#backrooms reunion

[junkyarddemento]

BACKROOMS - REUNION

We can’t have 2022 end without taking a trip back to our beloved, yet highly creepy, Backrooms. The uber talented teen filmmaker Kane Parsons, known as Kane Pixels, continues to impress with his elaborate and engaging series of The Backrooms. Each episode brings new lore and characters into this mysterious Creepy Pasta created dimension. At this point, I’m a little surprised a production company hasn’t turned this into a bigger project. The flipside to that is getting Hollywood involved, which might ruin the magic of what Kane has brought to life! Here’s to hoping for more chapters of this saga in 2023!

#backrooms #the backrooms #backrooms reunion #kane pixels #kane parsons #short #short film #creepy pasta #filmmaker #horror #horror short #scifi #scifi horror #scifi short #dimension #monster #monsters #terror #fright #genre #junkyard demento

[deadghosy]

THE FINAL PHOTO: AFTER

BEFORE 😭😭😭

ITS STILL CREEPY TO ME

#backrooms #the back #family reunion #this shit

[qrcane]

I really need Charlie slimecicle to return to the qsmp, preferably while Mike is on, so not only the brothers can have a reunion, but for the offchance that Mike brings him to the Murder Mystery area and then have a panic attack over the backrooms area

#there’s no way that he would have a normal reaction over the backrooms #qsmp #qsmp liveblogging #qsmp mike #qsmp slimecicle

[theinstagrahame]

It's been a wild few months here at theInstaGrahame HQ, but what never fails to make me happy is the rad games I get from the mail. I'm getting over a cold, so I'mma work on this instead of anything productive I could be doing!

Here's my month of RPG mail calls, and why I'm hyped!

Coriolis: The Last Cyclade: I've been curious about Coriolis' Middle Eastern-themed sci-fi vibes for a while, so I put this on a Secret Santa wishlist; and this is what I got! Excited to dive in.

Curios: Albrecht Manor and Jasper Park: Good Luck Press is one of those game design teams I'll try anything from, and the pitch for this is really unique. It's not an RPG per se, as much as a collection of books, papers, maps, and other materials that point toward a mystery you get to figure out. Playing it is just... looking through stuff.

Salvage Union: I am a big fan of post-apocalyptic media, and a fan of the mecha genre. So, yeah, this was an easy sell. It's built on the Quest system, which I've been meaning to get more into anyway, and it looks like a mech repair manual!

The Zone (which I apparently thought people would just recognize): This game is available for free online, but the box set is gorgeous, and features some designers I love. Trying to set up an online session soon, but I do really want to play it in person.

Deimos Academy: Honestly, I picked it up because of the creative team, but also the pitch is great. I skipped my high school reunion, but if there was a chance to go back and face a monster? I might've thought about going.

Brindlewood Bay + Nephews in Peril: I was originally just going to get the super popular Elderly Detectives Solve Eldritch Crimes RPG, but the title of the expansion/mystery book was just too perfect.

Rebels f the Outlaw Wastes: I've already mentioned I like post-apocalyptica? Well, this took a neat approach to achievements/leveling that I was super intrigued by, and I just dig the fun vibe. The reason I like post-apocalyptic media is that it's hopeful, and this feels moreso than a lot of other stuff.

Skyrealms Almanac and Creatures and Folks: I've been into setting guides this past year. And like, this one is also a coloring book? Hell yeah.

Stoneburner: I've been following the creator on Twitter and elsewhere for a while, so I was curious about this title. But definitely sold when they talked about some of the inspiration being the original Starcraft games.

Forgery: Again, picked it up because I really like Banana Chan's work, but this is a paint-by-numbers solo RPG about forging a demonic painting. So like, yeah. That's rad.

Vast Grimm: Space Cruisers: Vast Grimm is Mork Borg in Space, but I'm also a big fan of ship catalogs, so I really wanted to check this one out.

.Dungeon: Everything Snow makes is beautiful, queer, and nostalgic, so when they mentioned a re-release of .Dungeon was coming, I really wanted to check it out. I have a lot of nostalgia for the

Cloud Empress (everything, including a patch!): I mean, you say Nausicaa and I'm listening. This has some roots in that world, but also does some really interesting things with the Mothership game engine. I'm especially intrigued by the notion of replacing racial traits with age traits, and having a series of pretty mundane jobs as the classes.

Layers of Unreality: The first of this month's Zine Club deliveries! I keep hearing about Liminal Horror, and this particular module I've heard nothing but incredible things about. So I'm really hyped to check out what happens in these backrooms.

Fear the Taste of Blood: My second Zine Club book this month! Kayla Dice is one of those really rad creators who I think deserves more attention than she gets, so I'm really hyped to dive into this take on classic movie monsters.

I also got this from my partner's family's Secret Santa.

Okami is one of those games that sticks with me, and has ever since I first saw images from it, and played it. It's a genuinely beautiful experience, and while it's maybe not a game everyone will like, it's one that I really enjoy, and the art is a big part of that.

It stands out as an example of what you can do with a video game that's nearly impossible with most other art forms, and also a reason that I don't think the Arms Race for More Photorealistic Graphics in video game consoles is worth the effort.

[rascal-xo]

The Angel of Death Part 2 - Simon 'Ghost Riley' × Fighter Fem Reader

Summary: You and Simon finally talk which leads to a realization...

Warnings: Violence, language, Action!Fic, bodily injuries, Overlapping of timelines and characters, FLUFF, ANGST

Tags: @pukbadger @fiveshelmet @myguiltypleasures21 @madamemelaninn @emmaadlerrichtofen1 @swissy23 @thatchickwiththecamera @glitterypirateduck @glitteryeggalmondherring @allaboutirem0

A/N: Question for the culture… part 3???

You stand leaning against one of the large cement pillars in the arena behind Laswell as she briefs the undercover agents on their task at hand. Under the dim light, sit 4 combat agents, courtesy of the CIA special forces. As Laswell speaks, you can hear the unwavering confidence in her voice, the way she lays out the plan with precision and clarity.

You scoff in your mind, thinking about how you swore you would never go back to the military, and yet here you were, letting the military come back to you. Funny how life worked that way. The Pit, once a symbol of your freedom and a way to leave the past behind, now becomes the stage for this dangerous dance with Al Qatala.

As Laswell continues, your mind drifts back to the memories of the past few days. The reunion with Simon had been bittersweet. The emotions were raw and overwhelming, yet it felt like coming home after a long journey. He understood you in a way that no one else could, and his presence brought a sense of comfort and support that you desperately needed.

But the weight of the mission still hangs heavy on your shoulders. The prospect of facing Al Asad again, of confronting the organization that once held you captive, brings a mix of fear and determination. It's not just about taking down the arms dealer; it's about reclaiming a piece of yourself that was lost in those dark days.

"Y/N?" Laswell's voice breaks through your thoughts, and you refocus your attention on her. "We need you to take the lead on the secondary extraction route. We can't afford any slip-ups."

You nod, snapping back into the present. "Got it, Laswell. I'll make sure everything is in place."

She gives you a reassuring nod before turning back to the agents. "Remember, this is a high-stakes operation. We need to be precise and quick. Any deviation from the plan could put all of us at risk."

As the hours pass, The Pit fills with spectators, the air buzzing with anticipation and excitement. The fights that take place here are raw and intense, but they remain off the books, hidden from the public eye.

This clandestine nature adds an edge of danger to the atmosphere, reminding you of the high-stakes mission that awaits.

In the backroom, you put on your gear, your mind focused on the task at hand. Just as you're adjusting the straps of your tactical vest, you hear the door creak open, and there stands Simon, his presence like a beacon in the darkness.

He looks at you, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. "I know that look." he says, his eyes locking with yours knowing your mind. His face is bare for the sake of the mission, which still shocks you a bit knowing the lengths Simon is willing to go for this operation.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the past weighing heavily on your shoulders. "Its the only look I got." you reply, your voice humorous but honest. After a few beats of silence you finally let out a breath you don't realize you're holding. "I'm sorry." You admit, meeting his gaze.

Simon's expression softens as he listens to your voice. He reaches out and gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "We can't change the past, Y/N" he says, his voice tender.

You feel a lump forming in your throat, the weight of the past few years crashing down on you. "I should've said something before leaving." you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know how to deal with everything."

Simon pulls you into a comforting embrace, holding you close. "I should have fought harder for you," he murmurs, his words tinged with regret. "I let you go knowing it was what you needed, but I was angry for not being there for you when you needed me the most.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a mix of relief and sorrow washing over you. For so long, you had carried the burden of leaving him behind, thinking it was the right thing to do.

But now, as he holds you in his arms, you realize that you weren't the only one affected by the aftermath. Simon places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his touch sending warmth through your entire being. "I'll see you out there, Y/N." He says, before walking out.

As you walk towards the door, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and for a moment, you don't recognize the person staring back at you. The face in the reflection is strong, resolute, with eyes that hold a flicker of determination you haven't seen in a long time.

The dim light in the backroom casts a soft glow on your features, accentuating the lines of resilience etched into your expression. Your eyes, once clouded with uncertainty, now burn with a fiery resolve.

In this moment, you see the reflection of the person you were, the person you are, and the person you are becoming.

As you continue to study your reflection, a switch is turned inside of you. The weight of your past no longer bears down on your shoulders, but instead, it becomes the fuel that ignites the fire within. The determination in your eyes deepens, and you know that you are no longer running from your demons; you are facing them head-on.

"Y/N, all ready on your end?" Laswell's voice crackles over the comms.

"I'm ready."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #fanfic #call of duty smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost cod #cod x reader #mw2 #Spotify

[spectorgram]

reunion

din djarin x gn! reader summary: you take a trip to mandalore and surprise an old friend who has been busy rebuilding an empire. notes: spoilers for season 2 of The Mandalorian, set after season 2 word count: 4.0k

The Imperial City was always busy; there was never any lull or stop, even when night fell, a stark contrast to most of the places you had been to in the galaxy with the Mandalorian — Din, as he eventually told you to call him — and with the green Child, who you found was named Grogu. 

Parting with Grogu had been one of the hardest things you had to do, but parting with Din had been even worse. Both of you were so torn up by the loss of him, and though you had wanted to stick together, without him, your goals and ambitions didn’t seem to line up anymore. Din was headed for Mandalore, Darksaber in hand, to rebuild his homeland, and you wanted to settle down in a stable place, tired of constantly running and gunning. 

Your goodbye with Din was bittersweet. You cried as you hugged him for the last time, his grip tighter than you had ever felt before. You both knew there were words unspoken, one that couldn’t be said aloud yet. 

You ached for the Mandalorian constantly during the first few months of your separation. They say that time heals all wounds, which you supposed was somewhat true as that yearning dulled little by little, but it never went away. 

You were lucky to have met Auguron when you did. You had only been on Coruscant for a few days, looking for a job while your lovely landlady, an elderly cyborg named Aliva, allowed you to stay in your apartment for free until you found a steady source of income. 

You had been staring at the notice board at the center of town, all kinds of job posting projected on the screen. Auguron had been pushing through the crowd to post up his own, and you inquired immediately. One preliminary interview later, and you were working at Leetgil Clayware with Mr. Leetgil and Auguron. It took you back to when you and your father would make pots and mugs together on Alderaan before… everything happened. 

“Here’s your order, Shankia,” you said, placing a crate filled with pink-glazed vases. “How’s your husband’s knee doing?”

“Oh, it’s getting better every day,” she sighed, taking the crate from your hands and handing you the credits. “Thanks so much for asking, and for the beautiful pottery. Then again, there’s no surprise there.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you replied with a small laugh. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”

“I will, I will. Have a nice day!”

“You too!”

Auguron popped out from the backroom, hands and apron smeared with white clay. “Was that Shankia?” When you nodded, he asked, “Dolwaji’s knee doing better?”

“I think so.”

“That’s good.” 

You picked up your datapad, checking off the completion of Shankia’s order. It was the last order of the day, so you packed your things up and bid farewell to Auguron and Mr. Leetgil. “We’re still on for sabacc on Saturday, right?” Auguron called after you. 

“Of course! Who else is going to kick your ass?”

“Rude!” cried Auguron, and you laughed, waving goodbye one last time. Your apartment was only a stop away on the train, and you were climbing the stairs of your walkup before you knew it. 

You flopped down inelegantly on your couch, staring up at the ceiling. Being on your feet all day really tuckered you out, and you wondered how you had done all that moving around when you were with Din and Grogu. You supposed that with the two of them always there to distract you in some way, you didn’t really have time to be exhausted. 

You were about to stand to make yourself some dinner when a message came through on your datapad from Mr. Leetgil, addressed to you and Auguron. 

Mr. Leetgil: Exciting request!!! There’s been an order for twenty of our finest dishes, bowls, and cups for the upcoming state dinner on Mandalore. I can get the pieces ready if the two of you are willing to fly out to Mandalore to hand deliver them! All expenses are paid for!

You only had a moment to appreciate Mr. Leetgil’s abundant usage of exclamation marks before you felt your heart pound against your ribcage. 

Mandalore, where Din was. Where Din was the ruler, the Mand’alor. 

Your stomach bottomed out, and you couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement. You didn’t know what you really had to be anxious about, other than seeing Din after so long. You two had tried to stay in touch but it quickly faded out as you both prioritized your duties. You briefly wondered if he had known you worked at the clayware shop, but quickly put the thought out of your mind. There wouldn’t be anyway for him to know, and Leetgil Clayware was pretty well-known for its high-quality productions. 

You exhaled heavily before replying to the message. i’m game for it. guess we’ll have to cancel saturday sabacc

Auguron: What a shame! Rescheduled for when we get back

Mr. Leetgil: Excellent!! I’ll have everything ready in two days, so you’ll head off as soon as they’re completed!!!

You shook your head fondly at the messages, trying to ignore the butterflies swirling around inside you. 

Auguron must have sensed the nervous energy thruming through your veins as you strapped into the pilot seat because he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay flying this thing? We could always just hire a pilot.”

“No, I’m okay with flying… it’s actually arriving in Mandalore that I’m worried about.”

He gave you a curious look. “Why?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, lucky for us,” he said, securing the crates full of pottery once more and buckling himself into the passenger seat, “we’ve got some time.”

You told Auguron about Din (you called him “Mando” for privacy’s sake) and about Grogu, about your adventures in bounty hunting and babysitting, and about your embarrassingly large crush on the Mandalorian. Auguron nodded along, offering little interjections when appropriate, but otherwise just listening and absorbing the information. 

“So we parted ways, he made his way to Mandalore and I went, as you know, to Coruscant.”

“And then you met me, your best friend in the whole wide world.” Auguron offered you a bright grin, and you returned it with a playful glare. He said, “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you need to be that nervous about seeing him. If your connection is as strong as you made it sound, he should be pretty happy to see you.”

“It’s not so much that I’m worried he won’t want to see me or be happy about it,” you explained. “It’s… more like just not seeing someone you spent so much time with before can be awkward, at best.”

He waved you off. “My point still stands. You’ll probably fall into a rhythm quickly again.” 

“Yeah…” you trailed off, gnawing on your bottom lip. You told Auguron to brace himself as you made the jump to hyperdrive, flying through space and time at the speed of light. Now in the Outer Rim, you steered the ship towards Mandalore. Entering the planet’s atmosphere, you saw dozens and dozens of bio-domes where Mandalorians cities were created to make such an inhospitable planet liveable. You guessed that the largest one, the one that seemed to be the core of the domes, was where you’d find Sundari, the capital city.

As your ship approached, the transmission crackled to life. “State your business for entering Mandalore.”

Auguron answered, “We’re here to deliver the clay dinnerware for the state dinner tomorrow.”

“Send your transponder signal.”

As you did so, Auguron leaned over to you and muttered, “Not very warm and fuzzy, are they?”

“They’re not exactly known for that from my experience.”

He snorted but said nothing as you were cleared for entrance. One of the doors to the dorm opened up, and you carefully maneuvered the ship into the port. You and Auguron gathered the crates and disembarked. There was a Mandalorian with brown armor who greeted you at the bottom. 

She regarded you carefully and glanced down at your crates. You had taken Mr. Leetgil’s advice and put them in transparent containers so that they wouldn’t be subjected to searches and jostled around so much that they could break. She said, “I will take you to the Royal Palace. Follow me.”

She didn’t wait for either of you to reply as she turned sharply and forged forward. 

Your heartbeat grew quicker and quicker as the palace came into view. Din flashed through your mind. Would he be happy to see you? Shocked? Disappointed?

“Hey,” Auguron snapped you from your reverie with a small, comforting smile. “It’s going to be okay.”

The brown-armored Mandalorian brought you to the gate, where two Mandalorians stood guard. The brown-armored one gave you one last terse nod and left, leaving you with the guards. Time with Din helped you recognize when Mandalorians were sizing you from behind their impassive helms. “What business have you at the palace?” the one on the right asked. She was decked out in purple armor, while her fellow guardsman was in a deep red. 

“We come bearing the clayware that was requested for the state dinner,” you replied, trying your best to give off confidence when inside, you were sure your heart was beating at an unhealthy speed. You emphasized your point by motioning to the container in hand. Their helmets moved downwards to look at the contents. 

“Come,” said the red-armored one, and you two trailed behind him to the Sundari Royal Palace. You walked through the plaza and you could almost see the phantoms of the thousands of Mandalorians who had gathered here before. You knew that the Mandalorian population had been greatly crippled by the Great Purge, but it seemed that their numbers were steadily beginning to rise again, presumably thanks to Din. 

The red Mandalorian handed you off to another Mandalorian — this one was decked in green armor — and they led you down the halls of the palace to the Great Salon, which functioned as the throne room and council chamber, as the green Mandalorian told you. “Mand’alor,” they said as the three of you entered. Din sat on the throne, flanked by two more Mandalorian guards and there were several council members present. It seemed that they were in the middle of a meeting.

The green Mandalorian bowed low and you and Auguron copied their movements as best you could with crates in hand. “The potters have arrived and they brought you the requested clayware.”

“You… don’t have to do all those formalities.” Your heart fluttered — it was the first time you had heard Din’s voice in over a year, and despite his enormously important and dignified position, he still sounded like the Din you knew, your Din Djarin. 

When you and Auguron rose up, you watched Din freeze. It was barely noticeable, almost imperceptible, but you saw the way Din’s shoulders tensed and your stomach turned. What was he thinking? Did he even recognize you?

Then, in a quiet voice tinged with something akin to awe, he said your name. And all those present in the room turned to stare at you. 

“Hi, Din,” you replied just as quietly.

One of the council members, outfitted in a pale red armor, bristled. “You will not address the Mand’alor so casually—”

Din held his hand up and she immediately stopped talking. He stood slowly and each step he took towards you felt purposefully, almost like he was savoring the moment. He reached you and gingerly took the box from your hands, placing it on the ground beside him. He stood mere inches away, and you two just stared at each other. “Cyar’ika,” he said softly, and poorly-concealed whispers (how well could you whisper in those helmets?) broke out through the room. 

“Hi,” you repeated. Your hands trembled at your side and next to you, Auguron shifted the crate into one hand and gently wrapped his free one around yours, steadying you. 

Din’s helmet snapped to the movement and it was like he was seeing Auguron for the first time. He cocked his head, sizing him, dissecting him like you had seen him do with countless quarries. To Auguron’s credit, he didn’t shrink under Din’s intense gaze. He even straightened out a little and offered his hand, introducing himself. 

“The audacity,” huffed the same pale red Mandalorian who had tried to scold you, but Din didn’t intervene this time. His helmet swiveled between you and Auguron, and then down to the hand that Auguron was holding. 

“Can I see the dinnerware?” And just like that, the spell was broken. Auguron let go of your hand and Din stepped away from you, the warmth that radiated off him through the beskar disappeared. You couldn’t deny that your heart sank a little at the loss. As Auguron took the lid of his, you crouched and did the same with yours, rising up and presenting the contents to Din. 

He nodded as Auguron went on about what kind of clay they were made of, the strength that all your wares boasted, how the glaze colors were picked out. As Din just nodded, not offering any input other than that, it made you question how much he actually knew about pottery. Din had a wide range of knowledge on many different topics, but you doubted pottery and clayware were two of them — at least, it never came up in conversation when you two were together. Traveling together, that is. 

“These will do well at the dinner,” he finally announced. Two Mandalorians came up and took the crates from you, and a silence settled in the room. Din glanced at you again and you shifted on your feet. 

“Shall I escort them back, Mand’alor?” asked the green-armored Mandalorian who had brought you in. 

Din paused for a moment and shook his head. “No, I—” He was staring straight at you, “I would like to extend an invitation to the state dinner.”  Then, in an afterthought, he looked at Auguron and added, “Both of you.”

“But, sir!” The pale red Mandalorian stepped forward. “The state dinner is for Mandalorians and esteemed guests only!”

“Then, they are my esteemed guests.”

“But—!”

“Radika.” You heard the underlying warning in Din’s tone and the pale red Mandalorian — Radika — bowed her head, but you caught the way her helmet twisted toward you in an aggressive motion.

Din turned back to you and asked, “Would you like to… take a walk with me?”

“Sir,” one council member meekly piped up, “we haven’t finished our meeting.”

Din hesisted and sighed, “Right.”

You offered gently, “Later, perhaps.”

He nodded and asked the green Mandalorian to show you and Auguron to guest chambers. 

“So, was that better or worse than what you expected?” Auguron asked you as you settled into your rooms. You two had been brought to rooms that were connected, which made you feel a little relieved that you had your friend so close. 

“I’m not even sure what to make of it.” Then, you said, “But I didn’t spontaneously combust on the spot, so that’s always a win.”

“Better, then!”

You snickered and shook your head. One of the Mandalorians had fetched the limited luggage the two of you brought. You hadn’t planned to extend your stay, or stay at all, but you had messaged Mr. Leetgil and asked if it was okay to do so. He responded with his usual barrage of cheerful exclamation marks that it was. 

“Seemed like you and Din were more than traveling partners and pseudo-coparents,” Auguron said. 

“I… it’s not like that.”

“Really? Then why did it seem like he wanted to break my hand when I held yours?”

“He didn’t—”

The look Auguron gave you made you think he thought you were massively dense. You avoided his eyes and sighed. “He’s just protective,” you muttered lamely and Auguron raised his hands in surrender.

“I’ll bet you fifty credits that you two will kiss by the end of our stay.”

You felt a flash of annoyance — if he was so insistent that there was something there then… “You’re on.”

“Can’t wait to make back some money I lost in sabacc.”

The two of you passed your time in your room, finding some books written in Basic that you read to each other. It turned out that, as guests on Mandalore, there wasn’t a ton to do. The Mandalorians ran efficiently and seemed to need little to do with either of you. Neither of you wanted to just roam the halls, so this was the best solution. 

“Hey, look, it’s a Mando’a-to-English dictionary,” Auguron said as he reentered from his room, waving the text around. “I’ve been wanting to look up that word Din called you. What was it again?”

“‘Cyar’ika,’” you replied. “Let me look too, he never told me what it meant.”

“Maybe it means ‘irritant.’”

“Rude.”

The two of you leafed through, eyes darting through pages and pages of words. Can’gal [CAHN-gahl]: starfighter, cuir [COO-er]: four, cuyanir [coo-YAH-neer]: survive, cyare [SHAH-ray]: beloved, loved, popular. 

Your jaw dropped when you found what you were looking for. 

Cyar’ika [shar-EE-kah]: darling, sweetheart.

Auguron clearly saw it too because he whooped, “Easiest fifty credits I’ll ever make!”

There was a knock at your door, and you quickly closed the book and called for whoever it was to come in. Din stepped over the threshold, glancing between the two of you on your bed. “Is now a good time for the walk?”

“Absolutely,” you said, needing to get away from Auguron’s smug simper. Din offered your friend a simple, terse nod as he let you pass first and followed you out. Almost shyly, Din fell into step next to you and offered his arm. You took it and let him lead you through the halls and to a garden area. 

He brought you to the center, guiding you to a stone bench under a shady tree. He sat beside you, and the two of you were quiet for a moment. Then, you both piped up. 

“I—”

“How—?”

You both stopped and laughed a little. You felt a smile creep onto your face; you missed his laughter. “You first,” he said. 

“How are you?”

“I’ve been busy,” he said. 

“I can see,” you said, looking around the bio-dome. “It’s really incredible, what you’ve managed to do.”

He cleared his throat bashfully, seemingly at a loss for words. Then, remorsefully, he said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t keep up.”

You reached to place your hand on his, but Din moved it. You felt your heart sink for a moment before it lightened again when you watched as he slipped his gloves off. He positioned his hand and you laid yours over it. “Life happens, Din, it’s okay.”

He shook his head. “I wanted to. I really did.”

“I know, I did too. It’s alright, Din.”

He sighed and you finally decided to ask, “Did you know that I worked as a potter? Is that why you asked for the clayware?”

“Truthfully, no. My advisors suggested I get new dinnerware as a show of respect for the first full-sized state dinner.” He added quickly, “But I’m not surprised that you do. I know that you used to make clay pots with your father on Alderaan.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He remembered. He continued, “I’m glad that I did, though, because it brought you here.” The unspoken words lingered in the air: Back to me. 

You looked up at him through your lashes and bit down on your lip. You inhaled and said, “I really missed you, Din.”

“I missed you too, cyar’ika.”

“I, uh, finally looked up what that meant.”

He stiffened a little and let out an uncharacteristically feeble “Oh.” Then, slowly, he said, “If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll stop—”

“No! I… I like it.”

He nodded and you could feel the intensity of his gaze through his visor. Another silence fell over you, but it felt heavy with some sort of tension. Din broke it after a while. “Can I… ask you a question?”

“You just did,” you said cheekily. You could feel his eye roll. 

“Who’s the man you traveled here with?” 

“Auguron?” Din nodded and you answered, “He’s my colleague, obviously, and was one of my first friends on Coruscant.”

“You two aren’t…?”

You furrowed your brow before it dawned on you what he was asking. “No! No, not at all. We’re not…”

Din bobbed his head along and said, “Good.”

Your face warmed, and you peeked back down at your hand on top of his. Din followed your stare and adjusted his hand, moving it to intertwine your fingers. Your pulse thrummed in your throat. 

“Cyar’ika?” he breathed out. You held his gaze and his hand slid out of yours languidly, and you watched in complete and utter shock as he reached for the bottom of his helmet. 

There was no way this was happening. You had long wondered what his face looked like under the helm. You knew that it wouldn’t matter, that you would still feel strongly for him no matter what, but you allowed yourself to fantasize about it. Your mind conjured up all sorts of combinations of features, cobbling together features to create multiple results. The pneumatic hiss sounded so loud as you looked on in rapture and anticipation.

Maker.

He was even more beautiful than you imagined, all pink lips and strong nose and dark, soulful eyes that gazed back at you with a sort of tender intensity that made you burn from the inside out. “Kriff,” you whispered.

Din glanced at you self-consciously. “I…”

You raised your hands and asked, “Can… Can I…?” He nodded wordlessly and you cupped his face gently. “You’re… you’re incredible, Din. Inside and out.” 

He swallowed heavily and shifted closer to you. “So are you.” 

You swiped your thumb across his cheekbone, still marveling at him. At all that he was. 

“May I kiss you, cyar’ika?”

Your voice was barely audible. “Yes.”

Din’s mouth slotted against yours, warm and soft. Your eyes slid closed, and you readjusted to press closer against him. His hands fell to your waist and drew you nearer. He was all around you, enveloping you in a comfortable heat that was so him. So Din. Your Din. 

You reluctantly parted as your lungs begged for air, breath coming out in light pants. You were somewhat relieved that Din was much the same, eyes dark and half-lidded. You pitched forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you both caught your breath. His chest rumbled a little as he chuckled and he pressed his lips to the crown of your head reverently. “Mesh’la,” he said. “Beautiful.”

You closed your eyes and soaked in Din’s scent, earthy and a little metallic. It suited him. You finally summoned the strength to lift your head and you grinned dopily at him. “Hi.”

He chuckled again, “Hi.”

A voice rang through the gardens. “Mand’alor?” You recognized that voice more than you would have liked to. Din slid his helmet back on, much to your disappointment, as Radika came barreling over. You didn’t miss the way her helmet swung towards you with a clear malice. “Where have you been?”

“Here,” Din said and you tried badly to stifle a snort. 

“Well, you need to decide the menu for tomorrow.”

Din, though he kept his tone polite, was clearly annoyed as he sighed, “Why didn’t we address this in the meeting before?”

“You were a little distracted by something.”

Din huffed, saying, “This is my personal guest, Radika. Watch your tone.”

“Mand’alor—”

“I will discuss the menu but not here and not with you.”

You heard the crackle through her vocoder, as if she wanted to speak, but she just turned sharply on her heel and stormed out. “You could’ve gone,” you said. “I wouldn’t have minded, and the state dinner is important.”

“Not as important as you,” he responded swiftly. “And I won’t tolerate any disrespect to my cyar’ika.”

If he kept this up, you wondered if you’d just melt into a puddle. Then, a realization dawned on you and you cursed softly. Din looked at you in concern, asking if anything was wrong. You shook your head. “Not really, but I owe Auguron fifty credits.”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #din djarin imagine #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x y/n #mand'alor din djarin #pedro pascal #✶ NOVE WRITES

[circledotdestroy]

Retrospective - Chapter 2: The Insult of Injury

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x F! Pro-Hero! Reader (slow burn)

Main Summary: After 12 years, you, Pro-Hero Strife, has to return to Japan. Your objective: discreetly track down and capture Akari Kaneko, a.k.a. Pro-Hero Aegis— your old classmate who attacked you during her visit in America. In the aftermath of All Might losing his power, however, using UA resources has its complications. The most unexpected complication being Aizawa, someone you never expected to see again. Why does your past have to come back to haunt you now? Masterlist First chapter Next Chapter Word Count: 5585

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to post. While I was gone I got my first big girl job and my beta reader has been having trouble with her computer, so I had to obsess over the prose by myself. In the end, i had to split my planned second chapter in two because it was almost 10k, so that's fun. Also, I uploaded this fic to Ao3 and I added the tag "Autistic Shouta Aizawa" and I'm the first one to tag that in an X Reader Fic??? I thought it was a popular headcanon lol Anyway, you've waited long enough. I hope you enjoy!

Head hung over porcelain, gloved hands gripped onto the sink. A giant hammer banged against your skull from the inside leaving sparks in its wake. Neurons like shooting stars lived behind your eyes. “Sparks…” You gulped back nausea. 

Murky puddles of colors blurred together. Light blue stalls behind you, slightly opened, but empty. A massive void leered through the mirror with slivers of red. Hunched, panting over the counter. Burning wounds spreading out, conquering the rest of your cold skin. Not so different from the last time you needed a healing quirk. Cold, clammy, and disgustingly pitiful in one of the dark backrooms of your agency–because doing paperwork was better than being by your lonesome with nothing. The main difference this time around was the mortification that came with breaking down in a high school bathroom.  

You were going to smack Akari for what she put you through.

The thought stabilized your shaky breath. You straightened your body, your hands still grasping the counter. The pressure released from the stab wound. It steadied you and you were grateful.

The last thing you needed to add on this little business trip was a reunion with Recovery Girl. She had first-hand encounters of your nonsense. Dealing with the aftermath of you being a menace to society— or “younger” if someone wanted to be polite—more times then you can count. You went to her office a lot–sometimes for yourself. Sometimes. It didn’t matter if you started more “advanced” in your class, you weren’t immune to scraps, bruises, or the occasional slip up during training. Other times, it was for other classmates. Some you sent her way after battle trials, but other times you popped in to take supplies then ran out.

One time you asked when she was going to retire, she said whatever the Japanese equivalent was for “until I croak”. That was after she threatened you with her cane, but you laughed it off like the cocky child you were. You thought even if she could land a hit, it wouldn’t hurt that bad. After all this time, it’d be disappointing to tell her you got in a fight and lost at your big age. Maybe she’ll try hitting you with her cane again, you thought. She’d have an easier time now.

But no. Dealing with the effects of one healing quirk was enough. The risks of getting her involved drowsiness at best, or possible death before the investigation gets shot down at worst. Investigation aside, it’s becoming apparent your healing process isn’t where it’s supposed to be. The itches, the burning… no one is in this bathroom with you, but you’re burning beneath cold skin. Someone who sees you on the street can say: “It’s only been two days! Walking around, catching a flight, that’s a MIRACLE for only two days!” 

However, that’s the problem. It’s already been two days. With the healing quirk, you’re supposed to be at least 75%, but you’re not pushing fifty. 

Removing your hands from the sink, you brought them to your sides. It was hard to know where one pain starts and where the other ends. Everything burns and your body is compelling you to turn around and throw up nothing.  You flexed shaking fingers into fists. Your stomach was turning inward. It’s been a while since you ate. Perhaps you should’ve brought something on your way here. Even if it was stopping at a konbini and picking up one of those stupid-ass nutrition cookies Aizawa used to eat for lunch every day of the week. You swallowed, shaking your head. Food can wait. You can wait three hours. If you eat, you’re going to stay nauseous and dizzy anyway… unless you do something about it.

With a shaking breath, you glanced over your shoulder then at the door. There was no charge down your spine, so no people were close by either. You flexed your hands again, eyes closed, counting your fingers rhythmically. The sparks died down. The pain became more discernible. Abdomen still fresh and oven-hot. Knuckles chaffed, raw, and bruised. Your legs: thighs sore from jumping during the mission, your left knee ached, and the top side of your right foot was especially tender. Your shoulders, your back, behind your head. 

You kept the rhythm until your lungs demanded release. When you exhaled, the pain dwindled. Not completely. Warmth still lied below your skin, at a near simmer. When you opened your eyes though, the blacks and reds weren’t blurred together. They were a clear, albeit crooked mess. You fixed the red arm guards first. When that was done, you had enough energy to fix the rest of your uniform. 

Daring to move around, you inspected your fixed outfit further. When it passed inspection, you grabbed your briefcase below the paper towel dispenser to your right. Hitching your breath, you reached for the black handle. Your right leg carried all the weight to avoid setting off a potential mine-field of injury. At first contact, you swung the case on top of the sink then opened it. There were many compartments at the top, one housed a phone the boss gave you, since your old one was collateral damage. There were few numbers inside the cell. Only the ones you thought were most important to include. One of them was for the agency medic, which you cleverly titled as “Medic” to make sure you don’t call more than necessary. 

This development with his quirk, unfortunately, was necessary. Rocks filled your stomach. Your mouth feels like you ate gravel. You can hear his reaction to telling him his ‘all powerful quirk’ wasn’t helping like a future sense. He’d make the concussion he diagnosed you with worse if you called.

Wanting to grip the phone harder, you clenched your teeth. This whole thing was stupid. You could’ve kept your guard up. You could’ve stood up, knife be damned, and run after Akari. Stopped her. Asked her what the hell she was talking about— All these choices you could’ve made–all those years of training, and you still got a concussion. Seven minutes passed when you finished typing your little update. It was better to give him a heads up now. It helps against accusations of Akari annihilating your brain cells at the fight.

The next person you contacted was Athena, your Support Expert. It hasn’t been long, but you needed an update on something. Even if it was just your uniform and equipment. 

The message itself was quick. Though, you couldn’t help following up by asking if she knew anything about one of the crime scenes. You then thanked her, again. Heaven knows you keep her busy when you need new equipment. During the past two years alone, you’ve asked a lot from her. Whether you needed a new arm guard, gauntlet, or a whole new uniform, she came through every time. It’s hard to get an SE who specializes specifically in power-based quirks. From what you’ve experienced, and heard from other heroes, most SEs don’t appreciate their designs getting decimated. Their creations are children in their eyes. Athena’s creations aren’t as precious in her eyes, by comparison. She has a spreadsheet dedicated to how long until the creations get busted. Keeping up with these records is her research. It changed constantly, telling her what works and when she needs to switch things up. 

You should bring her something when all this is over, you thought. She deserved something nice. Something that says “I’m sorry for wrecking all the support items you made me during my missions, you’re the best SE ever!”

The phone went back inside of its compartment, next to the pouch where five hologram disks were held. A surge of panic came through you. Thinking of the horrific scenario of traveling all this way and forgetting essential items for your visit today. You tore open the pouch. Heart in your ears and heat crawling out your back. Two disks were labeled, three were not. “CS1” and “CS2” were in the pouch. Good. You glanced at the other objects in the case, double checking everything was there before you met up with the principal. Folders, notebooks, paperwork, until relief washed over you in a cool wave. Closing the briefcase, running your hand across the leather. Slowing down to trace the broken heart emblem, similar to the one on your breastplate.

Your power won’t get rid of the hammers in your skull, or the itch around stitch wire, but the thick material will prevent you from scratching. Plus, no one else would know about the other bumps and bruises beneath. 

You got this.

Leaving the bathroom, you pulled out Hizashi’s instructions one more time. They were less blurry and a bit easier to understand. You may actually have a chance to get out of the maze disguised as your alma mater. Ironically enough, before you could turn the corner, a white rat-bear-dog shorter than a yard-stick— wearing a black vest, blocky, yellow shoes, and had a gangster scar across his eye—came around. “There you are! It really has been a long time,” he greeted, like you’ve seen him before. He didn’t give you time to respond to him, he just explained how he waited at the meeting spot until it occurred to him how long it’s been since you were a student. The principal also made many changes since the time you graduated, which he insisted on showing you. This welcoming gesture forced you to tail him around the floor, instead of simply going to the meeting spot. You didn’t like the idea of walking around, not with that flare up earlier. You were still abnormally sore. But he can’t know that. You squared your shoulders, nodded your head, and quietly marched on.

There weren’t many rooms to make note of. Most of them were regular classrooms. You already saw where the current classroom for 1-A was before you ran into Aizawa. Apparently your old classroom is being used for one of the first year general education courses. The principal asked if you’d like to look inside. You declined the offer politely. At the end of the day, it was just a room. Another room with desks, windows, and a chalkboard in the front. What more did you need to see? You didn’t explain that last part, obviously, and the principal went on talking about other changes around the school.

At one point, he interrupted himself, stopping in front of one of the other doors. This time he didn’t ask you before opening it. “And here is my office.” The principal revealed a room with a giant window behind a desk. The orange light from the rising sun shone through the window casting deep shadows on the office furniture. If you stepped closer, you’d see everything outside the window. The brightness made you queasy. You opted to focus on the gray couch instead. “It looks a little different compared to the last conversation we had here,” he commented.

‘Last conversation,’ you wondered. Then it hit you.

This principal wasn’t new.

 Your principal never left UA. How you forgot your principal having a gangster-scar, you weren’t sure. There was no one like him. Absolutely no one that you’ve met. 

Muffled words and a shadow in front of a stark blue window came to mind. Paws holding stacks of paper, hitting them against the desk to straighten them out. Were you supposed to add on to what he said? Were you supposed to apologize? He didn’t look unhappy.

But you could be wrong. Would it be a surprise if this was an act? Taking you on this walk so you’d waste your time telling him everything? You looked to the right and left side of the hallway. If the resources weren’t valuable then you’d walk yourself out first. 

The principal didn’t follow up his statement with anything about the past or the future. He closed the door to his voice and rambled his way to nothing. He probably wanted to get a reaction out of you, but you were too confused to give him one. 

After a while, the stitches got tighter. And tighter. And your legs were becoming sore. Of course, you clenched your jaw to keep quiet. If he caught on, he’ll send you to Recovery Girl then bye-bye. She hits you with her cane and Nezu could press a button to eject you from the building.

Honestly, where was Hizashi? You knew he was supposed to be busy with work last night, but he said he’d be here for the meeting. It was supposed to start soon and you don’t want to be in a room alone with a passive-aggressive rat-bear-principal. Maybe he was telling Nemuri you were in town. 

Or maybe he would try to find Shouta and they could all be talking right now! Aizawa would tell him about you leaving him in the hallway, saying you were rude, demanding to know what’s going on. Aizawa was pushy enough. Hizashi would tell him about how you called him, hurt and asking for help. Despite Hizashi’s best intentions, Aizawa could use this information to raise doubt against you in the meeting. Get rid of you before you become a problem, his problem. 

You needed to find Hizashi before that could happen.

As luck would have it, the tour was coming to an end. The last stop led to a blond man leaning against a door down the hall with his arms crossed. A blond man with a punk rock style and a speaker around his neck. A blond that bounced his knee impatiently because he couldn’t bear standing still. 

Hizashi!

His head snapped in your direction. He, like a ray of sunshine, grinned ear to ear. “And look here, folks!” Hizashi rushed toward you, “coming out of the cage, ready for her GRAND COMEBACK–” you gripped your briefcase tighter, your eyes wide and almost bouncing, expecting impact. Hizashi pivoted around you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s the Queen of Terror, Pro-Hero STRIFE!”

It’s been over five years since you’ve seen him in person, longer since he’s called you by your hero name. You beamed, he was here. In the same room, not across the world. You thought of hugging him, but stopped when you remembered your old principal was still here.

Hizashi moved closer, leaning into your face without such reservations. The amber reflection of your uniform was in his sunglasses. His hand dragged across your shoulder where the raised mending peaked. He looked toward the principal with his hand on the side of his mouth, like he was trying to tell you a secret. “I was waiting forever,” he fake-scolded, loud enough for the third party to hear.

Glancing at the principal, you saw he was watching the two of you. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were blank. You stepped out of Hizashi’s grasp, standing properly. “I had trouble with the directions.”

“What? Getting rusty after being away for so long?” Heat rose to your ears. Of course you were going to be rusty. Did he really have to tease you about it now? “She really knows how to keep her fans at the edge of their seat,” he said to the principal casually, like he wasn’t Hizashi’s boss.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the principal responded, making you aware of the side eye you were giving to your old friend. “I was giving Strife a tour of this floor. After all, I’m proud of the changes I made to UA since your graduating class. I couldn’t resist showing off to one of my former students. Strife has certainly grown from that child I remember.”

Hizashi agreed with your old principle with a joke. “I hope that’s a good thing.” But you know there’s no good way to interpret the statement. Not with what he said when he showed you his office. Who brings up a time where they had to talk with you in a GOOD way? It’s like when your parents brought up how one of your dad’s coworkers caught you sneaking a cookie from the agency's break room when you were supposed to stick to a meal plan. Like, “oh, we sure hope you have better impulse control compared to when you were eight, even if you do, we’re going to reference this story over and over again so you never forget your moral failure!” He’s wearing yellow sneakers with formal wear, why is he passive-aggressive!

The conversation didn’t go further, thankfully. “There is time before the meeting, I’m going to set up. Feel free to catch up here in the meantime,” said the principal. You both thanked him as he went into the room. The nausea came back at the sight of the wooden swirls closing, your heart was starting to pound. After all, maybe he was planning to air it out with an audience, you couldn’t know for sure with his emotionless eyes.

“Did you really not have nicer clothes,” Hizashi asked, breaking you out of your trance. He was loud enough for the whole building to hear.

Your nose scrunched. “The damage wasn’t THAT bad…”

Hizashi shook his head. “I’m not talking about the damage. Last time I saw you, there was more…” Hizashi held his hand out, waving it toward your body. He went through a jumble of words before he decided on one. “Color.”

The last time he saw you in person, you were twenty-four and in-between agencies again. He was celebrating the first anniversary of his show being picked up for a radio channel. After celebrating the anniversary, he took a short vacation out of the country. It was the first time he was allowed since his career started. When Hizashi finally arrived in the States, you wore a uniform. It had less hard armor and was more red. Red breast plate with your black broken-heart emblem, which resembled that old Pac-Man arcade game. Gauntlets with red finger and knuckle pieces and armguards to contrast the black base of the gloves. Some other details like the center of your knee and elbow pads, the tips of your boots, your utility belt, and other lines and trims followed,

Vibrant color bounced off the void background. In comparison, your current outfit was– 

“You look like a common mall goth.” You tilt your head at him. Before you can say anything about calling you “common”, he continued. “Actually it’s worse!” Hizashi stepped closer to put his hands on your shoulders, pressing into the raised mark on the left. He leaned closer to your ear–was he always this touchy? He whispered, “you look emo.”

You punished him back, somewhat gently. “Hizashi, what the hell,” you said in English. Why was he making you worried over nothing! And calling you emo…

He laughed, wagging his finger at you like you were some brat. “Nuh uh uh. It’s Mic. We’re professionals and we’re working.”

“What do you mean ‘professionals’? What was professional about that!”

“I’m a radio host too, I have to play it to the crowd!”

You scanned the halls. “Where!” No one was here! A thud echoed across the empty hallway. In your confusion, you accidentally threw your briefcase across the hall. You stupidly remember the rule ‘no yelling in the hall!’ rule as black leather slid across the purple floor. Oops… You sigh as the briefcase spins to a stop.

Mic continued laughing. You grumbled, giving him your back as you approached the briefcase. To think, you considered hugging him earlier. The man walked behind you. “Don’t be so stiff!” You stared at the briefcase, almost rolling your eyes, he had no idea. You pondered how you were going to pick it up. If you did it the same way as you did in the bathroom, it would look suspicious. And dorky. 

His eyes were on you, you could feel it. If you waited too long then Mic would volunteer to get it for you. That would make him ask questions though. “Right,” you broke the silence before he could. You squatted with bated breath to pick up the briefcase. Your knee almost popped and you wanted to tear into the wound, but you weren’t going to tell Mic that. Not now, at least. 

Somewhere more private. AFTER you were sure he wouldn’t talk to Aizawa about anything. But first, you’d need to say you met him earlier and it didn’t go well. You can save Mic the drama, not going into specifics. Other than that, what’s one more thing to the pile? He’s in the dark about Akari, for now. He didn’t need to know Akari was the reason why you called him from your medic’s phone the other day, right this minute. You’ll have to go over everything in the meeting anyway, so why waste time?

“I would’ve gotten that,” said Mic.

“But you didn’t.” You shot back, harsher than you meant to. “It’s fine. I forgive you,” you stated with a pouty lip. You hoped the joke would mitigate the unintended force of your words. Mic probably didn’t notice, or he thought it was simply the set up to the punchline. “What have you been up to?”

Mic gave you an elaborate update on the past few weeks. His summer was busy since the Sports Festival. As usual, he was booked out when it came to the radio host and DJ gigs during the beginning of summer break. He told you all positive things. Dancing around All Might’s retirement as Number 1 Hero. You imagined he’d describe it as a certified downer if you asked. “...and our first years are about to go for their license!” Mic posed his hands in the rock and roll gesture.

“Wow, already? We had to wait until second year.”

“Because of all the villain attacks. It was decided it’d be better for the students to protect themselves without waiting for a hero’s permission.” There were no bells or whistles attached to the explanation. His hand gestures were minimal as well. While the idea of first years becoming skilled enough to get their license at a young age was impressive, there was no argument the circumstances weren’t ideal. First years shouldn’t have to deal with villains yet, but they have multiple times. Even in America, the youngest an applicant had to be was 17 to get their license. One of the perks of going to UA was being able to expedite the process and get your license when you were 16. You couldn’t imagine letting 15 year olds take the test in America. ”If you’ve watched the Sports Festival, then you know they’ll CRUSH it!” He punctuated the statement with his signature “YEAH!”, putting his hands in the air for extra dazzle. 

A beat passed and he broke his pose, asking if you watched the Sports Festival. The question wasn’t as pumped compared to his previous statement. Guilt struck you. Another month’s gone by and you still haven’t watched your friends on International Television. “It’s okay if you didn’t!” He responded, obviously concerned.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should’ve watched it by now. Work’s been crazy for months. I had to cancel TV because it was wasting money.”

Mic shrugged, with a relaxed expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it! I’m sure I can give you the highlight reel while you're in town. But seriously, you had to cancel TV? You need to give it a rest!” 

“No, you have four jobs. I have no excuse–”

“Details!” Mic brushed off your response with his hand. “Y’know…” Mic’s hand went to his face to rub his chin. “You could help out with the first years with the exam. If you have time for it, it could be another paycheck and you can hang out with me,” he finished like you were a kid motivated by cookies.

You raised your eyebrow and shifted your weight to your back leg. “First you say “give it a rest” and now you want to give me more work?” He posed glamorously then switched to another with that somewhat implied you giving him a high-five, but it didn’t look quite right. “Not everyone can multitask like you, Mic.”

“I’m just saying you have the experience. You judged the licensing exams a crazy amount of times—and you mentored young heroes before.”

 “I didn’t do any judging this year, and there’s a difference between the American licensing exam and the one here. Also, those heroes already graduated from their program, and I only helped them because I had to. I’m not a good mentor, and, from what you said, I’m sure whoever’s teaching the first years are doing fine on their own.”

Mic paused with his mouth slightly open. His teeth clenched. “About that–”

A colorful blur caught the corner of your eye, but it was too late. A massive weight slammed into your body. The briefcase flew from your hand. What the hell! Your throat squeezed, choking down any sound you could’ve made. First there was shock. Then fire. Then pain. Every. Single. Type. 

Everything burned and your bones rattled you from the inside. You had to get this off! You wrapped your arms around, ready to pick up and throw it down the next floor. 

Your shoulder shrieked back at the embrace, your legs weren’t fairing with the shift either. In this split-second processing of your senses, it was apparent the weight was particularly squishy in certain places. It had purple hair as well, and she was absolutely thrilled to see you.

Your eyes widened. You lifted Nemuri, having stopped midway from slamming her to the ground. Her stomach was at your eye-level as she laughed with joy. That was good, you set her down., her heels clicking on the floor. You could’ve really hurt her. “--didn’t tell me you were coming to town–got you at the airport! Look at YOU!” The squishiness against your body left, replaced by an ecstatic Nemuri squeezing your face. Fingers pressed your cheeks enough to make your lips puff out. You tried to respond to Nemuri, but you might as well have your mouth full of cookies. The questions kept coming. After a bunch of non-answers, Nemuri took her hands off. Of course it was sore, but it was nothing like the rest of you. Unlike with Mic, you KNEW Nemuri was this touchy. This happened so many times a single memory became a cluster of events. 

She turned out of your hold, pointing at Mic aggressively. “Did you know our friend was coming here and NOT tell ME!” 

The scene was soon drowned out by your beating heart. Mic’s sunglasses slipped down his nose revealing a panicked expression toward Nemuri. He held out your briefcase to shield himself from the heat of the backlash. He was talking fast, explaining himself. You pressed your lips tightly in contrast. If they weren’t then you’d pant like you did earlier. 

Nausea arrived once again like a recurring nightmare. Placing your hand over the stitches to push through the thick material did nothing. As predicted, the pain couldn’t be snuffed out. Keeping your face neutral was an uphill battle between scalding heat and pure annoyance.

Screeching thoughts scolded you to ‘stop scratching!’

Then the surge came.

Mic and Midnight were focused on each other. One was mad, one was somewhat scared. It gave you something to work with. Your breath deepened as you flexed your palm against your uniform. Once again the pain separated and simmered down. The only agony on the surface was the itchiness of your wound. It wasn’t perfect. You just had to bear with it—the healing process. 

And watch out for any other attacks from your friends.

The hand on your abdomen balled into a fist. An invisible knife stabbed back inside the wound. Hopefully, the pressure could substitute the need to claw at your skin until your insides spilled into a puddle on the floor. 

Before you got comfortable, something to your left burned through you. Not from a wound, or your quirk. Someone watched you down the corridor. Turning your head, you lowered the invisible knife.

“Aizawa,” Mic called out to him, but didn’t get a response. Aizawa’s attention was on you. Did he see what you did? There was no way he saw the whole situation, you thought. Just when you shanked yourself with the imaginary shiv. Even if he brought it up, so what? It was weird, not illegal. “Look who’s here, isn’t this exciting!” Mic continued. The way Aizawa kept staring you down made it clear he was expecting you to flinch. Maybe you weren’t doing something illegal just now, but he can say you stormed off from him. Which is worse in this context. A lot worse. 

Aizawa tucked a blue file folder he was looking over into his arm with the others. “We saw each other earlier,” he responded coldly. He wasn’t excited to see you. Not today. Not ever. You stood your ground, waiting for him to tell them you walked out on him again, but it never came. He moved past, preferring not to be in the same room with you more than he had to.

“That’s it! C’mon don’t be like that! How often do you get to see an old buddy?”

“Just stay for a minute!”

He continued on his path, not responding to any of their pleas until he reached the door handle. “The meeting is starting soon. Don’t block the door.” He went inside, the door clicking shut behind him with an echo.

“Harsh…” Mic said.

Midnight turned to you. “I thought he’d be happier,” she said wistfully. You don’t blame her for hoping.

You shrugged, lifting your hands. ‘It is what it is,’ you thought, not quite remembering a good translation.

Midnight hummed. Mic moved on from the initial shock, opting to check out the detailing on your briefcase. No follow up questions from either of them. Throughout the years, there was never a time either of them mentioned Aizawa being their coworker. Not that you should care. They didn’t have to tell you anything about what he was up to. If he wanted you to know he could’ve told you himself. Whatever he did was none of your business, so why would they tell you?

Maybe they should’ve. It certainly would’ve avoided this mess. Although, the thought didn’t cross Mic’s mind. He probably heard the muffled yells of the medic for you to give his phone back and dived in with no questions. No hesitation. 

Nonetheless, he could’ve warned you about Aizawa in the email he sent you after. Did he think you wouldn't come back if you knew ahead of time—if you knew Aizawa would be here? Probably not, but damn, dude, give a warning.

Midnight broke through your thoughts, asking how long you were planning to stay. She comments on the tension without any out of pocket comparisons to the devil’s tango. You reassured her you should be gone in two weeks. If you were going to do your research here, no doubt it would be uncomfortable for her and Mic if that’s how you’re going to interact with their friend. “I hope we can do something while you’re here. It’ll be fun,” Midnight offered half-heartedly. Even if you sucked at keeping contact for the past year, she was still nice to you. Although, it’s doubtful you two would have time for each other while you were investigating and she does her jobs.

“Count me in!” Mic puts his free arm around your shoulders, he doesn’t add any pressure, but your arms squeezed into your ribs at the unintentional threat. Like one wrong move and your skin would seer through kevlar and leather. “We have to grab a bite!”

Your ears perk up, stomach coming to the forefront of your thoughts. You were drooling at the thought of finally being able to eat some bomb-ass food.

The passage of time went faster with the distracting fantasy. Not long after agreeing to Mic’s invitation of food, and having to hear a long list of places you couldn’t go to this very moment, the meeting was close to a start–made apparent by the next pro hero arriving to the meeting room. Your friends introduced you to another one of their coworkers, Snipe, who was dressed as a cowboy and actually packed heat.

The lovely thoughts and curiosity came to a halt upon entering the room. Aizawa glared at you for disrupting him from reading what he had in those folders. Without breaking eye contact you reached toward Mic so he could give you back your briefcase, so you could put it down somewhere. 

Aizawa went back to his folders, rubbing his temple like your presence alone vexes him. You chose to place it in the corner of the room by a potted plant. You were careful not to grunt as you squatted. Ignoring the pain, you swiped the pattern on the briefcase, for good luck even if you hardly believe in such a thing. 

Call it habit or instinct, but you glanced over your shoulder after. Of course, there was Aizawa. He eyeballed you, waiting for you to make a mistake. You clenched your jaw as you stood up again, adjusting your uniform before walking back toward Mic toward the center of the room. If Aizawa saw an opportunity, an opening to get rid of you, he’d pounce. 

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x female reader #retrospective by dot #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #whump #tw pain #yamada hizashi #nemuri kayama

[steddieunderdogfics]

I'd like to recommend 1,512 Days by staymagical. It's a lovely pocket-sized zombie apocalypse au that's tense with action and brings the boys together in a heartfelt reunion that I just keep coming back to.

1,512 Days by staymagical

Rating: Teens and Up

3,527 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Violence

Tags: Post-Canon, Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Violence, Gun Violence, They're fighting zombies, So violence is inevitable, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, No beta we die like the corrupted in the backroom of an abandoned Subway

Summary:

Over a year after Vecna's defeat, the apocalypse still happened. Only not in the way any of them ever expected. Eddie is nearly 2,000 miles away from Hawkins when the world comes crashing down. But he's determined to make it back home, even if it kills him. Which, is looking very likely with each day that passes.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #teen and up #tw graphic violence #post canon #zombie apocalypse #tw mild gore #tw minor character death #angst

[dirty-pretty-jackal-s]

THE LIBERTINES: ROCKIN’ AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE

Back in action - and in truly festive spirit - for a Margate knees-up ahead of forthcoming fourth album 'All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade', the likely lads are writing a positive new chapter onto their wild career.

Words: Lisa Wright  Photos: Ed Miles 20th December 2023

The Libertines have been known for many things over the years. As one of the most storied indie outfits of the ‘00s. As an example of that rare magic that can happen when two people - in their case, rollercoaster bromance frontmen Pete Doherty and Carl Barât - spark in a way that makes something far bigger than the sum of its parts. As a band whose generation-defining first two albums dressed the genre up in romance and red military garb before imploding in a mess of destruction and addiction.

Two decades and two reunions on, and all these things remain true. But right now, in the fireside belly of their Margate hotel The Albion Rooms, the band have got other things on their mind: namely, what a Libertines Christmas single could entail. “‘Can’t Stand Tree Now’. No wait, ‘Death on the Sledge’…” suggests Doherty with a glint in his eye as photos are taken and his massive dog Gladys snaffles a mince pie clean out of his hand. “‘Tell It To We Three Kings!’” pipes up bassist John Hassall, as all four signal their approval and break into impromptu festive song - not for the first or last time this afternoon.

The Libertines’ forthcoming new album - their first in nearly a decade, and second since reforming - might be named ‘All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade’, but on the titular Margate street, on a blustery December day, the mood is anything but sedate. The band have congregated for a special weekender of events to launch the record, beginning with an intimate show at the Lido down the road later in the evening - a working men’s club-type room with chintzy Christmas dressing that clearly hasn’t seen this sort of rowdy action in decades. At one point we turn around and someone’s bag is on fire. It gets hastily stamped out. The show goes on.

A few weeks before this, however, and the two frontmen are gathered in the oak-panelled backroom of a posh London pub, viewing The Albion Rooms from a different angle. They’ve just been delivered the mock-ups of their latest LP sleeve, on which a cast of colourful characters line the street outside their Margate space. “That’s Sister Mary from the song ‘Mustang’; that’s the ‘Man with the Melody’; that’s the refugee from ‘Merry Old England’,” points out Doherty. “Look she’s got a bottle of rum in the pram as well, she’s shoplifting. That’s good, that. Very clever,” he nods with satisfaction.

The pair have a lot to be satisfied about, too. They’ve come out the other side of the metaphorical tornado with their band and their friendship largely intact; ‘All Quiet…’, we suggest, sounds like an album made by a group of people that genuinely want to be there. “I’m glad it sounds that way because it’s utterly true, and it’s an album we actually did want to make and we really put everything into the songs,” explains Barât. “Even saying that is a bit emotional for me…”

“He’s [Doherty] a part of my life that I’d miss horrendously if it wasn't there.— Carl Barât

The path to The Libertines’ latest was a very different one to any of those that have come before for the band. These days, both frontmen live comparatively sedate family lives on their respective coastlines - Barât in Margate and Doherty in France. Doherty has been clean for several years since relocating during the pandemic; his day-to-day world is clearly a whole universe away from the not-so-good old days.

Having decamped to Jamaica as a duo “to plot up together a while and see what was what”, they set up camp in a glass studio on top of a hill where, Doherty notes, “the glass was so well-polished, all the local birds kept flying into the walls”. “Every so often you’d just get a thud, and it wouldn’t kill ‘em but they’d be stunned and slowly come to life and then I’d draw them. They’re on my wall,” he says. The musical results of the trip were slim pickings (“When we got back and sat down with everyone and played the demos, we were a bit shocked at how bad they were…”), but the willingness to keep going together was cemented.

Reconvening with Hassall and drummer Gary Powell, the following sessions in Kent and Normandy were surprisingly wholesome affairs. “Some of those nights when we were doing backing vocals, it felt like we were getting a bit lashed up but we weren’t, we were all really sober. But it had that same energy,” recalls Doherty. Barât chuckles: “The energy that’s imbued in us from years of lash!” And whilst we must all pour one out for a song left on the cutting room floor, ‘What A Time For The Bellhop’, which Barât describes as sounding “like the Blackadder theme tune”, what did emerge was a record that doffs its hat to the albums that made their name whilst creating notable differences along the way.

Though the flights of fancy and arcadian dreaming are still present and correct, there are splashes of cold reality to the likes of ‘Merry Old England’’s acknowledgement of the refugee crisis that feel like an important update. “It’s hard not to be [more rooted in reality] when it’s right in your face so vividly, especially in Margate,” Doherty says. “Thanet Council has had to house more refugees than any borough in this whole country; the two years I was in Margate, that was my everyday world.

“Even when we were looking for staff to work cash in hand at the hotel at the start, we were helping people out who’d come straight out the camp and then discovering a lot of them were fucking amazing artists, or mothers, brothers and sisters looking [for a place to exist] in the same way that our ancestors came over from Ireland or wherever. We’ve got a right old mix between us [in the band]; we’ve got about twelve different waves of immigrants, probably like most English people. There’s probably only about seven people in the depths of Wales who have pure Ancient Britain DNA.”

“It’s never felt normal - these characters, this chemistry. It never feels normal, but it’s certainly a lot more normal than it has been in years.— Carl Barât

In the years since 2015’s ‘Anthems For Doomed Youth’, there had been a lot of talk of new music, but nothing by way of action. “I’d been saying, ‘New music’s just around the corner!’ in interviews cos you don’t wanna not say that, but it had started to wear a bit thin,” says Barât. “We had this thing for ages in interviews where we’d list the songs but we’d just be coming out with titles on the spot,” remembers Doherty. “‘Yeah we’ve got a song called ‘Bottle Your Mum’ or something like that. And then we’d have to read back through the interview to write songs with those titles.”

It’s perhaps unsurprising that it took so long to record ‘Anthems…’’ follow-up when you look at the spectres that were still swirling around the band during its writing and release. “When I think back to that time, it’s all a blank. Not even a blur it’s just a jumbled blank,” muses Doherty as Barât mumbles: “Yeah, well there’s a reason for that…”

“It’s hard not to be [more rooted in reality] when it’s right in your face so vividly.— Pete Doherty

Today, the magnetic, see-sawing nature of the chemistry that’s been the pair’s greatest asset and biggest source of upset is in full swing. One moment they’re bickering about grammar and flinging hilariously petty insults (Barât: “You said ‘my bad’ the other day…” Doherty: “I have NEVER said ‘my bad’. EVER”); the next they’re breaking into random Cockney songs; a few minutes later, a topic will come up that looks like it might bring either or both to tears. These days, with a literal sea between them, they don’t get to hang out much outside of the band. “That’s why we come back and do it, I think,” says Doherty. “Because we want to check up on each other.” But there’s still the sense that the two musicians are bound together by something stronger and more innate than most. As Barât puts it: “He’s a part of my life that I’d miss horrendously if it wasn't there.”

Doherty has an analogy. “It’s like two shopkeepers that have got this massive backload of stock in the back room, and one of them decided he wanted to sell something else for a while and now he’s come back, not cap in hand exactly, but he’s like, ‘Actually, some of this fruit’s still good to go’,” he says, picking up steam. “‘Let’s pump out some tangerines in the early morning rush’, and it turns out they’re as juicy and ripe as they ever thought they were. And maybe it was just the glass that was dirty rather than the actual produce.”

Barât raises his eyebrow in mock indignation: “For me, I was selling tangerines and then he went into insurance. So now he’s back from insurance, he’s realised that tangerines taste nice and oranges aren’t the only fruit!” Cue both men breaking into a simultaneous rendition of ‘Let’s All Go Down The Strand (Have A Banana)’.

Watching The Libertines barrel through the hits as lucky Margate Lido ticket holders holler back every word; seeing the quartet mess about like old mates in front of a Christmas fire, and listening to a new record that feels like a band reinvigorated, there’s something undeniably heartwarming about this current era of the quartet. There’s still an aura of charming chaos around them, but these days it’s in a jolly, eccentric way rather than something that could genuinely rip them apart at any minute. “It’s never felt normal - these characters, this chemistry,” says Barât. “It never feels normal, but it’s certainly a lot more normal than it has been in years.”

“It makes me think of those two young lads tramping down the Holloway Road - how much we believed in the music - and in many ways that hasn’t really changed,” Doherty nods. “We’ve been a little pattern on the wallpaper of the great Albion tapestry. If you could dig up Shakespeare or Graham Greene or Oscar Wilde from the dead and say, ‘Hey! People are still fucking having it with your writing’, they’d be overjoyed. Sometimes I’ll be thinking maybe we aren’t relevant any more, and then some kid will come past on a bike in his muddy boots and leather jacket and say, ‘Ah Pete, I fucking love ‘Up The Bracket’ mate’, and that’ll reinvigorate me with the force.”

‘All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade’ is out 8th March via Casablanca/ Republica Records.

#the libertines #carl barat #peter doherty #john hassall #gary powell #all quiet on the eastern esplanade #interview #articles #merry christmas

[bokettochild]

Opera house AU, a few festive ideas;

Sun made Legend's baby blanket for his first Yuletide with her, Sky and Twilight. It has a pink bunny and Blupees on it

Flora's coveralls from Grandpa were a Yule gift from him because "Im proud of you" and she broke down crying because her dad never said that. She's joined him and Four's holiday tradition of "BBQ dinner in the bike shop garage with the local bikers" (they're the kind of gang like Bikers Against Child Abuse)

One Solstice, Malon invited Time to the family ranch. In return, he invited her to the Equinox with the Kokiri

When he's finally with Ilia, her and Twilight planned on a festive Ordon roundtrip. Bad weather delayed them a few days, nothing like surviving a blizzard together in a truck snowed-in on the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere for romantic ambiance XD

Wind, Wars, Aryll and Linkle always make it to their Grandma's for the holidays. It's a rare time theyre all behaving

Dusk finds out Fable's her daughter and has that reunion in time for the solstice. Her first time with both her children since they were born and she's an emotional wreck (for all the right reasons though). At Legend's insistence, Sky and Sun were there too

Wild goes back to Hebra where he Shield Surfs with Selmie and Tulin

Hyrule volunteers at the soup kitchen he practically grew up in, spends every Yule there with his "Aunties" (the Great Fairies that run the place, they just started calling him their nephew when he was a kid)

Here for this!

The winter holidays are so much fun for the gang and after their traditional performance of A Christmas Carol, they all gathered in the backrooms for a holiday party before splitting off for the rest of the year to enjoy their own holidays.

Dusk and Hyrule are both new to the opera, and have no real family in town, but they got invitations from literally everyone to join them in their holiday festivities. Did this mean both of them took up Twilight's invitation this year? Yes, yes it does.

Flora is quickly falling in love with the gang, and they're quite willing to take her on as their second junior member (Four is the other one). The coveralls were well loved, and her first ever battle-jacket has been obtained as well! She is going to wear it everywhere <3

Sun ad Sky make new gifts every year. That blanket was the first, but there have been several more. My family has a tradition of wearing super long (waist length) stocking caps when we open presents, and Sun totally knit some of those for the holidays. Dusk got one this year too, although Legend knit it for her. She loves it. Sky made everyone new mugs. he's trying pottery out.

Hyrule volunteered around, and then managed to make it back in time for dinner with the Sutherlands (Twi and company). No worries, Ilia, Dusk, and Groose did the cooking, Twilight and the other two didn't do anything more than chop and mix where told. No damage was done and no food reanimated, and after gifts, Hyrule and Ledge fell asleep curled up together on the couch (covered with the blupee blanket).

Holidays in the islands were great, the postcards sent to the crew make everyone a little green. Wars and Wind come home with a ice new tan and Granny was so delighted to have everyone visit her for the holidays at her retirement home. She spent a good amount of time boasting to her new friends there about them. Wind is delighted to see all his cousins, and Aryll made a new friend with pretty red hair! Hogmanay was a little different in a beach community, but Wars and the girls had a lot of fun anyways, and Aryll and Wind had fun learning about their cousin's culture!

Wild has the most fun up in Hebra! He, Tulin and their dad all had the time of their lives. Their Hogmanay was delightful; Rito celebrate by flying from home to home rather than walking, when the weather is decent, and while Wild can paraglide, he also had some fun with shield surfing around with the other non-Rito neighbors in their rounds.

I'm going to say the Fable revelation was.....yeah. New Years in the opera is going to be fun >:)

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #opera house au #lu legend #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu wild #lu four

[augustcastle]

reunion

One of the redeemable parts of the bar August works at (other than Daisy) is this backroom that has a bunch of their supplies in it. Empty glasses, cases of beer, a pool table and a few couches. It’s a nice break room, if he’s being honest, especially compared to the place he worked at before that had a broom closet with a fridge. He could barely move around in that thing, let alone relax.

There isn’t really a set plan for tonight other than Aiden coming, having a beer, maybe...meeting with him and Rob in this back room and seeing what’s discussed over a game of pool. He knows that Aiden wants to start doing his reunion tour of seeing other people--their parents, Kian, Daisy, Vic...not sure about Luci. But knowing Aiden, he’s not going to let that go easily. He supposes he wouldn’t either...but what does August know.

Leaning against the counter, he grabs a glass to fill with beer on tap and slides it down to Daisy to give to a customer.

“I’m excited to see him.” Daisy says with a grin, her blonde ponytail bouncing.

August smirks lightly--her crush is cute but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it’s never going to happen. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you too.”

#hpara2: reunion

[run-me-through-but-not-like-that]

I realize you already got a request similar to this, but how about an izzy x lover he thought had died (who isn't dead and has been looking for him the whole time)

The difference would be that they didn't leave off on bad terms. I looove sappy reunions lol

Izzy Hands x Gn!Reader

The Calm after the Storm:

There had been a storm.

A terrible storm but not one that should have caused your death, you had sailed through storms before.

He blamed the crew. If it wasn't for their incompetence, you wouldn't have had your hands full, you wouldn't have to step in and take over duties they should have had covered. You wouldn't have been overwhelmed, you wouldn't have been thrown overboard into the cruel inky waves. You would still be here. Alive.

Of course the captains tried to reason with him. They missed you as well, mourned your loss, believed it to be a true tragedy, but the crew couldn't be blamed for it. It was the storm's fault. Nobody else's.

Izzy wouldn't have that though. A stupid fucking storm couldn't kill you, a storm couldn't listen to his screams, but the crew could. So, they would. They would bare the brunt of his anger and sorrow until he deemed then properly punished. Which would be never.

Izzy was miserable without you and he would make sure everyone else was too.

You should have died, you knew that. The waves should have taken you under, swallowed you whole to never resurface again. And yet your eyes had opened, water had been coughed up from your lungs, and the sun beat down on you once again. For a moment you had thought you were dead, but your salt invaded wounds from the ocean told you that you were very much alive.

You were alive and had one thing on your mind. Getting back to Israel Hands.

It had taken much longer than you would have liked but it was hard to keep track of the days, weeks...months?

Once you were fit to travel, you headed straight for the Republic of Pirates. You had marched into Spanish Jackie's, your goal still clear in your mind. If anyone knew where The Revenge was last sighted, it would be Jackie. She might have been able to give you information that would help you find the crew. Help you find him.

When you arrived, she had no information but the two of you had a good rapport so she allowed you to stay and kept an ear out for information you may find useful.

There was no new information, not until Jackie came to collect you from a backroom.

"That strange man is not aloud past my doorstep but...I made an exception. Get him out of here" Jackie told you.

"...Stede?" you asked, knowing well about their last encounter that got him banned from the establishment.

"The Genital Pirate. His ship just docked, I had him brought here" she confirmed, putting a smile on your face, before demanding, "get him out of my bar."

"Thank you" you knew that she was doing you a favour and you'd be happy to return it whenever she needed it.

Jackie patted your shoulder before you hurried out into the bar, seeing the finely dressed blonde, looking like he had received a few threats. "Stede!" you called, getting attention.

"Y/n?" he turned to you, eyes widening when he saw you approaching. "Oh thank God, you're alright" he truly was happy to see you alive and well, but he was also glad that you were here to hopefully get him out of whatever trouble he had accidently found himself in.

"Izzy, is he-?" you were glad to see Stede, of course you were, but you only had one man on your mind in that moment.

"He's fine... well, he misses you, we all thought you were dead but...I'm confident he'll be fine once he sees you again" Stede assured you.

Apparently the Gentleman Pirate had already outstayed his welcome, because Jackie cleared her throat from behind you.

"C'mon, lets get you out of here before Jackie kills you" you advised, giving Jackie another grateful nod before leading Stede out of the building.

"Izzy is back on the ship, watching over things. I still have some business to take care of but I won't delay you" Stede told you, knowing that you only wanted to get back to the man you loved and you were being polite by not having run off already.

"Thank you" you nodded, shooting him a smile before taking off sprinting through the streets.

Not caring who you disturbed or who got in your way, pushing past anyone who didn't step to the side. It had been far too long since you saw the crew, since you saw Izzy. You nearly cried when you saw the ship. It was just how you remembered it.

Not wasting a second, you ran up onto the ship and straight into Fang and Ivan, nearly knocking them over in your hurry.

"Y/n?" Fang's eyes widened at the sight of you.

"Explain later. Where's Izzy?" you didn't even waste time with proper sentences, you only had one thing on your mind.

"Ivan! Fang" a familiar voice answered your question for you. "I told you to-" before he could even finish scolding the two men, they stepped out of the way, making you visible to their first-mate. "Y/n?" he managed to breathe out, his whole demeanour changing. Looking at you as if you were a dream, a figment of his hallucination, a ghost.

You couldn't help but noticed how tired he looked, more so than usual, with dark bags under his eyes. You knew him well enough to know that he hadn't been taking care of himself.

"Izzy" you grinned, running straight into his arms.

You threw yourself right at him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck. He couldn't believe that it was truly you standing in front of him, on the deck of the Revenge once again, but the force with which you collided with his chest told him that you were real.

Izzy instantly caught you around the waist, not caring in the slightest who else on the deck saw how he embraced you and buried his face in your hair. The two of you remained there, just clinging to each other, worried that loosening your grips would result in one of you floating away. Izzy couldn't count how many times he had experienced this reunion in his dreams, but it always ended with you faded away, and he couldn't handle that again.

You couldn't say how long the two of you remained like that, in silence. "I thought you were dead" Izzy finally spoke, having found his voice, speaking into your hair.

"So did I" you confessed, pulling way just enough to see his face. "I don't know how I'm not but as soon as I woke up, the first thing I thought about was getting back to you" you brought your hands to his shoulders, gently rubbing them in a hope to relieve some tension, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Love. More than anything" Izzy confessed, hands cupping up to cup your face as he pulled you into a kiss. Both of you poured everything into that kiss, everything you felt but could never find the words to voice. The way you loved each other, the way you missed each other, a silent promise to never be apart again.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Izzy rested his forehead against yours. You were both crying at this point, you couldn't say when the tears started to fall but they were definitely rolling down your cheeks now, but neither of you really cared. All that was important was that you were together again.

"I love you. Every time we came to land, I searched for you. Hoped that you might have made it" Izzy told you and you believed him, you knew how he struggled to drop something when he truly wanted it.

"I did. I made it" you promised him, assuring him that you were really standing in front of him once again, "I love you too."

"I missed the reunion?" Stede's voice broke through the private little bubble the two of you had created.

Both of you turned, suddenly remembering that you were right in the middle of the deck, the crew having emerged from wherever they were to witness what all the commotion was about.

"It's good to have you back, Y/n. I told him that we'd find you" Ed smiled, standing beside his co-captain.

Realising that he was the centre of attention and that his cheeks were still stained with tears, Izzy looked around at the crew. "What the fuck are you all looking at?" he snarled, hand clutching yours. Couldn't he have any fucking privacy?

"Iz" you soothed, squeeze his hand to help ground him, "it's okay."

"Well, it seems we have all that we came for!" Stede clapped his hands. "Let's get going" the crew nodded, everyone moving to get the ship back to sea.

Turning back to you, Izzy pulled you close by your hand and rested his forehead against yours once again. "I won't let anything like that happen again" he promised, sounding determined.

"I'm not going anyway. Not without you. I love you, Iz" you promised him, meaning every word. "I think the crew can manage pulling away from a dock...come on, lets go down to our cabin. I don't want to be away from you just yet" right now all you wanted was to be with Izzy, to catch up on your experiences, to comfort each other, to remind each other that you were back and weren't going anywhere.

"Not yet" he agreed, he couldn't even think about being apart from you just yet, "never again."

#izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd izzy #ofmd #our flag means death

[sweetlikesunflowersandhoney]

you’re writing halldoll ‼️❓‼️⁉️‼️ (delighted)

i am!!!!!!! and you get a little excerpt because you're nice:

“I will see you later, ladies,” Maribelle claps, bringing Nicky back to the present.

With one last warning glare, she leaves them alone.

The door shuts out the noise and leaves a silence that Nicky has no idea of how to fill.

For such a short woman, Maribelle’s presence sure fills up a room. Nicky suddenly feels how big the backroom is. Too big for the intimate reunion of a bunch of mannequins, the most beautiful woman on earth, and herself.

Nicky looks at Jaida in her angelic white gown, scrambling for something to say, but luckily Jaida beats her to it.

“So, what’s your story, baby?” Jaida asks loudly, and her voice is not angelic at all. It’s brassy, and such a contrast with her everything. Nicky smiles, incredulous and electrified by the pet name. “Nikita? Sounds Russian, like a spy posing like a seamstress,” Jaida says, and eyes her with mock suspicion.

“My real name is Nicolette,” Nicky explains through the smile she can’t seem to tamper down. “Nicky, here. Americans pronounce Nicolette strangely.”

“No one in Starbucks ever gets my name right, if it makes you feel better. I think we’re just illiterate.”

Nicky wishes they could shake hands again. She watches Jaida play with the skirt of her gown, gathering fabric between her fingers, until she remembers why she’s there.

“Do you need a different corset?”

“Yeah, this one’s a little loose,” Jaida says apologetically as she twists from side to side in a corset too big for her bony frame.

“No problem, we have like a million of these,” Nicky smiles, but her smile freezes when she remembers the next step of the job she is supposed to do. “Can you, eh, take it off so I can measure you?”

“Yeah,” Jaida says, and starts pulling the sleeves of her gown down her arms like Nicky is not right in front of her chest.

Nicky turns around quickly to search for the measuring tape in her kit, and scolds herself into professionalism. She is a seamstress, for God’s sake, she has seen more naked women at her job than in her personal life. She tries not to linger on how sad that sounds.

#asks #thecollectionsof #my two little workaholics <3 #halldoll meetcute #jankie parenthood au #d #m #writing tag

[forgottenciara]

Dress the Part | Ciara & Cillian

Ciara had never been to the resistance's formal encampment and while she had once held out hope that they might one day trust her enough to invite her there, she now firmly believed that it was for the best. She could never divulge what she did not know. Whenever she met with them, it was always in the backrooms of taverns or in a secluded clearing in the woods.

Today, they gathered in a room at the Swan & Crown -- a small inn on the edge of the Lorcan village. It was owned by an old family friend of the Frosts who suspected, but did not know for certain, that Saoirse and Cillian used it to meet with their brother. What they didn't know was that they were only half-right and that they passed whispers of rebellion during their reunions.

Regardless of the promise of secrecy, Ronan and Kale always arrived to such meetings last -- hooded and disguised.

Ciara was pleased to find that Cillian was here, already. She had something for him.

"If you are going to insist on continuing masquerading as a Ormond, you ought to do it properly," She teased, placing a satchel upon the table from which she withdrew a cape in Ormond green with a sun and moon clasp to hold it together. There was a vest, too, to match in deep Ormond blue with foxes and stags imprinted upon it.

Cillian had been using Lord Malconaire's old clothes and while they certainly had worked, thus far, Ciara figured he ought to have something new and something in his own house colors.

"Something for new for you to wear to impress the court with," She remarked, placing the clothes in his hands. "I meant to have it ready in time for the ball, but ... I'm sure you will find the right time to wear it."

She and Cecily had secretly been working on it for months, but perhaps out of an abundance of caution, only took it out at night when there was no chance that they should be seen.

#i love everything you said and it all made a ton of sense #so i thought i'd go ahead and start them #although side note i do love that cillian v ronan might one day be a thing!!! #~drama~ #comment #cillian frost #dress the part #i refrained from calling this “you should dress better”

[faultycal-culat0r]

fnaf au pt2: electric boogaloo

i literally copy pasted this from my notes OAHAHAHAH

What I remember from the old one (since it disappeared from my notes for some reason):

It was a Phonemike centered AU

Tattoo/Flower Shop cliche thing

William and Henry still run the diner, they’re gonna be running it till they can’t (or until Liz and Evan kick them out)

Mike was supposed to take over the diner, but he had a different dream of running his own flower shop, so Liz and Evan would take it over

P.G. ran his own tattoo parlor

Implied Willry

(This original “AU” was literally made as a joke n only reason im rewriting it is cause im not really even friends with them anymore 💀)

REWRITE:

Willry CANON. Not just implied. Those old men are QUEER

William got a divorce around the time the diner first opened, around the time he would’ve killed the kids. Instead, Henry helped him through it, having gone through one himself beforehand.

Elizabeth and CHARLIE, will be taking over the diner. They’ve been best friends since childhood (practically sisters considering their dads fucking yk)

Evan isn’t afraid of the diner anymore, but he gets a little squeamish around the animatronics. He is an adult now, after all.

Mike did not want to take over the diner, as he has other dreams in mind, but he still works at the diner, in hopes to stay with his family.

The animatronics are not possessed. No children died. They have malfunctioned before, but it was nothing special. No one got hurt.

Mike did bully his brother. It was all for attention, as this was around the time his father was going through the divorce, and he was paying less attention to them all. Michael acted out for attention, as did Elizabeth too.

Once the prank with Fredbear came around, one of his friends brought up the idea. He went along with it, thinking they’d just lift him up close to him. Once they tried stuffing his head in Fredbear’s mouth, he snapped and screamed at them. He brought Evan to the backroom and gave him a snack to calm him down. Neither of them told William.

After the prank, Michael stopped hanging around with his friends, instead spending more time with his family. 

As an adult, every month or two the old gang gets back together and hangs out, just like old times. Mike realized they were all just stupid teenagers at the time, and forgave them.

Anytime any of the kids needed to go anywhere, they’d all pile up in Mike’s crappy ass car and drive around town, getting everything they needed to do done.

After Mike stopped spending time with his friends, he met this kid. His name was PG, and he had a phone for a head. At least, that’s what he claimed. He thought the kid was weird, and he avoided him at first. Though, they always seemed to meet up in strange situations. They were always sort of awkward, but in a comfortable way.

They met up years later, when they were both adults, at the diner. PG had applied for a job there, and had been working under Henry to learn to manage and clean the animatronics. Mike was baffled when he walked into work to find his father, and instead found PG covered in dirt and oil and working on Fredbear.

They had a casual reunion, which left Michael as the more awkward one whereas PG was casual and happy to see him.

Basically Michael gay moment real

PG’s name is actually Percy Granger. He finds his name stupid, and instead calls himself PG.

Michael nicknamed him ‘Printer Guy’ after an incident where the diner printer spat ink at him. (not my idea but I loved it so had to put it in. thx m)

Everyone assumes ‘PG’ stands for Phone Guy, considering the giant phone on his head. He finds it annoying, but doesn’t bother to correct anyone anymore.

the established timelines and more background info on each of the characters will probably come next. holding off on designs for a bit

#fnaf au #im cringe but im free #au fnaf #lmaooooo

[wheretheresaway-theresawilliam]

Chapter 30: Reunion

Word Count: 973

TWs: Injury mention, blood mentions, bullying mentions, emeto mention

⛤⛤⛤

“What have you brought?” The Marionette asked as Michael opened his bag.

“The key to your living memories, or so I hope. And another step closer to getting justice for the slain.” He lifted the photograph out of the bag and covered the faces of Margarete, himself, Elizabeth, and Evan with his hands, leaving William’s exposed to the haunted animatronic before him. “Do you recognise this face?”

The animatronic's chest heaved with emotion, though of course it couldn't and didn't need to breathe. “My father's business partner…”

Michael's breath shallowed. “Charlie?”

It looked up from the photo and briefly rose, as if to lunge at Michael, then paused. “They’re going to think you’re him if they see this.”

He felt strangled. “Do I really look so much like William?!”

“Especially after he lost weight… you two could be brothers, let alone father and son. I almost lost myself to rage just looking between you and this photograph, but then I remembered. The others won't be so conscious.”

He dropped the picture into his bag, unable to suppress the angry tears pricking his eyes. “God- fucking- dammit!” He punctuated each word by punching the bag, wincing when the glass protecting the photo shattered and pricked him through the material, slicing up his knuckles. “I’ll never be able to distance myself from him because of this fucking face!”

As he stood there, leaning against the prize counter and sniffling, the Marionette calmly climbed out of its box and briefly slipped away. When it returned, it carried a first aid kit with it. It climbed up onto the counter and began bandaging Michael’s hand.

“Have you repented?”

“Huh…?”

“All the pain you caused as a teenager, do you regret it? Do you want to be a better person?”

“Of course I do…” He rubbed his eyes with his other hand, hissing at how the bandages stung against his wounds.

“Then you’re nothing like your father, Michael. I overheard from past guards that more children have gone missing.”

He nodded. “That’s right… he made a new place. Circus Baby’s Pizza World. Dedicated to my sister…”

“Elizabeth. She survives.”

He nodded again. “Oh yeah, and still clinging to William’s pantlegs… completely oblivious.”

“What of my father?”

He swallowed and reluctantly told her. The Marionette hung its head in sorrow, dropping Michael’s hand. “He made the vessel I inhabit now to protect me. He didn’t know it was William, but he knew the killer was closer to home than was comfortable.” It paused. “Somehow, I remember… how we became one. I can see my body from the Marionette’s perspective. It dug me out from behind the dumpsters. And then I was the Marionette, able to control its body with my own thoughts. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went back inside the restaurant, through an open window. That’s when I found the others.”

Michael focused on his breathing, flexing his cut-up fingers, watching the blood colour the tan fabric. “Speaking of which… why haven’t they bothered me since we started talking?”

“Who knows. They’re easily distracted. They probably forgot you were even here, since you haven’t really been going into the office.”

“Charlie, do you know what’s in the backroom?”

She shook its head.

“Can you cover for me while I check? I need… solid evidence. I don’t think memories of a ghost count.”

“I can try.”

He nodded, rubbed his eyes again, then took a deep breath as he retrieved his hammer and went back to the door of the backroom. When he was sure Charlie had gathered the others in the arcade, he began bashing the doorknob until it broke loose from the door. He then stepped back a bit before forcing all of his weight against it, finally popping it open. He scrambled to turn on the light, beginning to cough as the horrible smell of sulphur filled his nostrils.

“Holy shit--!” He couldn’t help but exclaim as he stared at the broken, rotting body of FredBear, its mouth still coated in age-old blood. He stumbled against the wall as his head began to ache, visions flashing before him.

Michael, Michael, why did you kill me Michael, why have you come back to this place, why did you kill me, why wHY WHY

“Evan???”

Michael I’m so cold, why did you kill me, why did you hate me Michael, what did I ever do to you, WHY HATE ME WHY HATE ME

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to kill you!”

HATED ME HATED ME

“Yes, I hated you!” Michael groaned as he tried to remain upright. “But not as much as I hated William! As much as I hated myself! I just… needed an outlet… hurting people who were smaller than me was the best relief I could get…”

Hated me… Hated me…

“I’m sorry! I mean it… Evan… our father is a horrible, horrible man… it’s his fault that I was the way I was, and it’s my fault you are the way you are now… but I want to help… I want to make everything seem warm and kind for once. Oh, Evan, I put you through so much Hell…”

Michael

“Please… find it in your heart to forgive me… I’m sorry…” Michael had wrapped his arms around his head, trying to hide from the words swirling around in his mind and the angry spirit swimming before his vision.

Save us

“I will… I will…” The pain and fog began to subside as he panted, backing toward the doorway. He blinked hard.

Look inside

“Inside where…??”

Inside

He gasped, fighting off nausea. “I’ll look… I’ll look… ugh… I’m going to close the door now…” He fumbled with the edge of it before pulling it mostly closed. Sweat drenched his clothes as he leaned against the wall, catching his breath. “Fuck me…”

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf fic #michael afton #charlie emily #cc fnaf #crying child fnaf #fredbear #accursed heritage au