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gasolinerainbowreads · 8 months

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I am trying to get better about organizing all the fic I read! (My drafts still sit at a hefty number lol.)

↓ ICON LEGEND ↓

🌈 = title 🪆 = series, multiple parts, etc. 🔋 = make sure your vibrator is charged before reading 😈 = Horny Demon Hours™ approved 🥹 = hurts so good/ouch, my feelings 🧠 = did somethin to my brain/altered my brain chemistry

Here's what I read in August along with a comment and/or a favorite excerpt:

@cavillscurls

🌈Pretty Prey 🔋😈-- Joel Miller x afab!reader "Tears spring to your waterline as he bruises into your cervix, the grunts and murmurs of that’s it, take it baby, can see the outline of my cock against your tummy all indication of his enjoyment."

@ezrasbirdie

🌈Catalyst 🪆🔋😈-- no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader x frankie morales “Tastes damn good, doesn’t it?” Joel says, and Frankie lets out a quiet, desperate whine. “Good boy.” 🌈Some Part of Me Came Alive 🪆🔋😈🧠 -- no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader x frankie morales Joel runs his fingers through Frankie’s hair when he pulls of off of him, cupping his cheeks and brushing his thumbs over his jaw. It's like that first kiss all over again--there's such profound relief Joel has to fight back tears. It doesn't matter that he's new to this--it's all so right because it's Frankie. 🌈Breakfast 🪆🥹 -- no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader x frankie morales plzzzzz this is so fucking perfect and sweet and good and i wanna devour it

@netherfeildren

🌈Forfeiting My Mystique 🥹🧠 -- Ezra x F!Reader “It’s why I love art,” he continues. “You can be close to something, feel its warmth, beauty – whatever feeling it is the artist intended to pull out of you, from a distance. Untouched – it’s untouchable. That comforts me for some reason.” 🌈The Cassandra Complex, Ch 1 🪆🔋😈 -- Din Djarin x F!Reader “Just one more, little one. Want to see it up close,” he murmurs. 🌈The Cassandra Complex, Ch 2 🪆 -- Din Djarin x F!Reader You are a burning effigy washed in the violet light of righteous fury as you stalk slowly towards his, soon to be dead, bounty. 🌈Greener Memories of Better Men 🔋🥹-- Joel Miller x F!Reader This whole entire thing is heart-wrenching and amazing.

@swiftispunk

🌈Your Summer Dream, Day 4 - Sand 🪆🔋🥹-- JOEL MILLER X F!READER “Just ask nice, baby, I’ll give you whatever you need.” THIS MAN IS A MENACE. 🌈Your Summer Dream, Day 5 - New 🪆🔋🥹-- JOEL MILLER X F!READER "Suck," you instruct him, stronger now, more desperate as he draws pleasure from you with what's clearly practiced care. "Good girl," he hums lowly, like he's genuinely proud of your confidence, like he really does want this for you. WHEN'S IT GONNA BE MY TURN?! HUHHH???????

@strang3lov3

🌈Hibachi 🪆🔋😈-- bil!joel miller x fem reader (pre/no outbreak) This whole entire thing is *CHEF'S KISS* 🌈Are We Going To Talk About It? 🪆🥹-- bil!joel miller x fem reader (pre/no outbreak) This time, you will be loved like you deserve. & You are safe here with me. 🌈Come To Jesus Moment 🪆🧠 -- bil!joel miller x fem reader (pre/no outbreak) Every time she says sorry to Jesus I howl.

@thetriumphantpanda

🌈Come Away with Me, Monday 🪆🔋😈🥹 -- Joel Miller x F!Reader x Tommy Miller OH MY GOD i am obsessed with this whole dynamic. 🌈In The Woods Somewhere, Ch 1 🪆-- Joel Miller x F!Reader plzzzzzzzz she never missesssssssss jfc

@frannyzooey

🌈Short Days, Long Nights 12 🪆🥹🧠 -- Joel Miller x f!reader this shit just fucking CHANGES MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY every fucking time I read it

@joelscruff

🌈Needy Baby 🪆🔋😈😈😈😈😈😈🥹🧠🧠🧠🧠 -- boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader bro. MY GUY. MY SISTREN. this is ... this is the hottest smust ive ever read. idc. this whole story is amazing, and then THIS??? i can't even fucking think straight

@ezrasbirdie

🌈Surrender, Ch 10 🪆🔋🥹🧠 -- joel miller x ofc daisy She flushed read from her neck to her ears. "I don't know, exactly. I just don't want to embarrass you." Daisy had a habit of casually saying things that shattered his heart. Why did she think he'd be embarrassed? PLZZZZZZ. This fucking series KILLS ME. Daisy is my homegirl, and i will fight anybody who disagrees that she is SUPREME. 🌈Surrender, Ch 11 🪆🥹🧠 -- joel miller x ofc daisy All the fears she’d worked so hard to push away returned, magnified by the memory of Joel’s lips all over her skin. He’d held her and made love to her and kissed her all over and then he left her here alone. He said he needed her, too, and then he left her here. Alone. *screams like an injured pterodactyl*

@bageldaddy

🌈I Know It When I See It, Part 3 🪆🔋😈🥹 -- pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader But growing up a girl meant getting used to the idea that sometimes sex was painful. You’re so used to men moving with violence, with contempt. In real life, so much of fucking felt like hate, it’s not exactly a surprise to find that sometimes the same thing is true in porn. 🌈I Know It When I See It, Part 4 🪆🔋😈🥹 -- pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader the smut in this part is so hot you are guaranteed to feel your heartbeat in your pussy lmao

@chloeangelic

🌈Yes, Father IV 🪆🔋-- Priest!Joel Miller x Priest!Javier Peña x housewife!reader the way he takes her to their bedroom instead of the guest bedroom made me wanna punch a wall what a menace lmao love it 🌈Belong To Me, Chosen 🪆🔋😈🥹 -- Line cook Joel x waitress reader the breeding kink .... DO NOT READ WHILE OVULATION im being so for real when i say that

@softlyspector

🌈Decaf 🪆🥹🧠 -- tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader this whole entire series is so delicate and intricate. i am obvs a huge slut and love smut, but this story doesn't even need it. it's so, so good.

@breakfastatjoels

🌈A Bird in Your Teeth, Epilogue 🪆🥹-- joel miller x f!reader this was the perfect ending to an AMAZING story. plz read this if you haven't already!!!!

@walkintotheriveranddisappear

🌈And His Car Is a Piece of Shit 🪆🥹-- joel miller x fem reader the angst in this one is CHEF'S KISS 🌈Total Satisfaction, from the Comfort of Your Own Home 🪆🔋-- joel miller x afab reader a man that will dick you down with a possessive edge and then do handyman jobs around the house?? sign me the fuck up

@darkroastjoel

🌈A Safe Haven, Ch 8 🪆🥹 -- Joel Miller x Female Reader; Ellie Williams x Platonic Female Reader this is like my all-time fave comfort fic 100%. it's ongoing, but i have read each existing part several times lol

@tieronecrush

🌈Only Angel, Ch 1 🪆-- javier peña x f!reader the whole concept is so good, and i love all the detail! also, the part where she emailed him about a mistake in the syllabus had me fucking rolling. NERD.

@psychedelic-ink

🌈You Hate It That You Love Me 🪆🥹 -- stripper!jack daniels x f!reader this whole series was so angsty and delicious. definitely one you will re-read over and over. 🌈Menuet 🔋😈😈😈🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠 -- animal shapeshifter!pero tovar x f!reader im so fuckin mad at this story. this shit unlocked a new kink for me and fucked with my brain in the process.

@iamskyereads

🌈Compulsion Pt 5 - Initiation 🪆🔋😈🧠 -- EZRA (PROSPECT) X OFC BEATRICE I. AM. OBSESSSED. This fucking fic... I cannot BELIEVE I get to just come on this website and read shit of this caliber FOR FREE?!?!!?! insane

@party-hearses

🌈Relax, Baby 🪆🔋-- joel miller x f!reader if Joel called me princesa id be fucking DONE gone no thoughts 🌈Don't Be a Brat, Baby 🪆🔋-- joel miller x f!reader second part to the above story. such a fun read, and the dialogue is EVERYTHING so cute, sexy at times, playful. just so damn fun to read this!!!

@pascalsbby

🌈The Devil and His Brother, Pt 1 🪆🥹🧠 -- Joel x Tommy x Reader again. we get to read this shit. FOR FREE. my fucking mind cannot wrap itself around that fact. so many fucking talented writers in this fandom. thank you thank you thank you for sharing your brilliant, fun works! this story is a wonderful example of "ordinary people" knocking it out of the fucking PARK with their talent.

@cool-iguana

🌈Acting Out 🔋 😈😈😈-- Din x f! reader “Are you now? You forgot to count, though, cyar’ika. Good girls count. Let’s try again from one, no crying.” His tone dripped with condescension as he began again, practically reveling in each gasp and broken sob that spilled from your lips, taking pleasure in each time you stuttered on a number. this is so horny i love it

@mandoisapunk

🌈Ride, Cowgirl 🔋-- Joel Miller x reader i love the dynamics in their relationship and the comfort of switching it up!

@gracieispunk

🌈Bowling Night 🪆🔋-- Maintenance man!joel x f!reader listen, i am ride or die for reader. she's never done anything wrong in her entire life, and i stand by that lmao.

@toomanystoriessolittletime

🌈Revenge 🔋😈-- Dave York x fem. Reader CUCKING!!!! HELL YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#monthly wrap up

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jungle-angel · 1 year

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Ray of Sunshine (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Your littlest one is the brightest ray of sun

Notes: Part of “Tiny Angel”, some details have been added in but not included in the original

Tagging: @rhettabbotts Shelby, you mad genius, after that last fic I owe you this plus some smut later (lol).

Rhett couldn’t stop watching you leading the little ones through the grass and into the fields, the boys climbing and perching themselves on the fence to watch the cows and the horses grazing. The grass seemed greener than usual, but perhaps it was due to the warm, high noon sun hanging in the perfectly blue skies above.

Hannah, Tatum and Tanner, Kaya, Harvey and Franklin......Rhett didn’t want to imagine a single day without any of them, let alone you. Each one of them and you made your lives like a bright summer day that never ended.

When he looked down at the tiny form cradled against the bare skin of his chest, the tiny little head resting over his sternum and tucked away under the blue, white and pale bronze knit blanket, Rhett laughed a little bit. It wouldn’t be long before Dallas woke up and all too soon, fell back asleep. Rhett stood on the porch, never once tearing his gaze from you or the older kids as he held onto Dallas’s tiny little form, looking right down at him as his squeaks alerted his father to his awakening.

“You’re awake aren’t you?” he chuckled.

Dallas turned his tiny head in, drawing another laugh from Rhett. “You’re a troublemaker through and through buddy,” he said.

He heard the porch door closing behind him a minute later and out came Royal with his field bag slung over one shoulder and the keys to the truck in his hand. “Goin somewhere Dad?”

“Gotta head over to Nona and Russ’s for a couple of hours,” Royal answered. “Cow’s got a calf comin’ and Wes, Nora and the kids are elsewhere.”

Rhett bade his father farewell and watched as the truck pulled away, heading on the road that snaked over the hill to the home of their friends. A squeaky cry suddenly startled Rhett as he felt Dallas’s head turning in again.

“Shhhhh, buddy,” he cooed. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

There was no doubt Rhett would’ve done anything to protect the precious little baby in his arms. Of course he would’ve done the same for the older ones, yet Dallas had been different. Poor baby had been born frighteningly early, abandoned in a box outside the Amelia County Police Precinct and totally abandoned at the hospital where he had been brought by a patrol officer who turned out to be a grade school buddy of Rhett’s. The real shit-kicker had been when said buddy had arrested the horrible parents outside one of the mobile home parks where Royal’s sister lived with her family.

“You’ve been through alot huh?” Rhett murmured. “I know. Daddy’s been through alot too.”

He felt Dallas’s tiny little fingers curling against his skin, his little face scrunching up as he yawned. There was only one thing that could get him to go back to sleep at a time like this.

Rhett switched on the little speaker on the porch table next to the rocker before he lowered himself into the seat, pressing play on his phone and letting the music play as he calmly rocked the little one back to sleep.

“ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You'll never know dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away “

Rhett felt the tears beginning to well in his eyes as the song played from the speaker. Royal’s father, his Grandpa River, sounded almost exactly like Johnny Cash when he sang and even when he spoke. He had taught Rhett every song he knew and could pick a guitar like nobody’s business. Yet those days spent in the jungles during Vietnam had taken a terrible toll on Grandpa River. Rhett had wished now more than ever, that he was here to see his great grandkids.

He was broken from his trance when he heard your feet plodding up the steps, the skirts of your summer dress swaying with the breeze. “How’s he doing?” you asked, kissing your husband’s cheek.

“He’s tired,” Rhett croaked, wiping away a tear from his eye.

“You’ve been listening to that song again haven’t you?”

Rhett nodded and suddenly busted out laughing.

“Rhett Abbott, you are the biggest softie when you’re not riding those ornery bulls,” you chuckled.

You took a seat beside him, watching the kids as they played in the grass, chasing after a butterfly or a rabbit that happened to cross their path. You never saw such a look of pure love on his face as you did now.

And it was all because of the little rays of sunshine that had found their way into your lives.

#outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #lewis pullman #lewis pullman x reader

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thesupreme316 · 1 year

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Is the Grass Greener on the Other Side? Ep. 3

Summary: When Sasha Banks (Mercedes) and Naomi (Trinity) walk out of WWE, where does that leave Y/N?

Word Count: 2.8K

Links to Part 1 and Part 2

May 2022 (Friday after Backlash; 5/13)

“What?”

“We would like you to drop the title to Ronda.”

….

“No.”

….

“What?”

Now…normally you would be the one to agree with others (to avoid conflict) or at least make compromises. But something started to bubble in you a little bit. Ronda, as big as a draw she may be, did not deserve to have your title, especially by just taking it from you. After the emotions, she provoked out of you and the opportunities she stole from you (just by existing), you didn’t understand why you had to be the one who had to take another hit just to make her look good.

“No offense, I normally agree with your visions. But this is not a good idea.” You started with a nervous chuckle. “I literally just won the title and I would like a reign that could really help the division, not only myself but others.”

John started, “Y/N, don’t take this personally-“

“Oh, but I am.” You said, cutting him off. “Every since she’s arrived, she has been given everything; furthermore, at the expense of myself, others, and my career. It’s infuriating that there are other women on both rosters, who actually can wrestle, but have not had many opportunities. She has no interest in getting better or helping others improve.” You paused, looking at the three men who all had guilty expressions on their faces. You sighed before continuing to speak, “Look, I already allowed you and her to make a fool of myself before, and that hindered my growth. I’m not allowing that again.”

Vince cleared his throat, “Y/N, we understand your grievances. But it’s just that Ronda is a big draw-“

“And I’m not?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. Vince quickly shook his head.

“You are! You are one of our biggest draws on the roster, especially for the past years. We don’t have anyone else with enough star power to enter a feud with you besides Ronda.” Vince said. “Becky is on Raw, Charlotte is on hiatus, Bianca is Raw women’s champion, Sasha is tag champ, and Bayley is out due to injury. There is not much star power left to really draw besides Ronda.”

Leaning forward, you said, “Then allow me to give other women a chance. The chances that I never got or that were taken from me. Again, there have been many women who have worked their asses off and have not gotten the recognition yet. Liv is a perfect example, she just needs a good feud to really get her going.” You leaned back in your chair, looking at your title. “I’ll drop the championship, in all due time. But I will not drop it to Ronda.”

There was a tense and awkward silence that filled the atmosphere as you looked Vince McMahon straight in the eye, defying him and what he wants. In hindsight, who the hell was you to be reeling against Vince K. McMahon? But you have always been the reliable worker, the one they can always depend on to give a great show/match, the one the fans fought for to be the face of the division. But for some reason that all went out the door when Ronda entered the picture.

Paul cleared his throat and clapped his hands together, “Okay. Tensions are high and we are not going to make a decision when we are all like this. So, Y/N, thank you for meeting with us. When we can think of an alternative, we will let you know.” You nodded before leaving the room without another word. You wanna trust them to take your words under consideration and try to find something else, for your sake and theirs.

Although you always believed that the women’s division doesn’t get the respect, attention, or hype it deserves, you didn’t always feel this way toward Ronda or Vince. When Ronda first came to the WWE, you welcomed her with open arms and a warm smile, (even though your storyline was booted off Wrestlemania 34 for her).

That’s fine.

As time continued, you offered to help train her and practice with her, but she refused. But she still praised your skills and accomplishments.

That’s fine.

After a while, you had to be put on the back burner because they wanna build her up as a champion and threat. And she was getting paid more than you despite your tenure, draws, and skills.

It took time to get used to it, but that’s fine.

Soon, Ronda went on an Instagram live bashing WWE and professional wrestling, co-workers, dissed you and your cousin, Mercedes (for reasons unknown), and complained about how hard the industry is while working part-time.

That’s not fine.

—Time Skip: 3 Hours—

You found Mercedes and Trinity getting ready for their match. Knowing they’re also going through creative and booking differences, you decided to confine them. Mercedes, who has always been protective of you, instantly was on your side and proud that you stuck up for yourself, especially against Vince. Trinity was also proud of you and happy that you decided to say something before it’s too late.

“Y/N, we understand how you feel, God knows we do. Under-appreciated, overlooked, and all. Honestly, it feels like these championships are just here to hush us.” Trinity said.

“It does.” Mercedes said before turning to you, “We literally had the same meeting with Vince and John earlier about plans for the tag team championships.”

You squinted, “What’s the plan for you?”

“Nothing. They don’t know what they want to do. It’s very limited because they don’t have many actual tag teams left. We tried giving them ideas but they don’t agree with them.”

“So what are you guys thinking about doing?” You asked looking between your two friends.

There was a quick moment of silence before Mercedes spoke up. “We are thinking about leaving WWE.” Immediately, your heart dropped. You didn’t want the two closest people in your life to leave, especially leave you here. At this moment, you were conflicted about how you felt about it. On one hand, it made sense to leave a place that feels like it doesn’t need you. On the other, you are upset that all this drama and conflict lead to this. “Come on, Y/N. At this point, what else do we have? I’m tired of the constant disrespect, not only to me but to you and Trin. And the rest of the locker room.”

Trinity spoke up, “And we’ve been talking this over for almost this entire week. And we also think it might be a suggestion if you leave with us too.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief as Mercedes scoffed, “Y/n! We were just on the same page like two minutes ago.”

“Yeah! But I still have plans that I wanna accomplish here. Every person goes through a rough patch.”

“Sure, but for how long? How long do these rough patches last? When will they stop? Or when will they just give the plans to Ronda, like they always do?” Trinity asked, sitting down next to you.

“Let’s go Y/N. We started this together, so let’s leave together.” Mercedes said, looking straight into your eyes

“But I just can’t up leave, at least now. There is so much I wanna do and have to do.”

“But the question is will they allow you to do that?” You stayed quiet as you evaluated your options. Even if you did, where would you go for your career? You worked pretty much everywhere you wanted to, WWE was the endgame for you. How would your co-workers see you? What about your relationship? Mercedes’ words pulled you out of your thoughts, “Look, even if you don’t leave with us, just know we will support you no matter what. And we just want that same support too.”

“Of course.”

“And promise me you won’t tell anyone about this conversation.”

“Of course.”

—Time Skip: May 20, 2022 (Smackdown)—

It took everything in you not to cringe or allow your anger to show as the announcement was made on national television.

“Sasha and Naomi took the tag team championships into the office of our head of talent relations, they left them there, and then promptly walked out of the arena. Their actions disappointed millions of WWE fans and their fellow superstars. So because of what Sasha and Naomi did this past Monday night, they have been suspended indefinitely.”

Mercedes and Trinity walked out of WWE, to the surprise of everyone, except for you.

Immediately afterward, a huge meeting was called that included the entire locker room, Vince, and John. Essentially, degrading Mercedes and Trinity and their actions (while simultaneously ignoring their emotions). If looks could kill, during that meeting, both you and Vince would have been killed by each other. Social media outlets and that meeting heavily implied you were next for the walkout and that it was you who encouraged them to walk out. Afterward, it’s like you had the bubonic plague with the way everyone was avoiding you. No one interacted with you besides Zelina Vega (who was out on injury), Liv Morgan, and Raquel Rodriguez.

You being Mercedes and Trinity’s friend and the only one of the trio who didn’t walk out, it kind of makes it seems like you’re being punished. On top of the isolation backstage, you’ve been rarely mentioned on broadcasts (even though you are starting a feud with Raquel), and you were pulled from tonight’s and tomorrow’s card. After filming a quick (less than a minute) promo, you decided to leave the arena with the permission of Triple H.

While packing your things, you got a phone call. Without looking at the phone, you answered while sighing, “Hello?”

“Hey sweetheart, I just wanted to check on you with all the news going on.”

“Ugh, it’s getting stressful around here. I wish I could just disappear real quick and come back to everything fixed.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Danny, I genuinely don’t know how to feel or what to do.” You were happy to hear Daniel’s sweet and smooth voice over the phone. For the past month, you and Daniel have been getting closer than how you were for the past four years. You would call and text nearly every day, including when it felt like no one was on your side.

“I don’t know what to tell you. All I can tell you to do is to follow your heart and think about your actions while doing so.”

“Look at you, sounding like a cliche therapist from a Hallmark movie.” You chuckled, making him laugh.

“Shut up, I’m trying to make you feel better, you prick.”

“Well, I greatly appreciate it.”

“No problem! Um, where’s Carmelo? I know he’s there, comforting you.” You could just hear his eyes roll.

“Uh, no. He’s down in Florida right now for NXT. He hasn’t acknowledged me publicly.” That’s right; despite him being your boyfriend, not even Christian interacted with you backstage or out in public. He would text you and call you to check on you; but he did not want to be in public with you, for fear that his career would be messed up. And you honestly couldn’t blame him right now, seeing how the way things are playing out for your life. You don’t want him to be affected by something that has nothing to do with him.

Daniel sighed, “Why do you deal with him?”

“Danny, it’s complicated. But contrary to popular belief, I’m happy with him.” You said.

“But can you picture yourself happier somewhere else? With someone else?” He asked, making your heart leap to your throat.

Sighing, you answered. “Respectfully, that’s a loaded question that I can’t answer right now. Sorry,” Truthfully, it was. You couldn’t answer that question, especially when you can’t even see what your future holds for you in the next couple of weeks. Sure, you’re happy now. But have you always been happy with Christian? Short answer, no. But no relationship is perfect and just like you said with your relationship with WWE, everything has rough patches.

“Understandable, don’t apologize, it was my fault.” He said, making the line go silent; not an awkward silence, but more so a comfortable silence. “Did you still wanna hang out Sunday?”

“Yeah, now that I’m fully off of the card for this weekend, I have free time.” You two confirmed your plans before getting off the phone, even though Daniel wanted to stay on the phone until you got home. Even though you travel the world, you decided to live in New York (to cross off your bucket list and it was just convenient for you). So driving from Smackdown’s arena to your apartment wasn’t far. On your drive home, you were trying to decompress, before your phone decided to ring again. You almost screamed before answering the phone to a vaguely familiar voice.

“Yes, is this Miss. Y/N?”

“Depending on who’s asking.”

“Y/N, this is William Regal.” Your eyes widened as your memory started to flash. Even though he mainly worked with NXT, William Regal always kept an eye out for you. He believed that you are truly one of the best of the bests and tried everything to make sure you were considered for various opportunities. “Miss Y/N, I hope I’m not disturbing you.” His accent rang in your ear.

“Not at all. What do I owe you?”

“I’ll get right to the chase Miss Y/N. I need help training this young fellow. He’s very good in the ring, he just needs a push in certain areas. He’s a rookie, but a damn good one at that. I’m asking you for your expertise.”

“I’m shocked that you would trust me with a big task, Regal.”

“Please, I assume that this is just another little duty of yours. Besides, I don’t trust many people when it comes down to training and practicing, I hope you know that.”

“Regal, it’s an honor that you choose to call me for this. I’ll help you. When and where do you need me?”

You swore, you could hear a smile in his voice. “Great! That’s the thing though, I know this is short notice. But I was hoping you can help tomorrow, the gym is in New York. It shouldn’t be too far from your house, assuming you still live in New York.”

“Yes, I do. Just send me the address and I’ll be over there first thing tomorrow morning.”

Thank you so much Miss Y/N. I’ll send everything right over and tomorrow you will meet the young lad.”

Afterward, you two hung up as you were pulling into your parking spot. After an exhausting day, you just needed to go to sleep.

And that’s exactly what you did.

—Time Skip: Next Day—

It’s around 9 AM, and you immediately got up to put on workout clothes. You grabbed a quick breakfast and left your apartment. As you started to walk to the address Regal gave you, you couldn’t help but feel excited. It feels like another chance is being given to you. But in what way? You don’t know yet. You’re just happy that there is someone who believes in your abilities to help others. After walking for ten minutes, you arrived at the gym and entered to see 3 rings filled with people practicing drills, wrestling moves, and even promo cutting.

In the middle of all the chaos, you saw William with a smile, opening his arms towards you. “Y/N! Wonderful to see you again!” He hugged you before briefly showing you around the gym. While talking to William, you were constantly stopped by other wrestlers or aspiring wrestlers, telling you how much they enjoyed your craft. You could only smile as your heart grew with pride. William soon brought you into the middle ring, explaining the goals and agenda today. “Thank you so much for doing this Miss Y/N. Again, this lad is very gifted but he just needs a push. I’m thinking more variety in his arsenal.”

“I understand.” You chuckled, “So who is he?”

“Oh! He’s a well-oiled machine he is, just like his father. He should be here any moment.” William said looking around. And as if you’re on a sitcom, the door opened seemingly right on time. “Ah! There he is!” You looked over at the door to see a tall man with brown fluffy hair as if he was just woken up. He had a black hoodie on with matching pants and white shoes. He put down his bookbag before entering with you and William. As he got closer, you got a better look at his face. William spoke up with a smile, “Y/N, meet your mentee, Taz’s son...

Hook!”

Taglist: @triscillal @wwenhlimagines @hooks-martin @hookerforhook @sheinthatfandom

#aew #wwe #all elite wrestling #all elite wrestling imagines #daniel garcia #daniel garcia x reader #daniel garcia imagine #aew hook #aew hook x reader #aew hook imagine #aew hook fic #wwe imagines #womens wrestling #mercedes mone #wwe naomi

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greyeyedmonster-18 · 1 year

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(awhile ago, i played an ask game in which i was asked to make a story involve MCD and one of the answers i gave was: postcard from paris.

so...i present, a postcard from paris au. you don't need to read the first fic, just the second chapter and you're good to go.

xoxo)

greener grass (the greenest growing)

part 1: a beautiful day

Remus stood awkwardly in the corner of the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, looking out the open window at the blue skies that were a perfect contrast to the heavy velvet curtains and the mood from inside the house. Glass of wine in his hand, knuckles turning white from gripping the stem so hard, only half hearing Sirius's voice telling him he was an uncultured swine--a barbarian-- for letting his fingers touch the glass.

Remus didn't pretend to have a culture in the first place, glancing down at his feet where his black dress shoes were untied and scuffed on the toe. Suit and tie, dressed in a sort of costume he hadn't wanted to put on that morning before attending the service, caught somewhere at the intersection of denial, disbelief, and dread. He typically loved going to Number 12.

They had spent birthdays and New Year's there, celebrating milestones with joy the way Sirius and Kingsley knew how to do.

Going away parties and promotion parties.

Baby showers and welcome back parties.

And now they were here.

The house was filled with small talk and music from a record player that felt more eerie than ambient. It made Remus's hair stand on edge the way everyone passed along platitudes and placations; it made him roll his eyes when he walked in and saw security scanning people's wands. Death apparently wasn't a big enough occasion to warrant privacy, treating the service and the reception as another charity gala or event of the season. And not something terrible that had happened.

He took a sip of his wine, teeth on edge as a woman's overly shrill laughter rang through the halls.

It should have been Sirius's obnoxious laughter. Not hers.

Remus stepped towards the window, slumping over to rest his forehead on the glass, eyeing the white roses that framed the backyard of Number 12.

"I think he reinforced the glass, so if you're thinking of taking a nose dive..."

Remus pulled his forehead off the window and turned around over his shoulder to the sound of the familiar voice. Familiarity was supposed to bring comfort, or so the saying goes, but it sent knots straight to Remus's stomach.

Though, at this point, his stomach had been in knots for two weeks, what was a few more?

"Looks like I've been thwarted then," Remus murmured, not quite making eye contact with the man in front of him. James gave a half-grin that quickly fell from his face, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his hair.

Nearly 40 and he still had a full head, not a strand of grey in sight. Meanwhile, Remus had bags under his eyes the size of carry-on luggage and more grey hair than he could count.

"How are you doing, Moons?"

"That's a stupid question to ask. How are you?"

James opened his mouth and closed it again, walking into the drawing room after shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, robes hanging over his shoulders. It was strange. James in all black, when normally James took every opportunity to wear bright magenta's and purples.

Yellow's and bright oranges, mirroring a sunset in the sky or extravagant city lights in the night. Remus had once thought James was the Eiffel Tower-- the real fucking thing that was it for him-- only to have the fantasy crumble when James hadn't followed through.

Again.

Leaving Remus waiting and disappointed.

Again.

Not that Remus had put the effort in either...again.

They went around and around, and now James was in black robes, and Remus was holding a wine glass, and they were in the same room for the first time in seven years.

"You're right...stupid question."

"Cheers," Remus raised his glass, finishing the contents in a long gulp.

"Is the wine good at least?"

"Would it be a Black party if it wasn't?"

"Not much of a party."

"That bint from the Ministry with the hat might disagree..."

"Oh, her..." James muttered, shaking his head, looking as if he was about to say something, but he stopped himself again. Remus knew that look--that feeling. He had been wearing it and feeling it for the past two weeks since he got the news.

"Yeah."

"I...I know it's been a while..." Remus snorted, "And I know...we kind of fell apart--"

"You make it sound like an accident."

"Wasn't it?" asked James, "We...were young. Some things work out when you're young, and some things...just don't."

"I don't think that changes because we're older..." Remus finally met James's eyes, hazel sending him straight back to their best friend's wedding.

“I told you we’re not doing this.”

"Doing what?" James asked hands paused on the belt buckle of Remus's trousers, identical robes already shed behind them in the bedroom of Sirius's villa in France, bottle of champagne on the dresser.

"This! What we always do!It's so fucking stupid. We pretend its forever and then it ends the same. You leaving for work, and then we write letters for another two weeks and promise to floo and visit and you send me postcards and pictures but we never end up meeting until there’s some…function. And that's what happens, every single fucking time. When Sirius moved out, when Sirius got engaged, now he's married and unless he gets married again, I don't know when the hell I'm going to see you!"

It wasn't a wedding.

"This isn't a wedding," Remus told him.

"I know," James swallowed, "I don't know how I'll get through it wit--"

"Dad-- there you are!" a third voice came and this time both Remus and James turned around to greet it, "Why are you two being all dodgy by the window?" Harry asked, adjusting the glasses on his face.

It was cruel torture, the way Harry had grown up to look so much like his father and haunted the halls of Hogwarts for Remus. The privilege of watching Harry grow tainted by memories of his father and what if's from when Harry was younger.

"Were you looking for me, Haz?" James asked a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, we're kicking people out now, Mum says we can do it but someone needs to go sit with--"

"Sure," James nodded and inclined his head toward Remus. They easily fell into step again, as they left the safety of the drawing room. Side by side, one foot after another, a single unit, but it never stayed like that for long. They walked through the hall, Remus listening to Harry and Lily move people out the front door.

Thank you for coming.

It means so much.

"He didn't even like half these fucking twats..." James muttered under his breath.

"Don't need to tell me that..."

"Good."

The casserole was delicious.

"It tasted like feet," remarked Remus and James coughed out a laugh, just before they came to the sitting room.

A casket in the middle of the room, white roses around the base.

Vacated chairs.

Velvet curtains wide open

And Sirius sitting on the edge of the couch, head in his hands now that the room had cleared out, fingers frantically combing through his hair over and over again.

Ordinarily, Remus would've made a joke about how he was going to go bald.

But it didn't seem like the time.

"Habibi," James said gently, sitting next to Sirius on the couch and pulling hands out of his hair to hold them instead, "Did you have the feet casserole?"

Apparently it was the time.

"Feet casserole?" Sirius responded quietly, still staring down at the ground. "I think its technical name is Widower casserole."

"Mmmm no, I'm pretty sure its feet," James corrected, turning his head to look at Remus, "Remus had some."

We make a good team, Moons.

"A whole big toe," Remus nodded, before taking a breath and crossing to the other side of Sirius, "Budge over, where are your manners?"

"In my husband's casket, I think..."

"I'll put mine in there too," Remus agreed.

"You didn't have any to begin with," Sirius retorted and nudged Remus lightly with his shoulder.

They were three again.

James.

Sirius.

Remus.

On a couch.

Blue skies behind their heads.

James hands holding onto to Sirius so he wouldn't slip away.

Life lines.

"We have a week. To sit here...and...be with him one last time..." Sirius said softly, lifting his head up from the ground, and staring at the casket instead. His jaw was tight, muscles in his hands flexing over and over again against James's. "You think that'll do it?"

"Do...what?" asked Remus

"Help this feel less shitty?"

"No," Remus said bluntly, leaning back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling. He felt two more thumps against the cushions in succession, seeing Sirius and James from his peripherals looking up all the same.

"But its...a beautiful day," James continued, "And...we're here."

Remus didn't have to look down to know it was James's hand on top of his knee.

Remus didn't even have to wait for the wine to kick in to know he would be absolutely fucked, once again, in ruins and shambles by the end of the week. It didn't matter that it was a funeral. It didn't matter that Remus had told himself he was too old to me making the mistakes of a twenty year old; thirty year old.

James's hand gave his knee a squeeze. An electric shock through his body, and Remus closed his eyes.

Here we go again.

#greener grass #moonchaser #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #part 1 of three #cw: mcd mention #cw: grief #cw: death #grief and mourning rituals!!!

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gaymars97 · 11 months

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Well after long enough here’s part two of Eridian Overrun (borderlands 3 spoilers ahead)

EO part one

This episode’s topic is

*drumrolls*

The fight for sanctuary plant gas (ft. Salvador and Krieg) + some developpement on Sally boy and Mr. Meatman

The plant gas

So I’ll try to summarize as much as I can, but basically, EO adds interesting features to the gas. Ya see, the antidote doesn’t rid you of the gas. It simply slows it down ALOT. Also, every time you go in the gas, a small quantity of it stays in your organism.

Now if you take those things and merge ‘em together, you get what I call « overexposure » Basically, if you accumulate too much gas, yet are still immune, you will enter a state of slow mutation. It is caused by the contact of this absorbed gas with pandoran spores. Overexposure can only stop by leaving the pandoran atmosphere, and therefore cutting contact with those spores.

There can be some other conditions that make you develop overexposure:

Big, but non lethal contact with the gas without having the antidote in a short span of time (ex.: Vaungh)

Going trough the early phases of infection before getting the antidote (ex.: Mordecai)

Being exposed to a big quantity of the gas with a underdose of antidote (ex.: Hector boss fight)

At first, the only symptoms are a greener taint to the blood, amplified gas boost and increased muscular strength. At this stade, the mutations can be completely reversed by cutting off contact with the spores quickly enough. Staying long enough out of pandora will rid you completely of the gas, and therefore, of overexposure. An example of this state are the vh2 by the end of FFS.

However, if some time has passed since the beginning of the mutations and you’re still on Pandora, then that’s where the real stuff begins. First of all, later stages mutations cannot be reversed, as they are too significant. However, it is still possible to stop the progress by leaving Pandora. Those mutations are: Apparition of plant spikes on the body (mostly the arms), green hands with claws, pointy teeth and first stage symptoms being further increased. Examples of this are Salvador, Krieg and Vaungh

Eventually, on extreme cases, you might grow plant limbs, but so far the only known example is the Hector boss fight

Salvador

After FFS, Salvador stayed for a bit on pandora (around a year or two) to just, yaknow, keep killing bad guys. After that, he took a little break from pandora, on Tannis’s doctor order. Later, he went back to Pandora. At some point, like a few months before the EO present (3y after bl3), Vaungh found him and invited him to the sun smashers. I know it’s not much clear, but the little drawing on the left top corner is his SS logo. Yeah they have logos like B team now. Also, SS is in an alliance with the raiders.

Krieg

So for context, PKATFF still happens (because Maya isn’t dead, it’s a bit different but it still happens.) and yk there’s still the god tier ending. Krieg stays a few months in the cave starting to fix himself. After that, with pretty good progress done, he starts thinking of other ways to help himself. Thinking about the raiders makes him realize that he can’t be alone anymore. He goes back on SANC.-3 to see his friends (and pretty lady 🫶) again. Sane Krieg’s goal isn’t rlly to get rid of psycho Krieg anymore, but to get a more shared control over the system. P Krieg still has the most control, but S Krieg can front sometimes now. He even got to see his face really recently. It’s was a pretty moving moment. Also, he kinda becomes a dad to Ava because Maya is like a mom to Ava (hehe fambly)

Oh and I know the arm in the drawing doesn’t look like Sally’s or Krieg’s and that’s because it isn’t.

« Then whose arm is it? » Good question.

#this is my fav part of the au along with PL scars #i just think it would be funny if like Vaungh Salvador and Vic hung out on pandora #three stupid bandits who blow up heads togheter #and yes SS - Raiders alliance = Salvador being in contact with them #look that man was criminally left in the dust by the fandom #bring back the angry short man y’all ☹️#also psyren canon #borderlands #krieg the psycho #salvador the gunzerker #borderlands au #borderlands rewrite au #au: eo #my post #au: Eridian Overrun

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 1 year

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Hi BMT! I'm a taekooker. I know it sounds like it's going to be bad, but hear me out.

I started supporting taekook because I couldn't choose a bias in bts. So it was taekook. And then I discovered the actual taekook Fandom and I just? Wow? And like I understand. I get the fantasy where you don't want your idol to end up with a female that's not you. So you ship them together. And I'm a taekooker. But taekookers really have gone too far.

Recently I've been seeing these edits on YouTube. Overanalysing JK's playlist (something about him listening to this gay artist? Means he's gay?) And then the thing with Tae's twitter post just.

So get this, they say that this is definitely proof. Like them supporting the LGBTQ community means they're gay and in love. And I just. I guess I wanted to out it out there? Somehow? The fact that just because they support LGBTQ doesn't mean they're gay.

And at one point, I thought taekook was real cause of all the overanalysing (that was a real low point). But now I just think we're all delusional. Mostly the taekookers.

I mean, what if they're all just normal bros who maybe flirt sometimes. I know, I know. Highly unlikely. BUT maybe. What if. You know? What if we're just seeing things that aren't there?

ALSO ALSO on another note. Yoongi in the recent Run BTS dance video just. Pure freaking art.

Hi there!

It's funny, I know someone who had a similar dilemma when she first discovered BTS. She liked both Tae and Jungkook, but she couldn't pick one and I told her there's no need to choose 😄 No one imposes a limit. But her direction into the fandom was different cause she liked them separately and at some point, the Wooga squad became more interesting. And then she left kpop and moved on to greener pastures. Would I call her a taekooker because those two were her biases? Yes and no. I do think that an affiliation to a ship can be used when someone likes the ship, be it in a friendship/dynamic sense or romantic.

I appreciate you sending me this ask. It was interesting to read about your journey and how you see your two biases. Despite the problematic things taekookers do (including today with the tagging of nsfw art to friends of Tae), they also do engage in the same practices as any other shippers, from the youtube analysis, to the playlist analysis from which they draw conclusions towards the guys' sexual orientation. The methods are all the same, the story and content is different. I see this happening everywhere. I personally like JM and JK, but you can imagine how I rolled my eyes when I saw jikookers saying Jungkook's music must be related to missing Jimin because he was away or in the hospital. It's a reach, specifically when the arguments are based on such little "evidence" that is mostly based on speculation.

The thing that separates shippers are the big narratives they construct, while at the same time they have similarities due to the methods I mentioned above.

Not everything is an evidence for something else, not everything is a sign, not every time they hang out together must be a date, etc., especially when it's not used contextually. I think that's the main problem I see, which you pointed out as well.

Of course the possibility of just seeing things that are not there is quite high, simply because, as fans, we don't have access to their entire life. We only know what they allow us access to know. So, that should be kept in mind.

And on a last note, I think Yoongi biased wrecked everyone this year. I love his glow-up. Not that Yoongi didn't always make victims wanting to either marry him or sue him, but there's something else here. I can't pin point it, but I love it. He's feeling himself, more carefree, more in tune with his fashion style. And that hair 🥵

#bmt asks #taekook #taekook ship #bts ships #bts ships narratives

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5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 1 year

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Barista Masterlist

All I Want For Christmas (Is You) (ao3) - onceuponatime michael/luke E, 11k

Summary: "The little bell clings above the door when he pushes it open, and he stamps his feet on the welcome mat to rid any clumps of snow that may have stuck to his shoes. The place is completely empty, not even anyone behind the counter, and he wonders for a second if they’re even open when there’s a small crash and a ‘fuck’ from somewhere in the back.

Michael chuckles to himself and unzips his jacket. He knows the cause of that racket. “You okay back there?” he shouts, leaning over the counter to try and see into the storage room."

A Rose By Any Other Name (ao3) - moonbands michael/calum G, 2k

Summary: Calum's life as a college student with the low-paying job of coffee shop barista would be so much easier if people like Michael didn't come into his coffee shop.

Coffee Shop Soundtrack(ao3) - FayeHunter luke/ashton G, 1k

Summary: Luke just wishes the barista would stop writing terrible pick up lines on the coffee sleeve and ask him out already

coffee shop soundtrack (ao3) - malumqt (bunwuji) michael/calum, luke/ashton N/R, 2k

Summary: "You do know there's a sign outside saying that you're gay and single, yeah?"

aka the one where michael is a shy cutie, calum is a chill dude, lashton is lashtoning, and also calum happens to save michael from dealing with a homophobic person.

Doubtful Heart, Foolish Love (ao3) - valiantnerd (arareads) luke/ashton M, 18k

Summary: Cameron left their sheets smelling like foreign flowers every other day, not even extending Ashton the kindness of showering between beds and Ashton doesn’t know if it was the mistress who created the cracks in his relationship or if she just sneaked between them and then left neon signs pointing at them; but neither of the options make it better.

Ashton’s absent lover ruins their relationship by seeking greener pastures, leaving him devastated. Luke, the barista who becomes his unlikely ally, helps him find greener pastures for himself.

Got My Heartbeat Skipping (ao3) - galacticsugar calum/ashton G, 1k

Summary: Calum still remembers the first time he came in, probably six months ago. He showed up two minutes after Calum unlocked the door and had greeted Calum with an enthusiastic "good morning!" as he stepped into the shop. It was confusing to Calum that anyone could be that alert at 6am without having had their coffee yet.

Hey boy, stop pacing around the room (ao3) - Extras0fts michael/calum, luke/ashton G, 2k

Summary: Michael read the name written on his coffee cup. He sighed, cringing at the misspelling of his own simple name. In messy handwriting, 'Meekle' was scrawled along the side of the cup. He shrugged before taking his coffee and leaving for his next class while daydreaming about the clumsy barista boy.

Or the story where Calum is a clumsy barista who always gets his crush's order wrong.

Home is just a feeling, after all (ao3) - Aston (orphan_account) michael/calum T, 11k

Summary: Luke is a new barista at a coffee shop in town. This is exactly how he meets Ashton, Michael, and Calum.

I’ve Got The Recipe (ao3) - FayeHunter michael/luke T, 4k

Summary: Michael keeps going back to the same coffee shop and no, it has nothing to do with the cute barista.Or 3 times Michael went to Luke’s coffee shop to see him and 1 time Luke visited Michael at his job

like a bursting sunrise (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 2k

Summary: Luke holds out his free hand, and Calum shakes it. Of course his hands are exactly as soft as they look. Calum starts to resent the limitations of visual art. How is he meant to convey the soft hands, the twinkling eyes, the deep and mellifluous laugh? With an HB pencil?

“I’m gonna go make your coffee,” says Luke, and with that he walks away. Calum watches him go and resents the fact that drawing Luke’s face means he can’t draw Luke’s back. Art is highly overrated.

(Or: Calum's an artist, Luke's a barista, you know the drill.)

Nothing In The World Can Buy (ao3) - Maluminspace michael/luke N/R, 2k

Summary: Anyone else would probably perceive Luke as arrogant but Michael sees past the office worker’s facade. Luke’s cocky smile and remarks are nothing more than a misplaced attempt to keep his true self hidden, Michael knows this because he’s been guilty of doing the exact same thing in the past.

“Ah you forgive him, don’t you, Mikey?” Calum smirks, quirking his eyebrows as he takes the boxes and turns to take them over to the counter where they’re kept.

“Ignore him...” Michael scoffs as he steps towards the till. “What can I get for you today?” He asks, trying desperately not to imagine just how red his cheeks are right now.

The smirk is still lingering on Luke’s lips as he hands Michael a piece of paper with a long list of names and coffees written on it. “Sorry, it’s an extra complicated today.” He shrugs. “Everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit so pretty much all of them want some festive flavour in their coffee this morning.”

Michael scans the list quickly, internally sighing at how long it will take to make everything that’s written on it. Just before he starts the mammoth task, he realises something. “Your order isn’t on here...” He frowns, returning his gaze to Luke.

Shaking and Waiting For Something More (ao3) - FayeHunter luke/calum T, 2k

Summary: Luke really likes the barista at their local coffee shop but he’s too nervous to do anything about it.

thought i had you in the palm of my hand (ao3) - lastrealdreamer michael/luke, calum/ofc G, 9k

Summary: an au where luke runs away from his feelings, michael works as a barista, ashton is the somewhat helpful roommate, and calum only shows up at the last minute.

we can watch the snow fall forever and ever (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/calum, michael/ashton G, 11k

Summary: “Here, you got the last one. Enjoy,” Luke smiles, handing Calum the bag over the register. Calum’s eyes light up, taking the wrapped pastry from Luke. “I thought you said you were all out of everything?” Calum asks, tilting his head to the side.

“I’m full of surprises,” Luke quips, biting at his lip.

Or, Luke and Ashton open a coffee shop, and Calum is Luke's favorite customer

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #au #coffee shop #barista #barista masterlist #masterlists #work

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vihilum · 2 years

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@fyrbol [ continued from here. ]

The entrails of boyhood were strewn about Camp Crystal Lake. He would never return to fetch every shard of himself lost. Some were gone and buried. Some were at the bottom of the water. Tommy’s intent in going back circulated around thoughts of revenge. He would only ever go if he had a reason to burn it all down. He wouldn’t find himself there with no purpose. What remained was no longer his. Those memories, they belonged to someone else.

“The grass isn’t greener,” on either side is the admission he wants to utter, but those words die too. Not for anyone, Tommy understood that Lucas knew that too.

“Me?”

Hues downcast from Lucas’, his gaze followed the beam coming from the flashlight, bathing the path ahead in a dim glow. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time,” his voice is soft, so soft, there’s a crack he tries to hide in the quiet, hide from Lucas, hide from himself, the thoughts he tries to snuff out, like that part of the world will never pass him by. He won’t get there. “So I don’t think so,” Tommy had been so fixated on taking things day by day, he never lived in the moment. It was bleak, and his hand rose to squeeze the other’s shoulder as his step slowed beside him.

“There can’t be light everywhere, or it would…” oversaturate everything, he trails off, and he looks back towards his friend, his walk stops, “there can only be pieces, for us to know that it’s real,” that it can be found, “I know I can be happy, I know you can be happy,” when he addresses Lucas, Tommy sounds like he believes it a lot more, “I don’t know when,” he can’t make that promise, “but…”

They’re surrounded by dark, save for the sliver of a shimmer cutting through the wood. From above ground. Tommy’s eyes draw to it, and he points it out to Lucas. A smile brimming with the sight of a small miracle. “Good things, Lucas, good things on the way.”

#threads: tommy jarvis.#fyrbol #dynamic: tommy x lucas.#the gang gets existential...#now i'm depressed

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kjmsupremacist · 2 years

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The Bucket List (doyoung/taeyong)

Doyoung’s always been a bit depressed, but this last year has really put him through the wringer and he’s been pretty suicidal. So his therapist cuts him a deal. Make a bucket list. A real, actual bucket list, of all the things he wants to experience, and then do everything on that list. If, at the end of the list, he still wants to kill himself, then they’ll go from there. His therapist has a feeling that won’t be the case. Doyoung would beg to differ, but he plays along anyway. And then he meets Taeyong, who finds out about the bucket list and makes it his mission to help Doyoung fall in love with being alive again.

Chapter 7: List Item Six: Doyoung Watches the Sky Break Open | prev next mlist

Characters: Doyoung, Taeyong; misc family members

Genre: heavy angst, eventual romance, slow burn, hurt/comfort, college!au

Pairing: Doyoung/Taeyong

Warnings: detailed discussions of suicide, depression, self harm, mental illness; homophobia, bullying, family dysfunction. heavy heavy shit.

Rating: Teen & Up

Length: 5.1k

This work is very heavy, and potentially triggering. There are serious, lengthy, and often detailed discussions of bullying, homophobia, mental illness, self-harm, and suicide. Please proceed with caution.

taglist: @pastelsicheng @doiefy @lebrookestore

you can listen to the official playlist here!

Taeyong invites Doyoung over for the thunderstorm. His mom cooks them dinner while they watch out the windows as the world turns greener and greener, clouds churning thick overhead. Taeyong’s dad and sister are playing chess at the table. Ruby is making the rounds, seeking affection from anyone who has a free hand.

And it’s good. Doyoung’s chest feels warm, for the first time in—maybe forever. He and Taeyong are playing cards, and the house smells like frying garlic.

Maybe Doyoung doesn’t ever have to tell Taeyong everything. Maybe he can just bury it, and move on like that. Maybe this can be enough—a house that feels like home, and Taeyong smiling at him as he lays down a winning hand in a neat fan between them. Doyoung doesn’t even mind that he’s lost every round.

Dinner is relaxed and easy. It’s a simple meal—just rice and tofu stew with some meat on the side—and Taeyong’s mother insists on giving Doyoung the first helping.

“When do you head back to school, Doyoung?” Taeyong’s father asks.

“Couple of weeks,” Doyoung says.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

Doyoung’s not sure how to answer. His sadness still sits like a stone in his stomach. He’s not sure if he will go back—or if he does, what he’ll do when he gets there. He kind of wants to stay in today, forever. He’d be okay with living, he thinks, if he could do that.

“Uh,” he says. “Kind of? It’ll suck to have Taeyong so far away, though.”

“I’ll be here for break,” Taeyong says. “Will you?”

“I think so,” Doyoung says. “But still.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees. “Maybe it’s better, though. Our time together will never be sullied by the horrors of school.”

Everyone laughs softly. “Is it all horror?” Taeyong’s sister asks. “I dunno, college has been fun for me.”

“That’s because you’re smarter than me,” Taeyong says. “It’s easy for you.”

“Hey,” Taeyong’s mom says. “It’s starting to rain, you boys better finish up and get out there.”

“Oh, fuck,” Taeyong says, scooping a huge mouthful of rice into his mouth. “C’mon,” he says to Doyoung, barely coherent through his food. Doyoung can’t reply; he’s busy chugging his soup.

They put on flip flops, shorts, and old t-shirts, and then sprint out into the backyard, careful to close the door behind them as fast as they can so the rain doesn’t get in the house.

Taeyong tilts his head back, opening his mouth to catch the rain, and Doyoung realizes he’s laughing; he can barely hear it over the sound of the storm. They see a flash of lightning; both of them yelp in delight, and then wait a few long seconds for the thunder.

Doyoung runs his hands through his hair, pushing the water off his face and drawing in a huge breath. The air is earthy and damp.

Taeyong pushes him lightly with a flat palm, giggling out, “Tag!“ before sprinting across the yard.

Doyoung springs into action, letting out a short indignant yell and chasing after him, almost slipping in the mud forming beneath his feet. The rain pelts down around them as Doyoung chases Taeyong in circles around the yard, whooping out laughter as he tags him back and immediately switches direction, exhilaration making his heart pound.

Lightning flashes, and it feels like a switch flips inside Doyoung. Dread washes over him, then shame that comes with faint nausea. He stumbles, chest tight, and Taeyong almost runs straight into him. He barely feels it, too focused on trying to breathe, trying to think about anything but that, anything—

“Ta—hey, are you okay?” Taeyong freezes, hand on Doyoung’s back, as Doyoung curls into himself, as his laughter turns into sobbing, as he drops into a crouch. Taeyong drops with him, shielding him from view of the back door.

Taeyong lets Doyoung cry, rubbing his back silently. After a few moments, when Doyoung’s not heaving so bad, he speaks up. “Doyoung-ah,” he says softly. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

Doyoung shakes his head, pressing his lips together. But Taeyong’s hand is warm, his voice gentle, and something inside Doyoung cracks. What does it matter? He’ll be gone soon, anyway, because this little experiment didn’t work, because nothing is ever going to work, because things like this are always too big to keep secret and always too big to get over, and Doyoung is always going to feel like this. No matter what. No matter who tries to save him.

And besides, Doyoung can’t stand lying to him anymore. Taeyong, of all people, deserves to know the truth.

“It was my fault,” Doyoung says quietly, breath shaking through the tears. “Everyone says it wasn’t, but I should’ve—I should’ve known, I shouldn’t have stayed in my room when he left, I should’ve told him I loved him.” Taeyong is silent, waiting. “I had a brother, Taeyong. I had a big brother, and he killed himself, and it was my fault.”

“Oh.” Taeyong is quiet for a minute; Doyoung can’t blame him for being shocked. “How did it happen?” he finally asks. His voice is still gentle, hand still warm. He’s not asking because he wants to know. He’s asking because he knows Doyoung needs to tell him.

Doyoung sits. He hardly feels the wet of the grass beneath him; his pants were soaked through long ago, seconds after they first stepped outside. “He always went back to school earlier. He had cross country. We were fighting that summer, fighting really bad, and so when he left for school I didn’t come down to say goodbye.

“A week later, he was dead.” Doyoung looks up at Taeyong. “He hanged himself from the rafters in the attic of one of his friends’ frats. They didn’t find him for a whole day. He was alone that whole time. And I should’ve known. I should’ve—he wasn’t himself that summer. He was less, it was like he’d given up. I knew his grades were slipping, I knew he was stressed, I knew he wasn’t happy. I shouldn’t have fought with him.” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “And I’m never going to be able to move on because I fucking see his ghost every time I look in the mirror and I can’t stop thinking about how much I miss him and how I fucking hate him, and I hate myself and I want it all to be over, because I can’t be happy, because every time I start to feel better I end up feeling worse! How can I be happy when he was perfect and he couldn’t even be happy, how dare I be happy when I’m my parents’ walking reminder of what happened and what we lost every single fucking day—”

Taeyong is kneeling; he wraps his arms around Doyoung’s shoulders, covering his body with his own. “It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs. “How could it be your fault?” Doyoung just shakes his head. “Doyoung, you don’t owe it to him—or anybody else—to be unhappy for the rest of your life.”

Doyoung wrenches away, livid. “Don’t you dare say he wouldn’t want me to be, you didn’t know him, you never knew him! I knew him better than anybody, even our parents, and I’m sick and tired of people telling me what he wouldn’t have wanted when they didn’t fucking know him! I fucking knew him, that’s why I should’ve known. I’m sick of being told that time will heal it and I’m sick of being congratulated for being so strong and resilient! I don’t want to be strong and resilient, I don’t want to have to be, I just want to be happy without feeling like shit for it, but I don’t know how and I don’t think I ever will!”

He pauses for breath, chest heaving, waiting for Taeyong to pull away, to wither down and whisper an apology and leave him. Good, he thinks. That way he won’t miss me. He’ll know what kind of miserable fucking person I am, and he won’t miss me when I’m gone.

But Taeyong doesn’t do that, because of course he doesn’t, because he’s Taeyong and he’ll keep on caring if it kills him. “Doyoung,” he says, reaching a hand out, palm-up, an offering. “I wasn’t gonna say that. You’re right, I didn’t know him.” He shrugs. “I have no idea what he would or wouldn’t have wanted. You shouldn’t be happy for his sake. What good will that do? He’s dead.” Taeyong tilts his head. “Be happy because you want to be.”

Somehow, this makes Doyoung crumble. He curls over his knees and sobs, and Taeyong’s arms are around him again, warm and safe. He thinks Taeyong’s saying it’s okay, but he can’t hear him over the sound of his own crying and the rain still pouring down around them.

“I’m so tired,” he manages after a minute. “I’m so tired, Taeyong, I’m tired, and I’m at the end of my fucking rope, the rope that you gave me, and—” He raises his head, takes hold of one of Taeyong’s forearms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “You tried so hard, and—”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Taeyong interrupts, shaking his head. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You don’t have to stay for me, okay? I’m not going to tell you to stay, that’s not my decision to make. It’s yours, and if you want to go, that’s okay.” He leans close, knocks their foreheads together, wet hair to wet hair. “It’s okay,” he repeats. Doyoung closes his eyes, silent sobs still wracking his body. Taeyong doesn’t pull away. “It’s okay. It’s been difficult for you, and you tried really hard. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Doyoung says anyway. “I’m still sorry.”

Somehow, Taeyong gets them on their feet. Somehow, he brings them inside, offers a quick explanation to his parents. Somehow, he takes Doyoung into the bathroom. Somehow, he finds a towel, dries him off, runs him a hot shower. Somehow, Doyoung’s pajamas, packed this morning without any knowledge of what the day would bring, are waiting for him when he’s done. Somehow, Taeyong’s room is already dimly lit and ready for sleep, pillows for both of them and a duvet pushed back.

Doyoung sits on the bed, toweling off his hair, until Taeyong comes in from his shower, holding two mugs of tea.

“It’s chamomile,” is all he says when he hands one to Doyoung. “I added extra honey.”

“Thank you,” Doyoung says.

“Drink it and then sleep,” Taeyong tells him. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, alright? And don’t say sorry,” he adds before Doyoung can even open his mouth. “You don’t have to apologize to me. Not about things like this. Never about things like this. You’re here because I want you here.”

“Thank you,” Doyoung repeats instead, taking a sip of the tea.

“Of course,” Taeyong replies.

; ; ;

When Doyoung wakes, he feels heavy. Maybe it’s from the thorough drenching the evening before, but his limbs feel impossible to move out of the comfort of the bed.

But Taeyong isn’t beside him, and he smells breakfast faintly. He’s a guest here, anyway. He wouldn’t want to overstay his welcome.

So he swings his legs over the side of the bed, pushing the covers back, and slips onto the floor. Warm light, muted by Taeyong’s old curtains, has found its way into the room. There’s no sign of the clouds from yesterday; today will be bright and scorching in the wake of the storm. The light does little to comfort Doyoung, but it does do a little.

He makes his way into the kitchen, where Taeyong is frying bacon. “Good morning,” he ventures, and finds his voice raw.

Taeyong looks up. “Morning,” he says softly. “They’re out—my parents and sister. Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Doyoung says, and lets Taeyong bring him a cup.

They’re silent as Taeyong finishes making their breakfasts, Doyoung at the table letting his coffee cool between his hands. They’re silent as Taeyong brings their plates over, silent as they take their first bites.

“So…” Taeyong finally says, watching Doyoung push his eggs around with his fork. “That’s it, right? You go back to your therapist and tell her it didn’t work?”

Doyoung thinks about the list, the full list. He thinks about the real last item. Fall in love? He thinks about Taeyong’s hands warm on his back. He thinks about Taeyong quizzing him on the stars, Taeyong laughing out at the open sea. Taeyong handing him a mug of tea just the night before. Taeyong telling him he’s a good person. Taeyong telling him he doesn’t have to stay.

“Yeah,” he says, belatedly. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Taeyong nods slowly, pauses a beat before continuing. “Is it okay if I ask?” he says, hesitant. “About your brother?”

“Sure,” Doyoung agrees, and then stuffs a bite of eggs in his mouth before he can say anything else.

“What was his name?” Taeyong asks.

Doyoung blinks. It’s such a simple question. There’s so much Taeyong doesn’t know about him because he knew if he started talking about it, everything would change. It kept him safe, but now there’s a huge hole in his relationship with Taeyong—Taeyong, who’s supposed to be his closest friend.

“Donghyun,” Doyoung says, “but just like me, no one ever called him that. He went by Gongmyung instead. The only people that ever used our real names other than our mother were us—me and him, when we were alone.” Doyoung keeps his eyes fixed on his plate.

“How’d he get that name?” Taeyong asks evenly.

“I don’t even remember,” Doyoung says. “It was when we were really young, like middle school or something. His friends started calling him Gongmyung, and it stuck. When he got to college, people were surprised to find out his real name.” He falters. “Sometimes, I wondered if he asked his friends to call him that to distance himself from me.”

“Why would you think that?” Taeyong’s tone is half curiosity, half sympathy.

“I was always the odd one out,” Doyoung says. “He… he tried, but he was only two years older than me. At home, it was fine, mostly, but I always embarrassed him. He wasn’t like me, he…” He trails off, not really sure if he should finish the sentence. Why bother Taeyong with it?

But Taeyong presses, “What was he like?”

Doyoung takes a deep breath, thinking about how to explain. How do you describe a person so close and so important, to someone who can never meet them? “When our parents made us split treats, he would always give me the bigger piece,” he says finally. “He was the one who picked out my splinters, you know. When we got older, he would drink with me when we weren’t supposed to and stay up late with me when I was sad. He was… the only person who said, ‘I love you,’ to me and I felt like they would always mean it. And he was so smart, and so popular. He was perfect.” Doyoung stares at his watery reflection in his coffee cup. “I always thought, you know, I’d probably never live up to him. And…” He presses his lips together. “And now I know I never will.

“That’s the thing, he was always better than me. He got good grades, he was sociable, kind; fucking normal. He’d always gotten along with his classmates. His teachers loved him. He was intelligent and he did sports and he played, like, three instruments, and he was everything I wasn’t.” Doyoung draws his lower lip into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth until it hurts. “He was a good big brother. He took care of me, quietly. And still I resented him because I knew my parents wanted me to be like him and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. And now he’s gone, and I know in the back of their minds somewhere, they wish it had been me and not him, and I can’t really blame them because they’re right. It should’ve been me. I wish it had been.”

He shakes himself. “And I dunno, my parents… they’re never going to recover from it, not really. I have spent so much of my time promising them that it wasn’t because of the way they raised us—pushing us to excel, punishing us when we couldn’t achieve perfection—even though it did cause it, kind of, only that’s not fair; only it didn’t, really; only how can I say that to them, you know? What good would it do? It wouldn’t bring him back.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung,” Taeyong says gently.

Doyoung tears his gaze up, trying to meet Taeyong’s eyes, trying to keep steady. “Next week it’ll be one year. One year without him, and I’m so fucking angry because everything has changed since that day and there’s no going back. My parents—my parents can barely even look at me still, and I have to do everything alone. I have to do it alone, and it’s not fair.”

Taeyong doesn’t say anything, just reaches out across the table and runs his thumb over Doyoung’s knuckles, a silent comfort, a silent invitation to keep going. Doyoung swallows really hard, blinking the tears back. He doesn’t want to cry anymore. “He was supposed to graduate last May. He was supposed to graduate and go to law school. And now when I graduate, I’ll be a year older than he was when he died. Almost two years. And I don’t—I don’t want to be, I don’t want to do it without him. I miss him.” The tears threaten again, along with a sick push at the back of Doyoung’s throat. “I really miss him, and it’s all I can ever think, all I can ever say. I still can’t believe I’ll never see him again. Some days—”

He takes another deep breath. “Some days I’ll dream about him and it’s like my mind is trying to fix the grief and it’s so fucking real, and we talk and laugh like we did when we were kids, and we play his favorite video game or something and then I wake up and realize it wasn’t real, and it’s the cruelest thing in a whole world because I miss him so much it gives me a fucking stomachache.”

“Of course you do,” Taeyong says.

“And the worst part is, this horrible kind of anger has found its way into the grief.” Doyoung frowns at the table. “I was angry at him when he left for school and angry at him after I found out he died. I was angry at him for being better than me at everything, even at being fucking depressed, and I was angry at him for leaving me behind to deal with it alone. And I think that’s the real reason I’m going to go to hell, because how dare I? I wish—“ A tear slips through; Doyoung uses the hand not currently being held hostage by Taeyong to swipe it away. “I wish I was better. I wish I had done something, I wish I had known. I would’ve—I would’ve stopped him, I dunno. I would’ve stopped him, or I would’ve held his hand and hanged myself with him. Either way things would be different. But I didn’t, and now I’m here. And I think I’m going to be here forever. And I’ve just kind of been living because nothing mattered anyway, but I don’t know how much longer I can do that.”

Taeyong is silent for a moment. Doyoung half expects him to say something like, but if you had killed yourself, then we would’ve never met, but he doesn’t. He just kind of nods for a few seconds. “I really am so sorry, Doyoung,” he says finally. “I’m so sorry for your loss. There is absolutely nothing I can say that will comfort you. I’m trying anyway. It’s not fair, none of it.”

“I know,” Doyoung says. “It’s enough that you’re trying.” He nudges Taeyong’s hand. “I meant it, yesterday. I am sorry about all of this. I should’ve never—I should’ve never let you come along. You didn’t know that it was this serious, you didn’t know what you were signing up for. I just—I didn’t know how to talk about it. I mean, how do you bring that up? It’s been a year, and I still don’t know. So I just… didn’t. And now…”

“I meant it too, yesterday,” Taeyong says quickly. “You don’t have to stay for me. I understand. And you’re not allowed to be sorry to me. I am so glad I met you, Doyoung, I don’t care for how long, or under what circumstances. Don’t you dare apologize for letting me in.” He squeezes Doyoung’s hand once and then lets go. “Eat your breakfast. It’s getting cold.”

Doyoung eats quietly, not sure how to feel. As they’re finishing up, Taeyong pauses, hands hovering over their plates. “Hey,” he says. “Will you just promise me something?”

“Maybe,” Doyoung says dubiously.

This gets him a short, humorless laugh. “Before you do it,” Taeyong says, “will you say goodbye? Just so I know. I won’t try to stop you or anything. Just a text or something.”

That’s easy enough. “Oh, sure,” Doyoung agrees. “I mean, of course I will.”

They put the dishes in the sink, and Taeyong helps Doyoung find his shoes. Taeyong hovers on the porch as Doyoung ties his shoelaces.

“Doyoung,” Taeyong says as he’s straightening. “I’m not saying I won’t stop you because I don’t care.”

“I know,” Doyoung says, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “You care about everything.”

“I mean, yeah, but…” Taeyong’s tone is so earnest, it sends a shock through Doyoung’s whole body. “But I care about you,” Taeyong says firmly. “I won’t stop you because it’s your choice. But I’m also selfish, and—” He pauses, then rushes on, “And I’d like it if you stayed. That’s all.”

“Thank you,” Doyoung manages, and then flees down the steps to his car. He gives Taeyong an awkward half-wave before ducking inside, and pulls out onto the street as fast as he can, so Taeyong can’t see that he’s crying.

There’s a sort of odd calm that comes with a breakdown. Doyoung pulls over two blocks away and weeps into his steering wheel, but though he’s sobbing, his mind is actually pretty quiet. Inside, he’s taking stock, running over the conversations he’s had and all the things he said to Taeyong. It’s the most honest he’s been with anyone, except maybe his brother.

He wipes tears off of his cheeks, taking shuddering breath after shuddering breath. It’s clear, suddenly. He knows what he’s going to do.

; ; ;

“So,” Dr. Cha says, crossing one leg over the other and balancing her clipboard on her knee. “You finished the list.”

“Yes,” Doyoung says.

“Still want to die?” she asks—calm, neutral. She’s not trying to incite anything, just getting a temperature check.

The question makes Doyoung prickle, anyway. He shifts in his seat, giving Dr. Cha an almost wry look. “No,” he admits, and she grins.

“You can say it, I was right,” she says.

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna make me take it back out of spite.”

“Too late,” Dr. Cha says, still grinning. “You already said it.” She taps her clipboard with the butt of her pen. “I already wrote it down.” But then her smile turns softer. “Seriously, though, Doyoung. I’m glad to hear it.” Doyoung inclines his head, now slightly embarrassed. “What changed?”

Doyoung stares at his hands for a second, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the list. It’s crumpled and faded now, but the writing is still clear. He lays it flat on the table between them, and points to the last item, still unchecked. Fall in love?

“I completed it, that wasn’t a lie. But I’m afraid to say so because I’m worried I’m just latching onto him because he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.” He leans back, scratching his head. “And it’s not that I think he can fix me or something, it’s just that he… made me want to get better. Because—because I think if I died, I would miss him.” Tears blur Doyoung’s vision unexpectedly. He pushes on anyway. “And his silly dog, and his cool older sister, and his parents. And I’d miss doing things with him, and I’d miss laughing at his texts, and I’d miss waking up knowing that he’s out here, somewhere. Waiting for me.”

Dr. Cha’s smile grows. “You know,” she says, “that’s not a bad place to start.”

Doyoung nods, looking back at the list. “I want to tell him how I feel,” he says, blinking his tears away, “but I want to get better first, because that’s something I need to do alone, and I can’t do it if I’m worrying about someone else. Plus I don’t want him to feel obligated to accept me just because I have The Big Sad, you know.”

“That’s fair,” Dr. Cha agrees. “And probably wise.”

Doyoung nods again, reaching out for the list and folding it twice before sticking it back in his pocket. “So how do I do that? Get better?”

Dr. Cha thinks about it for a second. “Okay, let’s start here,” she says after a moment. “Obviously, your friendship with Taeyong was a great catalyst. But that’s not what’s pushed you to actually want to get better. It’s more than that. Something has changed for you; you’ve learned something. What do you think it is?”

Doyoung cocks his head to the side, then nods. “I guess,” he says, “I mean, I told Taeyong all about my brother. And, I dunno, it was like, once I started talking about it, I couldn’t stop until I’d said everything, and a lot of those things were—things I’d never even thought to tell you. But I guess maybe I should tell you, because if they’re bothering me that much then I should probably do something about it, right?”

Dr. Cha smiles. “Yes, that’s usually how therapy works.” She gestures at him, continuing, “So, give me an example.”

“Hm,” Doyoung says, just to stall. “I guess, um, I found myself talking about how—how angry I’ve been. At him, at Donghyun. Like, my whole life. And I dunno, I told you that I was a little upset at him when I found out he’d done it, but—” He looks up, expecting confusion, or disdain, maybe, but only sees understanding. “I was angry, I mean angry, like really angry. Like, rage. You know?” Dr. Cha nods. “And then it’s like—how dare I, you know? I feel fucking awful for feeling like that. I shouldn’t be angry with him. Not for any of it. But I am, anyway.”

“On the contrary, I think it’s quite normal to be angry,” Dr. Cha says. “Your brother never really tried to stick up for you much, and he was always outperforming you, and he never protected you from your parents, or your bullies. And then after a childhood of that, he went and did the one thing you’d always thought you would do but never did. And he left you all alone to deal with it. It’s not his fault, but I don’t think it’s ridiculous for you to feel angry. I certainly don’t think it makes you a bad person.”

“I suppose,” Doyoung admits. “But, I mean, he was a kid, too. If anything I should be angry with my parents.”

“Do you think it’s easier for you to be angry with him because he’s gone, instead of with your parents because you have to see them every day?” Dr. Cha asks. “Or maybe it was easier to be angry with him because everyone fights with their siblings, and that was easier for you to accept than having to consider your relationship with your parents?”

Doyoung opens his mouth to respond, then snaps it shut and gives her a look. “No wonder I didn’t do this before,” he mutters good-naturedly. “Jesus, I dunno. Maybe?”

“Maybe is good enough for now,” Dr. Cha says with a grin. “What else?”

“Well…” As Doyoung talks, he sees Dr. Cha settle into her chair, and it hits him then—gently, but still. I get it now, he thinks. This is what therapy is supposed to do—not just collecting coping mechanisms and hoping one sticks, hoping that by coming enough times somehow she’ll fix it. It’s me saying, here, this is something I’d like to work on. And then she helps me make sense of it.

It’s not perfect, and he knows it’s going to be hard, and it’s going to take a long time. But, he thinks, remembering the way Taeyong looked at him when he left the morning after the storm, it’s going to be worth it. And besides, I’m not alone anymore.

; ; ;

Hey, are you free today? Doyoung sends to Taeyong the next afternoon. He’s slipping his feet into his shoes, so he adds, like now? Are you home?

Taeyong’s response comes in mere seconds. Yeah, why? Are you ok?

I’ll be there in five, Doyoung says, and slides into his car.

He pulls up by the sidewalk and sees Taeyong already out on the porch, one shoe on. “Doyoung?” he calls when he gets out of his car. “What’s going on? Are you… are you here to say goodbye?”

Doyoung shakes his head furiously, locking his doors and jogging up the driveway. “No,” he says, and he gets up the porch and wraps his arms around Taeyong’s shoulders and squeezes. After a moment of shock, Taeyong hugs him back.

“No?” he asks.

“I don’t want this to be it,” Doyoung says quickly. “I’m not gonna do it, Taeyong, I’m not. I wanted to tell you in person, so you’d believe me. So you can stop worrying.”

Taeyong is quiet for a second, and then Doyoung realizes he’s crying. Taeyong hugs him tighter. “I was gonna miss you so fucking much,” Taeyong sobs, and Doyoung laughs.

“Yeah, funny thing about that is, I was thinking about it, and I thought I’d miss you too much,” he admits. “If I did it. So.”

“Good,” Taeyong says. “You told Dr. Cha?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung replies, rolling his eyes even though Taeyong can’t see. “She was pretty pleased with herself.”

“She should be! I’m gonna send her a card,” Taeyong says. “I’m gonna write, ‘Thank you for saving my best friend.’”

“Hey.” Doyoung jostles Taeyong a little bit. “It wasn’t just her. It was you, too, okay? You did that.”

“You did it, too. You’re doing it.” Taeyong finally releases him, and he’s smiling through his tears. “Come inside,” he says softly. “Please. My mom’s baking.” There’s a faint bark from behind the door. They both giggle. “And Ruby wants to see you. C’mon.”

Doyoung takes Taeyong’s hand, kicking off his shoes. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, following Taeyong inside his house.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 a comprehensive, international-friendly portal of resources

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beaniehasapoliticalviewpoint · 1 year

Text

An Opening Statement:

When impressing myself into the world of politics as a kid, I always thought I’d be the cool motherfucker that’d band people together to fight against an oppressive government and liberate the minority. And then, I realized that

1. People don’t like to listen to other people

2. It’s really hard to get America to stop being lazy

3. There’s more countries than America out there

That third one is a big one, I’d say, and it defines a lot of what makes the world what it is.

“American Exceptionalism is the belief that the United States is either distinctive, unique, or exemplary compared to other nations.” - Donald E. Pease (I think, that’s what Wikipedia said they got the quote from)

You see, I live in a country that loves to suck it’s own dick, and pass around the fruits of that labour by spreading its seeds of “democracy” and “freedom” onto other countries that did not ask. Now, I love my country, I think US propaganda does a great job of making even the most US hating individual feel proud to love this country, and I do in fact feel wonderful every single day knowing I’m a citizen of the country that loves to spout off how free it is. I’m also not blind, it’s also a damn shame what the country looks like now. Shit, let’s be honest, the American government is an absolute cesspool of old dudes jerking each other off and making fuck tons of money doing it, which, by the way, could very easily be cut to go into our economy, but I digress, the American government is at core the fault of our country, and by god thank you for letting us see that, and giving us the option to vote them out- except we don’t. Because no one votes. And when they do, it’s always “vote blue no matter who” or “trump is the best”, stupid shit like that. The solution? Simple. Hell, let’s cut this whole chapter down to two simple words. “Start. Reading.”. It’s that simple. I mean, we literally have the biggest goddamn treasure trove of information ever held accessible to the common man, and y’all motherfuckers use it to argue whether or not trans people should get rights. They should by the way. Because they’re people. Expanding off that, I’m not saying I’m not guilty of the same stupid shit. My heart strings soar when I see some dumb shit confederate get clowned on online. But none of it means anything. I can talk smack all I want on this earth but it’s not gonna make it any greener. We’re members of a generation capable of making the most change, and we have been given the greatest informative platform to do it on. Stop staring at the next controversy when they made Ariel black; who the fuck cares if they removed a gay character from a show. While y’all weren’t looking, they let Florida allow first responders to legally deny medical care at their own whim, based on their beliefs. Imagine if you pissed some motherfucker off in 8th grade when you snitched on him for passing notes in class, and then 10 years later you go to a specialist, the same guy, and he denies you care because he’s a salty motherfucker, and you DIE. Who let this law pass? Certainly not the citizens of Florida, you guys are fucking awesome, but can’t see the obvious issues here.

We, as citizens of the United States, are held victim by our own beliefs and emotions. We impose our own restrictions on ourselves, by acting like the differences in the world is because one side lives a different kind of life. We draw so much attention to the smallest of differences, the pigment of our skin, who we love, who we want to be, and we miss the big picture. It’s not republicans Vs. democrats, the gays Vs the church or the north Vs the south (god forbid that shit happens again), it’s the fucking people Vs the goddamn government, and it always has been. Every distraction from our common goal of uniting against corruption gives more power to the corrupt, and they fucking LOVE it. And no, this isn’t me saying if you think gay people are inherently evil or some shit that’s ok. It’s not. You’re weird. Weirdo. This is me saying theirs a far larger issue at hand that could kill us all, and both of y’all need to shut the fuck up and look around you.

So yeah. I’m trying to be the cool motherfucker that bands the oppressed together against a common enemy. I wish I could. I’d be lying to myself, and you, if I said something like, “I’ve grown”. I haven’t. I’m no better than the person next to me, no greater than the young child behind me or the older folk in front. We’re all equal in a struggle against power. (And NO this isn’t some Marx shit, the economy is a joke and I’ll get to that later) All I’m saying is, we could do with a lot more loving in this world, because shit, that would make me feel a helluva lot better, and I’m sure you would too.

Remember when I said that thing about American Exceptionalism? Promise I didn’t forget about it while I ranted about America. Because it’s wrong. We aren’t special. We’re one empire in the long line of many, not the first nor the last. The entire world is out there, billions of people, millions of cultures, thousands more being made. Many suffering a helluva lot more than my upper middle class in college ass. Many living a lot more luxurious than I am too. Despite us all being the same species we manage to become so different, global divisions of “countries” and “nations”. I can’t speak of the minds of everyone, because I’m not everyone. I can’t say that every single person should act some way, because I didn’t grow up in their shoes, in their home. Everyone lives different lives, everyone lives differently. So why the hell should my country pretend to know what’s best for them. American “global security” is an authoritarian grip on the less fortunate, for our benefit. And only the people can fix that.

#politics #america #swearing #rant #canijustwriteanythinginthetagsectionandgetawaywithit?immisusingthisfeatureforsure

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theburdenofresponsibility · 1 year

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Harry Prince and the Philosopher's Stone - Chapter 3 - A Journey Aboard The Hogwarts Express

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read on AO3 | word count: 4,413

The short month between Harry’s birthday and the departure of the Hogwarts Express passes in days of playing with his friends and flicking through his textbooks.

Sunny summer days are spent tossing pebbles into the rivers and staging adventures through the woods. The sun smiles down on them, seeping into what will undoubtedly become fond memories, held close to Harry’s heart, caressed as he looks back on them like photographs. It shines down on the gurgling streams, glinting off the miraculously clear surface in shimmering reflections of their bright moods.

Trees seem greener, that summer, and the breezes fresher and sweeter. Laughter sings out like birdsong until kids scurry home as the wounded day bleeds red into the blue sky. But even as another day dies, Harry remains determined again and again to heed Maggie’s advice and make each day the most it can be. Smiles are never far from faces, and chatter rises and falls like the rippling breeze that flutters through the wildflowers in the woods.

Maybe bittersweetness drives Harry and all his friends closer and closer each day, maybe it makes their hugs linger a few seconds longer and their tightness strike with the pain of a blade through their hearts but each day is full and alive. The world seems to breathe with them as they catch their breath between days of wandering and chasing and hoping to believe that maybe August would never draw to an end.

He thinks about talking to his friends about Snape, about how he feels his whole life is a lie, but he can’t bear it. Everything is crumbling beneath him, the trajectory of his life changing irrevocably, and he just wants to act as if everything is fine, just for these last few weeks. As far as everyone needs to know, Harry’s dad is still his dad and all that matters is how soon they can meet up to play again.

But playing pretend always ends up cut short, and the game pieces seem to flutter away as the first leaves are kissed red by time. Before Harry knows it, and sooner than he would like, he has to start packing up his case for school in the following week.

Of course, he is excited to go to Hogwarts, too! That’s where he belongs, where he needs to be – and Harry is more than excited to learn magic, as any kid would be. Each night he pours over his textbooks, utterly captivated with the idea of magic. Erys whispers to him, asking about what he’s looking at as he reads by the light of his bedroom lamp. So, yes, he does want to go–

He just can’t bear to leave.

The day before Harry is due to leave, Maggie comes over and helps him unpack and repack his case to make sure there’s nothing he’s missed. There isn’t, of course, as Harry very well knows – he’s checked his case six times over already – but he can hardly bear the thought of having to be with his friends and pretend that nothing is going to change tomorrow when everything will be different.

By this time tomorrow he’ll be in Scotland. So, so far away. Nothing will be the same, and Harry isn’t so sure he’s ready for that.

Snape, of course, had tried talking to him about Hogwarts to quell his nerves. It hadn’t been much of a help, though. Sure, now Harry knows a little about the school, but he still can’t hear the word without his stomach twisting itself into knots. Eventually, Harry just told him to stop talking about it and that had been that; though, that was partially because Snape had started to be required at Hogwarts more and more to set up for the year.

Yet another thing for Harry to be annoyed at him for.

Rationally, a part of him knew it was his job and that he had to be gone a lot more, just as he was every year… but most of him just wished he had his usual ‘nothing will go wrong, because I will not tolerate nuisance to pester either of us’ attitude. So, yes, Harry glared at his dad whenever he was around, and snarked about his absence under his breath when he wasn’t.

“Quit your grumbling,” Maggie huffs at him as he does just that, trying to fit his novels back into his case – the ones he’d gotten for his birthday but hadn’t read yet. “One would think you’re being sent off to live in a cave, not that you’re packing to go to one of the most famous wizarding schools in the world.”

Harry sighs, closing the clasps on his case and shuffling over to sit by where Erys is laying content in her enclosure. She peers up at him, half snuggled into her bedding and no doubt enjoying the warming charms that run through the base of her tank.

“I just… I wanted him to be here. He’s not even seeing me off on the train, and none of my friends can see me off.”

“I know, kid,” Maggie tells him, voice softening. “You’re feeling left alone. I felt left alone every year I had to watch my big sister get on that train without me. Trust me, it’s no easier having the people you’re going to miss be there to wave you off.

“We’re all going to miss you, so much. Me, Cath, and all your friends. But – and I know it’s not the same – but you can write to us. And once you make some new friends the time will start going by a lot quicker, I promise.”

Harry nods, sighing out very put-upon once again.

“But, if it’s any condolence, me and Addie will be there to see you off. So, you’ve got two old bats – at least one of which who will miss you every day, and so will Taffy – to wave as the train departs. And we’re both incredibly proud of you for trying to be so brave, and kind to your friends even though you’re upset.”

“It is… a bit,” Harry confesses, looking down to hide the embarrassed look on his face.

“That’s the spirit,” Maggie grins. “Well, since we’re all repacked for the – what? – the ninetieth time–”

“It’s not the ninetieth–”

“-then I think it’s about time we get cooking tea. You and your friends still wanting jacket spuds when they come round for your send-off meal?”

Harry nods decidedly.

“You always do me jackets at the end of August when Snape’s off at work. It feels right.”

The woman’s smile is heartbreakingly fond, and Harry suddenly realises how much he’s going to miss her as well as all his school friends.

“Well, then that’s coming right up, Harry,” she promises, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

Maggie smells, as always, like lavender and dish soap as he presses his face deep into her jumper. The idea of letting go seems more impossible now than ever, and Addie putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder only makes him feel more like he should be staying. Everyone who cares about him is here in England – or back in Cokesworth specifically. He’s leaving them all behind.

Sure, he’s known that this whole time, but now, standing in front of the fiery red engine of the train as his two guides try in vain to get him to get onto one of the cars, it seems so much more real. It’s no longer a ticking clock, no longer something he can put off thinking about like the day will never come if he ignores the panic it brings stubbornly enough. Now it’s waiting right there, whistling as the crowds of kids, and parents, and guardians bustle about.

Erys is already in the compartment with the other pets, helped by a kind-faced older student dressed in blue-accented robes while they were sorting out their own belongings. Still, Harry almost still thinks he might be able to cling on until the train pulls away so that Maggie would have no choice but to take him home.

“Come on, kid,” Maggie is coaxing, and it makes his emotions feel justified to hear the watery waver in her own voice. “Time to get aboard and make some memories.”

Reluctantly, Harry withdraws from his hold on the woman, though his hands linger another moment on her arms as if he’s having a great deal of trouble reigning in the impulse to cling straight back to her. The platform the women had guided him to once they got off their train from home to Kings Cross – Platform 9 ¾ – wavers in his teary gaze. The train gives another whistle and Harry finally pulls away entirely.

A glance at the clock tells him he only has five minutes to get on and seated before the train pulls away. He’d already been warned, after all, that it did not linger for any student, teacher or anyone else of any sort. So, despite everything within him begging to stay, he asks Maggie and Addie to help him put his heavy case up the step into the train.

With a wave of her wand, Addie sends it up for him and then Harry is clambering aboard.

“Bye, Auntie Maggie, Auntie Addie.”

The women’s lips quirk in amused smiles, though Maggie’s is a great deal more bitter-sweet.

“You’d better write as soon as you get there, kid,” Maggie warns as he starts his way down the aisle to find a compartment either empty, or at least not full of kids three times his size. Harry doesn’t dignify that with a response, already having assured the woman that he would do exactly that countless times over, and instead laughs wetly to himself.

It only takes Harry a minute to peer into a compartment he doesn’t mind opening so much. It isn’t empty, though. There are three kids already inside but, since Harry happens to recognise one, he doesn’t feel so bad about invading their space.

“Hey,” he waves awkwardly as the door slides half-closed to press against his arm. “Got room for one more?”

“Prince,” Blaise – or, uh, well, Zabini greets him, inclining his head. “You’re welcome to come in, you don’t have to linger.”

Harry flushes slightly, but pushes all the way in and struggles to put his suitcase up on the rack when another of the kids steps in to help him. He offers her a grateful smile and she grins right back before dropping back into her seat beside Zabini.

“I’m Hannah,” she introduces, eyes flickering between Harry and the other boy in the compartment, and it’s at that moment that Harry realises that she must not know him either.

The thought maybe shouldn’t be so immensely comforting, but it is. It suddenly allows the fact that, despite some other kids here being raised in the wizarding world, not everyone knows each other to sink in. Which means that everyone won’t already be in groups.

He sighs a discrete breath of relief before offering a shy smile and returning the introduction.

“I’m Harry.”

“Uh – Neville Longbottom,” the boy next to him chimes in.

“Zabini. Blaise Zabini.”

It’s only a minute or two of awkward silence later that a final, doubly piercing whistle to the ones prior, splits through the air and the train shudders and begins to move. Erupting shouts of excitement from the rest of the train seem to coax the four of them to their feet. Within seconds they are all pressed to the open window of their compartment with varying degrees of dignity.

Unabashed, Harry waves vigorously at his Aunties until he can no longer make them out in the crowd and then drops back into his seat. Neville seems to linger for the longest by the window, though Harry does also notice Zabini sending subtle glances out of it as if he expects them to suddenly be able to see the crowds waiting there once again.

After the fanfare of the departure wears off, the group seems to lapse again into a slightly awkward silence. It’s one Harry doesn’t quite know how to break, and from the looks of it, neither do the rest of them. He almost considers pulling a book from his case, before deciding that would be incredibly rude – besides, he’s supposed to be making friends, not ignoring people.

And he wants to make it easier for the others, too. He remembers too many instances where he had to jump in to help Chris out when he was having trouble connecting with others and they ended up icing him, and is determined to not be the cause of that with someone else.

“How long do you think it takes to get to Hogwarts?” he asks, to break the ice.

“I hope not too long,” Neville confesses. “I was too nervous to eat my breakfast this morning so I’m starving.”

“I guess we have something in common, then,” Harry admits, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, there’s a sweets trolley on the train,” Hannah enthuses; “so we’ll get to snack at some point.”

“Great!” Neville beams, and even Zabini cracks a pleased grin.

“I hope they have cauldron cakes,” he confesses. “Mum doesn’t often get them in, and I’m a bit fond of them.”

“Um..” Harry stumbles, “Cauldron cakes?”

“Yes,” Zabini frowns. “Have you never had them before?”

“They’re standard wizard sweets,” Neville says, and then promptly flushes at realising how teasing his tone had been with someone he hardly knows.

“Ah,” Harry manages, toying with his fingers nervously. “I’ve never had any wizard sweets. I was raised muggle.”

“Oh!” Hanah exclaims, half jumping out of her seat and startling Zabini beside her.

After that, the group delves into a conversation about different wizarding sweets and which kind are the most superior. The topic shifts between enthusiasm and good-natured bickering easily enough, and by the time Harry realises they’ve managed to switch onto ranking other things – colours and wand-woods, considering both practicality and aesthetics, mainly – Harry has a long list of treats he would like to try.

“Well, what kind of wood is your wand then, Zabini?” Hannah asks, good naturedly.

“12 ½ inch, unyielding, chestnut, phoenix feather,” he recites.

“Woah,” Neville huffs.

“Show off,” Hanna snorts, though the air of the chatter remains pleasant. “Mine’s 13 ¼ inches, quite bendy, larch, dragon heartstring, mister specific.”

“Well,” Zabini smirks, “if we’re being specific then the correct title would be Master Specific, Mistress Abbott.”

She simply rolls her eyes and turns to Neville.

“How about–? Hey, are you okay, Neville?”

“I-” he stutters, face somehow both drained of colour and flushing from embarrassment. “I can’t find Trevor, my toad. I was- I was sure he was in here…”

“We’ll look,” Harry promises, getting to his feet to check around him to see if Trevor was blending into any of the cushions… somehow.

The toad, though, doesn't seem to be anywhere in their compartment, no matter how they all get up and search. Bags are pulled down from racks and rifled through, cushions are checked behind, pockets are emptied; but the creature is nowhere, and with each passing moment Neville is getting more distressed.

“I-” he stutters; “I’m going to check out in the hall.”

“Good idea,” Harry nods.

“We’ll keep looking in here,” Hannah promises.

And they do, checking every corner until there is nowhere else in the compartment the toad could feasibly be. Eventually they cave and settle into their seats, eyes still flickering around guiltily although they know Trevor isn’t in there with them.

“He should have put the beast in the animal carriage,” Zabini sighs and Hannah shoots him an exasperated look.

“I didn’t even know we had the choice not to put pets there,” Harry confesses. “Otherwise I probably would’ve kept Erys with me.”

“Erys?” Hannah asks as Zabini cocks a brow.

“My snake.”

The girl shudders.

“They’ve always freaked me out a little.”

Harry just shrugs.

“Erys is lovely, and she’s only a baby so she’s tiny. You can meet her when we get to Hogwarts if you’re not too freaked out.”

“I would like to,” Zabini says, puffing out his chest and sending Hannah a smug look. She pulls a face at him before breaking out in a breathless laugh.

“Maybe,” she concedes.

The door slides open and the three of them jump. A girl with bushy, brown curls stands in the entrance with a determined frown on her face, with a teary-eyed Neville cowering behind her.

“And you’re sure he’s not in here?” she asks. “Because we checked everywhere else.”

Harry bristles, shoulders tensing at her impatient tone. Hannah seems unimpressed as well, face twisting in a frown, while Zabini merely surveys her with disinterest.

“We all looked together,” Harry tells the girl. “Trevor really isn’t here.”

Her eyes jump to him and survey him up and down. She casts everyone else a quick glance before her gaze seems to settle back on him, as if drawn. It isn’t like she’s looking at him, though, her eyes seem to dance about as picking out little details but never seeing the full picture of just Harry. And then that evaluating look lands just above his eyes – something very discomforting to realise since she is so close to meeting his stare but just failing – before recognition sparks through her.

She straightens with a beaming smile, as if she is very proud of her search and whatever conclusions she has drawn.

“I know you,” she grins. “You’re Harry Potter–” Hannah’s eyes jump to him, widened slightly, for a brief moment at this “I got a few extra books for background reading and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and you’re mentioned briefly in Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century .”

“Am I?” Harry squeaked, feeling rather overwhelmed.

“Goodness, didn’t you know? I’d have–”

“Yes, yes,” Zabini dismisses, waving a hand. “But it doesn’t matter in the slightest what you’d have done, does it?”

The girl looks rather scandalised at that, not that Zabini seems to care in the slightest. He just scratches the corner of his brow with a bored expression.

“So, thank you for returning Longbottom to us, Miss…”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Granger,” Zabini nods, with a tight, polite smile that has Harry and Hannah looking at each other in disbelief. “A pleasure. But, since you are not Prince, here, then your hypothetical course of action rather has no effect on this topic. So…”

The girl – Hermione – huffs and turns up her nose, barely shuffling to the side as a flustered and still distraught Neville squeezes his way through past her. She eyes Zabini for a moment before flitting her gaze between the rest of them.

“Well,” she huffs, “the lot of you ought to put on your robes, I expect we’ll be arriving soon.”

And then, in a swirl of robes, she turns on her heel and strides back out – presumably in the direction of her own compartment. Zabini merely rolls his eyes at her antics, though a smile does quirk at the corner of his mouth when Hannah erupts into giggles. It's the kind of smile that Harry can’t help but find himself returning, a wide grin breaking out on his face.

“Thanks, Zabini.”

The other boy dismisses his appreciation with an idle flap of his hand, but that quickly-growing-familiar smug expression returns to his face.

“Not at all. I have no patience for misplaced superiority,” he confesses. “And we’ve not even arrived at the school yet – that girl needs to earn my respect before she goes blithering on.”

Hannah snorts a laugh.

“Does that mean we’d better all keep our mouths shut around you until you give us some signal that we’re worth your time?”

Zabini just smirks. Acknowledging a; “Perhaps.

“She was right about the robes, though. The sun’s dropping low so we must have been on this train for a good few hours now.”

They all glance out the window and see that he’s right. The horizon is painted in peaches and fiery reds as the light of the sun dips lower and blinding.

Thinking of summer evenings he has left behind, Harry wriggles out of his hoodie so that he can pull his outer robes over his shirt and trousers.

Being led out from the dimly lit side chamber into that bustling hall is probably the second most overwhelming moment of Harry’s life so far – second, obviously to that conversation with Snape. The flickering lights of the floating candles seem more blinding than any other light before. They all glare down at him, their light piercing him just as the gazes of all the other students do, already sitting up their colour-coordinated tables.

The anxious churning of his stomach is no help either. Try as he might, Harry can’t seem to ignore the half-excited, half-nervous whispering of Hermione which just makes everything worse. Ideas of what this test could possibly be are swimming through his mind, shouting out and drowning out the sound around him. Everything seems muffled beneath his turbulent thoughts and the pounding of his heart, though he knows the sounds of their footsteps must be ringing out through the hall.

Neville and Hannah are pressed close on either side of him, looking no better off than he is. Both of them are pale and wide-eyed, gazes flickering around in a way that Harry doubts has anything to do with awe – at least for right now. Harry feels nothing but anxiety, anyway, and can’t imagine it’s that different for anyone else.

Zabini strides just ahead of them, head held high, but even that doesn’t hide the way his hands are clenched into fists. He glances back over his shoulder and dark eyes meet Harry’s for a moment, he offers the other boy a weak smile hoping to reassure them both.

When the procession is slowed to a halt, they stand in front of the table at the top of the hall. All the staff seems to stare down at them and, unthinkingly, his eyes flick across the teachers until–

He tears his gaze away from Snape, unable to bear the way the man’s eyes had snapped to meet his own, as if Snape had been able to sense Harry’s on him. Instead, Harry pointedly stares at the woman who led them into the hall; Harry, in his stress, seems to have already forgotten her name and can only hope he isn't the only one. He hasn’t paid attention to a word of what she’s been saying, though, until she lifts a list and begins reading names.

Maybe he should have actually been listening. From the way Hannah seems to jump in terror when her name is the first to be called, Harry can infer that this isn’t going to be anything particularly fun. Instead of just bemoaning himself for not paying enough attention, he reaches out and gives her arm a quick reassuring squeeze.

He’s still revelling in self-pity while he does that, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Hannah hurries up and seats herself where the professor indicates and an old, ratty hat is promptly dropped onto her head. A pause stretches on for a few seconds, it feels like the whole school is holding their breath. Then–

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The whole group of first-years seem to stumble a step backwards in surprise, except for Zabini who Harry collides backwards into. A huff of a laugh escapes Harry as the yellow-clad table erupts into rapturous applause. That’s it? Just- They put on a hat and it tells them what house they’ll be in?

Spinning slightly on the spot, Harry shoots Zabini an apologetic smile but the other boy merely smirks back at him. Harry doesn’t think he’s imagining the relieved flash in his expression that he quickly schools away.

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat!” A red-haired boy is whispering, outraged. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

“Bones, Susan,” is announced next, and Harry watches with rapt attention as they progress through the rest of the assembled kids.

Hermione, from the train, takes a full five minutes before she gets sent to Gryffindor. Neville gets sent there after her and promptly follows, to which he looks pleadingly over at Harry and Zabini as they wait in the crowd for their turns.

It seems fairly simple for each student, and so Harry is actually calming down just a tiny bit before–

“Potter, Harry!”

A chattering breaks out among the students, seeming to fill up every inch of the room. It’s a smothering, suffocating feeling to know that everyone is staring at him – more so than everyone else. Some kids are even half-standing from their seats to peer at him, he notices as he throws a glance over his shoulder.

Unsure, Harry’s eyes naturally turn back to Snape’s. The man is clenching his jaw, glaring at the old man sitting in the middle of the staff table. But when Harry turns to look at the same man there is merely a pleased gleam in his eyes.

Not wanting to linger and give everyone more time to gawk at him, he hurries up to the seat and allows the professor to drop the tattered hat over his head. The hall disappears beneath the rim, and all the eyes with it – though Harry can still feel them on him, making his skin crawl.

‘Hmmmm,’ a voice speaks into his ear, making him jolt in place. ‘Now… this isn’t what many would expect of you. But, oh, what an interesting mind. There’s talent, of course, and a decent deal of courage. And then there’s this new, burning need to prove yourself in regards to who you believe everyone thinks you should be…’

Harry squirmed in place - if this is what everyone else has to go to he doesn’t know how they sat so still. He actually feels sorry for poor Neville and Hannah.

‘And there’s that great kindness, and value for friendship. Difficult… Quite difficult. But with a mind like this, the perfect place for you is… ’

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the voice shouts out into the hall.

And a shocked silence descends.

#fic: hpatps

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