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janaispunk · 2 months

Text

end game

series masterlist • this is part VII

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: ~3.8k

summary: Heartbreak, an explanation and an epilogue.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), angst, feelings, heartbreak, depression, mention of weight loss, fluff, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, dom!Dave, sub!reader, sir kink, degradation kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (it's never stated in the fic but i headcanon that reader is on birth control), basically free use kink, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, Dave is a menace, praise kink, idiots in love, please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: the biggest thank you to @joelscurls for letting me scream about this again and againnnnn, and reading over my drafts countless times, you’re the best, jess! <3

thank you to @daddy-dins-girl for talking plot holes with me and motivating me to write <3

thank you to everyone who has read and loved this series, i have received sooooo many kind words, feedback and just so much love. i started writing this as a pwp oneshot and the fact that it has turned into my first series ever and one that i had soooo much fun with is wild. i’m incredibly emotional about saying goodbye to my babies, maybe i’ll revisit them when i need to write some kinky shit out of my system haha. i hope that you like the ending that i’ve built for them.

a few words about the plot: i actually have zero clue how the hitman business works (shocker, i know), so some parts of this are purposefully vague in a way that i hope is believable and somewhat realistic. just roll with it, thanks :D

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

find my full masterlist here & follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates.

The first week you don’t hear from Dave, you’re confused, but not necessarily worried yet. There have been weeks of silence in the past, though you’ll admit that you had thought that things might be… different now.

Your texts to him stay on delivered, never switching to read. Which has also happened before, especially when he was away on business, but still… The thought that he has gone back to his normal life without sparing as much as a glance back at your time together is nagging at you.

You can still feel his hands on your skin, can still hear him whisper in your ear how beautiful you look, how perfect you are for him. It’s hard to come to terms with the thought that it wasn’t real, that his words and actions didn’t hold the same weight for him that they did for you. Reality has finally caught up to you and it hurts.

When two weeks blend into three weeks and you’ve still heard nothing, you start getting worried. He had said his line of work was dangerous, after all.

Your conversation, still so close and yet a lifetime ago, echoes in your mind. 'Nothing's gonna happen,’ you had said. ‘Not to the girls, not to me. And not to you.’ And not to you. ‘You don’t know that, sweetheart,’ his voice rings through your head. Sweetheart. The word tastes bitter on your tongue and wraps itself around your chest until you feel like you’re choking with it, like you can’t draw breath into your lungs anymore.

Sweetheart.

You don’t know that.

Sweetheart.

You start looking him up online, to find anything that might at least tell you that he’s okay. You don’t want to believe that he would be cruel enough to ghost you, but you barely dare to consider the alternative. You find nothing, no mention of his name, like he doesn’t even exist.

Your calls stay unanswered, your messages stay unread. You find yourself subconsciously checking your texts and your emails countless times a day, catch yourself staring out of your window in the blind hope that he might appear outside. He wouldn’t just leave you like this, would he? Would he?

Days blur into weeks and eventually into months. You’re painfully aware that it’s not healthy, this kind of heartbreak, especially not over a relationship that never even meant anything. If only your heart would understand that.

It was never serious enough that you told any of your friends about it, never wanted to be labeled as the girl that sleeps with married men, never wanted to admit your feelings to someone else when you could barely admit them to yourself. Regardless, even without knowing what exactly was going on, your friends had tried to be there for you, to convince you to go out with them, to cheer you up, but you had turned them down often enough that on this Friday night, your phone stays silent.

It’s better this way. All you want to do is rot away on your couch, staring at the TV with unseeing eyes until it’s an acceptable time to go to bed. Maybe it won’t take you hours of lying in the dark to fall asleep tonight. Maybe it won’t remind you of a different kind of darkness in a different room, a room where the sound of waves against the shore and the deep breaths beside you lulled you to sleep.

You need to get yourself together, your inner voice whispers. Next week, you think. Or the one after that.

A knock on your door shakes you out of your thoughts and you pad over, expecting to be met with the Chinese takeout that you had ordered in hopes of fueling your appetite at least a bit with the prospect of comfort food. Absentmindedly, you note the surprisingly short delivery time. You barely look up as you swing the door open, busy fiddling with your purse to extract a few dollar bills.

After finally managing to pull them out, you face the doorway. A greeting dies in your throat.

Familiar deep brown eyes burn into yours, framed by the face that you wish you’d forget but can’t. The short brown hair, the clean shaven jawline that you can still feel underneath your fingertips, the memory all too fresh in your mind. He looks tired, you think, and instantly scold yourself for knowing him well enough to even notice.

The seconds tick by as you motionlessly stare at him, blinking slowly, your mind running a mile a minute. Why is he here? He can’t be here. Are you making this up? If so, things are far worse than you had thought.

He clears his throat, shifting his weight uncomfortably. It’s probably the least sure of himself that you’ve ever seen him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his hand twitching like he almost reached out to you but changed his mind. “Can I- can I come in?”

You regard him for a moment longer. The sound of his voice makes him appear more real, and the fog in your head slowly clears. He’s alive. He’s here. In front of your door. Alive and well. Your emotions boil up inside of you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! You think you can just show up here after months and ask if you can come in? I thought you were… I thought…”

Your voice betrays you, breaking at the sharp sting of pain in your chest that you’ve fruitlessly tried to suppress and the feeling of your throat closing up. Tears spill over and you furiously wipe at your cheeks, determined to keep some semblance of dignity.

“I know,” Dave breathes, defeatedly. “I’m so sorry. Please let me explain.” His hand reaches towards you again. You shy away from his touch and an expression of hurt ripples across his face. “Please, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice only trembles a little as you snap at him. After another look at his face, you eventually step aside and jerk your head towards your living area. You briefly think about how messy the place is, for how many weeks you didn’t have it in yourself to clean up. You can’t bring yourself to care. Seeing him walk through your flat again after being so painfully aware of his absence leaves you almost dizzy. You take the opposite ends of your couch, both of your bodies stiff, careful not to touch one another.

“Okay,” you sigh. “Explain.”

So he explains. How he received a call, barely thirty minutes after he stepped into his house, with a mission that was too perfect of an opportunity to pass it up. There had been no time to let you know, the risk too high to use his personal phone once he started working.

He goes back to the persona that took up half of his life for so long, the identity that is no more, the man that fell down a watchtower and was washed away by the sea. Body never found. At least that’s what everyone who knew this man thinks. Everyone who knew him, but not Dave York.

He’s been thorough with it, with the most important mission he’s ever done. There are no loose ends, no one who could trace things back to the real him.

It took longer than he had anticipated and he kept laying low afterwards, until he could be absolutely sure that no one would be looking for him anymore.

He doesn’t think that he’ll ever get rid of the worry, ever stop looking over his shoulder, but rationally, he knows that he did it. He got out.

Then he had talked to Carol, let her know that he wants a divorce. It had been- easy, almost. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream at him, just nodded like she had known this day would come for a long time. He thinks that she almost seemed relieved, in a way.

Your eyes had been glued to his face since he started speaking. Tears are silently running down your cheeks.

“I know that I should have found a way to contact you. I didn’t-” He sighs, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t know what to do. I was so worried that someone would find out about you. I never wanted to hurt you, you have to believe that.” He knows that he looks a mess, that his desperation to make you understand is written all over his features.

Every day that he didn’t call you, he knew that he was hurting you. He tried justifying it with himself, that having you think he left you was better than risking somebody coming after you. It never gave him much comfort.

It’s even worse, now that he sees the damage he had done. You have lost weight, deep circles have formed under your eyes and you move like you’re barely holding yourself together. He saw the panic on your face when he tried reaching for you at the door. No matter what he had done to you in the past, you always sought out the safety of his touch afterwards. Until now.

“Please believe me,” he whispers.

You study his face for what feels like a lifetime. Tears are glistening on your lashes. You look so tired, so defeated that it makes his heart ache.

“You’ve done it?” you finally ask. Your voice is a quiet thing, barely bridging the distance between the two of you. A flicker of hope rings with it. “You’re safe now?”

He nods silently, fighting the urge to gather you in his arms, to promise you that he’ll always be there from now on. A small smile curves your lips upward as you mirror his nod, like you’re trying to let this new reality sink in.

“That’s good,” you murmur.

You lean forward, your fingers tentatively closing around his fist that’s clenched tightly against his thigh.

Hope flickers inside his chest. He can taste the three words that he’s been wanting to say to you for far too long on the tip of his tongue. He’s not going to, not right now, not today. But someday soon, he thinks that he might.

Two years later

“Bye girls, say hi to your mom and Matt from me,” you smile, embracing each of them in a tight hug before they dash out of the door, a jumble of giggles and excited chatter. Dave trails behind them with a grin on his face, pecking your lips and calling out for them to slow down.

Your heart is full, overflowing with love for this family that, against all odds, has become yours. You watch Dave usher his daughters into the car and push the doors closed behind them, the smile still on your lips. As you walk back into the house, your eyes linger on the thin silver band adorning your ring finger.

It’s still new, still an unexpected sight when you catch it on the edge of your periphery. It’s the tangible proof of you being the happiest you’ve ever been.

Things had been rough at first, after Dave came back to you. You understood why he handled the situation the way he did, but it took you a long time to trust that he wouldn’t disappear again. To believe that he left his old life behind, that he chose you. But he did.

You busy yourself with cleaning up the inevitable chaos that having the girls over for Dave’s days with them always creates. It’s not the life that you would have expected yourself to have a few years ago, but right now, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

A few minutes later, your phone pings with a message from Dave.

Be back in 15. I expect you naked and on your knees waiting by the door.

You bite your lip, heat building inside you with rapid speed. Your phone pings again.

Don’t disappoint me.

Fuck. Wetness is already gathering between your legs as you jump into action.

The car door slamming shut has never sounded so good before. You’re listening intently, catching Dave’s heavy footsteps on the stairs and the jingle of his keys before the door opens beside where you’re kneeling.

You look up at him from your place on the floor, watching the mix of smugness and adoration on his face as he takes in your position. A shudder runs through you and your nipples harden under his demanding gaze. He steps closer, caressing your cheek.

“Such a good girl… my obedient little wife, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper, the coherent thoughts slowly draining from your brain and craving more of his touch, more of him.

He smiles down at you, his eyes glinting predatorily. You’ve come to know this shift into the darkness since you first met, but it’s more playful these days, not laced with the urgency that possessed him back then. Still, he gets intense, especially after having the girls over forces you to keep things rather tame during those days.

“Show me your ass, face on the ground, come on,” he demands coldly.

You obey without question, turning around and bending forward, pressing your upper body down to the floor and presenting your backside to him. He lands a couple of slaps on your cheeks and you flinch, moaning out softly. Your pussy already feels slick with arousal.

“What do you say?” he asks, rubbing his hand over the heated skin.

“Thank you, sir,” you whisper.

Another slap hits you. “Do you know what you did to deserve this?”

You wrack your brain for a few moments, but come up blank.

“I- no, sir.” Your voice is small and breathy, your body bracing for the impact of his hand again.

He chuckles. “Nothing. I just felt like it.” Another slap. “And you’re mine to do as I please, isn’t that right?” Your thighs are trembling. You’re so wet that it feels like you’re dripping onto the floor.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You know what’s the most fucked up about this?” He crouches down beside your face and strokes your cheek softly, smiling down at you. “How much you whore like it.”

He straightens up and heads for the stairs. “Bedroom, come on.”

You don’t even try standing up, knowing that he won’t let you, and crawl behind him, which earns you another chuckle and a “good girl”.

The image of your naked form on your knees behind Dave who hasn’t removed a stitch of clothing sends another bolt of arousal through you. You’re desperate for him to touch you.

He roughly lifts you up and manhandles you onto the bed until you’re spread out underneath him.

“So…” He grabs your wrists and holds them over your head, pressing them into the mattress. “These stay right here, you hear me? Don’t move, or do I have to restrain you?”

You pout at the prospect of not being allowed to put your hands on him, but obediently hold them in place when he eases his grip on you. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He grins down at you. “I know you will. Got my girl well trained, haven’t I?”

His words make your pussy clench around nothing and your “yes, sir” comes out in a whimper.

He leans in closer, spreading your thighs wider with his body and you force yourself not to buck your hips up against him. The craving for any part of him to touch you, for any kind of friction, is overwhelming.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. Your pleading eyes hold his cold gaze as he’s leaning over you.

“Patience,” he growls. “Open your mouth.” A disapproving click of his tongue. “Wider.”

You part your lips as widely as you can, sticking your tongue out and trying not to squirm against the sheets. He remains motionless for a few seconds, taking in your desperate state with a cruel smirk on his face.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Then he tips his head forward and spits into your waiting mouth. The filthy feeling of his saliva coating your tongue and filling your mouth almost drives you insane with want and you groan, shifting against his thick thighs between yours, but to no avail. You wait for his next command, your mouth still wide open, not daring to swallow before he tells you to.

But no command comes. Instead, he reaches up to press two fingers down on your tongue, dipping into your mouth and smearing your combined spit over your face. The silver band on his ring finger is cool against your skin and you shudder, loving the reminder that he’s really, entirely yours.

Your body feels like it’s burning up, your hands are twitching and you’re desperate to move them, to touch him, to do something, but you hold yourself still until he finally tells you to, “swallow, baby.”

He smiles and finds your lips for a surprisingly soft kiss, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re being so good,” he tells you gently. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” you smile, chasing his lips when he pulls back, but he tuts at you and you fall back against the bed, huffing out a breath. “Just… please.”

“Patience,” he reminds you, the softness gone as quick as it came. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

You bite your lip, but stay put while he stands up to finally start removing his clothes. He’s agonizingly slow with it, holding your hungry gaze while he unbuttons his shirt in unhurried movements that make you want to tear the clothes off his body yourself.

You drink him in, first the sight of his broad chest and his strong shoulders, then his muscular legs, and finally, making your mouth water and your pussy burn with desire, his cock.

As much as he keeps taunting you, you know him well enough by now to be able to tell that he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him, even when he’s trying to conceal it. He returns to you, sitting back on his haunches and drinking you in, until after what feels like hours, he finally reaches out and swirls his fingers through the wetness between your legs. It’s a barely there touch, but you’re so painfully turned on and sensitive that you let out a gasp.

“So fucking wet,” he marvels and applies the slightest bit of pressure to your clit. It’s enough to make you see stars and you’re sure that he could make you come just from this. But, of course he won’t. He laughs at your reaction and retracts his hand to lean forward instead until he’s on top of you again, your legs spread wide to accommodate him and his cock slides through your folds.

He lowers his head to nip and suck at the skin under your jaw, one hand toying with your breasts and your hardened nipples. Your whole body is buzzing, he’s so close and it’s so much, but it’s not enough, not enough, not enough.

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, peppering your skin with kisses and rocking his hips in small movements that make his cock nudge at your clit over and over.

“F-fuck me, please, I’ll do anything,” you beg, your body still obediently stretched out underneath him with your arms above your head. He nods wordlessly and reaches down to position himself at your soaking entrance.

“Be as loud as you want,” he growls against your neck. “I missed making you scream.”

He bites at your skin at the same time as his thrust into you punches the air from your lungs. You scream, just like he asked, as he hammers into you, his lips still attached to your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin. The sensation of finally being filled by him, of feeling the stinging stretch of the way he forcefully pounds into you is like heaven. You think that you’re talking, crying out a mix of his name and sir and please over and over.

You’re flying towards your climax and judging from his groans, he can already feel you tighten around him.

“Go ahead,” he groans, before you’ve even strung the words to ask for permission together in your mind. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

He pinches your nipple just once and the additional sensation is enough to send you flying, your pussy clenching around his cock and drenching him in your arousal as you scream out his name. It’s pure bliss, and you never want to come down.

“That’s it,” he growls, not slowing his movements, fucking you through the aftershocks until you’re a whining mess beneath him, “that’s my perfect girl, fuck-”

You force your eyes open to smile up at him, taking in the wrecked expression on his face, relishing in the knowledge that you’re the one to make him look like this. You just really wish you could touch him.

“P-please, can I-” you’re breathless, barely able to speak, and jerk your head towards your hands above you.

“Yeah,” he rasps, his thrusts somehow growing even more forceful, “do whatever you want, baby.”

Your hands fly towards his body, touching every inch of his skin that you can reach, nails digging into his back and fingers grasping at his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until he’s everywhere, all you can see, all you can taste, all you can feel.

“Fuck!” he swears, grabbing your shoulders and holding you in place as he’s pounding into you, “give me another one, touch yourself, come on-”

His thrusts are becoming erratic and you know that he’s close to his own climax. It only takes a few swipes of your fingers over your clit until you’re coming again, soaring through the heights of your pleasure, your whole body trembling with your release. Dave’s hips stutter and he comes with a shout, pulsing inside of your fluttering pussy until finally, you both still.

He drops his sweat-slicked forehead against your chest, peppering your skin with kisses and engulfing you in the warmth of his arms. After cleaning you up, he moves your bodies until you’re tucked against his side, one arm thrown across his chest while he holds you close.

You’ll never get tired of the feeling of his naked body against yours, of the way he feels like he was made for you. By now, you can admit that he had always felt like this.

“I love you,” he says, lips moving against your hair.

You press your face deeper into his neck. “I love you.”

It’s easy, now. Words that you say every day.

…and i love YOU, thank you for reading! 🤍 if you liked this, a reblog or a comment would absolutely make my day.

#janas fics #the dress series #dave york #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader

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utilitycaster · 7 months

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I've also seen people say (on twitter of course lol) that Matt interjected deliberately and pointedly after Orym's family question which also feels a little wild to me, like there are "sides" between the cast and he's taken one. I don't think I've ever seen how far people in this fandom can run with something, so I'm surprised even though I shouldn't be. The Bor'dor discourse still also bothers me because in-game Laudna was simply not aware of the nod or anything else but what she wanted to do.

Hey anon,

I agree entirely, that this is conspiracy-level thinking. But ultimately I think what's more important is that if the ship I'd claimed to have desperately wanted for months became canon, and when the most recent episode that aired had the two characters in this ship canonically dancing together and one putting their head in the other's lap, I still found myself spending far more time talking about what a guy who isn't even attracted to either of the characters involved did ten episodes ago? I think I'd simply delete my account and walk into the woods never to return.

Like truly, I wonder, what is it? Is it that Imogen still hates Pate? Is it disorientation from the constant whiplashing between opinions depending on which character they've decided to hate this week, of which the rapid flip from "Bells Hells has a tight Found Family Bond, you guys are just haters" to "Bells Hells is on the VERGE of a BLOW-UP" is only the latest example? Is it because not only did Laudna say nothing about the Turn Undead from two weeks ago, but asked FCG specifically to Scry on Delilah and even seemed amenable to them asking the Changebringer for help on this matter? Is it because in that aforementioned dance, instead of doing anything to return Imogen's affections, Laudna just wandered off to make small talk with someone else? Is it because the cast cheered harder for Cyrillia/Novos? Is it because Imogen and Laudna didn't even bother to take watch together on Slival? Is it because nearly every opportunity onscreen seems like a lost one and the fans are running out of people to blame? Is it because the latest 4-Sided dive made it clear that there's been no planning, no intent, no change, and six episodes later still no out of episode conversation, and the Rose City Comic-Con Panel has no new information and is giving "contractually obligated"? Is it because more so than the ship, the people wanted it to be the Popular Ship, and it's not, because there's no connective tissue, none of the little moments that made up the magic of every past canon relationship on the show, just an accommodating blank canvas to play back whatever one is projecting onto it? Is it because if they keep blaming Orym, and FCG, and Ashton, and coins, and dice, and the DM, and the other fans, and every one else, they don't have to admit that they would rather be pining for the actually good slow-burn they dreamed of, instead of experiencing a Pyrrhic victory if ever there was one?

This isn't about Bor'Dor, or Orym, and it's barely about Laudna. Unless a chemistry that has not yet existed comes into being in the next episode, they'll either post some other conspiracy theories about an episode from three months ago, or they'll make up some other bullshit Us Vs Them thing to get mad about that Laudna will again fail to validate for them in game, and then rinse and repeat on this miserable treadmill of their own making.

#answered #Anonymous #cr tag

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anti-katsuki-lounge · 5 months

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So I’m writing a fanfic, and due to the fact that it's a very important set piece I have to adapt, I watched Two Heroes a few weeks ago

And after reading fanfic for a good four years straight (and reading manga chapter summaries and reviews) I was fucking whiplashed by the fact that the moment Bakugo opened his mouth I was reminded why fucking hated him again

Like yeah I'm intimately aware of the fact that his personality is steamed sewage (thanks Kaminari) but good fucking Lord, Izuku didn't even beat him in the villain target practice shit (and that's another thing, I forgot how Horikoshi will literally never let Izuku have a dub over Bakugo-*** even though this is Post-Full Cowel and Stain and realistically should have won)* but he immediately fulfills his role as barky pomeranian and curses his general existence.

Thank God he's barely a factor since Melissa takes up most of his possible screentime (should have been a more important character tbh- they should have imported her to the main storyline)**

There's a reason I turn him into a minor antagonist (emphasis on minor, like a recurring mid-boss) in most fics I outline

*If you didn't know, Izuku got 16 sec on what was basically Break the Targets from Super Smash Bros Melee/Brawl, and Bakugo got 15. Todoroki beating them both is more understandable since he nuked the course and cut the knot to say.

**QUIRKLESS INVENTOR COME THE FUCK ON!!!!!! I like Mei-Mei as much as the next guy but dude, missed opportunity- hell they could have been foils.

***Bakugo has literally won all of their fights (except the first which was technically losing the entire game rather than that specific fight so it barely counts) AND All for One has generational beef with him in the newest chapter (he [in]conveniently looks like the Second User who humiliated him with all the stuff he did to oppose him), over Izuku AND All Might the holders of ONE FOR FUCKING ALL THAT ARE DUELING HIM AND TOMURA NOW

Thank fuck I don't have to watch Heroes Rising or World Hero Mission cause he actually IS important in those movies and I would legit follow his Ch 1 advice if I had to watch them

(If you want to know what happens to Bakugo in said fanfic that is currently being written [DAMN YOU EXECUTIVE DYSFUNCTION] basically he gets his finger bitten off when he's five by Maria (the fic’s version of Izuku) who ain't takin his shit and gets expelled from UA after he tries and fails to attack her [AS HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN] and later gets humiliated in several different fights from both heroes and his own villainous allies before getting annihilated and thrown in jail during a way more pressing matter [the training camp going way worse than in canon] as an afterthought)

All of this. It’s odd that Izuku’s not allowed to surpass him in anything. Not grades, not likability, not in combat. Even when Izuku finally gets something Katsuki’s either there to shit on him or surpass him.

#anti katsuki bakugou #anti bakugo katsuki #anti bakugo #anti bakugou #anti bakugou katsuki

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heroloverangel · 11 months

Text

Sunrise

Tamaki lovers come get your dinner

What were you ever worried about?

It was only an hour ago that you were panicking in your hospital bed, but now that feels like an entirely different version of yourself. You can barely even remember the pain of your contractions or the agonizing waiting game you were playing all night. None of that matters anymore, not when you’re staring down at the face of your new baby in your arms.

You glance at Tamaki, who’s been glued to your side for every second in the delivery room. He’s gazing at his child with a look of pure wide-eyed amazement as if he’s not entirely sure this is all real. “Hey, you okay?”

He nods slowly and moves to sit on the edge of your bed. “Yeah. It’s just hard to believe he’s here, after everything.” He reaches over to run a finger along the baby’s cheek, and the little boy squirms faintly at the contact. “You were great. Is it weird to be proud of you for having a baby?”

You can’t help but laugh, even as exhaustion creeps into every bone of your body. “No, I’m pretty proud of both of us for getting through it. I was a little worried you were gonna faint when you looked down there.”

“I almost did! There was just a whole head sticking out of you!” You don’t know if Tamaki’s ever smiled that wide before. “I’m glad I watched him come out, but I never want to see that again.”

You can agree to that. “Don’t worry, I think we’ll have plenty of time before we think about another one.” The two of you fall into a happy silence, both of you enamored with every tiny feature of your son’s existence. He’s completely bald, so his hair color will remain a mystery for the moment, but those pointed ears are adorable and unmistakable. You were already made aware that your newborn would look like a weird little alien, but you didn’t expect he’d still be this cute.

“We’re really parents now,” Tamaki murmurs, and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or thinking out loud. You look at him curiously, and it warms your heart that he’s still grinning at the idea. “This is gonna be so amazing.” Your baby yawns, and you pass him over to his father to rest your tired arms. “I thought I’d be freaking out about everything, but it doesn’t seem scary. It all kind of just feels…right, I guess. Does that make sense?”

“I think it does, but I’m pretty zoned out between the pain meds and the whole labor thing.” You play with one of your baby’s hands. “What about you? What do you think, Yuto?” Both of you pause. You’d picked out the name weeks ago and it seemed perfect at the time. Looking at your son now, though, something about it just doesn’t seem to fit. “Hey, Tamaki?”

“Yeah?”

You squint your tired eyes to take a closer look at the baby. “I don’t think that’s his name.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair and gives a small nod. “I wasn’t gonna say anything because you loved it so much before. What should we call him, then?”

You were planning on getting a nice nap in after the birth. Instead, you find yourself in an endless marathon of announcing a name only to discard it immediately. None of them seem to be a match for him no matter how many you try. It’ll be hilarious later that this is your first major stumble as parents, but neither of you are laughing. You’re both on the verge of tears, actually.

“Akira?”

“Riku?”

“Daiki?”

You’re rapidly approaching the point where you settle on Fatgum Jr just to move on and call it a day when your husband makes one more suggestion. “Taiyo?” As if answering, your son stretches one tiny hand up and shifts in his arms.

“Taiyo,” you repeat, and something finally clicks into place. The two of you look at each other and break out into matching smiles. “You’re really incredible, Taiyo. Did you know that?”

Tamaki’s forehead bumps affectionately against yours. “He gets it from you.”

#hero dadcademia #tamaki amajiki x reader #bnha x reader

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medusas-daughter · 2 years

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Hotd, episode 9 "the green council"

So many thoughts

First of all I had chills the entire episode. As team black I went in fully expecting to hate it and boy was I wrong. This episode is a masterpiece.

- How many people exactly is Crispin allowed to kill before he suffers consequences?

- Lord Commander Harrold Westerling showing us what true honor is. And honestly, he might as well have removed his cloak, nobody respects his authority, they allowed his knight to draw a sword on him. They don't deserve him.

-I can't believe I'm about to say this, and it is the last time I ever will, but they should have given Aegon what he wanted. Man wanted to disappear, let him. "I'm not suited" if anything, he's self aware.

- Crispin's "women are the image of mother and should be spoken of with reverence" like he wasn't calling Rhaenyra a cunt like 3 weeks ago is peak comedy.

- I did not expect Aemond to explicitly admit he wanted to the crown, and I wonder what kind of king he would have been. Also, this is for me the big difference between team green and team black. Team black love each other unconditionally and fully support one another even behind closed doors. Team Green barely like each other.

- Did Princess Rhaenys just serve us the best line of this entire season "you wish not to be free but to build a window in your prison". Rhaenys just called Alicent a pick me, and I stan.

- I was wrong, the best line goes to Mysaria with "there is no power but what the people allow you to take".

- Ser Erryk said "nope, imma sit this one out, not worth my sweat" and I respect that.

-Alicent finally standing up to her father is slightly satisfying, but it's too little too late, barely registers.

- Aegon being given Blackfyre to carry when he can't even swing a sword is such a waste.

- Larys having a foot fetish is not even 1% surprising.

- "do you love me?" "you imbecile" is the funniest line of this episode.

- Helaena hiding her face in Aemond's shoulder after Aegon was crowned does things to me. Aemond seems to be the only she's comforted by. And the fear in her face when Aegon looked at her, she knows what kind of king he will be.

- speaking of, Alicent, if you wanted your son not to rule with cruelty, you should have taught him that years ago. Slapping him and telling him again and again that he is a challenge simply by breathing and existing. And then expecting him to let his challenger keep breathing? Of course he's not gonna let Rhaenyra live.

- Rhaenys escaping on Meleys wearing full armor was so powerful and satisfying, and Meleys is so beautiful and Rhaenys's armor fitting Meleys's colors, I just love them both so much. But besides the visuals and the bad bitch moment, I'm not actually sure how I feel about this scene, because Rhaenys could have stopped the entire dance with one fire breath. One Dracarys and team black would have been safe. There were no children there, only traitors. She could have taken out all of team green and ended the dance before it began.

- Ewan Mitchell is getting a lot of (well deserved) praise for his portrayal of Aemond. But I would like to take a moment to praise Tom Glynn-Carney as Aegon. He managed to bring a depth and dimension to such a disgusting and icky character and the shift in his eyes when people started cheering for him. The despair when he was begging Aemond to let him disappear. The insecurity when he asked Alicent if she loved him. He played him marvelously.

- Olivia Cooke proved once again how good of an actress she is. Zero notes, 10/10. The resignated disgust during the scene with Larys. The conflict when they discussed murdering Rhaenyra. The fear when Meleys threatened her children. Impeccable.

- Finally, give Ramin Djawadi all of the awards, all of them. My expectations for the soundtrack were already so high after game of thrones, and he still exceeded them.

I will be back with more thoughts when I'm done processing

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andantexvii · 2 years

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// Promises // Pt. 3

Eddie Munson x Reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Word Count ~ 5,071

Summary ~ Two weeks of silence following a tense departure has left a disillusioned Eddie ready to write his attempt at friendship off for good. That is, until she reaches back - giving him a glimpse at why she hesitated, and hope for the future.

Warnings ~ profanity; marijuana (mentioned); implications of past abuse; Eddie looks disrespectfully 👀; more Tolkien lore(?); implications of Bi!Eddie (if you squint, but I'm all for it); use of she/her pronouns

Notes ~ Look, I just can't stop adding Tolkien references - I loved Eddie from the outset, but when he was a confirmed Tolkien nerd I was smitten. Sorry for the wait! My medication-addled brain can sometimes overlook some editing errors. If it’s glaring, I don’t mind being notified, but if it’s passable, let it pass~ Reminder the time is adjusted to 1987 - enjoy!

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Requested tags: @eddieswifu @missfangirl-slightly-obsessive [To be added for future updates, shoot me an ask!]

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An echo of excited voices could be heard from one end of the abandoned halls, to the other; muffled only slightly by the moth-eaten curtain of the cafeteria stage. Evidently, it hadn't been moved since the school had the budget for a theater department, however long ago that was, and all showy gatherings were relocated to the stuffy gymnasium. All for the better, Eddie figured; it added a certain air of mystery to the dungeon-like atmosphere he'd created for Hellfire in the abandoned space.

Sure, the school paper and yearbook acknowledged they existed, after some repeat convincing, and the administration was vaguely aware of a fantasy game club among their roster of art, sports, and other socially acceptable hobbies. None of them, though, could likely point out where the club met exactly, aside from their begrudging permission to use school facilities. It worked out, though, giving the club members free reign to root through the stacks and boxes of abandoned set dressings to cater the space to their specifications.

Mirrors and lazily painted backdrops draped with dusty, costume cloaks gave the small space the eerie feel of a long forgotten manor. Vaguely medieval props of wooden shields and painted foam swords alluded to the trials and tribulations of adventurers of ages past. Still, Eddie's favorite find, a leftover from some Shakespearean production or another, was his throne-like seat: crafted by a theater student long before Hellfire's time, who had no idea the new purpose it would eventually adopt. Not that he'd ever admit to it, but he was sure it was rather obvious to the other club members the subtle sense of enjoyment he got from heading the table in it; well, that and a few well-placed candles for ambiance.

Eat your heart out, King Lear - the Dungeon Master is here.

"That's bullshit!" Dustin roared across the table, slamming his fist. "Lemme see your dice!"

"It's a nat 20, Henderson, deal with it!" Gareth snorted back at the boy, scribbling something down on a piece of scrap paper and whisking it out of sight.

"With that, the hall falls eerily quiet; there's no sound but the pounding of your own racing heart in your ears…" Raising his hands to quiet the table, Eddie leaned in to pour his trademark theatrics over the game space. Everyone leaned in, without hesitation, hanging on his every word. "With your enemies driven before you, a sense of uneasy calm washes over the party. Victory, we have victory!"

A small cacophony of joy erupted around him, each player happy to have survived yet another encounter. Barely, anyway; the battles had only proceeded to become more and more difficult, even if the campaign was still rather new. They knew Eddie prided himself in providing engaging, and challenging content, but this was a new beast entirely.

"BUT!" He began again, eliciting a small gasp from the huddled table. There was a pause, as he looked at each player in turn, before his eyes fell on an empty chair to his left. He'd put it there two weeks ago, the last time he'd invited a new sheep into his fold, and there it stayed with no occupant ever since. Furrowing his brow, he scolded himself silently for worrying about it so much - so she hadn't wanted to play with them, big deal. At least, that's what her actions up to now had implied. It wasn't the first time he'd been turned down and it certainly wouldn't be the last, and yet…

Having barely spoken to her since the night they'd bonded, if it could be called that, over pot smoke and laughs he couldn't help but wonder. Or, was it a worry? Sure, he'd feared his bold assertion at the end of the night might have alienated her a bit, especially since they'd only just met, but Eddie had been socially rejected before. In fact, he probably had an Olympic gold medal in it by now. Maybe Guinness could come and verify him for a world record if he wrote them politely enough.

Still, even if he'd accidentally kicked closed the door of potential friendship, he knew something other than his own, pushy awkwardness had to be at the heart of it. He hadn't seen her at her usual place in the courtyard during lunch, working on her drawings; she'd been missing from several chemistry classes, and when she had been there, she'd been so heavily invested in trying to keep her eyes open, she couldn't have talked shop with him if she'd wanted to. Even through all that, and knowing full well it was none of his business, Eddie knew he was being haunted by the cruel remarks of who he could only assume was her mother. It wasn't his place to ask, hell, it wasn't his place to worry, all the while it felt like some kind of classic morality riddle.

"...but? But what, man?" Mike leaned into the table a little as Eddie's prolonged, distracted silence became more noticeable.

"Eddie, dude, everything okay? Ding-dong, Earth calling!" Dustin reached out to wave a hand toward his face, good-naturedly.

Snapping back to his senses, Eddie scrunched his nose at the intrusion of his personal space, swatting at Dustin's hand like a fly.

"BUT!" He started again, with a renewed sense of urgency and dramatics. "The calm air around you begins to stir with an unfamiliar energy. It's dark, sinister, and impossible to trace the source of-"

"I wanna' make a perception roll to find the source!" Jeff fumbled for the correct die before Eddie stomped once, flustered, taking back control of the narrative.

"Ack, tsk, tsk, tsk! It is impossible! Impossible, as you currently are, to trace the source of this terrifying power! It pulses around you, like a heart beating, buh-bum, buh-bum…" He flexed his fingers in the light of a flickering candle, imitating the sound. "It's ali-i-i-ive almost! And before you can even lower your weapons a voice, unlike any you've ever heard echoes out, the sound like it's coming from everywhere all at once. From inside your own minds!"

Pausing for dramatic effect Eddie grinned, turning suddenly and leapt into his chair. From his new position above the table, he stretched out his arms, pulled in a deep breath, and bellowed over the room.

"BOLD OF YOU TO HAVE COME THIS FAR, LITTLE HEROES!"

The players seated closest to him recoiled slightly, jumping as they were startled. Eddie fed on the energy, bracing himself on the table with one foot, cupping his hands around his lips.

"But bravery alone will not save you from what is to come! If thou wouldst face me, take up arms and heart, show me that you are made of sterner spirit, than the mettle of those who have come before you!"

The room below him was silent, as he swept into a self-congratulatory bow, jumping down from his perch with a loud thud.

"Glad you all could join me, and one another, again this week. Whe-e-ere will next week's travels take us? Welp, gotta' show up to find out; now get outta' here!" He laughed with the group as he feigned disdain. "Drive safe!"

"You're just gonna leave us in the dark like that?" Gareth let his head fall back dramatically.

Leaning over to fold his notebook and screen, Eddie blew out the nearest candle with a teasing bit of a wink.

"Not enough upper body strength to dangle on a cliffhanger that long? You'll tough it out big guy!"

The others talked among themselves as they gathered their things, chattering animatedly about the night's adventures and what was to come. Eddie leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, wishing sorely for a bit of herbal relaxation after all the excitement. Oh, but the closest stash was in his van, and he’d yet to summon the strength to drag himself out. Still, he smiled slightly to himself, listening to the others talk as they filed out of the room; it was an art, the ability to weave a compelling story together. Sure, he didn't fancy himself a Dickens or Twain or whatever people considered peak literature, but so few would consider his medium worthy of admiration anyway.

Basking in a few moments of pensive silence, Eddie leaned forward and began stacking his books, shoving them haphazardly into his backpack - where they warranted somewhat more space than his school work. His time of private reflection was broken when he heard the door open again, and the sound of someone shuffling inside.

"Not giving you a ride, tonight, Henderson. I got two joints and my sweetheart waitin' on me at home." He grumbled without looking up; though there was no response and he rolled his eyes as he lifted his head. "What did I just say, I- …oh."

Before him, back nearly pressed flat to the door from his outburst, was the last person he'd expected to see. Well, maybe not the last, but certainly one he'd been willing and prepared to write off after tonight. Even so, like an oddly welcomed vision, there she stood, and Eddie felt so very suddenly like a complete moron.

"You!" He jumped to his feet, wearing an incredulous grin. "You, uh, finally came, huh?"

She approached the opposite end of the table, eyes scanning the empty room anxiously. There was a bag slung over her shoulder, and something held carefully in her hands. Eddie couldn't help but notice how dreadfully tired she looked; even so, he breathed an unconscious sigh of relief as he felt his fears were slowly assuaged. Some of them, anyway.

"Terribly late, it seems." Her voice was soft, and slightly hoarse.

"I mean, yeah, maybe, if you wanna look at it that way. Maybe you're right on time?"

She perked an eyebrow at him, curious, as she'd watched the others disappear down the hall, and he'd clearly been packing to leave as she came in. Not exactly what she'd call a timely arrival, but, it was at least an answer to his inquiry, long overdue: she wanted to be here, perhaps in spite of her better judgment.

"C'mere, sit for a while, no sense coming all the way down here just to turn around and go back, huh?" Eddie beckoned her toward the head of the table, where he still sat perched on his throne. He leaned back and opened his arms, gesturing broadly to the space they'd created for themselves. "What do you think?"

"This your other-other lair, huh?" Walking slowly around the table, she eyed the strange assemblage of items strewn about the room. Gingerly, she placed a small tupperware container on the table and let her bag rest, dangling off the back of a chair. Snorting to herself, she eyed his questionable choice of seating. "I think it looks like a Ren Faire garage sale. Er, tavern sale? That the auctioneer's throne you have?"

"Hey, we worked with what we had, and one does not argue when things are given freely. Admittedly, it's just a bunch of old play props, but you know, whatever. …and I'll thank you for recognizing this is the Dungeon Master's throne, yeah?"

"Oh, is that so? Does the bidding start at ten shillings?"

"She's priceless, smartass." Eddie caressed the arms of the chair, defensively; trying not to give her the satisfaction of his laugh and failing miserably. "I thought you were determined to avoid me, er, us, forever, you know?"

"I hadn't been avoiding you, I just…" She trailed off, taking a seat and rifling through her bag. After a few seconds she produced a familiar sketch pad and laid it on the table between them. "I've just been tired, I guess, had a lot of work to do."

"I could tell! You snoozed through more chemistry lecture yesterday than I usually do! That's saying something you know, 'cause that's my dedicated nap hour. You're usually all diligent and shit, taking notes. Bleh." He grinned, hoping to help her feel at ease. Maybe she was too late to join them for the night's session, but he could at least get her to feel compelled to come back.

"Heh, yeah. Kind of embarrassing actually, I usually fly under the radar with teachers, too. Not used to being called out in the middle of class like that."

"Bah, it's nothing. You're smart, and pay attention otherwise, they'll forget about it by next week. So, um, what brought you to Hellfire, finally?" Legs crossed as he leaned back in his seat, he fiddled with one of his rings, absent-mindedly.

"I…" She began, but trailed off, quiet for several long moments. "I'm not sure. Last time I tried to play with a group, you know back home and all… it, um, didn't exactly turn out the best. I figured it was worth another chance, I mean, you were so insistent, after all."

Reaching for a heavy, metal thermos she’d been holding between her thick thighs she unscrewed the lid and took a sip of whatever was inside, shivering slightly, as though struggling to warm up.

"What's in there?" He nodded quizzically to her drink, licking his lips a bit as he watched her open it. ‘Eyein' her, tongue waggin', like a damn dog boy, for Crissakes.’ He could hear his uncle’s chiding in the back of his mind already.

"Oh, um, a bit of hot cocoa. It's chilly after dark this time of year, and it's no short walk, you know?"

"Wait, you walked all the way here? No wonder you were late, Jesus Christ, doesn't that beater of yours run?"

"On the days it wants to. I guess today wasn't my lucky day, huh? You, uh, want some?" She tilted the thermos in his direction and he took in a whiff of the rich, chocolatey concoction. If she hadn’t noticed him practically slobbering on the table while watching her a few moments before, he feared she might now.

"If the lady would be so kind." He managed, smoothly, dragging his gaze away from her hips and soft-looking stomach. He cleared his throat and wanting, for a moment, to kick his own ass as she flipped the top of the thermos over and poured it to the brim for him. He hadn't realized until then he hadn't eaten since lunch, and the sweet smell set his stomach to rumbling.

Taking a deep drink, grateful for the distraction, he savored the indulgent beverage as it warmed him from the inside out. It didn't take him long to realize this was no supermarket powdered mix, and he eagerly took another gulp; painting his upper lip intentionally well.

“Oh man, that’s the stuff. Anyway, I don’t wanna’ catch you walking your ass here on our account again, at least ask me for a ride if we’re goin’ the same way, huh?”

Smirking, eyebrows wiggling ridiculously, he eyed her with a faux look of stern authority; offset of course by the chocolate, milk foam mustache settling under his nose. She watched him for a moment, a smile creeping onto her face before she dropped her eyes and covered her mouth, muffling a wheezy little laugh.

“Hmm, I’m recalling something about not getting into cars with strangers?” Her voice trailed off into a grin, eyeing the deliberate mess under his nose.

“Hey, c’mon, we didn’t get off on the best foot, but we’re not strangers, are we? Damn, it’s the mustache isn’t it?” He deepened his voice comically, wrinkling his nose and wagging a finger in her direction as she started to laugh so hard her entire body shook with the effort to keep it contained. Something about seeing her relaxed like this and enjoying herself, if only for a moment, set Eddie at ease. At least compared to how he’d been feeling since the night he’d seen her nearly collapse on herself in fear, become a completely different person, and disappear into the unknown.

"Not strangers, I suppose, no. But still…" Catching her breath, she sighed, leaning into the table, eyeing him warily for a moment. She only just caught his gaze before looking away suddenly, as if the vulnerability of direct eye contact was too invasive. "I haven't quite figured you out yet, I don't think."

"Hah!" Eddie scoffed, good-naturedly, as he licked his lips and wiped them on the back of his hand. "I wanna' be able to say 'sure, good luck with that', bu-u-ut I'm a simple man, what can you do? I enjoy a cold beer, good music, fantasy freak games, and long conversations with cute folks."

"Everyone has an angle, something they're after. Whether they're up front about it or not - something only experience can teach you, y'know?" Her voice fell as far as her eyes, and she squirmed somewhat in her seat. She seemed to be studying the bat tattoo on Eddie's forearm to keep herself distracted, or maybe to maintain her focus and avoid saying something too scathing. "So, you gotta' know what they’re about, before they turn you inside out."

"That's no way to be, sweetheart. Livin' life assuming everyone has it out for you? I mean, sure, I get it, trust is hard to give and easy to lose. Hell, I've never met a person who hasn't been stabbed in the back before, but…" Pausing, tongue caught between his teeth, he suddenly realized he knew next to nothing about what this girl had been through, yet. Maybe he was being a patronizing jerk, maybe he was preaching to the choir.

"Useful as long as you're useful." She struggled to get out, as if trying to protect herself while risking opening up to someone new. It was a tightly locked door, he could tell, that hesitated to budge.

Eddie shrugged, nodding, and knowing she was right. Even if there was a part of him that wanted to find that seed of doubt in everyone like her, like him, and root it out he knew he couldn't change her mind in a single night. Maybe he couldn't in a dozen, even a hundred, but in spite of knowing he felt no illusion of heroism there was an inkling in him that yearned for it, even if it was only a fanciful delusion. So, if it took him a thousand nights, ten thousand… Desperate to break his mopey and aggrandizing trail of thought, and keep the conversation going for a bit longer, his eyes fell on the sketch pad between them.

"I see the master has brought her tools of the trade! Now, I've never posed for a portrait before, but, I think you can capture my good side, let me just turn around."

"Ah, that's your good side? I could hardly tell the difference between the two, what with all the shit you like to talk." Grateful for the change in topic, her wit returned with a smirking vengeance.

"Oof! Critical hit!" He fell limply into his chair, "I'm gonna' have to be careful around you, if you keep throwing out whips like that. Seriously though, I hope this doesn't sound weird, but I kinda' wanted to see what else you've got in your magic sketch tome there."

Her hands spread out, protectively, across the cover of the drawing pad. She wasn't used to sharing her art with others, much less being asked explicitly about it. Remembering, fondly, his childlike glee at her Trees of Valinor drawing she smiled gently, knowing he was at least safe to share that much with.

"Well, I finished it. This one, and thought maybe you might want to see the end result." Opening the cover, she revealed the finished piece: two majestic trees on twin cliffs, one gold, the other silver, their glowing boughs reaching for one another as a city of pure white sat nestled in the distance behind them.

Eddie got slowly to his feet and gently turned the paper toward him so he could see it properly. Bracing himself on the table, he fanned out his fingers and tapped his knuckles noisily against the wood. His head bobbed a few times as he'd lean in to observe a small detail then lean back to take the whole image in again; his body vibrated excitedly on the spot all the while.

"Listen, I gotta' know what entity you sold your soul to, to be able to make…" He pointed exaggeratedly at the drawing several times, a look of pure glee on his face. "This! All this! Oh, shit, you gotta' be a warlock, this is so incredibly bitchin'!"

"The entity of practice and nothing better to do, honest!" She chuckled, face flushed as she wrung her hands; unsure of what to do with such praise.

"Okay, okay I believe you." He raised his hands in acquiescence. "But I'm watchin' you, and the fi-i-irst hint of magic I sniff out… ohh, hey, I know!"

Dropping suddenly to his knees, ever the showman, he elicited a small gasp as his friend leaned over the table to make sure he hadn't actually hurt himself. He tore open his backpack and began rooting deeply through the books and wads of crumpled paper.

"Saw you eyeing my tatt, earlier. Dunno' if you've got any ink, but you appreciate art enough, yeah? So… I figured… you just might… ah!" Thrusting his arm into the air, sudden and triumphant, he waved his prize a few times before tossing it onto the table. In the brief silence, she laid eyes on a well-loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.

"I, uh, well…" She looked between him and the book a few times. "I mean, I've done a lot of Tolkien art-"

"I know, I know, and believe me I'm gonna' squeal like a girlie on prom night about all of them! You know, when you're comfortable enough to show me and all, bu-u-ut!" Leaning over the book he began flipping pages until he found what he was looking for - a break in the walls of text with a simple, black lined drawing they were both familiar with. The Doors of Durin.

Peering over the pages, she could see he'd gazed at this particular passage many times. The fraying paperback's spine cracked along the edge, almost permanently bookmarking itself.

"Think you could do it? I mean, yeah, of course you can, but, would you? I'll pay, I'm no cheapskate, I appreciate art." Eddie slid the book across the table to her, leaning in with a warm, excitable grin. "...and the artist."

She peered at the book as though it were her first time seeing it, even though her own worn out copy of the epic tale waited for her at home. Giving the hard, black illustration a once over, she noticed the faint appearance of overlapping lines between the ones inked on the page; he'd definitely tried tracing this before.

"It's just some simple line work, I mean… sure I could replicate it, but, what for?"

"Yeah, yeah but you and your pencil magic? I thought if anyone could jazz it up a little bit, give it some edge? I've been wanting to get it tattooed for ages now, but I didn't wanna, you know, just have someone copy a book page onto my ass."

"Wait, what?" She grinned at him, halfway amused that he'd want to permanently emblazon her work on his body, and at the thought of him face down in a tattoo chair. Maybe that was more of a blush, now, as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

"Uh, of course, was thinkin' about ri-i-ight here?" He struck an exaggerated pose as he struggled to lift his shirt and gesture excitedly at the bare skin of the middle of his lower back. Now she couldn't help but imagine he was pulling her leg, urging her to laugh any way he knew how.

"Oh, right above your own mineshaft. Very classy, sir."

"Well, do you know of any better place to advertise 'speak friend, and enter'?"

The pair burst into laughter, hardly able to take the other seriously in the moment. All the anxious churning in her stomach had finally given way and for the first time the entire night, she felt relaxed. Admittedly, it was far more difficult to do when she wasn't on the better way to being stoned, but Eddie made himself a comforting presence no matter the strange theatrics he injected into the situation. She wasn't used to people trying so hard to make her feel welcomed and at ease, but in that moment she imagined she could… and that she'd very much like to.

"Uhm, am I interrupting anything in here?" Their bouts of uncontrollable laughter were suddenly silenced by the intrusion of a third voice. Eddie turned suddenly to spot Dustin lingering by the door, a charming grin on his face as he eyed the two.

“Christ! Henderson, you sneaky little shit!” Eddie snapped as Dustin didn’t wait for an answer, strolling casually into the midst of their conversation; smiling all the while like he’d caught them in the middle of something scandalous.

“I’m levelin’ stealth.” He shrugged, looking over everything on the table like he was trying to piece together some mystery or another. “Listen, man, think you could drop me by my house on your way out? My mom’s with her book club or something and I don’t wanna’ sit outside all night.”

“No, look, I already told you - okay not you, but I thought it was you, and… no, no I’m not givin’ you a ride home; I got stuff to do!”

“Cle-e-early. C’mon, I’m along your way anyway… ohh, brownies!” His hands wandered the table as he spoke, and found the plastic container Eddie’s company had set down earlier and nearly forgotten about. Without asking, he pulled one out and took an eager bite. Recognizing the girl across from Eddie as the one he’d spotted weeks ago he waved politely before tipping his gaudily colored baseball cap. “M’lady.” His grin speckled with crumbs.

“Gross.” Eddie sneered at Dustin’s awkward introduction, teasing, ignoring the fact he’d done the same thing in front of her at least half a dozen times by now.

“Glad to finally meet you, I figured Eddie had scared you away when you didn’t show up two weeks running! I mean, you missed the game but… mmfh, oh man, these are so good. You make these?”

Not sure what to make of the scathing, but good-natured, banter between the two she finally snapped out of her daze with a shy smile, tickled at his offhanded enjoyment of her baking which Eddie had, thus far, failed to notice.

“You’re Henderson, right? Ah, Dustin, sorry. Eddie’s told me a bit about you.” She spoke, her tone much more subdued now.

“That would be me!” He brushed a few falling crumbs off his over shirt before taking another bite. “Only good things, I hope?”

“Oh, only ever good things…” She winked in Eddie’s direction, prompting Dustin to narrow his eyes, skeptically.

“She’s a great baker, an artist - damn, Eddie would NOT shut his mouth about your drawing for days - and tells little white lies for you when you’re bein’ a dick. Can we keep her?”

Eddie’s upper lip curled, though he tried his best to make it look more like a grimace than the creeping smile it was. He swatted at the boy’s arm like a scolding parent before turning to gather his things back into his bag.

“Don’t talk to the lady with your mouth full, sheesh. Tellin’ me you have a girlfriend, and you act like this in front of women? I’m callin’ your bluff again, big guy.”

“My Suzie adores me as I am, what can I say? Our love is the armor that protects me from your jealous barbs, oh, Eddie the Lonesome.”

“I’m not lone- stop it! This, see this? This is why you’re walkin’ home!”

“Oh you’re not? I se-e-e-e…” Dustin looked to the quiet girl with a knowing grin, though their insults flew so quickly, she could hardly make heads or tails of what he meant. Rather, she preferred not to dwell on the idea.

A strained silence grew between them, broken some moments later as Eddie’s new friend cleared her throat as she adjusted a pair of headphones dangling around her neck. He just realized he hadn’t even asked her what she liked to listen to; a classic ice breaker he’d nearly forgotten about in favor of slipping around aimlessly, hoping it would crack on its own.

“Get this sweet fella’ home safe, I’ll catch up with you later.” She smiled kindly at Dustin, and offered Eddie a shy wave.

“Wait, wait, you’re not walkin’ all the way back! What did I say earlier? It’s cold as balls and you live two doors away!” Eddie huffed, knowing he’d prefer to share his drive with a sweet girl than listen to Dustin’s teasing the whole trek across town. Even with both of them in the car, he could rest in knowing the inquisitive little sophomore would keep most of his snark to himself.

“Don’t you worry about me. It’s time for me to reflect and clear my head, anyway, I’ll be careful - besides, he needs you more than I do right now.”

“Mmhm, oh man.” Dustin’s base enjoyment of another brownie broke the tense silence in the room. “Can I take a couple of these home with me?”

“Sure, hon, take the whole thing if you want. Just bring the container back to me next week.” She gestured generously, not sure where her sudden maternal instinct had come from, and hoped it had gone unnoticed. Dustin’s chocolate-stained smile let her know it, in fact, had not.

“Hey, wait, next week? D-Does that mean… you’re comin’ back?” Eddie perked up at the prospect, dark eyes alight with tentative hope.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”

“Hot damn! Welcome to Hellfire!” Dustin exclaimed, pausing mid-sentence to swallow.

Eddie reached over and gave a small pinch to the tender skin just behind the boy’s elbow before snatching at the tupperware in his hands.

“That’s my line, kiddo. …and gimme’ one of those!”

“Oww! Hey, she said I could have ‘em!”

Smiling to herself she drowned out the last strains of their playful arguing with her headphones, disappearing down the hall and into the chilly Hawkins night.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #promises #promises fic

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ursbearhug · 1 year

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Okay in my normal vein I'm obligated by law to recommend a good game!

So I had some spare change on my steam account because my previous purchases (Devil May Cry 5 and Resident Evil 6) were... Less than satisfying. I know RE6 is good story wise because I've watched let's play of it but playing the game myself caused some serious conniptions. Devil May Cry was on the other hand, an example of horrible port or game that was not made for PC in the first play. Whatever it was, it was just horrendous experience all around. But since you can only play for less than 2 hours in order to return the game, I might have missed the game being the best in the world in the meantime or something.

This by the way is something I've learnt the hard way because I'm 98% sure that at the time, mother language version of the service rules you agree to, have been horribly untranslated. In English it clearly says that game needs to be played for less than 2 hours AND returned within two weeks of purchase. When I read it (not in English) it said one or the other. And I was very perplexed and vexed because I couldn't give back the game I barely played but bought two years ago or some shit like that. Anyway!

"Pentiment" is gorgeous game stylised for 15 and 16th century illuminations. There is a lot of gothic and humanistic calligraphy to oggle at if that's something you fancy. I know to a lot of folk it is hard to believe but antique and mediaeval latin are different and therefore a lot of it is hardly understandable to me (though, a lot of is because it's just 'reprints', like for instance; Aeneid). But that's only if you go through the trouble of reading that flashing latin (which I do because I'm a weirdo). There is a lot of the "choices matter", most of the game is carefully picking conversation options - since game is constantly auto saved, you cannot pick and revert your choice; this ain't Life is Strange. If you fuck up, you have to live with that wrong choice you've picked by accident and WHOOPS 13 hours of gameplay for naught because YOUR FAT FUCKING FINGER SLIPED. It's okay. I'm over it... - and investigating. But what could you be investigating? MURDER! And this time it ain't butler's fault. And no Agatha Christie to be found.

Beside being just gorgeous to look at, it runs really well too. It's tad too loud for me personally but I'm not really game music nerd. It is okay though! Characters that I got to meet are really sweet and lovely too. Most of them anyway. Towns folk especially. The amount of dilfs I would like to... Well... Fuck - is staggering. Game is also somehow aware of gay people existing in the 16th century monasteries and out. I would *DIE* for Jorg. He is big where it matters. (It's his heart pervs)

To my delight game has 3 acts and it took me 13 hours to get through 1st. Now I had the freedom to play almost nonstop but I'm also a MASSIVE snoop and I was getting into everybodies' business with my crew and talking dog. I meant meddling kids! So there is a chance that somebody who cares less about petting every dog and cat and smelling every flower and talking with everybody 6 times just to be sure, will be able to go through the game quicker.

Oh, yes. You can pet 16th century illuminations of a cat or dog. Ya know how everybody lost their shit that Hogwarts Legacy: Transphobia Crowd Funded had the petting cats options? Yeah, eat your heart out JKTERFling. One of the dog is called Mirabilis which is: according to my poor memory and even worse grasp on Latin - either an adjective meaning "wonderful" or noun meaning "wonder". I would die for them too.

There is also some "choose your own adventure" motifs, with picking unfinished (hits too close to home mister Game) major, second field, your origins and later even main occupation (and I - for once in my entire life - was pleasantly surprised to see my nation and country existing prominently. Though that was when it excelled historically, so yeah). And I think it gives it a lot of charm.

I will try to finish the game (and perhaps cram the second playthrough because I have new BETTER ideas to FUCK UP MY GAME) before the weekends end. Game is currently on a discount on Steam and will be till 4th of May to anybody interested!

Anyway, I'm really tired and tomorrow is fancy Flea Market awaiting me so! Good night ol buddies ol pals!

#percy does things #percy does gaming

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xtrablak674 · 1 year

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History Repeating

Being our third or fourth video call in like a week, I was aware that we were in a new spot. Albeit the diminished energy was still present, mind you these kids dad had just passed I got a strong intuition that this was their baseline and if this was homeostasis, these kids were depressed. Fourteen to twenty the energy should have been more kinetic but it wasn't it was dulled and I don't think this was just the marijuana.

The most disappointing thing for me was the environment a solid colored room with a single bar light bulb on the ceiling, the kind of lighting I wouldn't even consider yet this was their norm. The few glimpses of the room I could see things were placed in a very incidental way with no clear intention. This was familiar, not to my own upbringings but my being in my father's house particularly the one he shared with my brother's mom.

I had to point out to my Floridian nephew that I had never lived in anyone's ghetto. I think my mom was only making a bit above the poverty level and there were roaches in our house, but they never felt oppressive and ever present. The house was relatively clean having three single digit little boys ripping about and tearing around. There were no random piles of indistinguishable items. A place for everything and everything in its place. My god-grandmother's house was worn but still tidy.

My brother's children were living in squalor as far as I was concerned not that different than what you would find in a developing country. This made my nieces blurted out statement, 'its so orderly there' stand out even more starkly. She had only knew disorder her entire life, even in her younger brother's home it wasn't that different. I turned my camera around showing them one wall of my apartment where my Ms. Pac-Man game is also arranged. I told them it was very surprising to me that they had so many bare walls, not even a taped up poster.

This was eye opening, horrifying, upsetting and depressing to me. I could understand why their energy was so diminished their homes literally reflected their disenfranchised disempowered and diminished existence. And not one adult around them knew any better so here they were in this space that said bare necessities, no dreams, no mood boards, no fantasies, no future. It makes it so much clearer that my nephew felt the need to be high all day, when your life seems so bleak there is no where better to escape then into a cloud of smoke...

Things in my head were clicking a bit more, I was so disappointed in their parents when about fifteen years ago I Trading Spaces their studio apartment from just a bed bureau and TV to a full house of furniture, actual decorative aspects and lighting making the space so much more inviting. In my ignorance I thought I could undo decades of oppression, mental health issue compounded by living in destitute situations that didn't need to be so destitute. I was trying to fight a battle that had long been lost before I even existed.

Black people throughout time have had little, but a common theme amongst those of us who had little is that we care for the little we had. You could go into most of these Black households and not find an ounce of dirt. Furniture and clothes may have been worn and thread-bare, but were always clean! That wasn't the case in my nieces and nephews grandmother's house. She had been mentally checked out for decades and basic things like keeping a clean house had passed along the wayside a long time ago.

I had witnessed this personally as a child when I would sit up on the bed in the living room and hear the mice scurrying about on the floor after the sun set. Their grandmother at the time, my father's girlfriend didn't seem in the least bit upset or disturbed by what kind of filth the house must contain to have not only roaches but rodents all throughout the house. I remember even as a child being disgusted by the extreme poverty, blackened floors, holes in ceilings and walls and a general sense of filthiness.

In my own apartment in Peekskill the refrigerator was usually a space free from any pest. But in my dad's fridge bugs were in everything, the butter, milk, juice, fruits and you were probably eating them in the breakfast cereal. As much as I enjoyed spending time with my father, I didn't enjoy having my food tainted with the dead or partially living bodies of pest. This was disgusting!

But you live in squalor long enough this becomes the default. Normally I show off my apartment to those around me, and found myself deliberately holding back sharing the entire thing with these kids. I felt like it would have been inappropriate showing them how well I was living while they lived in squalor, sheet-less beds, dirty floors, bare walls, rooms lit by a single bulb, piles of clothing and random items with no rhyme or reason. It bought me so much cognitive dissonance and such sadness that I wanted so much more for these children still, and how much the adults in their lives had failed them. I am sure they were doing the best they could, but these kids deserved so much better than what they were getting...

[Photo by Brown Estate]

#mental health #journal entry #heredity #poverty #what to do?#breaking the pattern #cognitive dissonance #Trading Spaces #cleanliness #despair #depression #self medicating

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aquasrandomstuffs · 1 year

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15 Questions

I got tagged by @daydreamodyssey. Popping it onto my random stuff side blog because it's not technically writing related. I will be making this an open tag because I have no idea if I have 15 mutuals that haven't already done this ^_^;. Also under a readmore to save peoples' dashes

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not that I'm aware. My mum told me she like the name I have because it was unusual outside of Scotland, and even in Scotland at the time.

2. When was the last time you cried?

While watching a reaction video going through the final part of the FF14 Endwalker MSQ a week and a bit ago. A certain npc's sacrifice gets me constantly, alright?

3. Do you have kids?

No. I can't really afford to give them the life they deserve and I can barely handle my nieces and nephews. At least I can hand them back to their parents when I get overstimulated, can't do that with your own.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

It's a bit of a go-to. I mean, I'm British so...

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Usually whatever they're wearing. If they're talking, usually their accent.

6. What’s your eye color?

Blue.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both. I'm a sap for happy endings but I do like the adrenaline rush of scary movies

8. Any special talents?

I'm reasonably creative and my occasional leaps of 'logic' will often have people questioning either my sanity or their own (usually mine. Logic doesn't really exist in this brain)

9. Where were you born?

In a hospital.

10. What are your hobbies?

Writing, reading (online for the most part these days), video games, tabletop wargames and roleplaying games. I also enjoy theorycrafting, though I rarely share my insane thoughts with regards to that.

11. Have you any pets?

I would love to have some sort of pet. Alas, the person I live with is allergic to pretty much everything with fur or feathers and we don't have room for fish or anything more exotic.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

I've never played professionally, but I have played plenty of games of rounders, and I wasn't too bad at badminton while I was at school. I used to be an avid swimmer, but that's fallen by the wayside the last few years.

13. How tall are you?

5'6.

14. Favorite subject in school?

Honestly? I liked them all. There were individual teachers I never liked, but I loved and still love learning generally.

15. Dream job?

I don't really have one, if I'm totally honest. As a kid, I wanted to be a palaeontologist for ages then switched it up by wanting to go into animal care as a teenager. I'm quite happy with the job I'm doing now as it's about as close to a lot of peoples' dream for a job as I'll get. No, you may not ask any more questions about it

#tumblr tag games #I am upset about the pet situation #but I make do with becoming besties with my friends' animals instead

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epiicaricacy-arts · 1 year

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i keep my strikers thoughts to myself a lot cause i’d feel bad clogging up the tags but i realized they barely have anything to begin with, so..

i just think the whole “i handpicked the monarchs myself!” thing from konoe is so fucking funny when you really look at it. because choosing alice and hyodo makes a LOT of sense, right? they’re already influential (popular idol/designer — plus ann mentions that alice is very pretty and she wonders why she needs to control people with EMMA anyway — the mayor of sapporo)

so from their pre-EMMA standing in society, it’d be really easy to brainwash their supporters and then some. if we follow the sort of same level of “power” that the original game had, i’d understand why the first monarch is just a popular singer and the third monarch has to escalate quite a bit. and so you’d THINK that the second monarch would at least be a step above the first in some way, right?

but really, natsume is just.. some guy? like, as far as i remember, he was NOT popular at all before EMMA. i’m pretty sure all he was known for was his grandfather’s achievements and that was the extent of his “fame,” and i’m sure you can make an argument for it, but even so..

there HAD to have been someone more famous in sendai??? right???? also i’m not saying any of this in a bad way at all, i think it’s fucking hilarious how underwhelming that is. just the dip in consistency we’ve got going here. like i thought following a popular idol, it would be someone who’s also already been super influential for a while but NO here’s this guy i found shopping at the bargain section of the arcade. he became famous a few weeks ago isn’t that neat.

its just funny that with how konoe made such a big deal about hand picking who gets brain-washed for each of these cities, he decided the teenage guy writing out his isekai demon lord fantasies was the best candidate.

so while i have my own issues with strikers as a whole, i think this random little dude they made is really funny and more people should be aware of his existence

#👁️ yoyo’s rambles #persona 5 scramble #persona 5 strikers

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sasquapossum · 1 year

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[image: black and white drawing of two wolves, superimposed so that the muzzle of the left-looking one is also the muzzle of the right-looking one in a slightly different pose. It’s easy to flip between seeing one or the other, but hard to see both at once. Credit to https://www.moillusions.com]

I have Schrödinger’s ADHD, and maybe Schrödinger’s Autism as well. Both there and not there, the “truth” for any moment only determined after the fact. For a while now, I’ve been thinking (and occasionally telling others) that I don’t know whether I have either condition or not. In a way it doesn’t matter, because if I do then I clearly have a robust set of coping strategies as well. It certainly does run in my family, especially the men on my father’s side. I have an uncle who was profoundly autistic as a child, but when he was about 20 he must have hit on some way to compensate (with no help from family or therapists so kudos to him) and has totally “passed” ever since. Evaluations are expensive, so why bother if it’s not affecting me too much? Another metaphor that kind of works for the is the good old “two wolves” only in my case it’s ND Wolf and NT Wolf. (I love that image above and might try to get it on a shirt BTW.) They both exist and will always exist. I can choose which one to feed, but the other never goes away. Here are some examples of how this has played out in my life.

In my work, I have gone through periods of what I (vaguely) think of as “heads down” mode - days to weeks of such intense focus on a particular problem that I barely eat, sleep, etc. It was kind of something I could control, but also kind of not: the pull was always there, and I knew I would eventually succumb whether or not I found a productive outlet. Is that ADHD behavior (or perhaps bipolar), or is it just “normal” variation?

When I had a child, I became reluctant to go into a mode where I shut everyone else out, because you can’t (or anyway shouldn’t) shut out your child. Perhaps that’s a warning for my ND friends who might have kids themselves. I might not have too many words to describe it, but it’s a pretty intense struggle.

Similarly, when I retired it was because I just didn’t want to devote those chunks of my life to others’ benefit. I still get a bit carried away, e.g. with archery or resin crafting, but it feels better even though it’s arguably less satisfying intellectually (the programming problems I was known for solving were hard).

When I wore out my second stairclimbing machine and decided that I should find a new kind of exercise, I eventually settled on running. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stick with it unless I absolutely geeked out on it, so I did. You would not believe how much time I’ve spent thinking about gear and form and routes, but without that I would have quit years ago.

There are other things I carefully avoid because I know they would exceed my ability to pull out. That’s why I don’t play MMOs. I’ve seen them totally suck in my brother (twice) and don’t want that for myself. I’ve seen the same with my wife and Killer Sudoku or Nonograms. I know I have to pace myself with getting into a new TV or book series, or some kinds of video games, because I’ll get totally absorbed into studying the lore underneath. Even in retirement, I don’t feel like I can afford that.

When I replay a social interaction in my mind (itself probably a “not quite normal” thing to do apparently) I experience an odd kind of duality. One moment I’m hyper-aware of how I was consciously thinking and planning my way through it as someone with autism might do. The next moment I’m hyper-aware of how I was handling it intuitively, as a neurotypical person might. Flip, flop, flip, flop. In reality I suppose both elements were present, and everyone has at least a little of both, but I can choose which one to see almost exclusively and that feels weird.

In many ways, these tendencies have been positive for me. “Heads down mode” was great for my career. My obsessive behavior around running has been good for my health. It’s something I have to manage about myself, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Neurodivergence is a different ability (or several), not a disability. Its existence should be recognized and respected, not “fixed” or condemned.

I’m not particularly going anywhere with this, really. Just thinking out loud, and I guess crafting long posts like this (like the blog posts I wrote for many years) is another example of not-quite-NT behavior. I just have to, y’know? It’s like an itch I have to scratch, sooner or later. Usually I post the results, but also you wouldn’t believe how much time I’ve spent on stuff that’s still in my drafts. I’ll just close with a couple more images (artists unknown this time) that also illustrate the kind of duality I’m talking about. Enjoy!

#adhd #autism #neurodivergence #optical illusions #schrodinger #probably had one or the other too #quite likely both #long post

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

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Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids.

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint?

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower.

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes.

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer.

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest.

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 8

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language? Warnings: None? I think? Please let me know if I missed something Notes: Bit of fluff with some anxiety/update on primary conflict. Next chapter will be a cute date with Dani, the one after that will be maximum h*rny, and then what will likely be the finale. Music for this chapter here. PS this one is a bit on the shorter side, but I hope y'all still enjoy it. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony

Chapter 8: Obbligato

(Obbligato: An instrumental part which is essential in a piece of music)

“Okay, okay, serious this time, please? I’ll give you a kiss if you try hard enough,” you promised, grinning up at Daniela as you did. A week had passed since your talk in the library, with the two of you spending most days together, and you were progressing nicely with the musical lessons. Still, your girlfriend (you would never get tired of saying that word) was prone to getting a tad ‘distracted’. By you, usually. Not that it was intentional by any means. There was only so much you could do to keep her focused when the two of you were this close together.

“I could just kiss you anyway,” Daniela teased, leaning in with familiar intent. Right before your lips touch, however, she pulls back and smirks. “But if you insist, I can handle the challenge.” Then she’s turning back towards the piano, carefully finding the starting position. Even with her prior experience, you were impressed with how much she had already learned, and couldn’t help but be immensely proud of her. If anyone could meet Lady Dimitrescu’s expectations within a three month timeframe, it was the two of you. Except, of course, you still had to double-check just what her expectations were.

In the meantime, you were excited to hear your girlfriend play through the sheet music you had written up. Most of what you were working with had come from the family’s storage room, but you had also found some blank sheets, and figured it couldn’t hurt to create songs of your own. This particular one was relatively simple. It had been based on a song from a game you had played years ago, and only posed a moderate challenge due to its interesting rhythm. Daniela had seemed to enjoy playing it, with you even hearing her practice the song outside of your lessons, but had so far today refused to play it seriously.

Finally that was going to change. Once she found the starting notes, she nodded to herself, then started playing. For the first time today her expression is stern, focused. Seeing her like this was nice. She was always cute, you just thought that she was extra cute like this. But you tried not to let yourself get too distracted, knowing that you couldn’t give her feedback if you didn’t pay attention. In your head you “play along”, fingers miming the movements, knowing that it would help you catch any possible mistakes. Throughout the piece there are only a couple that you catch, none of them being severe enough to ruin the experience. Finishing with a little flourish, Daniela returns her gaze to you, grinning expectantly.

“Well? I seem to recall you promising me a reward,” she said, perking a brow. Laughing a little, you roll your eyes, before moving in to give her exactly what she wanted. Both of you are smiling into the kiss, enjoying every moment of it. Soon enough Daniela is running a hand through your hair, and pressing against you more, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss. You’re blushing hard now, thoughts going everywhere other than music. It’s not until you pull back for air that you remember what you’re supposed to be doing right now.

“As wonderful as this is… we still have a few more songs to go over,” you murmured, despite how much you wanted to keep kissing Daniela. By the way she groaned in frustration, you figured she felt the same way, more or less. “Hey, don’t fret too much. Think of this as an opportunity to earn a few more rewards,” you teased, gently patting her on the shoulder. For a moment she simply pouts, but eventually she sighs and gets ready to play another song…

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

Rushing up the steps, practically two at a time, you desperately hoped that you wouldn’t be late. This was your third “update meeting” with Lady Dimitrescu, which by itself was enough to make you a nervous wreck. Add in the fact that this was the first time you’d be meeting alone? And in her personal study, no less? Well, it was safe to say that you were terrified. You hadn’t even been told why things were different this time. No, you were about as clueless as could be, given the circumstances.

By the time you make it your Lady’s study, you cannot tell whether your heart is racing due to stress or physical exertion. Regardless, you make it there in short time, arriving precisely at the scheduled hour. After taking a moment to settle your nerves, you briefly knock on the chamber door. There’s the sound of movement from inside before the way opens. Lady Dimitrescu has to bend a little to see out, but quickly smiles when she meets your gaze. Which was rather unexpected. The last time you had met with her she had been distanced, although still polite. Then again, Daniela had also been with you, and the focus was, as always, on her.

“Lady Dimitrescu,” you greeted, giving a short bow per customs. Then you were being waved in, brought over to a small sitting area, where you waited for permission to sit down. Once it was given, you relaxed a little. Maybe I don’t have as much reason to be nervous as I thought, you muse.

“Please, make yourself comfortable. There are no reasons for you to be unsettled, as far as I am aware,” Lady Dimitrescu said, smile disappearing for a moment at the end. But it’s back as quickly as it had vanished. Did she suspect something? Perhaps she had seen the way Daniela looked at you, or even overheard the whisperings of your roommates. Both thoughts do little other than renew your anxiety. Noticing this, Alcina frowns and shakes her head. “I was merely joking. Now, let us get to the reason for our meeting: How are Daniela’s lessons fairing? There is only so much I can glean from listening.” Glad to have something to think about other than your secret relationship with your boss’ daughter, you nodded and began explaining.

“Lady Daniela is making outstanding progress, in my opinion. Even with her occasional… lapses in attention, once she puts her mind to something, she’s quick to master it. At this point she can sight read nearly as fast and accurately as myself. However, we’re still going over vocabulary, as well as keys and their corresponding chords,” you answered, barely able to maintain eye contact with your employer. Thankfully, she seems to have accepted the inevitability of your nervousness. You were especially thankful now that you prepared to ask her a question. “My Lady, may I inquire about what specifically you expect from my teachings? If there are certain genres you wish for Daniela to be familiar with, or techniques-... I must admit I am unsure as to how to best meet your requirements.”

Slowly reclining in her chair, Alcina appears to ponder your question. In the meantime she sips at her beverage, holding the cup as if it were a fragile heirloom (which it could very well be), eyes looking into the middle distance. Then she gives a soft hum, setting her cup down and returning her attention to you.

“I suppose I can understand your concern. In some ways you have already exceeded my expectations,” she said, expression oddly plain in comparison to her positive phrasing. “My daughter has rarely invested herself in anything as much as she has in your lessons. For this, I am left wondering what she finds so captivating- the music, or the one who pulls the strings?... But that is not the answer to your inquiry, is it?” In that moment, you are incredibly still, willing yourself to keep a straight face, despite the racing of your heart. At your silence, Alcina perks a brow, expecting you to respond. You can’t, your mouth suddenly dry. “What I expect is a passion to educate, a drive to see my daughter flourish. I expect you to teach her exactly as much as she wants you to, focusing on whatever brings her the most joy. But I expect professionalism. Your duties come first, above your health, happiness, and all other desires. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my Lady. Of course, my Lady,” you replied, stuttering, eyes wide. Did she know? Or merely suspect?... There’s another thought, one you try desperately not to voice, only to hear the words fill the room before you can stop yourself. “May I ask where Lady Daniela’s desires fit into this?” Silence hangs heavy over the room for several seconds. Your employer has narrowed her eyes, lips curled downwards into a sharp scowl, watching you with thinly-veiled anger. All you can do is gulp and wait for her response. When it comes, you are surprised by the stability of her tone. It was almost as if she respected your gall.

“She is young still, with the mind of a lovesick maiden. Daniela does not know what she wants, not really, nor does she understand what she needs. If her… flirtatious nature begins to interrupt your instruction, then your response must be swift, and uninterested. Regardless of how unkindly she takes your rejection, I will ensure that she does not harm you,” Lady Dimitrescu said, giving a stern nod at the end. Though her tone was reassuring, you hardly felt better, considering you were far past the point of turning Daniela down (if anything, you had only turned her on). “Now, with that settled, I believe I should let you return to your duties. Oh, and do tell Cynthia that the tea she brewed was perfect, should you happen to see her.”

Then she looked away, practically ignoring your continued existence. So you rose to your feet, gave another bow, and left before your panic could devolve into a breakdown. Daniela is not going to be happy about this.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #serenade #my brain got stuck on this for some reason #sorry it took so long #very excited for the date chapter tho!#gonna be hecking cute

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gukyi · 3 years

Text

that’s the spirit! | myg

summary: min yoongi hates halloween. as his best friend and resident halloween-lover, that is simply unacceptable. but when halloween night rolls around and you and min yoongi feel farther apart than ever before, you discover that what’s come between you is more than just a bad trick, and that no matter what day it is, loving him is the sweetest treat of all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au, halloween!au}

pairing: min yoongi x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, a little angst? (a little i promise) word count: 8k (woohoo! i did it!) warnings: alcohol consumption, underage drunkenness in flashbacks, misunderstandings, helpless but mutual pining, halloween parties, this is halloween during college, what else do you expect a/n: some scenes inspired by love, rosie, my absolute favorite rom-com! happy halloween, and i hope this brings some joy to your life before armageddon i mean election day rolls around! much love 🎃💜

Min Yoongi hates Halloween.

Which is ridiculous, because you assume that there must have been at least one time in his life where he liked it. Halloween is a universally-liked holiday. It was the one day of the year where he, an unbridled child rebelling against authority, got to dress up as his favorite book character, superhero, or movie star, hang out with his friends past sunset, and solicit strangers for free candy. Free candy! How could anyone hate that?

But the thing is, it doesn’t matter what Min Yoongi was like in his youth. Ever since you met him, he has hated Halloween. For reasons completely unbeknownst to you.

Unfortunately for Min Yoongi, just because he hates Halloween doesn’t mean that he gets to spend his October pretending that it doesn’t exist. Because, unlike him, you do not hate Halloween. In fact, you rather like it. So much so that Min Yoongi has to deal with the holiday no matter what. For better…

“Ah! What the fuck!”

Or for worse.

You pop your head out of your bedroom to find Yoongi about to throw down with the fake skeleton you’ve propped up by the door, one of those cheesy ones from Spirit Halloween that make a zombie sound whenever its artificial brain can sense someone near it. He’s got this wide-eyed look on his face, fists up in front of him like he’s going to beat the damn thing senseless, even though Min Yoongi is barely five-feet-ten and has a body that functions exclusively on iced coffee and could probably get taken down by the average third-grader.

Min Yoongi does not have a flight instinct. He only knows how to fight.

He’s muttering to himself by the time you emerge completely from your bedroom, grumbling about how he nearly wet himself at the sight of the thing, fingers glossing over the plastic bones as he inspects them. There he stands in the doorway of your apartment, curled-up fists tucked inside the too-long sleeves of his too-big hoodie, pink lips parted in innocent confusion as he blinks at your apartment’s new resident.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” You chide from where you stand in your room, watching as Yoongi jerks his head up. The sound of your voice seems to catch him off guard for a minute, eyes wide in shock before he realizes that it’s you and his whole body relaxes. “Was that you I just heard screaming outside my apartment, Min Yoongi?”

“No,” Yoongi deadpans, fully aware that the both of you know that it was him. “Must have been someone else.”

“Yes, of course, my mistake,” you tease, coming up behind him to rub his upper arm, the palm of your hand pressing against the worn fabric of his hoodie sleeve as he sighs. “You don’t have a problem with my festive decorations at all, do you?”

“Not those,” Yoongi frowns, pointing to the orange and black streamers hanging above your apartment window, to the mini pumpkins sitting in the center of your dinky kitchen table, to the construction paper cutouts of black cats decorating your walls. He rounds on the skeleton, propped up right next to the door with the sole purpose of scaring whatever visitors you have. “This, I have a problem with. What is this thing?”

You smile proudly. “Reginald.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Yoongi looks at you, positively flabbergasted. “You named it?”

You scoff. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I bought him, he’s mine now, and he needed a name. So I named him Reginald. What’s the issue here?” You weren’t about to buy a twenty-five dollar plastic skeleton, set him up to be your personal doorman, and not give him a name.

“The issue is that this—” he motions to Reginald’s face, “—is the first thing I see when I walk into your apartment, instead of—oh, I don’t know—you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aw, I’m touched,” you say, pressing a hand to your heart. “Didn’t know you always wanted to see my face first thing when you come over.”

Yoongi’s gaze drifts down towards the floor, thumbs twiddling. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, words barely audible. “Why else would I come over?”

“I don’t know, for the ambience, maybe?” You say with a shrug, watching him slide his backpack off of his shoulder and onto the floor by the couch. “Anyway, maybe if you had come with me to Spirit Halloween when I went shopping for decorations, you wouldn’t be so surprised.”

“I had two midterms that week! Two!” Yoongi reminds you.”

“I’m just saying,” you tell him, hands up defensively as you make your way to the kitchen, fishing out two teabags from the cabinet as you set the kettle to boil. You never used to like tea, but a year ago Yoongi convinced you to try this jasmine flower one from the Asian supermarket downtown and you haven’t looked back. Now there’s always at least three spare boxes in your kitchen cupboards, for you and for him. “No time is a bad time to get into the Halloween spirit.”

Yoongi sighs, loud and obvious, because this is the third year in a row you’ve brought up this conversation and it’s not any more convincing than it was the last two times. “Do we have to do this?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t we just pretend it’s November Eve?”

“Come on, Yoongi,” you plead, because he’s never given you a good explanation as to why he refuses to spend Halloween with you, and you just want to know why. “Won’t you just celebrate this one stupid holiday with me?”

“So you admit it’s stupid?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You frown at him, crossing your arms as the kettle starts whistling.

Yoongi exhales, reaching over you to pour the boiling water into your teacups, matching His and Hers ones you bought from the sale section of Target last year for Valentine’s Day. “It’s just not my thing. You know that.”

“But we’re college students,” you exclaim. “Halloween is the best when you’re a college student! You get to dress up as whatever you want and go to five different parties and spend the night with your friends without your parents chaperoning you.”

Yoongi purses his lips, unconvinced. “So… basically an opportunity to get piss drunk in a frat house? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“You know that I wouldn’t care what we did if you celebrated Halloween with me,” you say, leaning against the counter as you hold your mug in your hands, the heat warming your palms and steam brushing against the skin of your cheeks. “Even if we just stayed in and watched a movie. Or played one of those horror video games Jungkook’s always talking about.”

“That sounds worse,” Yoongi admits with a helpless laugh. It really does. Neither you nor Yoongi have ever been huge fans of the horror genre Jungkook loves so much.

You chuckle. “Honestly, yeah, forget I said anything about that.”

“You know I just don’t care for Halloween that much,” Yoongi says, gazing down into the swirling brown of his mug, the steam from the water making his glasses fog up. “It’s nothing personal.”

You sigh. That’s about as good of an answer you’re going to be getting out of him. No matter what you suggest, whether it be a house party, a night in, or even just a candy feast, he has always declined, citing his unexplainable dislike for the festivities. The only reason he deals with the holiday in the first place is because you love it so much.

“Will you at least help me carve some pumpkins please?” You ask, a last ditch effort to get him to participate. “The supermarket on Fifteenth Street is having a sale on them, and I wanted to decorate the windowsill. It’s easier with two people, you know.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, looking hesitant.

“Oh, please, Yoongi? Just this once? It’s not even, like, a strictly Halloween thing. It’s just a fall thing! Plus, we can roast the pumpkin seeds after for a snack,” you plead, placing your cup down on the counter so you can tug on his arms, hands wrapped around his wrists as you stare into his eyes, positively desperate.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yoongi says with a huff, that resigned tone to his voice that signifies that he’s caving in. “Yes, we can carve pumpkins together. That I will do.”

“Oh my God, really? Yes! Yay, thank you so much!” In a fit of excitement, surprise, and joy, you pull Yoongi in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tilts back in shock, tea spilling out over the edge of his mug and onto the linoleum floor beneath your feet, drops of it splashing against your skin.

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Yoongi says, taken aback. Still nestled tightly within your arms, he carefully sets his mug down onto the counter so as to avoid more spilling, his other hand pressing against the small of your back. “I didn’t know pumpkin carving was so important to you.”

You laugh, pulling away as you look into his eyes, crinkled up into fond little crescents. “It’s not. But you are.”

“So cheesy,” Yoongi chides.

“You love it,” you remind him, pressing the side of your body against his as you lean against the counter together. Instinctively, you let your head flop onto his shoulder, fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. “Thanks for doing this for me,” you say softly.

“Of course,” Yoongi says. “Anything for you.”

“Look how festive campus is!”

Yoongi chuckles as he watches you skip down the main walkway, the one that winds right from the west to the east side of campus, relishing in the feeling of autumn. Yoongi always forgets that it’s fall until it hits him like a brick to the head, and suddenly it’s getting dark at five-thirty and he can’t go outside without a proper jacket anymore. It’s a week until November, and Yoongi still refuses to wear anything heavier than a denim jacket, no matter how cold it gets. It can’t be winter yet, right?

“Wow, all the tones really fit the spooky mood,” you tell him, leaves crinkling as your feet step on the fallen foliage, brown and orange and yellow and red.

“How convenient it is that orange happens to be one of Halloween’s signature colors,” Yoongi chides with a roll of his eyes. “Is the Castle still hosting that party next week?”

“The costume one? Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” you tell him with a nod. “We’re still going, right?”

“Only because it’s our first year,” Yoongi reminds you pointedly. “And since you wanna celebrate together so badly.”

You scoff. “Don’t act like it’s such a drag. I know you want to spend time with me.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, casual and cool. He knows you’re just teasing him but quite frankly, if Yoongi could spend every day of the rest of his life with you, then he would. If he could turn himself into a witch and cast a spell to keep you by his side for the rest of time, then he would. From the moment the two of you met in your dingy dorm, you clicked. And Yoongi knew, in that moment. He just knew.

“Oh my God, look at the pumpkins!”

Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, your finger pointing excitedly at the carved pumpkins outside of the dormitories that line the walkway, lit candles nestled safely inside. They’ve got everything from the college logo to video game characters to the face of your lovable-but-memeable university president carved into them, decorating the street with a little more personality than normal.

“They’re so cute, holy shit,” you tell Yoongi fondly, all endeared and heart-eyed, the same way you get when someone walks their dog through campus or a professor sends out an update email with a picture of their newborn grandchild. Yoongi’s only known you a couple of months, but already he’s starting to figure out what makes you tick. “I love them. Don’t you love them, Yoongi?”

You turn around to meet Yoongi’s eyes, and when he looks back at you it feels like his whole heart is lighter. He sees your smile and it makes his body fill with warmth, like someone’s wrapping a blanket around him, like a warm cup of hot cocoa on a cool autumn afternoon. He looks back at you, and it feels like everything is right.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, grinning. “I do.”

The lopsided legs of your creaky kitchen table tremble as the pumpkin hits it.

“Damn, is this thing heavy or am I just getting weaker?” You ask, smoothing out the newspaper spread out on the flat surface of the table, two college students’ best attempt to avoid a mess. They’re old student copies with headlines like Brand New Cafeteria, but is the Food Even Any Good? and New Semester, New Me! sprawled across the front. You care about your school news, you really do, but the members of the newspaper team that hand out the papers practically stuff them down your throat whenever there’s a new issue, which is three times a week and at every street intersection on campus. So you’ve had extras lying around.

“Nope, they’re definitely heavy,” Yoongi agrees as he plops his pumpkin onto the table next to yours with a thud. “Though it’s not like I go to the gym much anyway.”

“Didn’t we say we were gonna try and be healthier this year, since we’re graduating?” You ask.

“That was before that new doughnut place opened up next to the ramen restaurant three streets up,” Yoongi reminds you.

“Maybe grad school?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, reaching over the table to grab the pumpkin carving kits the two of you bought from the drugstore down the road. “Caution. Keep out of reach of children ages three and under,” he reads. “Welp, guess I can’t do this then…”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you say with a deadpan frown, grabbing onto his wrist. “Hold on a minute, Mr. I Promised I Would Do This For My Best Friend.” Yoongi exhales dramatically as you pull him back towards the table, though it’s not as if there was much resistance from him in the first place.

You pry open the plastic wrapping that surrounds the kit, the orange tools eventually popping out of their casing and onto your newspaper-ed table. Sure, you could have probably pulled out two knives from your kitchen drawer and it wouldn’t make a difference, but spending ten dollars each on these two little pumpkin carving kits didn’t seem like a waste of money. For the sake of Halloween spirit, right?

“What do you want to carve?” You ask, handing Yoongi your open kit as you gaze at the instruction manual. Pumpkin carving shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? You cut open the top, pull out all the gunk from the inside, and then carve a face, or something.

“I’m not a very good artist,” Yoongi admits, looking hesitant.

“Well, the good thing about pumpkin carving is that no one expects them to look nice,” you point out. “I think I want to do that anime eyes face emoji. You know the one. Let’s see…”

You grab a hold of the plastic knife that came with the kit, hover the tip over the top of the pumpkin, and stab. It sinks into the squash up to the hilt. That’s the good part.

The bad part is that, because you’re holding onto a knife made out of non-recyclable plastic, moving it once it’s inside the pumpkin is exceedingly difficult. You pull it right and left fruitlessly, watching as the knife sits firmly in place, the handle bending with the curve of your fingers if you tug on it too hard.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Yoongi says with another sigh, abandoning his own pumpkin, which he has already de-stalked in the minutes you weren’t looking his way. “Let me help you.”

Suddenly, you feel a warmth wrap around you. A figure presses against your back, this musky, coffee-laden scent surrounding you, and you watch as Yoongi’s calloused hands slowly envelop yours, fingertips pressing firmly against your skin. It makes you freeze up instinctively, jumping at the sensation of his body around yours, of his torso pressed against your back, of his breath tickling your ear.

“Relax, alright?” He says, voice calm and gentle. He brings your hands to the knife, lets his palms rest against them as your fingers slowly wrap around the handle. You can feel him breathing, feel the slow rise and fall of his chest against you, the heat of his mouth just inches away from your cheek. “It’s just me.”

You force a chuckle. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

You feel Yoongi pause behind you.

“Seriously, I’m fine. Help me,” you insist.

Steadily, albeit a little bit tentatively, Yoongi does. His hand wrapped around yours, together the two of you carve out the top of the pumpkin, his chest pressed firmly against your back, body engulfing you. He feels so close, so goddamn close, like there is barely an inch of space in between the two of you, like if he were to bend down right there and if you were shift yourself around you would see nothing but his face right in front of yours, his hazy brown eyes looking back at you, twinkling in the white light of your kitchen.

It almost makes you want to turn around and look.

“There we go,” Yoongi says, voice suddenly soft, quiet like there’s something else weighing on his tongue. “What are you thinking of carving?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, lips upturned. “Maybe you?”

“I don’t make for a very attractive pumpkin picture,” Yoongi says with a shake of his head, even though that’s total bullshit for a number of reasons.

First of all, a pumpkin portrait is by no means meant to be an attractive portrayal of you, unless you’re Keanu Reeves and you look photogenic no matter what. Second of all, there has never been a time where Yoongi has not looked good. He always does. He did during finals week when his body was made of nothing but iced coffee, he did in freshman year when the two of you would stay awake until the early morning getting vodka spilled all over you in frat houses, and he does now, tired eyes and soft skin, dark hair and pink lips, standing in your apartment like he belongs here, like this is where he was meant to be.

“I think you would,” you tell him honestly. “You’d look good no matter what.”

Yoongi’s silent at that, but you can tell from the way his cheeks are turning red he’s taken the compliment to heart. It makes you want to shower him in them. It makes you want to freeze this moment in time, suspended in reality, and stay like that forever.

“Then I’ll do you,” he says with a grin, because what else would he say? Who else would he choose? You are going to put two matching pumpkins on your windowsill, and they will be of you and him. Messy, Picasso-style portraits carved into the orange skin. Two best friends, together even as fucking pumpkins.

You will carve out a picture of him, and he will carve out a picture of you, and isn’t that what this is really all about?

“Do you think people are gonna get the wrong idea about us?”

“What do you mean?”

Yoongi turns around to face you where you stand in front of your dorm mirror, this giant plastic one hanging on two hooks that you’ve latched onto the door of your room. He knows that you can see him in the mirror, staring back at you with a black mask over his face and a cape draped over his shoulders, the giant yellow emblem printed out on a piece of paper and taped onto his chest. It’s a last minute costume, for sure, but it gets the job done nicely.

“I mean,” you say, fixing the cat ears that sit atop your head. “Do you think people are gonna think we’re a couple, or something?”

Yoongi grins nervously and hopes that you don’t notice. “I mean, we’re just going to a frat party. I doubt it’s going to be light enough to see anything at all. Why?”

“Well, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about us,” you say, adjusting the mask over your eyes. Yoongi, unabashedly, rakes his eyes up and down your figure. Your black turtleneck and skintight leather leggings don’t leave very much to the imagination. You’re definitely much more in costume than he is, to say the least.

“We’re freshmen, people already have the wrong idea about us,” Yoongi scoffs.

You turn around just so you can shoot a frown his way. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Why are you so worried about people getting the wrong idea about us?” Yoongi asks you, an eyebrow raised. This does not exactly bode well for him. “We can be Batman and Catwoman together no matter what people think.”

“I don’t know, I guess I just—” You stop in your tracks, letting the words fall off your lips and crash to the floor. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What? You can tell me,” Yoongi says, concern lacing his voice. He rushes over to you, the two of you staring at your reflections in the mirror. Two friends, clad in black, wearing matching costumes. If Yoongi wasn’t sober right now, maybe he would actually do it.

Maybe.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing,” you shrug it off with a shake of your head. “I’m happy to be doing this with you. Even if your costume totally sucks.”

“Hey!” Yoongi exclaims defensively. “It is not my fault you came up with this idea last minute even though you already owned everything. I had to pay twenty-five cents to print this in color, you know.”

“A Twenty-five cent costume and you still look good.”

You and Yoongi smile at each other in the mirror, lips turned up as you stare at yourselves, wondering if this is all you will ever be, or if there is something more.

Yoongi sure hopes it’s the latter.

And he’s determined to find out, once and for all, tonight.

You’ve just lit the candles that sit inside yours and Yoongi’s pumpkins when you hear the knock at your door.

You’re sure that Yoongi can hear you from a mile away as you scurry towards the door, white platform heels clapping against the floorboards with every step you take. You’re going to have to practice walking in these a bit more. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought them only a week before Halloween, and maybe you should have at least tried to break them in a little bit.

“Hello?” You swing open the door.

“He—whoa,” Yoongi begins before his eyes widen to the size of the moon as he fully takes in the sight in front of him. “What’s with the—uh, the… dress?” He’s scratching at the nape of his neck, eyes sweeping up and down your body.

You hold out the skirt of your sequined, bedazzled dress as best you can, and grin. “I’m a gogo dancer! What do you think?”

“Wow, I—” Yoongi starts, a little speechless. “I don’t know. Wow. You look… you look nice, Y/N.”

You smile, thankful for the compliment. Yoongi seems weirdly breathless, blinking more often than usual, like he’s trying to convince himself that what he’s seeing is real. Although, you will admit that this dress is much more sparkly than anything else you have in your closet. You reckon a few disco balls were sacrificed to make this costume.

“Why—uh, why did you call me over? Did you need something from me?”

“Actually, yes,” you say, ushering Yoongi into your apartment.

As he’s walking inside, Yoongi notices the pumpkins sitting on your windowsill. “Hey, those look cute together.”

“Don’t they?” You say proudly. Nobody else has commented on them, but then again, you live on the fifth floor of your apartment, so you don’t imagine many people can even see them from ground level. But it’s nice to know that they’re there, and that they mean something. Not to a whole lot of people, but to you. And to him. “But that’s not why I asked you to come over.”

“Why, what’s up?”

You freeze when he looks up at you, like you can hardly will the next few words to come out of your mouth. They’re stuck at the dam of your lips, refusing to budge, because there is this tiny, this little part of you that doesn’t even have the courage to ask. To say it. Because you know already.

“Hoseok’s throwing a party tonight—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“But I know what you’re going to say,” Yoongi says like it’s obvious, because it is. “You’re going to ask me to come with you. And I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Y/N, but I am not going to go. I’m just not.”

“But it’s not a shitty frat party or anything!” You exclaim, desperately trying to dig yourself out of a hole you’re already six-feet in. “It’s at his place, an apartment across campus, with just some friends of his. There won’t be crazy music and sleazy guys and jungle juice. It’s just going to be a house party.”

“I don’t care, I don’t want to go,” Yoongi tells you. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

“Why? Why won’t you go?” You demand, because the least your best friend of nearly four years could do is give you a real reason. A real reason as to why he hates Halloween, why he never wants to celebrate it with you, why he never wants to go out with you on your favorite night of the year.

“Because I just don’t want to! Why can’t you just accept that? I don’t want to go!”

Silence. It’s almost as if Yoongi’s shocked he was even speaking so loudly in the first place.

Next to you, the candles flicker.

“I don’t get it,” you say, resigned. “I don’t understand. This is our very last year to celebrate Halloween as college students, as best friends, and you can’t even give me a real excuse as to why you won’t come with me.”

Yoongi frowns. “What do you mean, ‘a real excuse’?”

“Exactly that,” you say sharply. “A real excuse. Even when I offer for us to just stay in and eat KitKats and watch a shiity movie you refuse. All because it’s Halloween. I don’t get it. It’s not the crowds, and it’s not the drinks, and it’s not even the other stuff, like the pumpkins and the decorations. Is it me? Am I the reason you don’t want to celebrate Halloween?”

“No, what the fuck, it’s not you!”

“Then what is it, Yoongi?” You plead, not even making an attempt to lower your voice. Can’t he hear the sheer desperation in your voice? The hopelessness? “Why won’t you just tell me why you don’t ever want to celebrate this goddamn holiday with me? Is it my fault?”

“I just don’t!”

The sound of Yoongi’s shouts echoes throughout your living space, bouncing off of the walls. You look back at him, feeling helpless, but he doesn’t look angry, or enraged. He looks exhausted. Like this conversation has knocked the wind right out of him, stolen the breath from his lungs. Like suddenly the pot has boiled over, only it’s extinguished the flames that kept it burning.

“I just don’t,” Yoongi repeats, fists clenched tightly by his side. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

He gives you one last tired look, matching your own defeated expression, before turning around and walking out of your apartment. The door shuts firmly behind him, neither a slam nor a gentle stop, leaving you stranded in the middle of your living space, watching his silhouette disappear.

You sigh. You don’t think Yoongi will ever tell you why he hates Halloween. And while that may be no fault of your own, you can’t help but feel like it has something to do with you.

Yoongi could probably count the amount of times he’s gone to a frat party on one hand, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t already know everything there is to know about them. In his eyes, once you’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all.

Still, he supposes that it being Halloween makes this one a little different. Everyone’s in some sort of costume, whether it be good or bad or just plain old lazy, and there are at least a few orange and black decorations lining the walls of the Castle, and they’ve curated a playlist with Halloween songs as well as rap songs Yoongi has heard plenty of times before, so for once, Yoongi will give the fraternity a bit of credit when it comes to their Halloween party-planning.

Beside him, you take another giant chug of your drink from the orange solo cup in your hand, wincing as the alcohol burns your throat on the way down.

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” He says, though he doubts you can even hear him over the music, loud in the kind of way that his ears are going to be ringing far into tomorrow morning.

“I’m fine!” You shout back, even though you are definitely not. The entire room reeks of a mixture of vodka and sickly sweet soda.

“I just want to make sure you’re not overdoing it!” He tells you as the two of you get shoved together from some massive guy pushing past Yoongi and sending him crashing towards you. He catches a glimpse of the contents of your cup, eyebrows raising when he sees that it’s almost empty. You just got that drink five minutes ago.

You smile. “I’m not!”

The song changes, and Yoongi swears that he can feel the entire house shake as everyone screams, cheering as they bounce up and down, dancing to the beat. Next to him, you are finishing the last few drops of whatever’s in your cup, finding an empty ledge to place it down on when you’re done, and pulling him in close to you.

“Let’s dance!” You shriek excitedly.

And who is Yoongi to resist?

He lets you take your hand in his own and parade him around the tiny little space the two of you share, a couple square feet of freedom in this crowded room, chock full of sweaty bodies just like his. Yoongi may not have had as much to drink as you, but the little bit of alcohol in his system is already shutting down normal mental processes like not-staring-at-you-constantly and pretending-that-he-likes-you-just-as-a-friend, sending him into a tizzy whenever he meets your starstruck eyes.

Even in this dingy, sweaty, unventilated fraternity living room, you are beautiful. You are beautiful here, and you are beautiful at three in the morning after twelve straight hours of studying, and you are beautiful after spilling the dining hall’s chicken noodle soup all over yourself.

God, you’re the only person Yoongi is looking at in this room. You’re the only person he sees.

Shaking his head, Yoongi abandons those thoughts as the song comes to an end, a hand wrapped around your wrist as he leans into your ear. “Do you wanna go outside? It’s hot in here!”

“Okay, whatever!” You agree easily, too easygoing after you’ve got a few drinks in you.

Yoongi grabs a hold of your sweaty hand and tugs you towards the back door, one that he thinks leads to a fenced in backyard. You squeeze through the crowd, getting a couple of drinks spilled on your shoes on the way until you reach the back door and Yoongi fumbles with the knob, shaking it a couple of times before it gets loose. Eventually, the two of you stumble outside into the backyard, where a couple of people are playing beer pong and a couple of others look like they’re making out.

It’s a frat party. What else did Yoongi expect?

It’s the end of October, and Yoongi doesn’t even have on a jacket, but the chill of the night has little effect on him after being in a room that’s felt like one hundred degrees for an hour. Out here, Yoongi feels like he can finally breathe.

“It’s kinda cold out here, don’t you think?”

Yoongi doesn’t even have time to respond before you’re wrapping yourself up in him, curling into his body and placing his arm around your figure, letting the heat from his frame radiate onto your skin.

“Better than being in there,” Yoongi reasons.

“But aren’t you having fun?”

He looks down to see you looking up with him with big, wide eyes, like you’re afraid that he isn’t having fun, or afraid that you’re enjoying this night more than he is. It makes him smile. “With you, I am.”

You grin at that, turning back to face forward, head pressing into the crook of his neck. “That’s good to hear,” you tell him. “It seemed like you were kinda nervous.”

“Nervous?” His voice cracks as he says it. Fuck.

“Yeah, is there something you wanna tell me? It looks like you’ve been dying to say something all night,” you comment mindlessly, clearly much more observant now than you are when you’re sober. Or perhaps, Yoongi’s just more obvious.

He takes a deep breath, pressing his eyes shut tightly. This is his chance. He knows it.

“Actually, yes, there is,” he says, and it feels like he has to force the words out of his mouth because they’re refusing to come out on their own, pausing at the edge of his lips. It feels like he has to overcome his own mind in order to tell you, feels like every word is a sucker punch to his lungs.

You pull away from him, looking up at Yoongi with big, blinking eyes. It’s a clear night, and Yoongi knows because he can see the fucking stars reflected in your pupils, see them twinkling as your glossy eyes gaze back up at him. You look up at Yoongi and God, you are just so beautiful. You are beautiful, and Yoongi wonders, then, if you know. If you know how Yoongi looks at you. If you know how he feels about you. He is so in love. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. You are beautiful and he is so in love, and he’s been dying to tell you that and this might be his only opportunity to do so, because tomorrow will be a new day and Yoongi won’t have the guts tomorrow. This is his only chance.

You deserve to know.

“Well?” You ask him. “What is it?”

Yoongi wraps his arm around the small of your back, pulls you into him, and presses his lips to yours.

Hoseok’s party is fun. It’s definitely one of the better ones you’ve been to in your four years of university so far. There aren’t too many people, and the drinks are actually good instead of just burning your throat, and his music taste is impeccable.

And yet, you don’t think you’ve ever been so unenthused at a party in your whole life. Thriller by Michael Jackson blares from Hoseok’s television speakers, chatter fills the room, and Hoseok’s girlfriend, Haebin, is constantly checking up on you, but never has one place felt so empty.

It’s not really very difficult for you to wonder why.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You whip your head around to find Haein standing by the kitchen table, gesturing towards Hoseok as he’s looking up the recipe for a drink he wants to try.

“You want one? Hoseok’s trying to make Long Island Iced Tea,” Haebin asks. Next to her, Hoseok is struggling to get the measurements right. At least he’s making an attempt.

You stare down at your nearly-full cup of strawberry daiquiri. You took one sip when Haebin first handed it to you thirty minutes ago, and haven’t touched it since. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Haebin sighs, patting Hoseok on the back encouragingly before she makes her way over to where you’re sitting on their couch, pressed up against the arm of the sofa as you mindlessly swirl the drink around in your cup, eyes zoning into the whirlpool you’re creating. She sits down next to you with a smile, with the kind of look on her face that makes you simultaneously thankful for and dread the conversation you’re about to have.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” You don’t even believe yourself when you say it.

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me. I just know that Halloween is your favorite holiday and I was wondering if there was something getting you down tonight,” Haebin says in that comforting, gentle sort of way, like an old friend who knows all your tells.

“It’s not a big deal, really. I think I’m just out of it tonight,” you say, not drunk enough to divulge more information but also not sober enough to keep your mouth completely shut.

Haebin smiles at you, lips pursed. “Alright then. If everything’s alright.” She pushes her hands onto her thighs as she gets off of the couch, heading back towards the kitchen to help Hoseok figure out how to mix drinks. But before she leaves you alone, she turns around and says one more thing. “You know, I don’t know why Yoongi’s not here or anything, but I wish that he was. You always look so much happier whenever he’s around.”

And that just sends your mind into meltdown.

Defeated, alone, and best friend-less, you place your cup down on the end table to your left and get up off of the couch, beginning to gather your belongings, your coat and your shoes and your bag, tugging your arms through the sleeves as you storm towards the door, eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed.

“Hey, where are you going—?”

“I gotta go, Haebin. I just—” You pull on a shoe, tugging at the boot as it slips over your heel, “—I gotta go. Thank Hoseok for me, okay? I have to go.”

You only have time to catch Haebin nod, wordless, before you tug open the door to Hoseok’s apartment and stomp outside.

This is the worst Halloween of your life, bar none. The time when you were four and you tripped over a curb on the sidewalk, spraining your ankle doesn’t even come close. It’s your very last year to celebrate Halloween as a college student, to celebrate it by getting dressed up in a low-effort costume and spending time with your friends, and your best friend isn’t even here. He refused.

He refused and you still don’t know why, but worst of all he refused and you still wish he was here. You wish you could have spent time with him tonight. More than anything else. You wish you could have spent the night wrapped up together on your couch, or on your bed, watching your favorite television shows and enjoying each other’s company. You wish you could have curled into his body as the television blared, pressed your head against his shoulder and felt the warmth of his skin on yours. God, you wish you could have.

You wish you could have told him.

You wish you had the guts to.

Twenty minutes later finds you outside one of the dozens of frat parties likely occurring on campus right now, the bass from the music so loud that you can feel it in your eardrums even outside of the building. No part of you wants to go inside something like that, but at this point you start to wonder if maybe hopping different frats is actually your best idea. Get a drink, get drunk, and then move onto the next one. Rinse and repeat until you don’t remember a thing about this terrible, awful night.

As you walk along the sidewalk, you spot another student sitting on the curb underneath a leaf-less tree, a cheap black drugstore masquerade mask covering the top half of his face. He doesn’t seem to be having a particularly enjoyable night either.

Normally, the last thing you’d want to do is sit down next to a stranger whose face is disguised, because who knows what could happen to you if you do, but there are at least twenty people surrounding the two of you, loitering outside the frat house in the hopes that they can eventually get inside. And honestly, you could use a fucking break.

As casually as you can possibly manage, you take a seat next to the boy, a few inches apart from him as he looks up at you. You can’t make out too much in the dim light of the frat house, but he’s illuminated just enough for you to see his eyes widen at the sight of you.

“You don’t mind, do you?” You ask.

He shakes his head.

You smile in thanks, shifting around where you’re seated on the cold cement, eyes drifting all over the place, from the houses across the street to the road to the people standing around, anything to avoid turning back towards the boy and initiating an even more awkward conversation. Sitting down, the world stops spinning, just a little bit. You didn’t have too much to drink at Hoseok’s, but it was enough to loosen your mind.

“Can I say something?” You say loudly, turning towards the boy.

It was enough to loosen your lips too, apparently.

The boy stares back at you, silent.

“I’m sorry, I just need to get this off my chest.” You close your eyes, breathing in and breathing out, feeling your chest rise and fall. “I am not having a great night. And I wish I was out here with another friend of mine, instead. He’s my best friend, actually. He just… didn’t want to come out tonight with me. But I wish he was here, because I love spending time with him, and I miss him.”

The words spill off of your tongue like lava from a volcano, bursting from your lips completely unfiltered. It surprises you, a little, how much you actually have to say. How much has been weighing on your chest.

You don’t expect him to respond. Truthfully, you can’t even believe you’re unloading all of your baggage onto him in the first place. Since when are you the type of person to tell other people about the tragedies of your life?

But then, he says, “You do?”

And it makes you wonder what else you’ve been keeping hidden.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you realize. “I love spending time with him. He makes every day brighter, turns everything he touches into laughter. And I wanted to spend time with him tonight because I actually thought he would want to. You know, we carved pumpkins together a few days ago. Of each other’s faces.” You force out a laugh. “We carved each other’s faces into pumpkins and he still isn’t here tonight. I wanted him to be here because he’s my best friend, and because he makes me so happy, and even other people are noticing what effect he has on me. Noticing how fucking happy he makes me. Because he does. I feel like I’m a better person with him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him and he’s not here and instead of going to look for him I’m sitting here telling you the sob story that is my life and I just wish—”

“Does that mean you love him?” The boy asks softly.

“What?”

“Does that mean you love him?”

You turn to look at the boy, eyebrows raised, almost ready to deny such a thing, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out.

How could you say you don’t love Yoongi? Of course you do. He is your best friend. You never want to live a day when he’s not by your side. You want to spend the rest of your life with him. He makes you smile and laugh like it’s nobody’s business, brightens your day without even trying. Just seeing him is enough to lift your spirits. Seeing his face on the other side of your apartment door, all ripped jeans and Converse sneakers, hands wrapped in the sleeves of his hoodie, dark brown eyes blinking back at you, pink lips parted in a grin. That image you have of him in your head—it’s one you don’t ever want to forget. He is standing in your apartment, lips upturned, eyes crushed into crescents, smiling at you. He is mid-laugh, grinning from ear to ear at something you said. He is right there.

“Well, yeah,” you say, because what else are you supposed to do? “I guess I do.”

Suddenly, your chest feels a whole lot lighter.

The boy next to you smiles, the dim light barely illuminating his features, but when you look at him there is something so strangely familiar about him, about the way he blinks at you, about the peak of his Cupid’s bow, about how his lips are stretched into a grin. It couldn’t be him… could it?

But before you have time to ask, he is leaning towards you and pressing his lips atop yours, crashing your mouths together in a desperate, messy kiss. His palm presses against your cheek and you can’t help but sink into it, sink into the way his other hand curls around to rest on the small of your back, let yourself be engulfed by him.

You’ve never kissed Yoongi before, but you know that this is what it must be like.

You know, from the way your blood starts to sizzle, sparks rushing through your veins. From the way your heart is pumping, loud and clear in your ears, like it’s been jolted to life. Like a shock is running through your body. Like a warmth is filling you up, from the inside out.

When you part, as Yoongi takes off his mask, he can’t keep the smile off of his face. “I knew it. I knew you loved me.”

“What are you doing out here?” You ask, positively shocked. “I thought you hated Halloween.”

“I do,” Yoongi confirms. “Or, well, I did, I guess.”

“Then what changed?”

“You. Us. We changed,” Yoongi says, motioning between your bodies. “I hated Halloween because it had bad memories for me. Nothing crazy, but, yeah. You don’t remember?”

“What?” Your mouth drops open. “What should I remember?”

“We kissed that night.” Yoongi begins, eyes shifting down towards the ground. Clearly recalling this is awkward for him. “Halloween, freshman year. Outside of the Castle.”

You don’t remember this at all.

“Well, I kissed you and you kissed me, and I thought that we had established then and there that we liked each other. You know, like, really liked each other. But you were so drunk that night. I don’t know what you had, but you could hardly walk by the time I got you back to your dorm. Your roommate was furious with me.” He shakes his head at the memory, replaying in his mind like a movie. “And I thought, okay, we’ll just talk about this tomorrow. But you must have had a wicked headache or something, because I saw you the next day and you said—”

“God, whatever happened last night, I don’t want to know.”

It’s the middle of the day, the sun high in the crisp November sky, but you have been cradling your forehead ever since Yoongi last dropped you off, back at your dorm, when you were slowly starting to crash.

“What?” His voice is hollow, empty.

“Last night fucked me up real good,” you say with a huff, shaking your head. “I’m glad I don’t remember what happened last night.”

As Yoongi traipses back to square one, his heart shakes in its cage.

“I guess you just didn’t remember,” Yoongi tries to explain, much to your horror as you realize that you and Yoongi have been crushing on each other hopelessly for three years extra without you even realizing it. “So, uh, yeah. That’s why I didn’t like Halloween.”

“You kissed me that night?”

“What?”

“You kissed me that night? Outside of the Castle?”

A tingling on your lips. A faint feeling of warmth. You remember bits of that night. It was cold, and you were freezing in your costume. And you and Yoongi had gone outside to escape the crowd, and he said something, and then you said something, and then he—!

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods. “I did.”

“And I didn’t remember?”

“I mean, you were really drunk.”

Your shoulders sink, the thought of Yoongi, helplessly pining after you for three more years because he thought you didn’t like him like that, because he thought that the love you shared was one-sided, still sticking by your side as your best friend. At the thought of him deciding it was better to be best friends and keep that love hidden than tell you and risk it all over again. At the thought of him accepting what he thought was his fate.

“I’m sorry,” you say. What else is there to tell him? If you had remembered, if you just didn’t say those words, if you had just told him how you felt, this would have all been so much easier.

“It’s okay now,” Yoongi says, expression growing fond as he pulls you in for a hug, sad to see you so gloomy. “You love me and I love you. What more could I want?”

A realization dawns on you.

Pulling apart from him ever so slightly, you quirk an eyebrow. “You know, you could have just kissed me again the next day, and then we wouldn’t have had to deal with all of this. Plus, you would have still liked Halloween.”

Yoongi scoffs, pressing a kiss to your icy cheek. “So what? I like it now, how about that? I fucking love Halloween now. It turned my best friend into my girlfriend. She’s the love of my life. We can celebrate every Halloween together from now on until the end of time.”

You grin, pressing a kiss back on his little button nose, pink from the cold. Finally. “That’s the spirit.”

↳ don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

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holly's august extravaganza day 4: a friend in me

📍 anon - I don't know but I feel like Carlos and Nancy can have such an awesome best friend dynamic. Maybe something sad/scary regarding Nancy happens where she has to make a report at the precinct and Carlos doesn't tell anyone as she made him promise so he starts to just check on Nancy and they just develop this caring, supportive, beautiful, fun, full of banter friendship to the amusement of TK and the 126.

kept this separate from your original ask because i want to keep those other prompts you sent alongside this one for later 😊

ao3 | 2k | hurt/comfort, brief references to gun violence, mostly just carlos and nancy being besties

Carlos has never seen Nancy look so small.

She’s sitting hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, hands seemingly moving of their own volition to tear the empty styrofoam cup in front of her to shreds. As soon as Carlos had seen her being escorted into the precinct, shaking like a leaf and clutching her coat like a lifeline, he’d persuaded the officer with her to let him take over the case. His association with the 126 is well known so the officer had been reluctant, but Carlos had managed to wear him down, saying that he doesn’t really know Nancy that well.

And it’s—it’s not exactly a full lie. Through their hangs and TK’s stories, he’s coming to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But of her personal life, Carlos knows next to nothing; she mentioned a sister a few weeks ago, and TK delights in teasing her about her growing crush on Marjan, but that’s about it.

He needs to make more of an effort, he decides. When they’re anywhere else but a police station.

Carlos knocks lightly on the door to announce his presence before entering the room, sending her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Nancy visibly relaxes at the sight of him and she drops the remains of her cup, though Carlos doesn’t miss the continuing tremble to her hands.

“Hey Nancy,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite her. “How are you doing?”

Nancy’s lips twitch, the corners barely curving into the beginnings of a wry smile. She breathes out shakily, meeting Carlos’s eyes for the briefest second before staring back down at the table. “I’m not great,” she answers, and for her to admit to that… Well, Carlos suspects it’s not a regular occurrence.

He nods, reluctantly pulling out his notebook and pen, hesitating before flipping to the next blank page. Nancy tracks his movements, resignation clearly etched all over her features. Carlos glances at the two-way mirror—not that it does him any good—then reaches across the table to take Nancy’s hand.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” he murmurs. “If you need more time, just say the word and I’ll leave. Or if you’d prefer to talk to someone you don’t know, we can do that too. Anything you need.”

The sudden tightness of Nancy’s grip is unexpected, as is the flash of panic in her eyes.

“Please, don’t go,” she whispers. “I don’t—” She cuts herself off, shutting her eyes and breathing slowly for a few seconds. Slowly, her hold on Carlos begins to loosen until her hand is slack in his, then she draws both hands into her lap and straightens in her chair. When her eyes reopen, she seems more like the Nancy Carlos knows—strong, confident, assertive—though there’s still clearly an undercurrent of fear underneath it all.

“I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

Carlos bites back an are you sure and settles for clicking his pen, his smile unwavering. “Can you run me through what happened, exactly?” he asks. “Take your time.”

A second or two passes, then Nancy nods, her voice steady when she speaks. “I was restocking the bus at the end of shift. I was alone; Captain Vega was in her office and TK was with the others in the showers—he did try to help but he’d had to go into a fire on our last call to help a patient and the smell of smoke was giving me a headache, so I told him to go.”

Carlos pauses in his note-taking, mentally filing that last piece of information away for follow-up as soon as he sees his boyfriend again. Judging by the amused quirk to Nancy’s eyebrow, she’s fully aware of where his mind has gone, so Carlos clears his throat and motions for her to continue, forcing his thoughts back to the present.

“Like I said, I was alone. I didn’t mind it; it was kind of relaxing, you know? Then this guy appeared from nowhere and pointed a gun at me, saying if I called out or turned on the siren or anything, he’d shoot. I thought—” She inhales sharply, her knuckles going white on the tabletop and her jaw clenching tightly. Her voice sounds different when she next speaks, more controlled, as though forcing each word out. “I thought it was happening again. I thought he was going to take me somewhere, make me his personal pet paramedic, something like that.

“Turns out, he just wanted drugs. I gave him what we had on the rig and he seemed satisfied, so I figured he’d shoot me anyway ‘cause I’d seen his face, right? He didn’t—obviously—but it looked like he was considering it.” Nancy pauses and flicks her gaze up at Carlos, biting her lip. “I think he might have done it,” she admits quietly, “but he got spooked by one of the guys making noise so he just bolted. I’m not sure how long it was between that and TK coming back and finding me. I’m sorry.”

Carlos shakes his head. “It’s okay. We can check the cameras at the station. With luck, that should get us an ID, maybe a license plate if he drove. I think that’s almost everything; just one more question, if that’s okay. Can you tell me what you gave him exactly?”

Nancy nods. “Morphine, Ativan, tramadol… I’d have to check stocks for the exact amounts.”

“We’ll do that, don’t worry about it.” Carlos taps his pen on the pages before flipping his notebook shut and leaning across the table again. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. “Speaking as a friend and not a cop, if there’s anything you need, anything I can help with, let me know.”

She smiles wanly. “I’m okay. I just want to go home and forget all this ever happened.”

“Fair enough. I’ll walk you out to your car.”

Carlos half-expects her to brush him off, but she just nods and allows him to escort her back through the precinct and out to her car. He dithers awkwardly, shuffling his feet as Nancy turns to him, one hand on the door handle.

“Thank you, Carlos. For real. I have the feeling it wasn't a coincidence that you were the one in that room with me.”

The tips of Carlos’s ears go pink as he finds himself caught out. “That, uh… That would not be inaccurate.”

“Well, thanks.” She pulls open the car door and Carlos takes a step back, wanting to wait until she’s safely away to go back inside. Nancy ducks as if to get in, then pauses and straightens again, biting her lip as she looks back at him.

“Hey, Carlos?” she says. “Can you do me a favour and not tell the others? Not even TK. They— They know vaguely what happened, but I’d prefer it if the details and, uh, some of the other stuff I told you could be kept between us.”

He agrees immediately, just grateful that she trusts him enough to handle this for her. “No-one will know any more than they need to,” he promises, which seems to relieve her. She thanks him again, then gets in the car and drives away, Carlos watching after her with one hand raised in farewell.

It grows from there.

It’s not intentional exactly, but one text to check up on her soon turns into a steady stream of messages, stories and jokes and even the occasional meme passing back and forth between them. Carlos especially appreciated Nancy's carefully curated collection of dirt on TK, which, as a concerned boyfriend, it is his duty to know. Many a conversation has been spent griping about TK's accident prone ways or sighing over his latest mishap.

Lovingly, of course.

Nancy, 15.48: you’ll never guess what happened this time

Carlos, 16.22: ?

In answer, he receives a picture of a dejected-looking TK sprawled on the floor with Buttercup’s front paws squarely resting on his chest. Buttercup’s tongue is lolling out, a wide grin on his face, and in the background stand the rest of the crew. All of them also seem to have their phones pointed towards TK—probably the reason TK looks so down, as Carlos knows his boyfriend couldn’t be upset with Buttercup to save his life.

Nancy, 16.26: he thought he’d try to teach buttercup some tricks. turns out, dog trainers exist for a reason

Carlos has to stifle a laugh—technically, he is supposed to be working—but his attempt at being subtle is thwarted when his phone repeatedly pings with similar texts and photos from Paul, Marjan, and Mateo. He screenshots the sudden influx of notifications and sends it to Nancy before saving every single photo.

Nancy responds with a laughing emoji and a promise to keep him updated.

Not all of their conversations are about TK, naturally.

Carlos, 19.10: I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her

Nancy, 19.12: i do talk to her. every shift, actually

Carlos, 19.13: Nancy

Nancy, 19.13: carlos

Nancy, 19.14: i don’t even know if she’s into women, alright? it’s not like i can just march up and ask, that’s like waving a banner saying ‘hey, i’m in love with you’ in her face

Carlos, 19.16: Oh, we’re talking about love now, are we?

Nancy, 19.17: can it, reyes

Carlos, 19.20: Noted. Look, take it from someone who’s been navigating gay relationships in Texas his whole life. Sometimes you just have to go for it. Ask her for coffee, test the waters, see where it leads. You never know, it might work out. I mean, look at me

Nancy, 19.24: wow, way to rub your happiness in my face 😑

(Carlos doesn’t find out if she follows his advice, but he does notice her and Marjan showing up to their hangs together)

(Nancy does not appreciate his smugness)

Without even realising, they become a formidable team. This fact is highlighted one game night about three months after the incident, when Nancy and Marjan blow into his and TK’s house, a determined glint in both their eyes.

“We’re switching up the teams,” Marjan declares, much to TK’s outrage.

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Nancy continues, “we’re tired of losing to you guys. You’re like, freakishly good at board games and it’s not fair. Plus, we have to watch you both being all lovey all the time when you’re on the same team and it’s exhausting. We want to see you being competitive for once.”

TK pouts, but Carlos just shrugs when he looks to him for backup. “It’ll be fun,” he says, smiling at Nancy and Marjan. TK still looks put out, so he leans in close and half-murmurs, “C’mon babe. How about a prize for the winner?”

TK perks up considerably at the suggestion, and, going by the twin looks of despair on Nancy and Marjan’s faces, they caught both the comment and the innuendo. Marjan groans and Nancy raises her eyes skyward, as if pleading for divine intervention.

“This was a great idea, actually,” TK says, grinning. He quirks an eyebrow at Nancy. “You and me, Nance?”

That seems to shake Nancy out of her silent prayers for strength. “Uh, no. I’m with Carlos.” To emphasise the point, she strides forward and grabs Carlos’s arm, dragging him to the couch. He nudges her gently when they sit, smirking at the disgruntled way she digs into the snack bowl.

“You did say you wanted to see us being competitive.”

“Shut up.”

In the end, TK ends up paired with Mateo, and Marjan with Paul. It’s clear from the outset who’s going to win—Nancy and Carlos dominate the board, and not even Paul’s master strategy is enough to catch up with them.

They win by a comfortable margin, fist-bumping in celebration. There’s a general air of bemusement in the room, and when Carlos looks round at the others, he finds four pairs of eyes fixed on them.

“What?”

“Since when have you two been such a good team?” Paul asks, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow.

Carlos shrugs, sharing a smile with Nancy. “Guess we just are.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #carlos reyes #nancy gillian #marjan marwani #tk strand #tarlos #lone star #911ls #holly's august extravaganza #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #📍 anon

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