea to Eddie, it's a living, breathing person in his home, in his bed.
Really, imagine dating a bigot. Imagine your partner being disgusted, disturbed, judgemental... by your sexuality, your identity, your desires, dreams. Imagine them being repulsed by such an fundamental, persistent part of what makes you... you. Something you cannot change.
Imagine sometimes fantasizing about men as well as women, and then... trying to have sex with someone... who you suspect might consider your secret fantasy life disgusting, wrong. Imagine that negative reaction if they knew the whole truth, who you really are?!
An efficient boner killer, for sure!! No wonder Eddie is suddenly avoiding her company, anxious by the idea of sex with her. He doesn't trust Marisol anymore.
Also, let's talk about Eddie and moving on.
Why going home is an issue. Leaving Buck's place is an issue. Because trying to move on? Those words just need a melody, and ta-dah it's the Eddie Diaz theme song. The story of his life. The concept just keeps coming up.
Moving on. Being unable to move on.
Quite frankly, I think this is the main reason why Eddie cannot date without freaking out.
When Eddie joins the team he's still stuck on Shannon. "They weren't my type." Less awkward than to say "Sure they were hot, but I do have an estranged wife."
Shannon was his first crush, love, his first everything. The mother of his child. His friend. But they were young, not ready to get married and have a child, especially one with special needs. They were pushed to do that anyway when Shannon suddenly got pregnant, unplanned.
Btw, may I just point out that they're already under a lot of pressure and struggling when we first see them together on the show?
What we miss out on seeing... are the times when things were still great! That creates a limited, tinted view of their romance, and warps our entire view of their relationship. When we first see Eddie and Shannon, their relationship is already quite fractured, and falling apart.
Doesn't mean it always was bad.
Inability to work together. That eventually destroyed their relationship. Both failed to listen to each other, to be a team. Their love died because their mutual trust and respect died.
Eddie couldn't handle sudden parenthood, sudden marriage (and catholics truly expect forever), Christopher's cp diagnosis. He enlisted, escaped to the army. Shannon couldn't handle the guilt, thinking the cp was her fault. They fought all the time. Eddie let his parents meddle with Christopher's upbringing, walk over Shannon. He refused to listen to her when she wanted to move to another city. Eddie avoided bonding with Chris.
So when Eddie got home from the war-zone, she left. Eddie was suddenly alone with Chris. And Shannon was gone for a long time. Her leaving, it was a shock to the system. Eddie no longer trusted her, she'd abandoned him, and more importantly, abandoned Chris.
So Eddie is struggling. Alone. Hurt.
And then... Eddie meets Buck, who is ridiculously helpful. Buck is someone Eddie can count on. They're almost instantly a team.
So Eddie moves on from Shannon, and falls for Buck. From that point on? There is no real room for others. From then on it's just barely discreet heart-eyes at Buck, and Eddie not truly wanting to date anyone (else).
Eddie doesn't really want to get back together with Shannon when she returns. The sex is still great, that was never the issue, they both agree on that one thing...
But she was simply gone for too long, she even says this. It's obvious. Eddie has adjusted to life without her, found a new focus, moved on from her.
For example when we see Eddie, Buck and Chris visit Santa? Eddie talks about Shannon to Buck in this almost anxious way, like he feels the need to explain himself to Buck, like he's been cheating on Buck. Buck then calls Eddie "brother", and Eddie's face, just for a moment... Falls. He looks disturbed, disappointed, to be called "brother".
Eddie tries to mend the relationship with Shannon. It's obviously out of a sense of duty (catholic guilt, marriage should last, divorce is wrong), he keeps waiting for a "sign", keeps ducking her questions, pushing her away, keeps dragging his feet. His heart is no longer in it. Shannon realises this, wants to break up.
And then she dies. Eddie grieves. Feels guilt for failing to salvage the marriage. And then Eddie is just... stuck. Unable to move on, from grieving Shannon, from the guilt caused by their failed marriage, from Buck. Tries to force himself to move on. Fails. Keeps dying inside.
Heart's already taken.
.....
There are so many talks about moving on after that. Seemingly they are all about Shannon, and I do think they are about Shannon...
Just not... entirely. After all, Eddie didn't really want to get back together with her, did he now. We see them fighting, a lot. Their relationship wasn't dancing on roses, there were serious problems.
So the talks about moving on are also about Buck. Buck, who Eddie thinks is straight, yet parenting Chris with him. They become close, are seen doing all sorts of domestic family stuff.
What a painful existence would that be, to raise your child with someone whom you love and desire, but who you think cannot ever return your feelings? Who wants that? Of course Eddie would want to move on!!
Then shit happens... And Eddie clearly just... spirals without Buck. Partakes in illegal fights to let off steam. Yells at Buck at a grocery store about "not being around, Christopher missing him..". They end up looking like a couple in the middle of a messy divorce.
People, including Buck, pressure Eddie into dating. Buck keeps dating women. Eddie... keeps having talks about moving on.
Looks totally dead as he tells Buck that he needs to move on, Eddie has. It's an obvious lie, and it's such a bizarre thing to say to a friend, no matter the circumstances - very relationship-coded.
Almost like Eddie was just desperate to voice those words out loud, wishing that saying them would turn them into reality. Move on, I have!! (Move on, stop approaching me, stop tormenting me like this.)
....
So move on, Eddie...
....
There's Buck, urging Eddie to ask Ana out.
......
Bobby, telling Eddie that he will always miss the family he once had, but he loves the new one he now has. So you should try moving on, Eddie!
.......
Eddie's doctor... suggesting he could be repressing things.
The talk with the doctor;
They're talking about the shooting... Until it sounds like Eddie isn't.
Eddie: I don't even think about him anymore.
Doc: That could be called repression.
Eddie: Or just... moving forward.
Then some more subtext about pining. Remember Buck... being compared to a golden retriever?
Remember the man who cornered himself on a roof? Whining that he always wanted a dog but mom wouldn't let him because "Barry was allergic!"... (Or maybe, queerphobic?)
.....
Ana: There's a lot to be said for getting back on the horse. But there's also value in learning that you don't like "horses".
Eddie: I'm sorry?
....
Carla, telling Eddie to follow his heart, not Christopher's.... (Edit. Btw, look up the pictures of those hearts, I can't add more pictures to this post.There's Buck's silly, happy "misunderstood the assignment" love-type heart symbol... The one Chris drew, the one Carla warns against following?
Dead-looking, clinical, anatomical. And it's drawn with bisexual-flag colors!!!!
Love can't be about logic and rationality, reasoning with yourself and finding a good enough match. Even if on paper it makes sense. Love needs to be an emotion. It needs to make you happy.)
.....
The first day Buck and Eddie meet:
Buck is taking selfies.
Eddie: You're in the wrong lighting, man.
Buck: Some of us don't need lighting to look good!
And...
Years later... At the dark firestation, Eddie looking at Buck, getting lost on his memory lane, forgetting to introduce Ana.
Ana: Even in the dark this place is amazing! (The parallel to "Some of us don't need lighting to look good.")
And Eddie panics.
(*panicking, looking between Ana and Buck*)
Eddie: I don't want these things to wilt!
.....
After that... Eddie, looking at Buck:
Somehow we became a ready-made family, and I... I don't know if I'm ready for that.
(and how could he be ready for that, he thought Buck was straight.)
.....
Eddie talking with his tía, learning that she's been married twice, not just once, like Eddie always thought.
Eddie, learning that she had been unable to move on from the first husband, and didn't feel ready to date... But her friends had dragged out anyway, and that's when she had met her second husband-to-be.
And it was this, meeting someone else, that made her move on. So Eddie forces himself to date, thinking that all he needs to do is meet the right person, and he'll finally move on.
.....
The scene with Marisol, setting her bag on Eddie's hallway table.
Checking that it's not falling off... because there is barely enough space for Marisol to set down her belongings.
The table is already full. There's a toy truck on it, which BUCK gave Chris, years ago,
and it takes so much room.
It's lit, under a lamp, in the center of a table, the first thing you see when you enter Eddie's home. A prized little thing, a treasure. It's clearly valued, spotlighted like art... Even though a toy like that? Would not be very expensive.
Still, it's clearly something Eddie cherishes. Chris is no longer a little kid, he doesn't play with toys like that. But the truck stays, it's something Eddie wants to keep looking at. And it's huge, centered, leaves little room for something else.
Eddie is pining!!!!
Whether he realises it or not... This man is in love, that's why his relationships feel so suffocating, why they keep failing. His heart is already taken. His romantic relationships are just glued on, they're pretense, acting, a desperate attempt to move on, from Buck.
#evan buckley#911 buddie#buddie#eddie diaz#buddie 911#911 on abc#evan buck buckley#911 abc#tv: 911#eddie díaz#bi!eddie#bisexual erasure#bi buck#abc 911#Ana Flores#shannon diaz#Marisol Doe#i make no gifs brain is potato
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Bad Boy week Day 5
Theme: underground
Prompt: stray cats/dogs
wc: 0.7k
c/w: character study, angsty
Levi wants to be one of them.
Swift. They can cover a distance twice or even thrice the length of their bodies in a single lunge. Even if he was snuck up on, he wants to look like nothing but thin air the next thing his attacker knows. Get away, get ahead.
Agile. Balanced, perfected. They—and he's seen it—can cross clotheslines suspended between roofs, allowing them to traverse the most cramped and most dangerous halls of the Underground gracefully. He would never fall, but in the nightmarish scenario that he did, it wouldn't mean a thing because he'd always land properly on his feet. That's how they all are.
He wants to be a warrior. Lethal, sharp. It's impossible to be infallible, but he'd make everyone think that of him. A hunter, with terrifying efficiency who'd never hesitate. He'd fell would-be threats before they even got the inkling they were being followed. His strength would be unassuming, and he wouldn't play pretend about his friendliness (of which there'd be none). Like them, small, but mighty.
Not for the thrill, though. To eat, he thinks, for comparison's sake...
He once witnessed it, as he was deliberating whether to smash a jar of corn kernels open or find a way to open it, because his hand was too small to grip the tin lid. A cat, crouched low at the top of some wood stairs. The mouse had lingered below. He watched, willing the skinny thing's focus to break.
It didn't. The cat fell upon it from fifteen feet. The next thing he (or the mouse) knew, it was trapped in its jaws. The mouse squeaked, how a person would scream then its neck cracked, and it died instantly.
He didn't look into the cat's vacant, expressionless dark eyes as it ripped into the mouse with razor-like teeth, and ate heartily.
He once saw a cat poke its head throw a jagged gap in a fence no wider than Levi's little finger, and slip the rest of its lanky body through.
He can fit into little cramped spaces, at least. The spaces between walls, and the crawlspaces underneath porches, inside covered wheelbarrows (if he needed to get someplace he shouldn't be seen). He can hide, at least.
But that's nothing. That's like being dead. For as silent as he could be, as much that he had to strain to hear himself take sips of air, sometimes a scream appeared in his chest, the way things disappear into your peripheral vision until you remember they're there do. It was fine in the beginning, but sometimes all he wants to do is breathe in everything terrible—all the air the Underground has—and explode his lungs. He's nervous about the day that might arrive in which screaming would be all he can do.
Hiding in silence... That's what he's doing now. Among spiderwebs and crusty wood-dust in darkness as encompassing as his spot is small: a tiny crevice between the top of a wall and where the slant of the roof begins.
He curls up as small as he can, tucked into a ball, thinking of them again despite the primal need to sleep muddying said thoughts.
Death would be easier, he knows that's an objective fact. So surviving... Why should he? Why does he?
The same conclusion never fails to infuse in him infallible strength.
Because Mama brought him into this world. And what strength that took... To be kind in a place that would rape and take that from you because it sees it inside of you. She was a shimmery ember in a cave of darkness, which to him shown like the light of a thousand suns. He doesn't need to see the sun to know that she was brighter.
Because of her it once, later on occurred to him that fighting and dancing are almost the same thing. He'd never stopped to wonder stupid things like that, but Mama sometimes swayed.
Who is he to be ungrateful to her sacrifices, or to Kenny's vehement efforts for that matter?
He wants to survive.
In an unfair advantage, cats have nine lives (or that's what he's heard). Humans only get one.
He'll become so strong that he might as well, too.
#levi ackerman#levi aot#snk levi#levi heichou#aot levi#captain levi#snk levi ackerman#levi attack on titan#levi rivaille#rivaille ackerman#rivaille heichou
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Definitely not canon, tragic angsty durgetash shit below as I struggle with the block™️. I don't know how many words, kinda description of injuries, ig? Anyway, not for kids. But it's tame compared to my usual stuff. Maybe I'll upload it on Ao3 one day.
Perfect archduke
Nothing could've prepared him for what he'd witness at the docks.
He had considered a plethora of scenarios on his way here. Distractions from the searing pain shooting up his leg whenever he took another step, daydreams about all the 'what if's' that could've been, explanations for the elf's actions down in the ruins. Just any kind of thought so that he may be able to ignore the hell unfolding around him, but not a single one of them led him to ever consider the horrors displayed before him.
The temperamental little girl who spat her words at him mere hours ago, the brave soldier who had survived all he'd done to her and still retained her fiery passion, was finally donning a look of utter defeat as she held onto the bundle in her arms. The snarky elves who had refused to leave his dear companion's side, who refused to control their ever-waggling tongues for just a second, couldn't even look at the man they'd been constantly circling before.
"What happened?" A calm, firm voice, finally asking his first question in what must've been decades. Still ever carefully masking the bile that continued to rise in his throat as his eyes focused on little red droplets hitting the soiled ground.
"The brain, we- the fall- I-" the Tiefling had become a stuttering mess, a mess that soon crumbled onto the pavement.
He didn't try to ask another question, seeing how the woman before him had stopped being capable of answering him or anyone else for that matter. So, instead, he resorted to the one method he knew would never fail him: studying the situation himself. It had been quite obvious what, or rather who, the person within her grasp had been. The eccentric suit of armour, the carelessly tied greyish hair. There had been but one person who'd ever grace people with such a look, but still. It couldn't be him. Someone who had rejected the god of death and lived couldn't possibly end up like this. It was impossible. You can't kill death. You may outfox it, escape its view, or grasp for a while, but you could never defeat death nor its child. This must've been another tomfoolery of his. A tasteless joke, childish revenge for something he remembered.
The man kneeled in front of the red lady before a calloused, gold-clad hand reached for strands dyed in uncannily warm colours, pushing them away to reveal the cruel truth hidden beneath. He didn't quite know what he expected to find, if he was honest with himself, but certainly not this. The ruby red orbs that had always carefully taken in their surroundings remained hidden. The old scar he himself had traced countless times had begun bleeding again, once more tinting the ashen cheeks he had witnessed flushing in days long past. The cruel hands he had used to crush so many of his foes began shaking as it traced the familiar ridges and curves of a face he'd known for ages, and the pain in his leg began to flare up yet again.
"Heal him." A firm command. Just another of his usual orders directed at the white-haired woman beside them. A tyrant's decree that would be all but ignored.
"You're a cleric, aren't you? Then, fulfil your duty and heal him." His voice grew louder. He would've loved to clench his fists, yet he couldn't bear to lift his hand from the man it had been so desperately grasping onto.
"I'm sorry I can't." The woman refused to look at them. Her eyes darting just about anywhere except the voice's direction.
"Will somebody finally do something?!" His voice grew into a rage-filled scream at her refusal. All these skilled people, and yet none of them did anything. "You know magic, don't you? You've brought people back before. I saw the records. I saw what the bunch of you has done, so fix him, or do you need a personal invite?!"
"I'm sorry, but this- this is beyond what I can do. What anyone could-" the woman finally turned to face them—translucent streams clearing away a path in the marks of battle placed upon her.
"Then get someone who can!" He continued to criticize her, ignoring what she had tried to tell him. The truth everyone but him had already acknowledged. "Why are you still standing there? Go, get-"
"Stop it!" The other pointy-eared man finally raised his voice, silencing the ramblings of the madman in front of him. Refusing to listen to his denial any longer. "It truly is a miracle how someone as dense as you has managed to rise to the position of Archduke, so let me spell it out clearly for you." The vampire's voice dripped with sarcasm, "he is dead. Gone. Ceased to breathe. And there's nothing you, she, or any of us can do about it. Your glorious grand design has killed him." He met the tyrant's rage-filled eyes. A look one could almost mistake as pity veiling the seething anger hidden within his own as he did.
"Congratulations, Archduke," he hissed.
"At last, you've freed the city of all its Bhaalspawn with your own stained hands."
#idk#i didnt reread or smth#i just wrote it on tumblr lol#bg3#bg3 spoilers#enver gortash#bg3 gortash#bg3 durge#durgetash#lord gortash#durge#gortash x durge#dark urge#bg3 fanfic#bg3 fic#daemons writing#i really just wrote#inspired by smth that ripped my heart to shreds
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Majexatli as a Companion
[Part 1/?]
[Questions from here]
Where can your Tav be recruited?
Majexatli can be recruited in Act 1. They are found on the Risen Road, by the hyenas. When approaching for the first time, a cutscene will play, in which the player sees a dire coyote eating one of the hyenas and being attacked by gnolls. The dire coyote races after the gnolls beyond the trees and out of sight, allowing the player to investigate the dead and dying hyenas on the road.
After the player begins combat with the hyenas, Majexatli will join initiative, rushing into combat to assist the players from where the dire coyote has disappeared. Once combat ends, Majexatli will introduce themselves and their tadpole will connect with the players, indicating that they too were on the Nautiloid.
Your tadpole squirms in recognition, their fragmented memories becoming your own. Flashes of verdant forests, vast grasslands, kneeling before a gathering of druidic elders, wandering overgrown paths, the title of Faithwarden. With each flash, however, an undercurrent of hunger, growing in intensity with each passing memory until it erupts into something blood-red and razor-sharp.
The Dark Urge will get a unique dialogue option here, relating to the bloodlust in Majexatli’s memories. Druids will also get a unique dialogue with an insight check where they can mentally speculate on Majexatli’s druidic background and note that Majexatli’s druidic armor is very different from most druids. Druid players will also recognize the title of Faithwarden and note the high honor of the title. Rangers can notice that their armor and clothing seem more reminiscent of a ranger than a druid. Clerics can notice their lack of a holy or druidic symbol.
Majexatli will offer their assistance to the player, saying that they are an accomplished druid and alchemist and that they can help navigate the area.
If allowed, Majexatli will either join the player's active party if there’s room, or be told to head to the player’s camp.
Does your Tav have any comments or advice when you recruit other companions?
I can't imagine Majexatli being recruited before some of the origin companions, but I've included everyone anyways for the fun of it.
About Wyll: The Blade of Frontiers... I haven't actually heard of him, I'm afraid. He seems a good man, though, and rather charming...
About Karlach: It's nice to have another tiefling in camp. I imagine she's one hell of a fighter, too, anyone who's lived in the hells has to be.
About Astarion: Hm. I'd keep an eye on the pale one.
About Shadowheart: If I've learned anything during my years, it's that you should always have a healer with you, regardless of whatever they have going on. Shadowheart will be important if we want to stay alive.
About Lae'zel: Lae'zel is quite the warrior, it's wise to have her around. I don't know much about her people, but if she says she knows the cure for our parasites, I'm willing to follow her lead.
About Gale: Stranger as it is, I've never met a wizard. Gale seems quite knowledgeable. He's kind of everything I imagined a wizard would be like, if I'm honest. Very... wizardly.
About Halsin: (sighs) I suppose it's good for Halsin to finally join us, given how long he's been in our camp.
About Minthara: I think it's good to have Minthara with us, as long as she stays on our side that is. I might not agree with everything she says, but she's quite impressive in battle.
About Jaheira: Hm. Another druid.
What sort of general actions raise or lower their approval?
Raise approval: helping people in need, killing people who are abusing power/authority, respecting nature, some violence, survival skills (foraging, gathering plants, gathering loot from killed beasts) being kind to children
Lower approval: senseless cruelty, delighting in the suffering of others, expressing disgust for monsters, abusing authority/power, taking advantage of innocent people, neutrality, maintaining balance or status quo
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Not-Yet-Written-Fics Game
Tagged by @fishing4stars to reveal my not-yet-written fics.
This is fantastic actually the amount of things I have on the back burner is HUGE I'll have to pick and choose, oh dear.
For Your Life Hate Me (Twilight)
As story about Carlisle and Jasper (very self indulgent) where they get kidnaped by María and forced to fight (like in Jasper's old days). To keep Carlisle alive Jasper is forced to do some not nice things that horrify Carlisle but he'll do them to keep the man who took him in safe, even if Carlisle hates Jasper in the end.
The Adventures of Young Man Henry Winchester and his Violent Grandsons (Supernatural)
Henry Winchester survives his death by Abadon! And now he has to get used to modern life without his family. It is extremely painful and sometimes his grandsons are no help. The start of their relationship is very rocky but it'll eventually lead to better days. I'm very fond of this one.
It's The Ashy Taste Of Sacrifice (One Piece)
Sanji and Zoro get turned into animals and (spoilers) in the end Sanji has to bear the brunt of this happening and suffer a life as a fox. The premise is silly but I promise you the contents are not. I am making this boy SUFFER and that is just a universal constant. Full of platonic friendship and hurt/comfort ✨And Zoro being a better bro to Sanji.
To Look Like Her (One Piece)
And to keep up with the point before. This is a story about Sanji self sabotaging his body because he realizes that when he's sick he looks like his mother and he wants to KEEP that look. It does not end well for anyone. The Straw Hats get rightfully very pissed and concerned about this.
Mending The Tears One Spoonful At The Time (Sam Rami Spider-man)
This is just a whole ass ploy to better the friendship between Peter and Harry. Harry realizes something is off with Peter when he notices his friend is ALWAYS hungry. When Harry offers help Peter's pride gets in the way and Harry has to devise ways to secretly help Peter.
Homeward Bound From The Sea (Frozen)
Frozen AU where Agnarr survives the shipwreck but is lost for some years in an island until he's eventually found by a fishing-ship. He gets rescued and returned home but things are hard for father and daughters equally. Full of Agnarr!whump and everyone having to adapt to this new reality. Kind of non-verbal Agnarr in this one.
When Doriath Fell (Silmarillion/Tolkien)
AU where Dior and Elured and Elurin survive BUT actually Dior did die he just came back wrong. So Dior raises his children as a feral creatures in the forest surrounding Menegroth. But Elured and Elurin sort of have to take care of their father as well because the man is not well. Of course, this thing is full of angst what did you expect?
The Price Of Freedom (Sandman)
Hob rescues Dream from the fishbowl of doom and Dream thinks he needs to repay him with devotion and love (just like he did with Alianora). Surprisingly shippy but not really? HobxDream is not endgame at any rate, but Dream is convinced that's how he needs to repay his friend for saving him. Very angsty, the sky is blue, next.
Reverse 'Verse (Firefly)
Another AU (of course) where instead of River being taken and brainwashed it is Simon who becomes the mortal weapon/assassin. And in turn it is River who has to take care of him and escape. Lots of sibiling feels.
I have so many, so so many, but i better not drag them up into the surface less I get tempted into working on them XD but here are some honorable mentions of ofter fandoms I have wips in: SPD Power Rangers (don't laugh), Batman, Hocus Pocus and a ton for Criminal Minds.
If you feel like asking about any of these drop me an ask and I might feel inclined to doodle something about it 😂
No pressure tags: @arlenianchronicles @slightly-crimson-tornado @bad-at-names-and-faces @loonysama @byrambles @i-did-not-mean-to
#Abril writes#tag game#tagging friends#Sanji#One Piece#Firefly#Simon Tam#River Tam#Sandman#Dream of the Endless#Hob Gadling#Silmarillion#Dior Eluchil#Elured#Elurin#Henry Winchester#Supernatural#Twilight#Carlisle Cullen#Jasper Hale#Frozen#Agnarr#Peter Parker#Sam Rami Spider-man#Harry Osborn
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#haunted ecosystem#tagging this as pandora#au: where the dust settles#potential title: to and from the autumn#but honestly i dont feel like titling this#i had some thoughts about pandora and decided i may as well just make this lol#canine imagery. fire. the typical when it comes to him#not a lot of art / photos with this one since nothing really Fit#two pieces from 'a place called home' (the extended version) and one from 'when rats catch cats'#i may write linearly but the imagery goes back and forth#the fire burns brighter at the start#and it fades into the fog of denied hatred#im still debating whether i lean more into the hatred aspect or if i let it be more of a subtlety#side note: with the proper / full version of chapter 20 wtds is 80k words#that's fucking WILD#it's funny how the further into the story we get the more bastardized his character becomes#he becomes what is needed to survive; like he always has#and god if im not looking forward to showing how bad the repercussions for that are#no main tags with this one :3#normally id make a bit of a poem / dialogue piece for these#but i think it wraps itself up nicely
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𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭. He feels strongly and deeply, as greedily as oceans plunge far, and he feels oh so longly, long like memory. Levi's humanity's strongest. Levi bears that weight. He takes up that mantle, and with it, carries the hearts and wishes of all those dead that fell before him. He's invested in human lives, in humanity as a whole, and every death he's seen has to mean something. Every death he's ordered. It's a need. A lifeline. He loathes reckless death the most, needless slaughter and wasted lives, and it shows itself plainly in every excursion. He wants his men to live. It sobers him when they don't. And he knows, very much knows, that he isn't responsible for every soldier's death, but as he's always the last one standing, the one stood breathing with the dead, how he carries their name is his duty. All this angry slaughter -- it has to mean something. No. Captain is emotional. He feels more than he ever lets on. He knows dying's an expectation, understands their job toes suicidal, but he believes in what they do, and he believes utterly in man. He's made so many sacrifices, has given his body and buried old friends both, and neither are choices he regrets. Freedom -- that's what they'd all wanted, after all. And even with Erwin gone, wild Hange, and his tattered squad and friends whose voices he slowly comes to forget, Levi let them all go because they'd rather themselves than humanity's downfall. He made the tough choice to say goodbye. And he made the tougher choice to fight and triumph in their stead.
#META.#this isnt a headcanon. i think we all know this already about levi. but i REALLY love this part of levi and it really#sets him apart from just 'cool character thats also the strongest.'#like levi isn't going to be the usual 'beast of burden.'#everyone in the corps can make their own choices. they came into this. they signed up for this. they knew death was never above any of them#he doesn't explicitly believe he's what led to so many people's deaths#but he also knows he has the responsibility to lead. and when they die it's his responsibility to carry their torch.#because...well. he is humanity's strongest. he ALWAYS somehow survives. he NEEDS to fight and win because everyone who died HAS to have#their sacrifices MEAN something. because all this reckless slaughter... god. would he have given anything to see everyone survive till the#very end. the only choice he did make was expressly for erwin on his behalf and he doesn't regret that choice either#erwin didn't deserve to be forced to play the devil again. he wanted to help humanity so badly#he even gave up his one dream to reach eren's basement and learn the truth of the world FOR humanity.#erwin deserved to rest. he doesn't regret choosing armin but#like i said. with all these deaths levi becomes more and more heavy with the weight of their dreams on his back.#levi cares so much. he cares and feels SOOOO much all the time.
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Suzanne Collins is one of the few contemporary writers who realizes the importance of names in her stories and the significance they bear. They add so many layers to the story, additional meanings that otherwise would not have existed.
The original trilogy:
Katniss: named after a plant of which you can eat the roots. Her father taught her where to find it and told her that “as long as you can find yourself, you’ll survive” (quote may be a little bit off, but it’s from one of the early chapters in THG). Additionally, the leaves are in the shape of an arrowhead, referencing her skills with the bow which her father also taught her how to use.
Peeta: literally bread lmao. But bread is one of the basic nutritions humans need, a little bit goes a long way to keep you alive. Peeta’s presence in Katniss’s life also kept her alive, literally and figuratively—the burned bread he threw her in the flashback and their complicated relationship.
Primrose: a plant with medicinal purposes, even more significant in light of her work as a medic in Mockingjay.
Gale: literally means “strong wind” and considering that in every encounter with Katniss he’s caused some reaction, he pulls her into directions she maybe initially doesn’t want to go in. Additionally, his name also represents his determination and steadfastness in his beliefs.
TBOSAS
Lucy Gray: named after William Wordsworth’s poem “Lucy Gray” which is about the titular character of the poem who got lost during a blizzard. She literally got lost in snow. Rachel Zegler sang this poem in two parts on the original soundtrack of the movie. When Snow asked who the girl in the song is, Lucy answers that she’s a mystery, just like her.
Snow: aside from the obvious snow references, I think his name is most significant in relation to Lucy and the poem. The only one who knows what caused her disappearance is Snow. He is the reason that Lucy is gone. But her traces in the snow are still visible. He will always remember her because the memory of Lucy has manifested itself in every part of his life.
Coriolanus: named after the Roman general (and also the titular character of Shakespeare’s play), Coriolanus wanted to attack Rome and become its ruler. He was scorned and celebrated by the people, only to be later exiled from the city by them. In TBOSAS, Coriolanus is the star pupil at the Capitol’s academy but sent into exile to the districts after he won the Games with Lucy through cheating.
Volumnia: Coriolanus mother who played a part in his ascent to power. In TBOSAS, she almost serves like a mentor to Coriolanus, teaching him how to think in terms of power.
(Edit) Sejanus: a roman soldier who was betrayed by the roman emperor Tiberius, just like the future president betrayed him.
(Edit) Plinth: got this info from here, but it was too good not to include here. A plinth is a base for a statue or vase to stand on. After Sejanus’s death, all of the Plinth fortune was given to Snow for being such a good to friend him. It was this money that skyrocketed the Snow family from poverty to filthy rich. The Plinth money was the foundation upon which Snow built his power.
There are so many other names that have historical (mostly Roman and Greek) connotations—Plutarch, Seneca, Cinna—but also regular names like Trinket and Beetee bear meanings that represent the character beautifully.
Names are important. For any lover of literature or (aspiring) writers, please look closely at them. They can shape your story into something unique.
Feel free to correct me if I’ve said something wrong. I know there are many names missing, but I can only add so many examples ✊🏻😔
#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#the hunger games#thg#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#gale hawthorne#lucy gray baird#coriolanus snow#suzanne collins#literature
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Nothing fucks with my baby
Simon Riley x wife reader
Summary: Simon is the Earth orbiting your sun and he'll do anything to keep you safe and happy, even if that means resorting to bloody means.
Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: attempted non-con (not by Simon)
@ghosts-cyphera for you pookie, hope you enjoy!
Eight months. It’s been eight long, tortuous months since Simon saw you in person. Eight months of living off brief Skype calls interrupted by work schedules and shitty internet cutting out mid-call, an age since he’s touched you. Since he’s breathed in your scent and cradled you against his muscular chest, since he’s tasted you. Pictures of you weren’t enough, even if you’d gifted him a set of delectable Polaroids showcasing your gorgeous body decorated with black and white lingerie.
Long deployments had never bothered him, not until you’d become the central part of his life. Simon was the Earth, orbiting your sun reverently and fervently. He’d worship you on his knees for eternity if that’s what you desired.
His appetite for you has always been ravenous, but his need for you has been greatly nourished after months of no contact. The door to your shared home swings open with a bang, the anticipation coursing through his veins diminishing his control in a way he knows you’ll scold him for. His bag is dropped carelessly in the foyer as he stalks through the space, a man on a mission to find you. Not even the weary exhaustion after months of shit sleep and shared communal spaces would deter him from his mission.
You’re not in your home office or the bedroom and Simon’s frustration simmers under his skin as he marches straight back out the door. It’s only the knowledge that you’ll be devastated to have missed his surprise homecoming that tempers his annoyance.
Ghost is beyond irritated by the time he arrives at your work, not necessarily at you, he knows how seriously you take your career, it’s one of the reasons he was so drawn to you. Once some lowly private had made a snide remark about you being the breadwinner, scoffing at Simon for letting his wife ‘emasculate’ him like that. It was only Price playing damage control that kept him from a dishonourable discharge that day. He had no regrets, especially after the incident taught people to keep your name out of their mouths.
It’s late, well past working business hours when he keys into the building using the code you’d given specially for him. So it shouldn’t surprise him how empty it is, most of the lights turned off as he made his way to your office, but Simon hadn’t survived over a decade in the military without learning to trust his gut. A distinct uneasiness settles in his body, narrowed eyes surveying the space for anything out of the ordinary as he increases his pace to get to you.
The light in your office is on, the door is left open carelessly and gives Simon a clear view of the sight of you bent over your desk trying not to cry as a man holds a gun to your head and fumbles with your sleek dress pants. Simon thought he knew rage, but any anger he’s ever felt is drowned in comparison to the sheer righteous fury that alights his veins.
He closes the gap in record time, red filtering out the corners of his vision and spraying over his knuckles as he rips the interloper away and viciously lays into him. Any slurred words pleading for mercy are ignored and shut down as Simon’s fist renders the man’s mouth an inoperable bloody mess.
His arm aches furiously by the time he pulls back, chest heaving with breaths that have long since been silenced from the scumbag that now lay dead on the floor of your office. It’s the sound of your shaky sobs that pulls Simon back from the brink, immediately darting towards you, shaky hands stained with blood cradling you against his bulk gently.
He’s vibrating with an explosive cocktail of fury, fear, outrage and relief. You press yourself tighter against his chest like you’re trying to burrow into the safety of his ribcage. Simon can’t bring himself to speak, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he buries his face into the top of your head. The silence is broken by the shaky inhales of your rattling breaths and sobs.
All too soon you’re pulling away, even when he fights to keep you safe and sound against his chest. “Simon? What… what’s going to happen with-” You try and turn your gaze towards the corpse staining your carpet but Simon prevents you with a hand grasping your jaw, preventing you from getting a glimpse at the carnage.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head darling, I’ll take care of it. But first, let's get you home yeah?” He walks you from the building to your car with a supportive arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you against his side before sliding you into the passenger seat of your car. It’s a testament to how shaken you are that you don’t protest, remaining silent and clutching the hand that grasps your thigh like a lifeline.
It doesn’t take long to tuck you into bed, wrapping you tightly in the blanket like it will protect you from the horrors of the outside world. The adrenaline had faded from your body making way for the exhaustion. Simon doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure the clutches of sleep have pulled you under, and even then, it's with extreme hesitation that he stands and leaves the bedroom, reaching for his phone to make a call.
Luckily, you don’t wake even once in the hours that follow as he waits for news of the cleanup. He spends that time alternating between checking in on you, watching you breathe peacefully and pacing the linoleum floors that you’d insisted on.
A single knock on the front door pulls him from the spiral of thoughts that threatened to pull him further and further into darkness. He opens the door to an unimpressed Price, who pushes his way in with Gaz and Soap trailing after. Expectantly he stares at them, watching as Price lights a cigar and takes a long drag.
“It’s done. Did you have to make such a mess though son?” It’s an innocuous enough comment but one that raises Ghost’s hackles anyway and he shoots a venomous glare at his captain that would never have been acceptable in any other circumstances. His shoulders tense and it takes everything in him to keep his voice somewhat level.
“That fucker laid his hands on my wife!” He inhaled shakily as he remembered what he’d almost been too slow to prevent, unable to prevent the rise of volume as he yelled at his captain, “My wife! He’s lucky I didn’t paint the room with his insides!” The baritone of his booming snarl is loud enough that even Soap flinches slightly with widened eyes.
There’s a tense silence but his captain nods, something like approval in his gaze before his eyes slide towards the right and Simon turns just in time to witness you call his name, voice hoarse with sleep and eyes red from tears.
He crosses the space and curls you against him in record time, nonchalantly throwing a dismissive wave towards his team who simply nod in understanding and file back outside. “Were those the boys? You didn’t have to kick them out” you murmured though Simon was already hushing you, leading you back to bed with a firm hand on the small of your back.
“Don’t worry ‘bout them lovie, they were leavin’ anyway” he waved away your concerns, finally kicking off his shoes, trapping you in his arms and pulling you down onto the mattress. You squeak at his actions, giggling as his stubble tickles the skin of your neck.
Despite how pent-up and desperate for your touch he is, Simon makes no move to escalate the situation, settling you in his arms and simply breathing you in. Neither of you speak about the earlier incident, not willing to shatter the peace. Though Simon lets out the occasional hum when your hands trace gentle circles over his heart, focusing on the steady beat of his pulse beneath your palm.
Inevitably the lingering emotions of the day would have to be dealt with, but not yet, Simon would allow himself to relish in the peace just a little longer.
#x reader#cod mw x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#kat’s writing#cod simon riley#simon riley
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I HATE EVERYONE BUT YOU
— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — scaramouche has always been yours, yet he needs you to know that you'll always be his no matter what— even when you get all flustered while he shows you.
— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — in scaramouche we what?
— ꒰ wordcount ꒱ — 1.7k
— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, jealous! reader, dom scara, rough sex but very passionate, scara hates everyone but you, slightly possessive scara, spitting, cumming inside of you
"you have nothing to worry about,"
"stop thinking about it and look at me," fingers gracefully trace on your bare skin, "because i need you to realize," drawing all sorts of shapes into your searing flesh, like subtle curves into your ribs, "that you'll never get rid of me," and lines dragging across your stomach when scaramouche's hand ultimately settles on your hips.
your stomach does flips at his words, and a fresh tide of relief cuts through your initial doubts. he grins and clicks his tongue, eyes dancing with amusement when he catches your shyness, "hm? what's up with you? where's this pretty voice of yours now?" and that smile, ugh, he cannot help himself but irritate you abundantly, especially when he knows how you'd react to his words.
"shut up," you hiss, "don't do that,"
"do what?" he cocks a brow, "—that?" he breathes, boldly as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles. the fire in his eyes was hard to miss and when he feels your body react to his loving trace, he's more than happy to indulge in those waves of lust— most notably show you that he'll never go away.
"fuck—" you whine, "you're mean," and you find out that his thoroughly chosen words would end up adding fuel to the looming wildfire burning between you both, the two of you high on the tension and rush smoldering the air.
and scaramouche's confessions were driving you into a spiral.
"careful there," he coos, "take it slow," for him, there was no competition, and even if there was a competition, you're not in it. you're above everything. you're perfect, no one could ever set his heart ablaze like you did.
scaramouche hums, "you're stuck with me." he candidly bites down on your bottom lip, "okay?" when you nod vigorously at him, your hips leaving the bed as your back arches into his digits, your hands finding immediate comfort in his hair as you tug softly at his roots to press his lips on yours.
scaramouche was pretty when he looked at you like that, kissed you like he needed you to survive— dreamily while flushed, his cheeks seething with scarlet redness when he inhales deeply for a moment.
but he's not used to all of this, and he didn't like the fact that you could become jealous sometimes— after all, humans suffer more in imagination rather than in reality, and you have nothing to worry about, scaramouche certainly thought he made that very much clear.
but he's embarrassed, although not because of the fact that he might've gotten too close to someone who wasn't you and experienced regret, which, in fact, wasn't possible.
he simply cannot stand anybody besides you.
truth be told, he's a little annoyed that you forgot about the fact that he wasn't a big talker per se, he even actively chose his schedule so he wouldn't see a lot of people, or anyone for that matter. scaramouche never sought out to make any meaningful friendships with the people of the akademiya as well— despite the god of wisdom helplessly attempting to push him out of his comfort zone.
with that out of the way, the real reason as to why scaramouche was embarrassed was quite silly, because it's due to what your jealousy did to him— fuck, he finds it beyond attractive, yet he refuses to acknowledge that a special heat conquered his chest like that, reaching his groin until he couldn't think straight.
there's a delicate challenge in your ways of reacting when he tells you that you mustn't be jealous, and scaramouche drinks it like water— he knows you're everything he's ever wished for, like ice cream on a hot summer day, you're melting his heart.
he nuzzles into your skin to inhale your scent, leaves soft kisses on your cheekbones while holding your jaw, making you look directly at him.
does he need to show you that he's utterly addicted to you? so, do you require it like a challenge of sorts? because archons, he'll do it, easy work easy done.
to note, it's not scaramouche's fault that people want to talk to him and are curious about the new addition to the akademiya— yet he doesn't like them, it's pestering when they get too close to him as well, ask if he could talk a little more about where he was coming from because they wanted to be nice, civil but end up making him scoff with a roll of his eyes.
enjoying his own company was fine to scaramouche— and he always found himself fantasizing about you all the time, particularly about your soft laughs and candid smiles, your voice, your stories and your understanding was like a sweet melody to the wanderer, and he could indulge in it during his breaks, before he needed to finish a mission, or he could imagine it every single night before he'd fall asleep to the thought of you.
your body was rubbing against his now, sweat colliding as he removes his fingers from your cunt and wraps them around his erection, pretty dark lashes accentuating his flaring cheekbones while you loop your arms around him— parting your legs a little so he could easily slide himself in.
scaramouche gently adds pressure on your tight hole before moving his hips, but it's slow— gentle and delicate that you can feel every crevice of his length in you.
a soft moan rips from his throat as you mold around him easily, feeling him attentively as he traces the thick vein along the side of your walls as your hips twitch at the slight sting deep in your abdomen.
scaramouche was as desperate as ever to show you his love through physical attention— and the word shame didn't seem to find a place in his phraseology when he forces your gaze back under his. "open and stick your tongue out," he taps, once twice, against your lips with his thumb, "wanna taste me, right? so do it now," while keeping his throbbing dick buried inside as he purposefully moves his hips a little to make you squeal.
you cannot help the way your lips curve into a smile before you're parting your lips, applauding his efforts to claim you. it's merciless when he bundles the saliva budding in his mouth before spitting on your tongue, his crystalline eyes open to catch your tremble— how can he not indulge in this? you're nothing short of perfect, pleading for him to give you more.
"show me," he commands further, groaning deep into his chest when he looks at his saliva melting with your own and how it's dribbling from your chin, his length twitching rapidly as you try to steady your breathing at the sinful scenario you're living through.
scaramouche's hands clench at your waist as he fucks you as passionate as he can, his cock pressing against the overstimulated bud in your pussy before starting slow circles with his hips, your mouth huffing out candid i love you's amidst your moans.
inch by inch he slides into you, in and out in rapid movements, the more you take the better it felt having him rub your pleasure spots he so desperately desired to feel suck on his shaft and milk the cum out of his cock. he finds it cute when your face suddenly scrunches up if he moves faster than previous, your jaw parting in awe at how much better it felt the more he upped his tempo to batter your sore pussy.
it feels good— it always does, and if being a little jealous here and there would always result in this, than you'd gladly play your part as much as he needed it. it's almost like you don't hear yourself moaning and spell out honeyed praises, too occupied to indulge on the way scaramouche rolled along your walls and the noises of his balls colliding on your skin over and over.
"fuck— you're gonna make me cum fast," scaramouche gasps, dragging his sensitive cock through you like you're made for him, as if it just fits and he doesn't need to prep you, which he in fact, really enjoyed doing as well.
frankly, nothing tasted as good as your pussy rubbing across his mouth.
one hand leaves your hips before he gives your clit a little attention, pressing through the curtains that protected your sensitive pearl as he rubs your slick over the sensitivity, smirking devilishly when you arch your back off the mattress and begin to shake, your walls spasming while being so perfect when milking his cock, your pussy dripping with slick as he toys with your clit.
you cry out a sound between a broken sob and sharp moan of his name and that's when scaramouche knows you're close too— swift when he drags his hand from your clit to intertwine his digits with your own as he fucked you into the bed, your pussy pulsing around him as your eyes scrunch shut when you reach your high, falling slack against the bed and whining out shortly when he warms you with the weight of his body.
"fuck— shit!," his hips faster, his breath quicker, "you're fuckin mine, mine, mine," scaramouche falls apart, panting against your ear and groaning lowly, his erection pulsing while constricted by your walls as he holds his cock deeply buried in you before thrusting back and forth once, twice, three more times as he spills his load into your pussy— his warm seed setting your belly on fire by how perfect it felt to be claimed in such lewd, passionate way.
"fuck," he breathes, "gonna stay like that for a bit,"
archons, it's so sticky— borderline filthy and shameless with every intention of it being like that. your tits were still bouncing up and down from the following, last thrusts of him pumping his precious cum into your hole and making sure not a single drop gets lost midway.
after a while of collecting your breathing and turning it evenly again, you giggle out, finding his darkened hair strands as you greet him with a wet, sloppy kiss, "wanna join me for a shower later?" you mumble, eyes half-lidded as he hums softly into your lips, "mhm, or i'll decline so you'll get mad at me, right?"
"i will bite you," you threaten, shaking slightly as he pulls himself out without warning to expose his drenched cock being weaved with your slick, the filthy mixture dripping along your inner thighs,
"please do, "i'm counting on it," scaramouche ends with a wink.
©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own
#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche smut#scaramouche x you#wanderer smut#wanderer x you#genshin drabbles#genshin impact drabbles#genshin x you#genshin Impact x you
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JOEL MILLER FIC RECS
⇾ 18+ minors DNI, read at your own risk! ⇽
an appreciation to all my favourite writers out there you deserve all the love <3
Series
— Something To Fight For by @auteurdelabre | After a disastrous blind date you decide to stay away from the miserable Joel Miller forever...
— I Know Who You Are by @punkshort | A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long-term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.
— The One You Need by @loliwrites | When you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at arm’s length, your neighbour Joel finds his way into your life.
— By The Grit Of Sandpaper by @penvisions | An offhand comment from you inspires Joel to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed...
— I Wanna Be Your Lover by @shellshocklove | Miserable after losing your job, your friend drags you out to a club to dance away your sadness. on the dancefloor, you meet a handsome stranger, who then whisks you away into his fantasy world as his assistant for his porn career. what happens when the lines get blurred?
— If The Door Wasn't Shut by @heartpascal | months of travelling with Joel and Ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.
— Stay In Bed by @psychedelic-ink | After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance.
— That's A Real Fucking Legacy by @wyn-n-tonic | When Tommy disappears in search of a better life with a promise to come back for you, his years of absence and the grief it leaves behind drives you and his brother closer together until the man you're sharing a bed and starting a family with is Joel Miller and not the one you always thought it would be.
One-Shots
— No Time To Die by @davosmymaster | The main difficulty of being Joel’s closest friend is not falling in love with him, but you still do. Those feelings are buried until you join him on a mission to trade supplies with Bill and Frank. With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.
— White Lies by @poeticpascal | Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.
— Saying Thanks by @vivwritescrappythings | Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it.
— Soft & Sweet by @cavillscurls | You share your first kiss with the last man you ever expected: your older, grouchy, overly protective patrol partner, Joel Miller.
— Who We Are by @gracieheartspedro | Being stuck on the road with an older guy you've been crushing on for ages won't be so bad, right? wrong. because he's been pining after you, too. and one of you will have to give in eventually.
— Warm Me Up by @tightjeansjavi | While on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.
— Love In the Time Of Cordyceps by @sameheart-sameblood | When the world ends, you promise you'll never love again. Joel Miller makes that rule hard to stick to.
— Puppy Love by @absurdthirst | You always follow Joel Miller around, you've got his back. You're in love with him. Putting up with Tess's nickname of puppy dog, you don't realize that Joel feels for you until the end.
— Light The Flame by @yeollie-plz | Your mom moves the two of you back to Texas and attempts to reignite an old flame. What will happen when she learns his candle now burns for you?
— Best I Ever Had by @endlessthxxghts | Someone tries to hit on you on your night out with Joel, insulting your man in the process, and oh you don't like that. You blow off some steam in more ways than one.
— Make A Move On Me by @freelancearsonist | You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodelling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.
— Fire Walk by @motherofagony | A chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt.
— Cry Baby by @psychedelic-ink | bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in Jackson. As the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of Joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.
#joel miller#joel tlou#the last of us#joel miller x reader#joel fanfic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller au#joel miller fic#joel miller oneshot#joel miller smut#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x oc#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#soft joel miller#joel miller blurb#joel miller masterlist#joel miller series#hbo joel miller#joel miller imagine#game joel miller#joel miller one shot#joel miller self insert
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No Contact
Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader
Word Count: 7.6k
Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort
Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.
A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3
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No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process.
No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None.
He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.
Hell, it might even make you worse.
It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward.
But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star.
It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?
You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did.
He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party.
He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.
But he wasn’t.
A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.
Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle.
For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.
He was the last to know.
After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.
Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup.
Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup?
You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible.
It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup.
Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing.
Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out.
He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn…
He never got to see you.
“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?
“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”
A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”
Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped.
Does that mean…?
No…
“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“
The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”
Chan was suddenly in a chair.
When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.
“It’s not forever, son.”
Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.
Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.
He gets it now.
The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly.
Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.
Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?
Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?
“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”
It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort.
You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.
It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him.
Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them.
God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.
How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?
5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift.
He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to.
Mice would get to it before you did.
His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin.
All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.
It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved.
Just like him.
It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces.
He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time.
Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.
Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of.
Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together.
There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his.
You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM.
This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return.
It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much.
Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now?
Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before.
Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago.
You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you.
To him too.
It’s the library where he first met you.
The same library Chan finds himself in front of now.
He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside.
Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working.
Absolutely not.
The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful.
There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet.
Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were.
His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves.
There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it.
On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face.
Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option.
When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head.
Your eyes met. He was a goner.
How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you.
Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.
Maybe you’re not working today?
No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere.
Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway.
He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here.
His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time.
Empty.
You-less.
If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks.
What a moment.
Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?
He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio.
Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.
“Can I help you find something?”
His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone.
Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch.
His throat immediately tightens.
There you are. You. Beautiful you.
Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger.
“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?
You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something.
Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”
No.
“Yeah.”
You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”
He knows.
“Really?”
“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin.
Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows.
You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”
Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug.
He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.
But—
“If you need anything, let me know.”
You start to walk away.
Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please.
His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!
“W-Wait!” he says quickly.
You turn around with a curious look.
“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”
Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”
He knows. You collect different translations of it.
“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”
With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics.
He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months.
You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies.
Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you.
The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day.
Y/N, please.
“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book.
Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry.
“Thank you,” he whispers back.
You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower.
From foot to foot, your weight shifts.
You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?
“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”
It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you.
You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them.
Y/N, please.
“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself.
Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck!
Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world.
Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite.
He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks.
He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow.
Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it.
He knows everything.
“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained.
You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?
“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”
Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes.
“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out.
Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments.
After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper.
“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”
Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you.
Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”
Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him.
Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in.
Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.
“Chan,” he answers softly.
“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him.
Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.
“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile.
“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth.
“You too, Chan.”
And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus.
—————————————————————
A bad idea was going into the library that day.
An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going.
And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him.
And the worst part? You said yes.
So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date.
How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how.
Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings.
His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother.
“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything.
“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone.
“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous.
“How are you? Is everything okay?”
“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”
Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth.
“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”
His jaw clenches. Now or never.
“It’s with me,” he blurts.
Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth.
“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”
He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you.
“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself.
“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused.
She’s right. What if you don’t?
“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”
Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”
—————————————————————
“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table.
Yes, you have.
“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water.
“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”
He looks back down at the old menu.
This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town.
The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late.
“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu.
He’s more nervous now than on the first date.
“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile.
A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”
It was your favorite.
“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu.
His eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“‘Cause of your allergy.”
He stops.
You stop.
He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy.
His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”
Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”
You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”
He definitely did not say something.
Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before.
The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.
You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe.
A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you.
Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks.
You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully.
“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”
He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused?
“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out.
What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you?
“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”
Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick.
Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?
“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”
He licks his lips and opens his mouth.
Your phone rings.
A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest.
Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up.
“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”
“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock.
A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet.
“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”
Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance.
—————————————————————
It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park.
“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”
You already have.
“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket.
“Changbin sounds like a blast.”
He was your favorite before.
“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”
And you have.
A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation.
Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it.
With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side.
You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.
“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings.
Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours.
The brightest smile stretches over your face.
God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.
He can’t help it.
He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk.
“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease.
He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”
Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now.
“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”
“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”
Another laugh from you.
“Shameless flirt.”
He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”
Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you.
Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe.
It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago.
He wants to kiss you so bad.
Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?
Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop.
“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin.
Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident.
It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago.
The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features.
Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch.
His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up.
Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that.
You’re always so enchanting.
Is this a good idea?
Is kissing you the best option?
But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?
Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop.
One look into your eyes quells that anxiety.
Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside.
He can’t take it anymore.
Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.
But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach.
He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers.
It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t.
He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips.
But he is.
He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss.
How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time.
No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers.
Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again.
Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose.
God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good.
His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer.
He immediately stops.
Why is your face wet?
Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression.
You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?
Your eyes open and you look at him confused.
“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?
“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.
Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears.
“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”
Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused.
Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window.
Every muscle in your face is twitching.
What’s happening?
“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob.
Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident.
Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?
Please.
Slowly, your hand falls from his.
Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on.
He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.
You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.
Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own.
“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time.
He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore.
But you do.
“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“
“It’s okay, Y/N.”
You know him.
“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”
Chan. Not Channie.
He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”
His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation.
Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs.
“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”
Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over.
The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you.
You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.
“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”
You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared.
“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”
Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming.
“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.”
How is your voice so even?
Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck.
He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him.
“I—“ he starts but you cut him off.
“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.
“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”
Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest.
More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow.
“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”
Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest.
Him. You’re talking about him.
Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying.
Nothing has ever hurt this bad.
You know him. You just don’t know it’s him.
Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”
Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it.
You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest.
That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter.
“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”
A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling.
A sob tears from his throat.
You grip his hand tighter.
“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat.
“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”
Oh, god, Y/N.
“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”
He breaks.
He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm.
He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you.
Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist.
Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.
Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out.
You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline.
Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it.
Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you.
“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”
Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms.
“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”
Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.”
Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat.
“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”
Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs.
Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face.
“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”
Channie. You called him Channie.
He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair.
You’re still crying. Both of you are.
“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest.
All he can do is cry.
Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night.
The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over.
Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.
You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong.
“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.
“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”
He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently.
“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”
Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you.
"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."
His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.
The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.
It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.
But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.
The burn is soothed.
“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”
His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”
“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”
Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws.
You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it.
His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle
“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”
“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”
#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#bang chan x y/n#stray kids fanfic#skz fanfic#skz x y/n#bang chan#bang chan fanfic#stray kids fanfiction#bangchan fanfic#bangchan x reader
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— headcanons. miles morales (earth42)
EARTH42!MILES who buys you whatever you want, whenever you want. you don’t even have to say anything, as soon as he notices your focus has gravitated towards a display in a mall’s window, he’s stopped in front of it and digging out his wallet.
“you want that?” “no, baby, it’s fine. it’s probably really expensive anyway.” “i don’t remember asking the price. do you want that, yes or no?”
EARTH42!MILES who shows up to your house to take you on you guys’ first date, two bouquets of roses cradled in the fold of his arm instead of one. he was raised by mama rio, after all, so he knows better than to show up to a girl’s house with only his words to impress her mother.
“wow, these are beautiful, miles… thank you. who’s the other one for?” “for your moms, to say thanks for letting me take you out.”
EARTH42!MILES who is so deeply regressed into the act of suppressing his love and affection for others, in fear that he’ll get too attached, only to lose you just like he did his dad. he doesn’t know if he can survive something like that happening again, so it takes a while for him to actually open himself up to you.
“i’m not going anywhere, miles. you can let me in, it’s okay.” “you promise?” “i promise, my love.”
EARTH42!MILES who gets so flustered when you kiss him or compliment him or hold his hand, though it doesn’t come off that way due to how good he is at hiding his true feelings. his stoic expression makes you think he just doesn’t like it, so you back off some. your fears are assuaged when you come over one day and skip your usual greeting of smothering him in kisses or confessions on how much you’ve missed him, and instead settle for giving him a brief, simple hug.
“¿qué pasa, mamí, what i do? ion get no love today?”
EARTH42!MILES who wasn’t the best at texting at first—often leaving you wondering where he was for most of the day or if he was even alive—but has since stepped his game up.
9:30 AM
[mi novio]: goodmorning mi vida, how you sleep?
11:30 am
[mi novio]: you eat anything yet?
2:34 PM
[mi novio]: i miss you
6:20 PM
[mi novio]: ima be busy at around 7, jus lyk so you don’t worry bout where i’m at. i’ll text you when i’m free, okay chiquita?
EARTH42!MILES who asks for a picture of you every time you get your hair done, because he’s too impatient to wait until the two of you hangout again.
[mi novio]: lemme see your hair and make sure your face in it too, i wanna see how pretty my baby look
[you]: attachment: 1 image [you]: you like it?
[mi novio]: lord have mercy it just keeps gettin’ better. [mi novio]: goddamn you look good [mi novio]: nah i gotta see this shit in person im omw
EARTH42!MILES who literally gets offended when he sees you wearing something he didn’t buy.
“where’d you get these from? i don’t remember buying them for you.” “yeah… i got them from the mall last week when i got paid.” “oh, what, so you sayin you don’t need me no more? it’s like that now, mamí?”
EARTH42!MILES who knows he can always run to you when things get rough; when it all becomes too much for him to handle on his own and he can feel his resolve withering. he knows that all he has to do is push open the window you leave cracked for him, climb through it and slip into bed next to you with his head nuzzled into your chest. you’re the only thing that helps him off the ledge nowadays.
“you wanna talk about it, papa?” “nah, not really. can- can you just hold me?” “i can do that.”
- please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my works to other sites!
likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗
#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#42 miles morales#miles morales#miles morales fanfiction#prowler miles#prowler miles fluff#prowler miles fanfic#miles morales x fem!reader#across the spiderverse#earth 42 miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#miles morales prowler#across the spiderverse fanfiction#earth 42 miles fluff#miles g morales
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Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 5 )
<<< Part 4 , Part 6 >>>
Relationship : Fluff
Warning : ⚠️ Mention of blood / gore, human experiments ⚠️
Plot : You were sleeping until you woke up and realised you weren't in the infirmary anymore
Catnap has made his decision, he decides to pay you a visit. Even if it is just a mere minute.
This is the only time he disobeyed The Prototype, surely his god would understand, right?
He had pleaded The Prototype to spare you out of all humans in the facility.
The Prototype accepted it but he won't assure about your survival during the massacre. Whatever happens to you will be Catnap's responsibility.
How about he convince you to join him? To be in the team and follow The Prototype?
It makes Catnap feel happy at the thought of the person he loves joining the team.
Just you and him, might even Dogday if he ever joined the group.
Wait...What if you refuse? Surely you wouldn't, right? If you refuse then he will force you. Yeah, definitely because he wants you safe.
Even it means dragging you down to the deepest and darkest of the Playtime Co, just to keep you safe.
As soon Catnap reaches the infirmary, he peeks his head in the room only to find it empty.
"...Star?"
You weren't in the room, where could you have gone to? Then, his nose picks up a familiar scent.
No...it cannot be.
His pupils dilate as he quickly crawls through the vents and makes his way towards the laboratory.
.
.
.
.
.
You hear voices around you which causes you to wake up.
All you see was the white ceiling instead of the colourful ones, you tried to move your body but you couldn't.
"You're finally awake"
You turn your head to the source and see one of the higher ups, a man in lab coat. You've seen him before but where...?
.....
If you remember correctly, you've seen him in the organisation chart and also on the papers you always work on.
"Dr. Sawyer...?"
"Oh, so you know me... interesting"
In his hand, he held a clipboard. He jotted something on the paper before looking down on you.
You are confused.
What's happening?
Where are you? What is this place? Why are you....here?
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions on your mind. You are in the Bigger Body Initiative programming room"
"Bigger...Body Initiative?"
"We've been monitoring you for quite a long time, now. It's quite hard to find someone that is compatible with our program. We have finally found a suitable host for our newest mascot, you are...perfect"
"Host...m-mascot? W-what are you saying?!"
You have to escape. If you stay you will never know what they will do to you!
Then, the metal doors before you open and came in a doll....
An angel doll with a pair of wings and a golden halo on top of her head, the doll is very beautiful like an angel as it is.
"All the children needed now is an angel to protect them, guide them and help the Playtime Co flourish. Your personality will become handy and guide the children to a better future for the company"
Every word he's saying, you don't like it one bit....
Dr. Sawyer leaves the room, saying you should get accustomed to the doll first.
You begin tugging on the belt on your wrist but they are too tight. You stare up at the ceiling above you.
You cannot escape....
You don't have anything on you to help you escape.
You slowly take in your surroundings, there is a table next to you full of operating equipment, which makes you pale.
Are they going to dissect you and sell your organs?!
Hell no!
"Help! Please!"
You cried out for help, though your voice fell into deaf ears. Tears start pouring out from your eyes, is this how you will die?
Plap, plap, plap.
Your ears pick up a pitter patter on the floor, you look down only to see a plush version of Catnap staring up at you with its beady black eyes.
Did...the plush just....moved?
Then, it tilts its head causing you to flinch in surprise.
The plush begins to climb on the table and hops on to you, you begin to panic and close your eyes, waiting for the pain to come.
Clack!
The straps on your wrists were loose and you open your eyes to see Catnap plush gnawing on the leather strap on your ankle.
Freeing you.
With your hands free, you quickly unstrap the belt on your other leg and hop off the bed. You walk over to the door but it won't open.
"F*ck!"
You begin to look around and notice a vent but it's high up, you can't reach it even if you climb on the table.
What are you going to do?!
You feel a soft tap on your ankle and you look down to see Plushnap, nudging your leg before pointing up at the vent.
You told it you can't reach it.
Then, Plushnap does a throwing motion before holding out its tail and stretches it with its paws.
It doesn't take you long to know what it was thinking.
Now, you hold Plushnap with your strong hand as the toy wraps its tail tightly around your wrist.
"Are you ready, buddy?"
*nods*
You give your best swing and throw Plushnap towards the vent as it tail stretches like a rope, the toy grabs hold on to the vent door as you begin to tug on its tail.
The vent door snaps open as you watch Plushnap crawl into the ventilation system, before you know it. You feel yourself being hoisted up.
How can a plush pull a full grown adult?!
Once you enter the vent, you feel arms dragging you and your face slams into rough fur.
That smells like lavender.
"Catnap?"
"Star....are you alright?"
You pull yourself off from the tight embrace and meet face to face with Catnap.
Before you could question him, he bites the back of your gown, holding you like you are a kitten and begins to crawl fast through the vents. ( you were so close to slip out of the hospital gown since it's just a piece of thin cloth )
"Catnap! W-what's happening and what is this place?!"
"....Not now, must.....get you... somewhere safe...stay quiet or...they'll hear us .."
Even though Catnap crawls through the vents fast, he doesn't make too much noise thanks to his soft paws and being lightweight unlike the other smiling critters. He was built to be silent so he doesn't wake up the sleeping orphans while he does his patrols in the night.
You look through the gap of the vent doors to see people in lab coats.
Who are these people? You know they have a science department but....these people are.....different.
Then, your eyes widen when you pass a vent door. You see a dissected body of a child....
Your hand slaps your mouth, you were horrified at the sight. Next to the dissected body is a bloody toy that has organs in it.
Are they...putting human organs into toys?
What kind of madness is this?
Are they...no, are they using the orphans for sick experiments?!
All the sudden, the alarm went off.
"Did they know?!"
"....No"
"Containment has been breached. Experiment 1006 has breached containment. All personnel please evacuate immediately and go towards the nearest evacuation centre, this is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill"
Catnap then tosses you over his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his neck.
"Hold...me...tight...."
The feline slams his paw on the vent door and jumps down on the ground.
You see people running around and being attacked by....the toys.
Your eyes widen in horror at the sight of the toys biting and clawing onto the scientists, tearing and pulling on their skin. You could see flesh and muscles, even bones!
There's so much....blood.
Suddenly, something covers your face and it was a mask. You try to pry it off but something doesn't let you do so.
"Must...wear mask..."
Catnap said into your ears, you see a thick cloud of red smoke coming out from his mouth and it begins to fill the entire hallway.
Some of the scientists begin to drop down after they inhale the red smoke. You watch as the toys begin to bite down on their motionless body like a pack of hungry hyenas.
You were breathing heavily at the horrific sight, the small toys had come to life and kills everyone.
You can hear bloodcurdling screams in the distance, some were calling for help.
Catnap's eyes look at your form, he can see your pale face through the mask and your entire body shaking like a leaf. He has to do something, he didn't expect it happen now.
Maybe ...using the red smoke on you could help you...just a little whiff.
He can manipulate your dream, yeah. He makes sure that everything was a nightmare.
Yes, he will do it.
"Catnap?"
You feel the mask loosen and the smell of the red smoke begins to enter your airway. Then, you start to feel drowsy and the next thing you know.
Everything turns black.
A/n : I'm sorry for not updating for a long time, I had a writer's block for the past days. I apologise for that 😭. I know this is a short chapter and I will do better next time, I hope this stupid a** writer's block goes away soon.
For those who send me asks, I will answer them soon.
#poppy playtime#poppy playtime chapter 3#smiling critters catnap#poppy playtime catnap#catnap#catnap x reader#dogday x reader#smiling critters x reader#poppy playtime x reader#various x reader#reader insert
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