#but they’re brothers and you can’t get the true scope of one being a little shithead and the other being Intensely bully-able

[writethelifeyouwant]

Made For You | Chapter 8

Summary: Dean and Sam like what they have together, and if screwing your brother screws with the universe’s “grand plan” while they’re at it, then even better. Neither of them has ever cared much for tradition or fate, but it turns out there are some destinies you can’t escape. Sometimes, someone is just made for you. 

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: Incest Tags: AU, Time Jump, Omegaverse, Alpha!Dean, Omega!Reader, flirty Dean, anxiety attack, age difference, taboo relationship, scent attraction, innocent reader, Virgin!Reader, romantic reader, true mates, unexpected heat Word Count: 3k Created For: @spnabobingo - True Mates

Series Masterlist

Dean’s POV

Dean is pretty sure that that omega –Y/N– isn’t going to call him. She doesn’t seem the type, considering how jittery she’d been when she was standing in front of him. It’s a shame, really. She’s exactly what Dean’s been craving; some fresh meat to sink his teeth into and corrupt until she was cum-drunk on his knot. But apparently, the bartender, Jo, had given him a bad tip, because Y/N had practically sprinted away from him when he made his advances. The memory makes his spine prickle uncomfortably, and he wonders when he got so sensitive that being rejected by some barfly actually stings his ego. 

Is he getting too old to be hitting on girls like that? He’s never had age be an issue for him before, Dean knows he’s still good-looking, even with the few extra wrinkles around his eyes. And usually, chicks dig the age difference; they want an older man with experience, and he wants some sweet young thing who’s amenable to being taught exactly how he likes it. Secretly, he’s always hoped that if he keeps hitting on girls that look like they could be in college, one of these days he’ll run into a virgin. But meeting an omega virgin is rare these days, since sex outside marriage has become less and less taboo, and unless you meet the omega before they go into their first heat and then position yourself nearby until they do, there’s not much chance of finding anyone that’s truly unspoiled. 

Bitterly, Dean drains his beer and looks around the Roadhouse, scoping out the other patrons for any other prospects. To his disappointment, there is a sum total of zero. Switching gears to look for the bartender instead, Dean sweeps his eyes back towards the kitchen and watches Jo emerging with a tray of chicken wings that she drops on the end of a pool table for the players to pick at between shots. He raises his empty glass and waves it a bit to catch her attention, and the blonde turns in his direction, a big smirk spreading across her face as she nods to indicate she’s seen him but holds up a finger to ask for a minute. 

Dean nods back courteously and settles on his stool again with a bit of unease. What had she been smirking about? Was sending Y/N his way just a prank Jo was playing to embarrass him for making a pass at her first? Well, that’s just mean, Dean rolls his eyes as he decides that must be it. He hadn’t meant anything by it; there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little company every now and then. He’d given up the idea of relationships a long time ago, that would never be in the cards for him. Not after– 

Dean blinks sharply and shakes his head to dislodge that train of thought. He hasn’t thought about Sam in fuck knows how long. Why on earth is his little brother’s face popping into his memory now, of all fucking times? 

“Want a refill, handsome?” Jo asks, popping up from behind the bar and cracking through Dean’s now stony exterior. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks,” Dean grunts, pushing the empty glass her way and eyeing the bartender suspiciously as she pulls him a new beer. 

Jo isn’t looking at him, but he can still see the smirk on her face, and it sets him on edge. She hands back the glass a moment later, still trying and failing to hide the smug smile on her face, and Dean’s spine rankles. 

“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t kno–” Dean breaks off. He was planning to tell her to shove her smug face back into her own business and leave him alone, but a chime on his phone makes him pause and look down. It’s a text from a number he doesn’t recognise, and he curiously swipes it open.

Hi Dean, if you’re still interested I’m free after my shift tonight, but I don’t finish until 11 – Y/N 

Dean blinks at his phone in surprise. Huh. He never in a million years would have thought Y/N would text him, but he’s not sorry that she has. 

“Dean?” Jo’s question brings Dean’s attention back and he looks up in confusion to see her staring at him expectantly. “Did you need something else?” she prompts him, raising her brows slightly and cocking her head to the side. 

“Uh, n-no,” Dean shakes his head, his earlier grudge against the bartender now entirely forgotten. “Nope, I’m good. Thanks, sweetheart,” he raises his fresh drink in gratitude and takes a healthy glug, smacking his lips and sighing deeply. 

“Alright, well, holler if you change your mind,” Jo pats the bar as she walks off, that same devious little smirk back on her lips, but Dean doesn’t give a damn about whatever self-satisfaction she’s getting out of playing matchmaker with her customers, because it looks like he’s getting laid tonight. He grabs his phone again and composes a reply to Y/N, not wanting to leave her hanging in suspense too long. 

Dean: Hey Y/N, definitely still interested 😊11 sounds great

Y/N: Okay cool 😊 Y/N: If the place empties out before that then I can close up earlier, I feel bad making you wait around so long 

Dean: Don’t worry about that sweetheart, I’d wait til dawn if you asked me to

Dean hits send before he even really comprehends what he’s just typed. He has no idea what made him say that. For one thing, it was corny as hell, but for another, that was a bit intense for someone he’d only met for a few minutes not even an hour ago. God, she probably thinks he’s some weird desperate freak. What if he’s scared her off again? 

And apparently, he is a weird, desperate freak, because the thought of not seeing Y/N again tonight makes his chest tighten in discomfort and his skin feel wrong, like there’s something trying to separate it from his flesh, pushing air into the undetectably small spaces between each cell and making space for… something. Fuck knows what. He’s never felt like this before. Dean looks suspiciously at his beer for a moment, brings it to his nose, and sniffs, concentrating, but there’s nothing detectably wrong with it; no scent of roofies or other herbal additives that might send his hormones into a frenzy. 

Dean checks his phone again and sees that Y/N has read the message but hasn’t texted back. Fuck, she definitely thinks I’m a freak. He scrubs a hand over his stubble in lamentation and sucks up his pride, sending another message. 

Dean: That was really fucking cheesy, can we pretend you never saw that and go back to you thinking I’m cool and mysterious? 

He waits anxiously as the tiny dots that indicate Y/N is typing a reply appear on his screen, taking another drink in an effort to rein in his nerves. Why the fuck does this chick have him so on edge? 

Y/N: When did I ever say I think you’re cool? 

Dean’s heart sinks for a split second until her second message pops up. 

Y/N: 😜

His heart swells in his chest, like it’s soaking up warmth from some internal sun. 

Dean: Okay, I see how it is

Dean: Anywhere around here actually open for a drink past 11? 

He adds the next message as an afterthought, wondering if he should be finding somewhere to take Y/N out for drinks, or if this is more of a ‘bottle of whiskey in his motel room’ kind of drink. Either option was just fine for him, although he doesn’t even have a motel room yet; he should probably fix that. 

Y/N: Well, if we stay at the Roadhouse I can get us the drinks for free? 

Dean: Well you’re definitely the cooler one between the pair of us now 

Dean texts back with a smile on his face. It feels good to flirt a little like this, shake out the cobwebs a bit. His past few hookups were all too drunken and desperate to include any of this kind of foreplay. He misses the anticipation of it, having to work for it just a little bit. It makes the reward so much sweeter, and he has a feeling Y/N is going to taste sweeter than anyone he’s been with in a long while. 

Your POV

You come back from your break completely giddy, but also massively panicking. You haven’t been on a date in over a year, and you’ve never been on a date with someone who might be your true mate before. Looking back on your past relationships now, you can see the differences in your feelings for those boys over the way you’re feeling now. Those emotions had all been in your head, they were thoughts; you could trace their origin, they had reason and motivation, there was some semblance of logic, even to the ones that had turned out to be illogical. What you’re feeling now is nothing like that. 

There’s no rhyme or reason, no clear trajectory of thought. You couldn’t explain what you’re thinking or feeling to somebody else because you don’t even understand it yourself. It’s innate, whatever this pull you’re feeling is, it’s a part of you. The desire bursting into tiny flames at the head of each individual nerve in your body is woven into the very fabric of your being. It’s feelings, not thoughts that can be spelled out with words, meaningless letters on a page that have no connection to you once you’ve written them out. No, this feeling is a part of you –just like your true mate is a part of you– the same blood whirring around two separate bodies, singing out from one to the other, automatic and uncontrollable. 

Back in the kitchen, even through all the greasy scents of truck stop cooking and Ash’s more recreational activities, you can smell Dean. You’d be able to pick him out from a crowd of thousands, you’re certain of it. Now you’ve caught his scent you’ll look for it in every part of your life – for the rest of your life. Even now, standing here waiting for Ash to finish readying the next order, you feel your body drifting towards the door in an unconscious desire to be nearer to Dean. To your alpha. You shudder at the thought. 

Dean is your Alpha. You’re his Omega. You aren’t just you anymore, you’re part of something. You shake yourself out of your reverie when Ash rings the bell to signal the order’s up, and force your brain to step in and give your daydreams a reality check. You might be entirely certain about what’s just happened, but you have no idea how Dean feels. Does he feel the same helpless pull towards you and your scent that you do towards him and his? Does he even believe in true mates? Not everybody does, after all. In this day and age, the concept is becoming more and more like a fairytale to most people. What if Dean thinks you’re just some silly child who believes in fantasies and nonsense? What if he doesn’t want a true mate who’s probably half his age? Fuck why is this the first time you’re even considering that?

You console yourself with the fact that he is at the very least interested in fucking you, despite the obvious age difference. But fucking someone and falling in love are wildly different, and you’re not naive enough to think that the age gap won’t be a factor if you pursue this relationship. For one thing, what one earth will your dad think of you? Dean is easily the same age as him, and your dad has always been the overprotective type. What if he pulls out the gun you know he still sleeps with under his pillow and shoots first, asks questions later. And fuck, does Dean even know about the supernatural? How in fucking hell are you supposed to explain that the majority of your closest friends hunt monsters when they’re not at their day jobs. 

Your head is spinning, thoughts dancing visibly in front of your eyes until they’re replaced with the image of Dean, blurry, and waving a hand in your face. You blink rapidly as your eyes try to focus on him, and you realise that while you’d been lost in your mental spiral, you’d carried your tray of food out to the dining room, delivered it to the table, and begun to make your way back to the kitchen, entirely on autopilot. You aren’t sure how you ended up on the floor with your back against the leg of a pool table though. And that’s where you are now, your knees curled up into your chest, and Dean crouching down in front of you, hand gently covering the top of your shoulder and shaking you a little, trying to call your attention back to him. 

“Y/N? Y/N!” Dean’s voice barks a little more sharply and he snaps in front of your face a few times. “Y/N, you with me? C’mon, look at me sweetheart,” he pleads, his eyes swimming with worry. His scent is different too, tinged with something bitter, and it makes you frown. You don’t like that smell. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, surprised at how scratchy your throat feels, and you don’t think Dean heard you, so you try again. “Sorry,” you rasp, forcing your eyes to focus on his face, but that’s a mistake, because this up close Dean is so overwhelmingly gorgeous you become speechless again. 

“Are you alright sweetheart? What happened?” Dean asks, hand still on your shoulder, now massaging it gently, and you find the contact is really helping to soothe you and focus your thoughts so you can answer him. 

“I-I don’t know,” you mumble, trying to figure it out. You’d just been thinking so loudly, it had blocked out everything else around you. It had happened before, but not for a few years. The last time was in high school, during your senior exams – and you understand what happened now, it was an anxiety attack. God this is fucking embarrassing. “I uh, I’m fine, it just happens sometimes,” you try to excuse it, but Dean doesn’t look like he believes you. 

“Do you think you can stand up?” he asks cautiously, and you nod. Dean pushes himself out of his squat with a groan, then offers you his hand, pulling you up like you weigh nothing at all, and you accidentally fling yourself into his chest with the momentum you hadn’t been expecting. “Woah, easy there tiger,” Dean laughs, catching you in his arms as you try to steady yourself by locking your hands in his t-shirt, very firmly under the flannel that he’s currently wearing over that one, thin layer of cotton. “At least buy me that free drink first, huh?” he grins, winking at you teasingly, and you feel every inch of your skin burn in a confusing heat – an annoying combination of intense embarrassment and even more intense arousal. With horror, you realise that you can feel something wet between your legs. 

Fucking hell, he’s barely touched you and you’re already leaking. Maybe that Cosmo article wasn’t too far off, after all. It feels like you’re…. Oh shit. You’re going into heat. Fuck. You breathe out unsteadily, burying your face into Dean’s chest and feeling your heart flutter against your ribs. 

“Alpha,” you whimper, trying to suppress your words, not wanting Dean to hear you embarrassing yourself like this. 

“Y/N?” Dean forces you away from his body, holding you at arms’ length so he can look you in the eye, and you shiver when you’re no longer burrowing into his warm scent, despite the fact that you feel like boiling water is beginning to drip through your veins. Dean studies you seriously, and you feel your lips tremble the longer he stares at you, internally begging him to feel what you’re feeling. 

“Omega?” he whispers the question, trying out the word on his lips for the first time, and you nod furiously, tears welling up in your eyes at hearing the term of possession from him for the first time. 

“Please,” you gasp, the word breaking free from your lips in a rush. 

“Okay, okay, shh,” Dean pulls you back into him, cradling you against his chest and wrapping his arms firmly around your back, rubbing his heavy hands up and down to try to dissipate some of your shiverings. “Where can I take you, sweetheart? Gotta get you somewhere… a little more private,” he hesitates over the words, like he’s choosing them carefully. 

“Behind the bar,” you jerk your head to indicate the direction, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “Rooms to stay, for… you know, in case,” you explain sheepishly, and Dean nods his understanding, not at all abashed at the idea of taking you to a back room where probably dozens of couples have mated before you. You used to hate the idea of ending up in a position so desperate that you’d need to use one of those rooms, but now you’re eternally fucking grateful for their existence. 

“Right, let’s get you to bed, omega.” The alpha ducks suddenly and sweeps an arm under your knees, catching his other behind your back and lifting you up bridal style, marching you to the door behind the bar without any further delay, and he chooses the first door he sees, kicking it shut behind him and settling you on the bed before leaving briefly and locking it behind the pair of you. 

Series Tags: @outofnowhere82 @ladysparkles78

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

All SPN: @cemini-winchester @akshi8278 @stoneyggirl @deandreamernp @lyarr24 @lovealways-j @slamminmine @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @alaufeyson @raidens-realm @tatted-trina6 @defenderrosetyler @cluz1babe @maliburenee

#spnabobingo #dean x reader #alpha!dean #omega!reader #smut fic #angst fic #supernatural fic #supernatural smut #wincest #omegaverse #made for you #series #please read warnings

[anonymous-dentist]

Thanks for 200 followers and 469 You’re Dead kudos! Here’s a oneshot taking place between chapters 18 and 19 of You’re Dead! 

:)

-

Now, Wilbur isn’t robbing the McDonald’s, per se. He would never do such a thing. That is a crime, and Wilbur likes to consider himself an upstanding citizen. He paid his taxes. He did jury duty. (And then he died and stopped doing those things, but ignore that.) 

No, Wilbur is not robbing the McDonald’s. He is simply scoping out the competition, that’s all. It’s just him and his singular employee sat in an empty McDonald’s fifteen minutes past closing chewing on stale hamburgers and complaining about their lives. 

There’s a lot going on these days. Wilbur has the van to tend to, and he has his little brother sleeping on his couch because someone burned his house down a week ago. There’s also Techno being… out of commission because of said fire, and Phil dealing with the fallout of the Syndicate headquarters getting destroyed by some nameless vampire. That’s just embarrassing. Oh, and then there’s the whole Schlatt-is-missing thing that’s got Wilbur all excited. If Schlatt doesn’t come back, then that means… 

Wilbur slurps at his soda happily, thinking of all the good times ahead. Schlatt can fucking burn, the piece of shit. If he wasn’t so powerful, Wilbur would’ve staked him ages ago. Maybe this vacation that Quackity keeps talking about is just him covering up Schlatt’s murder. That would be fucking fantastic. 

But first, and always first, there’s the van. And first, and always first, there’s Tommy. Tommy keeps coming home early in the morning with another bruise or another cut. Frankly, it’s worrying. Wilbur thinks he might just kill whoever it is that’s hurting him. He’d ask, but Tommy shies away from the subject whenever he tries. Wilbur has his suspicions, but he can’t exactly confirm anything until he gets some evidence. 

“-but Tubbo says that the blue contrasts with his eyes, which I don’t think is true at all,” Ranboo rambles, ten minutes deep into a conversation about the secret wedding that’s happening. Wilbur is honestly only half-listening, but he thinks that Ranboo is just fine with that. The only reason that Wilbur knows about it happening in the first place is because, A, Tubbo is his brother and it’s Wilbur’s job to know what his brothers are doing at all times, and, B, because Ranboo is his employee and friend and it’s Wilbur’s job to know what his employee is doing at all times. 

(Also, two weeks ago, Wilbur woke up behind the counter of the van just before closing to hear Tubbo and Ranboo discussing their wedding outside. They’re cute, even if the wedding is allegedly only for tax purposes.) 

Wilbur hums non-committedly, idly watching the street outside the window. He and Ranboo are in a booth next to one of the wide bay windows. The rest of the restaurant is empty, which makes sense considering how late it is. The Wendy’s across the street, though, seems to be popping. Even from this far away, Wilbur can see a crowd of kids inside driving the employees up the wall. And then there’s the guy clearly having a panic attack on the phone in the drive-thru, but that’s none of Wilbur’s business. 

“So are you guys going for the green?” Wilbur asks. He’s personally a fan of the brown-and-green theme Tubbo put forward, but Ranboo says it’s a bit drab for a wedding. “I think you should go for the green.”

“I don’t like the green,” Ranboo protests. “It makes our wedding look like a national park!”

“What’s wrong with national parks? It’d be modern.”

“Screw modern,” Ranboo grumbles. He grumpily tears a French fry in half and chews on one half, leaving the other in the container. “You know, he didn’t even want a ceremony? He just wanted to go down to the courthouse. What kind of a wedding is that?”

Oh, Ranboo. Poor, poor Ranboo. 

Wilbur shrugs. “Sad one, I guess. Dunno. I’ve never exactly been married.”

Ranboo winces, an apology clearly on his tongue, but he thankfully doesn’t say anything. Wilbur doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach another apology. Sally’s long dead, anyway. Doesn’t matter.

But Wilbur and Ranboo are not robbing a McDonald’s. They are scoping out the competition. They are holding the workers up, though. There’s a loaded pistol in Wilbur’s coat’s inside pocket, and he was happy enough to show it to the girl behind the counter when he and Ranboo walked in. 

First, and always first, comes the van. 

Wilbur watches as the guy having a panic attack outside the Wendy’s hangs up his phone and goes inside the building. Rip. 

“I think Quackity’s wedding was red,” Wilbur eventually says. His soda is running empty. Sigh. 

“A red wedding,” Ranboo mumbles. “Sounds right.”

Wilbur and Sally never got married, but she wanted there to be pink at their wedding. White and pink. The ring Wilbur picked out for her had pink gemstones inlaid in silver so striking it could be mistaken as platinum in the right light. He and Quackity once got drunk and had a long conversation about things. The ring Quackity gave to his- to Karl was also silver, no gemstones because he said that he knew Karl would pick the stones out to sell. And he sounded so happy about it, too. (Wilbur hates Karl. Not because he got to Quackity first, because Wilbur only realized what he lost just recently, just years after Karl and Quackity’s first meeting. No, because Karl Jacobs one time tripped Tommy down a flight of stairs and laughed.) Quackity and Schlatt’s rings were black steel, simple. 

Weddings are stupid, Wilbur decides, fully knowing that he’s been volunteered to find an officiant for Ranboo and Tubbo’s. He’s catering. He’s helping pay for the damn thing despite Ranboo being richer than half the damn city combined. The only way this wedding could get stupider was if Quackity found out it was happening. Not because Quackity would put a stop to it, no, but because he would try and outdo Wilbur at everything involved. Fucker. Wilbur hopes Schlatt does come back, almost. 

Almost. 

-

Two years after dying and coming back to life much against his will, Wilbur bought a food truck. He set it up in the mouth of an alley right across the street from the old Schlatt and Co. Law Office, and he used to smile and wave at Quackity every night as he closed and as Quackity went in to work, scumbag husband in tow. 

Wilbur likes his van. The hunting life was never for him. It was the family business, that’s all. Yeah, Wilbur was alright at it, but he’s always been more of a talker than a doer. The only reason he tried running for office was because there was just- just something about the hunting community that he needed to fix. There was Technoblade, just recently arrived in the city, a vampire moonlighting as a vampire hunter. Vampires couldn’t be all bad, Wilbur figured. And then he met Quackity and realized just how human they could be. 

And then he met Sally and he realized that monsters are only monsters because of the scared little humans that label them as such. Sally was a water spirit of some kind, she never really explained. She lived in a pond just outside of the city limits, and she had freckles like galaxies and hair that shone in the sun like a bonfire. 

The night Wilbur died, he had a suicide note in his pocket. Tommy wasn’t supposed to be there, but he was. He held Wilbur’s hand as he died, all of 12 years old. It took Wilbur a year and a half to work up the nerve to talk to him again after that, and he did so with wings on his back and a scythe in his hand. 

It’s hard to be a hunter when most of the hunting community wants you dead. But, well, it’s hard to kill someone made of death itself. Wilbur’s pretty sure that his mother would have words with anyone stupid enough to kill him (God knows he got an earful before being sent back to the mortal plane the first time.) 

But Wilbur likes his van. It gives him something to do during the day. He doesn’t need to sleep, not anymore, so it’s nice to have something to fill the hours with when he isn’t writing songs or slaying monsters. Sometimes Tommy comes around, but he’s usually either with Dream (gross) or Quackity (also gross, just slightly less so.) Sometimes Tubbo shows up, but never for long. 

And then there’s Ranboo. 

Ranboo is one of Phil’s bunch. One of the Syndicate guys. He claims not to have a side in this stupid unofficial war between monsters and humans, which is fucking stupid when he’s literally half vampire and he’s literally marrying a former vampire hunter. Oh, yes, be neutral and still join a hunter’s guild. You’re still definitely neutral, yes, soak up that pity like a sponge, you spineless little thing. 

Wilbur likes Ranboo. They’re best friends. It’ll be a shame when Ranboo dies. Wilbur doesn’t want to have to escort his soul to the Beyond, but sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles.

-

Just as Wilbur and Ranboo are leaving the McDonald’s, two very familiar figures go running past them arguing. 

Well. 

One is running, the shorter one. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks vaguely panicked. As he runs, he has one hand holding his beanie to his head keeping it from flying off. The other has Karl Jacobs’ hand in a firm grip over the handle of what looks like a duffel bag. 

“-so fucking stupid,” Quackity snaps, breathless despite not actually needing to breathe. 

Oh, Wilbur realizes, knowing that tone very well after years of knowing Quackity. He’s panicking. Should he…?

Ranboo puts a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, keeping him still. 

“I’m stupid?” Karl asks, incredulous. He’s not in nearly as much of a rush, calm as ever. “It was your idea to leave him alone in the first place!”

“It was not,” Quackity snaps. He groans, frustrated, and Wilbur can just barely make out an annoyed-sounding, “You are sleeping on the fucking couch tonight, I swear to God…” before they plow into the Wendy’s and out of earshot. 

Wilbur stands there for a second, almost concerned. 

“That was…” he says, trailing off, unsure what to say to that. 

Ranboo nods sagely. “Yup. Um, d’ya think me and Tubbo are ever gonna end up like that?”

Probably, Wilbur wants to tell him. But, well, Wilbur has been working on this whole being-nice-to-people thing. Doctor’s orders. 

“They’re fiiiine,” Wilbur drawls. He shrugs Ranboo’s hand off and starts down the street back towards the van. “Don’t worry about them. Worry about us. The cops are probably on their way already.”

Ranboo pales and skitters his way back to Wilbur’s side, wringing his hands. “What? Really? I thought there wouldn’t be any problems. You said-”

“I said there shouldn’t be any problems. But we overstayed our welcome, just a bit, don’t you think?”

“I can’t go to jail,” Ranboo despairs. “I have a son!”

“You have a cat.”

“He’s like a child to me.”

“He is literally a cat, Ranboo. Tubbo can take care of him while you’re in prison, don’t worry.”

Wilbur smiles at the way Ranboo buries his face in his hands. Silly little neurotic man. 

But Quackity and Karl Jacobs… hmm… They mentioned a third person, a mysterious ‘he’. There was a man panicking in the drive-thru on the phone that went into the restaurant. They went into the restaurant. 

Somehow, Wilbur has a bad feeling about all of this. But, well, until Quackity inevitably shows up on his doorstep just begging for help, it’s nothing that Wilbur has to worry about.

#skeleton appreciation day fic #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose. #meet ranbo! isn't he cute :)

[unknownjpegs]

casualty

He dislikes working with Robson. Not just because the idiot is from some fucking ass-end rich hovel in Bedfordshire. A little bit for that, of course, because Benji hates that sort of man on principle. 

But no, he holds a grudge; doesn’t like the man because, on holiday leave about a year back, in some dirty hole bar, Robson had snatched his phone out of his hand. Benji does not like his space being invaded, despises the disrespect of it, having his things being touched. To make matters worse, he’d opened his camera roll, found a picture of Saha, and whistled like a heinous goddamn rat. 

“Now then, this one you’ll be gettin’ me in contact with, Sticks,” Robson says jovially, thumping him on the back. Hearty, familiar. He’s not being cruel or condescending. And it’s not more than he’s used to hearing from the fellas. It’s just… Benji does not like his space being invaded. More than that, Saha is off limits. She’s so disconnected from all this ugly fucking business, untouched by what his life has become, and he is absolutely determined to keep her free of it. Separating those two — the life before, the life now — makes thinking less muddied, too. 

“Over my rotting corpse,” Benji mutters. His knee is bouncing in anticipation. He’s not sure why. The half-full glass of liquor before him, cold against his knuckles, is almost grounding. Almost. 

“Aye well I’ll chat her up at the funeral then.” Robson bellows, looking around for approval from the rest of the guys. A few, the ones who don’t know Benji as well as they should, chuckle. “Make a step-brother out of you, huh?” 

It incenses him. Maybe because he’s in a mood to begin with, head pounding from getting walloped last night by the butt of a rifle. Maybe because he’s looking for somewhere to throw all the energy bouncing around in him — it always gets that way, ricochets  off his insides, when he’s trying hard not to think after a fight.

“She’s not into blokes,” he sighs, exasperated. “Especially not ass-ugly dickheads like you, mate.”

Robson’s lingering hand on his shoulder would be comforting, if they were friends. They’re not. Even if they were, Benji thinks he might’ve responded the same when the next words out of the other man’s mouth hit his ears. 

“Feel like I got a shot at gettin’ her into blokes.” He laughs again, but the rest of the counter is silent. “Or gettin’ a bloke into her.” 

“Awh,” says another soldier near the end, “that’s his bloody sister, mate.”

He makes the information known little too late, because Benji’s up out of the stool and behind Robson in a flash. Fists the back of his shirt tight, vision shaking with anger, and pulls Robson right out of his seat to the ground. 

He’s not sure what happens — either the alcohol or that place in his mind pulling the details fuzzy like wool, out of his brain’s reach. All he knows is that he comes to from the fight bloodied…

But not more bloodied than Robson. 

The rough end of it is this: Robson only grows more fond of him. Nothing more inspirational than putting your hands on another man in a violent fashion, Benji supposes. Just not the manner that he usually prefers. Robson thinks they’re friends now, that they’ve bonded or something over the experience. He can’t even be pissed about it, because the comments about Saha stop entirely. Worthy of respect only as she relates to Benji’s own humanity.

Ghost puts them together on more than one mission to even them out, so he says, leaving Benji with the warning that if he can’t manage it, there’ll be consequences. He doesn’t say ‘consequences’ like he means the fun sort, so Benji puts on his well-reprimanded soldier face. Promises true and good (aye aye, Lt!) that they’ll get along, be the best of friends, and watch each others’ backs. 

Benji’s doing that now. Watching his back, keeping his six clear. 

“Three inside, I think,” Robson says into his earpiece. Benji adjusts himself on the embankment, drifting his scope along the dilapidated warehouse’s window line, scanning for said three. He doesn’t see them, and lets Robson know as such.

“Reckon they’ve not seen the approach,” the soldier says, and now Benji can see his helmet bob along the bottom pane as he works through. He clears the hall and disappears into a door on his right, gone from observation with a speed that makes Benji anxious. “Bet you two on Saturday that I can get the drop.”

“Mate, I can’t cover —“ he’s cut off by the sound of gunfire, of several masculine grunts, of a savage, raw shout. Sounds like a wild fucking animal in the room.

“There were four.” Robson croaks, and then the earpiece goes quiet. 

“Fuck.” Benji hisses, slapping his glove down on the grass. “Fucking shite for brains piece of…fuck!” 

He leaps up, quick to action. Shoulders the rifle in favor of his sidepiece and nearly chews dirt as fast as he descends the hill. He’s not being careful, not clearing proper for anyone watching him, but all he can think of is how much he’ll hate himself — how guilty he’ll feel — if Robson goes like this under his watch.

Doesn’t like the guy, but doesn’t hate him. Certainly doesn’t want him goddamn dead. Fuck, he’s not gonna get there fast enough. 

The hallway is empty as he strides down it, quick yet noisy, fueled by haphazard anxiety. Good grip, praises his brain distantly — despite one one thumb tapping away on the back of the other. He’ll never be rid of the habit.

The pat pat pat keeps him sane as he checks each door, looking for Robson keeled over or worse, bloodied not from Benji’s fist but bullets. 

Relief like little else when he finds him, back to then doorway, knelt over the prone form of a combatant. Nondescript, black-clad uniform. One that Benji recognizes - Shadow. Tough fuckers, scary when cornered. There are three others in the room, and from the looks of them they’ve gotten a more favorable out than the last guy.

“C’mon,” Benji cringes, watching as Robson clutches his fists together, swings them above his head, and brings them down. There’s a thump, a wet crunch, and Benji is reminded of how brutally savage the man can be in combat. The way he can be, too. Robson is worse. Frightening, not because he’s particularly skilled, but because he always seems to enjoy it a little much. Like he’d be doing exactly, if allowed, on the outside.

“You gottem, you wanker. Real fuckin’ done in, this one,” he tries again, tries to keep it humorous. Robson is usually fine for it, satisfied by a bit of banter even in moments like this, but something wicked is in him now. Psychotic. 

“Naw,” he growls, and does that over-the-head swing again. The body beneath him kicks its legs, and Benji realizes it’s not a body at all. The poor fuck’s still alive. And more than that, putting up a respectable fucking fight. Robson isn’t a small man, but the merc nearly manages to buck him off after the next more blow. Benji is distantly impressed about it, but his stomach is also rolling dangerously at the blood that pools under one of the other soldier’s knees — not his. 

“Naw,” Robson says again. It’s a breathless grunt, sharp with unmanageable anger. Benji recognizes that he’ll kill the poor sap before anything else, and thumbs off his radio. “Tried to fuckin’ choke me.” 

“Alright, mate.” Benji hisses nervously, kicking the other bodies’ guns away as he trudges over. “You gottem, c’mon.” Even though he’s certainly done as violent and gory, Benji does not want to witness a man be bludgeoned to wet, red meat this way. Especially not one who can’t fight back. It feels — evil, even if that’s all they do now. Evil and intimate and personal. 

“Fuck, no. Sticks, you shoulda heard what he said —“

Robson settles back a little, head tilted inquisitively, then bellows and brings his fists down again. The body beneath him groans and then, to Benji’s shock, snarls out an unintelligible mess of half-words and syllables. Likely from a mouth filled with blood and teeth. Another punch, this time a familiar thing of which Benji has been on the opposite end. Close over Robson’s shoulder now, he can see how the mer’s cracked helmet is split down the center. Benji’s focus drags over a bloodied, black balaclava near the combatant’s elbow. Pieces of the helmet visor are scattered on the ground like glass. 

Benji takes a step forward.

“Face won’t do you much good when it’s fuckin’ mash, will it?” Robson sneers, gripping the guy by his tactical vest and shaking violently.

There’s a pause, and then the merc gathers spit and lobs it directly into Robson’s sneering face. 

“Still would get laid more than you, ugly,” says the combatant. His unhinged laugh, driven out by at his own goddamn insult, rings off the concrete walls. 

Benji freezes.

“Robson —“ he says weakly, stomach churning. “Stop.” 

He doesn’t. In fact, he doubles the effort. The next punch makes a sick sound against flesh, and then Robson adjusts his seat on that chest so he can get leverage to wrap meaty fists around the Shadow’s neck. 

“I wanna watch you die, mate,” he says coldly. “M’gonna watch it fade.”

 Benji takes another step forward, eyebrows drawn tight in anticipation, and feels his stomach sink.

Now, with a clear view, he notes the mess of the Shadow’s face. Unmistakable red hair springing from the split in the helmet, reminding him of a fragile little plant pushed through a crack in the sidewalk. Benji’s fingers twitch. 

“Robson.” He tries for a third time, and the plea is now a warning. “Don’t.” 

A pair of familiar eyes cut over to him. Well, one — the other is swollen shut, an ugly red knot that’ll bruise fiercely. There’s a hairline split across one cheek, torn maybe from the studs on Robson’s gloves. Benji finds himself assessing the injuries when that mouth drags open in a charmingly demented grin, teeth soaked red. 

“Hey,” says the Shadow. Benji blinks rapidly, feels his arms raise. He’s still gripping

 his sidearm. 

“You gotta stop,” he whispers, feeling ill. “You have to stop, mate.” 

“I’m fit to kill ‘em, Sticks,” Robson laughs, and he reaches down to retrieve his own weapon, cramming the muzzle against the pale, blood-soaked edge of Xavier’s chin.

Bad grip, his brain supplies.

Then it leads him away into the dark as his fingers squeeze around the trigger of their own accord.  

He comes back to himself to wheezing. He’s sat on the floor, knees pulled up and spread, his gun hanging loose between them. The wheezing — wet rattling, really — is coming from Robson. He’s got a bullet lodged in a lung, from the sound of it. Benji glances over. His squad mate is slumped face down, unmoving, a pool of blood soaking the back of his vest. 

Xavier is still laying in the same spot, just pulled upright a little higher on the wall Robson had him against. 

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath from having the weight on his chest for so long, and staring up at the ceiling. They’re both quiet.

“Wow. You just did a war crime.” Xavier says, finally. “You…good?”

“Oh, fuck,” Benji groans. He clutches his temple with his free hand. He’s gonna freak out, in just a second, can feel it. “Fuck. I killed him. I —”

“Nahhh,” he hisses, and somehow drags himself to his feet. Benji isn’t sure how he can do it, as absolutely walloped as he is, dripping blood. He limps over to Robson. Spits on him again, kicks him in the stomach.

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “He’s alive.”

And then he lifts one long leg, ended in a black steel-toed boot, and stomps very fucking hard on Robson’s face, his skull. It makes a sick, wet noise, just as the blows to Xavier’s face had. The next one makes a sloppier sucking noise, the next a crunch, and the final stomp is sodden and heavy as the bottom of Xavier’s boot connects mostly with concrete floor.

“There,” he chirps, “Now he’s dead. You didn’t kill him, don’t worry. I did.” 

He sounds different, like his nose might be broken. Benji looks up in time to watch as the other man sits down with him, legs spread out on either side of his hips. 

“Come here often?” 

Benji swears under his breath, and puts his head in both hands. His ears are ringing. 

Xavier prods him with the side of his foot, leaving a patch of Robson’s blood on his pants.

“Hey. Look.” Benji does, face taut and twisted. Xavier’s grinning like he hasn’t just gotten beat within an inch of his life. “Be honest, Benji. I still have the money maker, right?” 

God, his stupid fucking accent. Benji can’t help the way his lips twitch.

“Bloody hell, mate, shut up. Yeah.” It’s the truth. As much as it pains him to see the injuries, Xavier manages to look good — maybe better — dripping his own blood, hair matted to his forehead. He glances over at the corpse. “I’m so fucked. Lieutenants gonna have me dragged ‘fore the goddamn court.”

“You killed someone for me. Shot your own guy.” He says. Benji groans. “Sorry. I killed someone for me.”  

“We went out for drinks a few times,” Benji says, ignoring the responding pout. Clarifies: “With the squad.” 

“I was about to say. What a downgrade.”

Benji pushes to his feet, and is not shocked to find himself shaky. Xavier follows with a pained grunt. The hand he places on Benji’s shoulder is comforting, and also serves to keep himself upright.

“I don’t know what to do.” He’s thinking about what he’ll say, how his life is about to be ruined, how Saha or his mom and especially his dad will never be able to look at him when they find out what he’s done. The turmoil must be evident on his face. 

“Lie, duh.” Xavier laughs, then doubles over and vomits onto the ground by his boot. “Ugh. I think I have a concussion.” 

Benji frowns. “Are you —“

“Yeah, we got a pick-up inbound.” That pretty eye opens wider. “Oh, shit. You should get out of here.” Xavier backs towards the door, opening it a crack to check the area outside the warehouse. “Now, probably. I’ll spare you now, but next time you might have to bribe me.” 

He tries to wink, but with his other eye swollen shut it just looks…fucking stupid. Despite everything, Benji’s chuckling when he brushes past and out the door. He’s going to have a panic attack, can feel it rolling sharp in he is veins, clutching at his chest, but he’ll at least be a safe distance away before it really kicks his ribs. 

“I’m a dogshite liar,” he calls back, halfway down the hall, and turns to jog backwards. “Bail me if it doesn’t work out?”

Xavier’s standing outside the room, bent in half with his hands on his knees. He lifts one to shoot Benji a thumbs up. 

•

His sitrep on the casualty goes well. Ghost is the only one who clearly thinks he’s leaving out detail. Benji doesn’t think he suspects anything nefarious — certainly nothing like what actually happened, and that’s a blessing. He doesn’t think he has it in him to lie to his Lieutenant. Especially, well, considering context. 

“How many Shadows?” Ghost asks, looking just as bored in such a meeting as he does on the battlefield. He hates casualties, Benji knows they eat him up just like they do for him, but he’s been at this long enough that losing a trooper like Robson is just another mission. 

“Three.” Benji lies. It’s more convincing than expected.

#writing #UA #bp #xw #bp x xw #core au

[shihalyfie]

The paradox of the relationship between Takeru and Hikari

The issue of the relationship between Takeru and Hikari has been a question of interest since the series first aired, and especially after 02, which prominently depicted them constantly hanging out together and clearly having some kind of relation to each other...and yet, strangely, very rarely having a real heart-to-heart or even talking to each other much at all. The constant juxtapositions of them standing next to each other all of the time in both the series and in external media, combined with the fact they’re so associated with each other in terms of being Adventure returnees and with Digimon partners with similar evolutions, makes one almost mentally geared to associate them with each other, and yet we never really get to hear what they think about each other in the entirety of Adventure or 02′s running.

Part of this is because Takeru and Hikari are the two most “difficult to read” characters in the 02 team -- Hikari because she compulsively suppresses any selfish or negative feeling she has, and Takeru because he covers up his problems with a smile and pretends everything is okay, until it’s not. And, as it turns out, that “gap in communication” exists between the two of them as well; in the web of 02′s relationships, it’s a strange mix between being “comfortable around” each other, and yet not truly knowing each other...

Disclaimer before we continue: With some exceptions related to unambiguous canon depictions, I try to write my meta about relationships between characters in such a way that both shipping readings and non-shipping readings are possible in most cases, and my main reason for this is that I very strongly believe that even if you do ship the pair in question, it’s rather reductive (and not very fun) to stop an analysis at “anyway it’s because they’re in love” or something and not go any further. If you don’t care for Takeru/Hikari as a ship, I hope you can take this analysis as-is, and if you do happen to ship it, I hope you can take my analysis of the gaps in their relationship as “things they would have to consider and overcome for such a relationship to be possible” (i.e. a possible fanfic prompt?) and not me trying to dismiss the ship as inherently possible or impossible.

A second disclaimer: A lot of the important key points below are heavily dependent on how they were presented in the Japanese version of 02, especially in regards to the key 02 episode 13. The American English dub took a very large number of liberties with a lot of the below aspects, so if you are reading this with only that version as a reference, please be aware that there may be significant differences for the sake of avoiding confusion.

Hikari didn’t get to spend much of the series with the rest of the Adventure group, having been a “latecomer”, but once she enters, it’s rather interesting how much Takeru doesn’t socialize much with her. Granted, part of this was because of the circumstances -- there was a lot to be done, and Hikari had a cold relapse not long after they’d entered the Digital World -- but you’d really think Takeru would be interested in at least socializing with someone who’s actually his age, and yet we don’t get any real depiction of doing so outside of discussing important matters. It’s not to say that they never had any kind of conversation offscreen, but by the time we get to the end of Adventure, we have zero scope of what they actually think of each other.

By the time we get to 02, it turns out that this is probably by design.

First of all, we very quickly learn that the two of them did not keep up between Adventure and 02 -- they’re meeting each other again for the first time in a long time, and the last time they did meet was when they were much younger (probably their last meeting being the one depicted in the flashback in 02 episode 27). This is understandable considering that, up until the beginning of 02, Takeru lived in Sangenjaya and not Odaiba, meaning that it wasn’t like they’d have opportunities to meet up much in real life either, but the point is that this is how little contact and how little involvement they’d had in each other’s lives up until this point.

So, once the plot of 02 kicks off and the two of them become active as Chosen Children again, the two of them end up hanging out a lot. So much that Daisuke starts accusing them of having something between them. And the two of them never say anything to really firmly deny him, which of course only makes him more confused and upset, until 02 episode 17, when the concrete connection between them is established to the rest of the 02 team, and it’s properly disclosed that they were part of a whole adventure back in 1999 together.

Takeru knew Hikari before, and she’s still the one he knows the best out of this team, and on Hikari’s part, Takeru understands the nature of “being a Chosen Child” in ways the others don’t, and both of them had that formative experience that the others don’t understand. But 02 is a series that’s not only about relationships, but also about the differing nature of relationships -- it’s true that, having known each other well beforehand and also being all-around decent people, the two of them would certainly have an extra level of investment in each other’s welfare, but...

In 02 episode 13, we learn that as much as Takeru knows Hikari, he doesn’t really know her, and on Hikari’s part, she’s still incapable of communicating the extent of her thoughts so that he can.

The conversation between Takeru and Hikari behind the school in this episode is the first time we get to really see an opportunity for the two of them to bare their actual emotions, but nothing that can be called a "conversation" is had between them. Hikari is still plagued by a compulsive desire to not be a burden to others, including the idea of “burdening” her brother, and, when Takeru finally prompts her on what’s going on, she says nothing that properly clarifies what she’s going through, nothing but a cryptic mention of the “sea”, a statement that she "might be going away”, and a reference to her brother having always protected her beforehand. Takeru takes it as a sign that Hikari’s become overly dependent on Taichi, and snaps at her angrily -- a persistent symptom of him being unable to regulate his emotions properly -- and, unable to handle it, runs off awkwardly, leaving her alone to eventually be taken away. Later in the episode, Takeru reflects that he’d basically just doomed Hikari by his own actions, and with his last words to her having been something awful.

Ultimately, some degree of progress is made in that Hikari realizes that Takeru reaching out to her earlier makes him someone she should be reaching out to for help -- in the end, nobody in the 02 group had yet been able to reach out to her emotionally because of how closed-in she was, and the only people she truly trusted with her feelings up until that point were Taichi and Tailmon. So in other words, Takeru is another person she can finally “trust” with her feelings and welfare. But while Takeru is finally able to connect to her in some sense with this, when the two finally close off the episode and return to the real world, everything ends in complete silence. They do not say a single word to each other. They’re getting by with a sense of “inherent trust”, and their disconnect was resolved with that alone this time, but this problem hasn’t been fully solved yet and will be rearing its ugly head again by the time we get around to the Jogress arcs.

And so the two of them return back to their “comfortable with each other” status quo -- but, again, 02 is a series that portrays relationships in a very multi-layered and multifaceted form, and being comfortable around someone still doesn’t necessarily merit emotional closeness (for instance, Ken was pretty clearly indicated as being “comfortable” and straightforward in terms of working with Miyako in 02 episodes 25 and 33, but there’s no doubt that Daisuke’s the one who was more properly addressing the things he emotionally needed most at the time, which could arguably be said to be exactly why Ken was having a hard time adjusting to him at first). We see them “go off together” to do...completely mundane and practical things, like discussing why they’re still able to come to the Digital World in 02 episode 22, or trying to have their Digimon partners evolve on their own in 02 episode 24 -- they’re not having any kind of emotional heart-to-heart, they’re just there.

When you look at the wider picture, you can see that Hikari and Takeru’s relative comfort around each other at this point is largely because they’re still not comfortable being alone with anyone else yet. So far, they kind of had a bonding (not really bonding) session back in 02 episode 13, and they hadn’t had anything of the sort with anyone else, and they’re still the only people who understand certain things relevant to the adventure in 1999 that the others don’t. They’re both still ridiculously closed-in and guarded, and not trusting anyone with their feelings -- they can’t even trust each other with their feelings -- so they’re getting by on hanging out with each other because it’s either that or go off to be completely alone. As the two most “emotionally isolated” people in this group, there’s a wall between them and the others, and that wall is only slightly thinner between each other -- and you can even imagine that they’re willing to hang out with each other because they won’t be bothering that wall and causing intimidation.

And by the time we roll around to 02 episode 31, we learn that, this whole time, nothing has improved. Takeru sees that something is going on with Hikari, but does and says nothing -- perhaps because he’s not sure what to say, perhaps because he’s afraid of lashing out at her again, whatever it is -- but he can’t and won’t speak to her nor address her feelings.

In the end, the person who does establish that ability to “communicate” with Hikari is not Takeru but Miyako -- an aggressive, in-your-face, overly honest person who gets straight to the point and refuses to hold back, whose messy personality causes Hikari to become assertive in handling her and allows Hikari to finally vocalize one of her truly sensitive feelings, and who’s able to use her immense emotional sensitivity to identify what Hikari needs and break through to her.

But just because Miyako ended up being the person Hikari needs to move on past this issue does not mean Takeru’s role wasn’t important, nor that Miyako coming into Hikari’s life means that all of her relationships are inferior or pointless -- rather, a recurring element of 02′s portrayal of relationships is that everything has a ripple effect, and that “opening up” one person’s heart allows them to open up to others as well (see how Daisuke reaching out to Ken eventually helped him reach out to the others in the group, how even in this very same episode Miyako expresses that this experience helped her understand Ken better as well, how Daisuke’s experiences end up giving him a healthier relationship with the rest of the group, how Iori and Takeru’s Jogress ordeal helps them both become better at reaching out to Ken...). Unlike how they’d both closed off 02 episode 13, Hikari and Takeru end this one by talking -- with Hikari’s newfound confidence from her dealings with Miyako allowing her to more openly speak what she’s thinking with Takeru.

One thing you might notice is that after 02 episode 31, Takeru and Hikari are never seen going off on their own together for the rest of the series -- because, again, their “latching” onto hanging out with each other at the exclusion of anyone else was because they were that isolated from everyone else, but not anymore! Hikari starts to hang out more with Miyako as the two of them become more comfortable hanging out after the events of said episode; after all, Miyako had come to understand the real reason why Hikari “keeps so much inside” and that she needs to actively reach out to her, and Hikari is able to properly trust Miyako with her feelings, meaning that now that Hikari is starting to open up, she doesn’t need to fall back on her “truce” with Takeru to get by. Which ends up leaving Takeru rather alone for the following set of episodes. Well, seemingly alone, but...

...he’s not truly alone, because this is also where Iori realizes that there’s a lot more going on with Takeru and that he needs to make a proactive effort to understand him, and it doesn’t take long for Takeru to realize what Iori’s doing (especially when Yamato tips him off that Iori asked about him in 02 episode 35). Once again, very much unlike Hikari, Iori is straightforward and to-the-point, and is much better at cutting through all of the complicated layers Takeru puts up in an attempt to cover up his emotions.

The rest of the series has them in significantly more emotionally tense situations than before, and while the fact they end up spending the rest of the series with their respective Jogress partners instead of each other is partially sheer pragmatics, it’s also how the two of them start taking a more active role in actually checking on the others’ emotions and communicating with them in regards to their feelings. This is a huge deal -- compare this to back in 02 episode 13 when they were practically the only people willing to have this kind of serious, emotional conversation with each other -- and said attempt at a serious conversation exploded in their faces. (The other time one of them had made an attempt at something vaguely resembling a heart-to-heart during that time was 02 episode 11, which also resulted in Takeru blowing up explosively.) But here they’re capable of communicating clearly and openly and making their positions known in a way that gets through to their respective Jogress partners’ issues, without being stifled by anything.

But, again: just because they don’t “go off together” anymore doesn’t mean they stopped being important people to each other or comfortable around each other -- it’s just that now they’ve stopped wandering off together for the sake of blocking themselves away from others, and no longer trapped in this strange, paradoxical relationship of knowing-but-not-truly-knowing each other they had all the way back in 02 episode 13. The relationship they had back then was something built off of coping mechanisms, and not something you could truly say was healthy, not when their communication was stilted and Takeru had snapped at her so badly -- but both of them learning to open up more and be more honest with their feelings means that they may well have an actual healthy dynamic going forward.

And for all it’s worth, we learn that they’re still on very good terms by the time of Kizuna, getting breakfast together in the opening -- but it’s left ambiguous if their reason for doing so like this was because they still have a penchant for particularly hanging out together, or whether it was just circumstance because they were free to get breakfast after the Digimon incident (they act independently for the rest of the movie). Moreover, their relationships with the others in the 02 group are still going strong, because as per the drama CD, Takeru’s happy to hang out with Daisuke like it’s nothing and actively join in to reach out to Iori (it’s said Daisuke was approaching Iori “first” despite Takeru being there, so both of them were hanging out independently and decided to pick up Iori together), and Hikari comes in with Miyako, expressing a very firm intent to hang out with her for their trip, and ultimately it’s established that them not being with the rest of the group at the time of the movie was sheer scheduling circumstance and not necessarily them going out of their way to operate away from them.

So in other words, whatever relation you can say they have at this point, or their ability to get along, is not based on them falling back on each other as an unhealthy coping mechanism of silence, but one carried out in a more genuine manner.

#digimon #digimon adventure #digimon adventure 02 #digimon adventure last evolution kizuna #kizuna spoilers #takaishi takeru #yagami hikari #takeru takaishi #hikari yagami #shihameta

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Welcome Home | Chapter Ten: Still Breathing

Finally—finally—, the day comes to rescue Sean. You honestly don’t know what to expect. Most of the others in camp aren’t much help, referring to Sean with a roll of their eyes and something along the lines of: “half a mind to let the bounty hunters keep him.”

They should be saying that about Micah, you think to yourself as you watch Charles and Arthur saddle their horses. Maybe then Dutch’ll kick him out.

Still, Sean is a bit of a wildcard to you. You won’t figure out what he’s really like until you meet him, and until then, you decide to keep an open mind. Worst case scenario? He’s Micah’s long-lost brother. Best case scenario? He’s… well. Maybe it’s best not to think about all the things he could be. Keep yourself on your toes.

You sit on a tree stump while the boys get ready. Taima is an absolute beauty of a horse, and you can tell by the way Charles dotes on her that she’s got a good life. Briefly, thoughts of having a horse of your own cross your mind. That appaloosa gelding is probably still for sale in Valentine. Maybe if you can get enough money, you can buy him.

Arthur and Charles take their sweet time packing more than enough ammo, which means you quickly get bored. Every scratchy detail on the tree stump bothers you, too. Hopping to your feet, you decide to get some chores done. Everyone’s been so preoccupied with the big upcoming rescue, they’ve neglected some of the finer details in camp.

The ax is in its usual spot, surrounded by whole logs that need to be chopped. You grab ahold of the handle. It feels lighter than it used to, and you realize you’re getting stronger.

Goodbye noodle arms, you think as you bring the ax down on to the first log. You don’t quite split it, but it’s getting closer than ever. And hello Jack Lumber.

A few chops in, you feel the muscles in the back of your neck tense. Someone’s behind you, and you’re not quite sure who. But soon enough, a low, sinister chuckle reaches your ears. Micah.

“Well,” he says. “Looks like the camp nuisance is finally doing some work.”

You slowly count to three before turning around. Micah stands by you, a little too close for your liking, and he’s got a smirk on his face that twists your gut something awful. You’ve started wearing a gun belt, and the hand that isn’t holding the ax inadvertently twitches toward your revolver.

“You know something, Y/N?” He takes a step toward you. “I think you’re starting to wear out your welcome.”

Fire ignites in your chest. No. No. Micah doesn’t get to do this, try and make you second-guess yourself and your place in the gang—especially not after you’ve just started feeling comfortable.

“Back off, you useless mineral,” you hiss.

Micah’s lips curl into a snarl as he takes another step toward you. This one feels infinitely more threatening, and you barely keep yourself from taking a step back. You’ll be damned if Micah wins this fight.

“Take another step,” you warn, “and I’ll jump rope with your intestines.”

Honestly, you don’t really expect him to feel threatened, but the odd choice in words is enough to throw him off. You can see him trying to process everything you said, which gives you enough time to throw the ax down and skedaddle.

Your heart thuds frantically in your chest as you hurry to Arthur and Charles. Micah won’t try anything if you’re with them; that much, you know for sure.

“We ready to go?” You ask as nonchalantly as you can. “If I chop one more piece of wood, I’ll have to start wearing flannel.”

Charles looks confused at “flannel,” but Arthur frowns as he glances over at the chopping block. His expression hardens when he sees Micah storming away.

“Micah giving you trouble?” He asks, a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You go to lean against the hitching post, miss, and almost topple over. Face burning, you settle for folding your arms over your chest.

Arthur and Charles exchange looks.

“If he tries anything,” Charles tells you, calm and steady, “let us know. We’ll take care of it.”

We’ll take care of it. How a statement so simple and so general can sound that dangerous, you’ll never know. You wordlessly nod, not knowing how to respond.

Charles leaves, then, to go saddle Taima. You look to Arthur, ready to follow him to Florence, who’s already tacked up and ready. But he doesn’t move.

“Micah been buggin’ you a lot?”

You shake your head. “Not really. I mean, he gave me a hard time when I was cleaning up Pearson’s wagon a while ago, but Hosea scared him off.”

Arthur turns to look at you. “And today?”

“Oh.” You think back to the confrontation. “Well, he called me the ‘camp nuisance’ and said I was starting to wear out my welcome.”

A glint of fury flashes through Arthur’s eyes as he throws a glare in Micah’s general direction. You shiver involuntarily. Thank goodness you’re not on a certain cowboy’s bad side.

“I’ve been called worse, to be honest,” you say with a shrug, and smile slightly when Arthur looks at you again. “I’m kinda used to it.”

He gives you a troubled frown instead of sharing your nonchalance. Confused, you feel your smile waver a little.

“What?” You ask.

“You…” Arthur begins, trails off, then continues: “You know it ain’t true, right?”

“What isn’t?”

“The part about being a nuisance. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either.”

Something pulls at your heart, something strong, and you’re suddenly at a loss for words. You’ve had so many doors slammed in your face, so many people come and go, never staying, never even wanting to stay… And you couldn’t do anything but watch them leave.

“Oh,” is all you manage around a tight throat.

Arthur looks at you some more. His eyes are soft now, soft and full of what you think is understanding. He reaches out, maybe to put a hand on your shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and instead motions for you to follow him. You trail a little behind as he walks toward Florence. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either. Did… did Arthur really mean that? Does that mean the rest of the gang, minus Micah, feels the same way? You can’t help but shake your head in wonder. You don’t think you’ll ever understand these people.

Once you catch up, Arthur easily swings himself on top of Florence, then hauls you into the saddle behind him. You’re starting to get used to horseback. Florence may be absolutely massive, but you don’t feel so unsteady anymore. In fact, you might actually like riding.

“We’re meeting up with Javier just outside of Blackwater,” Charles says as he brings Taima over. “Trelawney thinks the bounty hunters will bring Sean upriver.”

Arthur nods and sets a steady trot out of camp. “Good. We can probably cut ‘em off when they reach the border. I think there’s a canyon that’ll give us some decent cover.”

“Any luck, we’ll take them by surprise.” Charles urges Taima into a canter, which Florence matches. “How many do you think there’ll be?”

“For Sean?” Arthur laughs, and you try not to look too enamored. “Any pair of fools could handle him. But there’ll be a lot of ‘em, no doubt.”

Charles hums in thought, but doesn’t say anything else. Much of the ride passes in comfortable silence. Although you want to focus on admiring the scenery and marvel at the lack of, well, everything, you find yourself thinking about the upcoming fight. You may not know a lot about the past, but you’ve seen enough Westerns to know bounty hunters always put up a hell of a fight. That, and they always keep coming right when you think you’ve killed them all.

Your revolver suddenly feels heavy in its holster. You bite your lip, a little unsure. Yes, you’ve used it once at Six Point Cabin, and yes, you’ve managed to hit a few bottles, but those were honestly lucky shots. And neither of them were shooting back.

Bounty hunters, though? Different story. For as much bravado as you showed Dutch during his little tirade, you have to admit that you’re a little nervous. It’ll be your first real gunfight. You’ll have Arthur and Charles looking out for you, but you can’t help the anxiety knotting deep in your gut.

If I die, I die, you think. No going back now.

///

Conversation lags for the remainder of the ride. Eventually, after crossing a small river, you’re in what Arthur tells you is West Elizabeth. It looks… well, it looks like a perfect snapshot of a history textbook. Rolling hills and open land, bison… it’s absolutely stunning.

Off in the distance, you see two people looking over the edge of a cliff. You recognize Javier, but you don’t recognize the other man, with his mustache and mischievous eyes. He smiles when he sees Arthur and Charles, then peers at you curiously.

“And who might this be?” He asks as Arthur dismounts, leaving you alone atop Florence.

Your brain goes into a blue screen of death, and before you know what you’re doing, you say: “My name is an enigma and holds all the secrets of the universe.”

“That would be Y/N,” Arthur says, exasperated. He helps you down and grabs his rifle from the saddle. “Y/N, this is Josiah Trelawney.”

Trelawney bows with a flourish. “At your service, my dear.”

You instantly decide you like him. Waving hello to Javier, you approach the edge of the cliff, crouching low like everyone else.

“Sean?” Arthur asks as he looks down the scope of his rifle.

“I think he’s in that boat over there.” Javier gestures to a small vessel upriver. “Think they’re docking to take him further inland.”

Arthur turns the scope, then gives a hum of confirmation. “That’s him alright. Giving those bounty hunters hell.”

Trelawney nods and rises before mounting his horse. Setting a slow walk, he motions for everyone to follow him. Arthur helps you on to Florence, and then you’re off once more.

“If we do this right,” Trelawney says, “we can cut them off. Remember: we’re just innocent folk out for a ride on the trail. Let’s not draw their attention just yet.”

The five of you ride toward a canyon. Ahead, you can see the boat docked at the shore, along with several well-armed, intimidating bounty hunters standing guard. They don’t look like they’re in much of a mood to negotiate. In fact, they look ready to shoot on sight.

Everyone takes cover around the bend. Trelawney, odd man that he is, seems more preoccupied with his coat than the problem at hand.

“Now ain’t the time for a fashion statement,” Arthur drawls.

“Au contraire, my dear fellow,” Trelawney says with a smile. “Bounty hunters are even more gullible than hillbillies. I have to look the part if I’m going to make the proper distraction.”

Then, before any of you can say a word otherwise, Trelawney strides confidently toward the bounty hunters. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you just know he’s spinning a tale bigger than the Grizzlies. He waves his arms in a grandiose gesture. In another situation, you would have mistaken it for part of the act. But now, along with Arthur, Charles, and Javier, you recognize it for what it is: a signal.

Arthur fires a quick shot, striking one of the bounty hunters between the eyes. From there, it’s chaos. All you can hear is the sound of gunfire and shouting. You take cover behind a rock, firing your revolver without really trying to hit anything. You don’t know if any of your bullets find their marks. Honestly? Probably not.

“Let’s push up on ‘em,” Arthur commands.

You stick close by him as you make your way up the canyon. The bounty hunters have regrouped by now, which lets them put up more of a fight. A bullet whizzes by your ear—too close for you to ignore—and you yelp and duck further into cover.

Arthur quickly lays down some cover fire, then hauls you up and pulls you behind a larger rock. You don’t even have time to tell him thank you. The firefight picks up again, bullets flying, ricocheting, sometimes hitting their targets, sometimes hitting the canyon walls. It takes nearly all your self-control to keep a level head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier reloading his guns, but also just barely peeking out of cover. You look up the canyon trail. There, off in the distance, half-hidden by gun smoke and dust, you can just barely make out the silhouette of a bounty hunter—and he’s aiming right at Javier.

You steel yourself. You’re not some useless coward who needs to be protected. You’re a member of the Van Der Linde Gang—an outlaw. And one of your own is in danger.

Your anxiety flees, replaced by determination. Edging ever-so-slightly out of cover, you fire off a shot toward the bounty hunter, then duck back behind the boulder. A pained yell tells you that you hit your mark, and it’s followed by silence.

Javier looks at the fallen bounty hunter, then at you. He nods his head in thanks. Smiling, you tip your fingers in a mock-salute, then follow Arthur as he pushes further up the canyon.

It doesn’t take long for your little group to reach a clearing. Right away, you see someone dangling upside down from a tree. He’s also surrounded by vicious-looking men who you would honestly rather avoid.

Well,you think to yourself. That must be Sean.

The bounty hunters have been expecting you, and they fire several warning shots into the tree line. You duck behind the trunk of a massive pine. To your right, you see Arthur considering the situation, trying to figure out the best approach. On your left, Javier and Charles wait on a signal. You don’t know what happened to Trelawney, but you think he’s alright.

“If we can get around them,” Arthur eventually says, “we can come at them from all sides.”

Javier grins. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Charles gives him a look. “Only the fish can shoot back.”

Arthur nods, then looks back toward the clearing. “Someone’s gotta get to Sean quick as they can. I got a feeling he’s gonna be bait.”

“I’ll do it,” you tell him. “There’s enough cover behind that tree he’s tied up in. I’ll be fine.”

For a long, long moment, Arthur looks uncertain. But when you give him a pleading look, silently begging him to let you prove yourself, he sighs and folds the cards.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Wait until you got a clear opening, then go for it.”

Everyone heads off in opposite directions, leaving you to prepare yourself for the sprint of the century. One by one, the boys shoot the bounty hunters, hitting each with impeccable aim. Then, almost before you’re ready, you spy the perfect opportunity.

Making a beeline for Sean, you dive behind the tree just as the bullets start flying again. You sit there for a few seconds, catching your breath. You can’t believe you’re still alive. All that time in open space, and not a single scratch on you.

“It’s over!” You hear one of the bounty hunters shout.

He sounds dangerously close to you. Peeking around the tree, you see him standing not a foot away, pointing his rifle at Sean.

Shit.

You duck back into hiding before you’re spotted. This is exactly what you didn’twant to happen, and it happened anyway. Wracking your brain for ideas, you look around for anything that could be of use.

Think think think think think think—

There’s a corpse not too far from you, and you spy a knife on its belt. Moving purely on instinct and adrenaline, you snatch it from its sheath, turn back to the bounty hunter, and shove it through his throat right in the middle of his next sentence. He stays on his feet for maybe a second longer, then collapses.

You slowly back away from him. Dimly, you realize that the fire fight is over, that everyone else is okay, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on that. All you can do is stare at the body on the ground… the man you just killed.

“You alright there, friend?” Sean asks, still upside down.

“Uh,” your voice sounds far away to your own ears, “yeah. I’m fine.”

After that, you have maybe five seconds before your stomach lurches. Doubling over, you heave violently for a while before coughing, spitting out the taste in your mouth, and wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“Hiya Sean. I’m Y/N.”

//

Accompanying Music: Still Breathing | Green Day

Ko-Fi

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fic #welcome home

[diamondluxesugar]

Who’s Actually Surprised that Brits are Racist?

So first of all, the family dynamics of the BRF are actually so sad. When we see movies that involve royals, they have the external face and the internal face. The public persona and the behind-the-castle-walls persona. I find it incredibly sad that there is no differentiation between the two. The hierarchy being maintained while they're supposed to have down time, no wonder people are depressed and doing all kinds of crazy things. How do you build strong relationships with your family when it's all about the proper chain of command? No wonder Charles is ignoring Harry's calls. They have absolutely no sense of loyalty towards each other, which is what I suppose will happen when your entire family history is full of people chopping off each other's heads. It's actually pitiful. The fact that they got married in secret and didn't even have his brother there speaks VOLUMES. The sheer isolation that goes on in that family in incredible. My siblings are my confidants. If I have no one else in this world, I have my ride or dies. I can't imagine getting married in secret and only being my fiancé and the priest present. To not even trust your own sibling is indicative of a household that is so toxic that the only choice is to escape.

Honestly Harry probably doesn't trust William for some legit logical reasons. He (William) strikes me as a spiteful, vindictive person. He probably blamed Harry for a ton of things growing up and tried to fit that "perfect" role as the 3rd in line for the throne. Still, they're adults. This is no longer 15 year olds being forced to act and behave a certain way by their superiors. We're talking about some of the most powerful people in the world. They have access to millions of dollars of resources. They can go to the best therapists in the world and unlearn the behaviors that are toxic and make that change in their family dynamic. The Monarchy is the people involved in it. It's not a secret group of people pulling the strings, it's not the Wizard, it's not God. It's a definable set of people that make decisions for the family. And if it is Mr. Anderson from the matrix, fire his ass.

Now, Meghan needs to bear some responsibility in this. You mean to tell me you started dating a man and did absolutely no research on him? I start dating a man and look up everything I can find about him, including his friend history. I have my girl friends do some digging into his social life to find out all of the tea. I REFUSE to look foolish on behalf of any man. SO with all of that being said, Meghan darling you didn't even Google search Prince Harry? Didn't look up the race scandals he himself has been involved in? Didn't share any information about who you were dating with your mom? Knowing that these people are followed by millions of people? That doesn't seem 100% true. And if it is true, I think that makes her incredibly naïve.

But even so, let's say she did no research and didn't really know the full scope of these people. That in no way excuses all the psychological bullshit they put her, Harry, and Archie through. What is the reason? Does anyone have an actual explanation? Questioning how dark Archie is going to be like his father isn't a damn ginger and his mother isn't lighter than a blonde roast with extra cream from Starbucks. Not giving their kids protection? I'm baffled. Why? What's the reason? We all know the reason, and the crazy thing is that Meghan is a mixed woman who hasn't even gone through life with the experiences that women a darker than her have. Hell, I'm mixed, far darker than Meghan, and have had some pretty crazy experiences on that rock where they think beans and toast is a delicacy.

I believe a lot more of what Meghan and Harry have said than what's been peddled out over the years regarding her disposition and the BRF drama. And just for them both to still hold themselves back from blowing the whole place up is insane. If my in-laws were having conversations about how dark my kid is going to be, letting the media bash me at every turn, and just being overall cunts, I'm burning the place down and taking them with me. It's hard enough being black/mixed in this white world without having family being there to fight to the ends for you.

And dears, that brings me swiftly to my next point.

All of the drama and issues surrounding Meghan and Harry is being used to distract from what far more important people are doing. Let's be serious, who really cares if Meghan was 'a little bit mean' to her staff or ate too much avocado toast. Do you truly think she was throwing hot tea on people and we're just now finding out about it? I seriously question the BRF's motives behind launching these laughable investigations into Meghan's behavior while she was in the palace. Our favorite lizard prince, Philip, just had yet another open heart surgery, probably stolen from some orphan Somalia. William is sticking his dick in everything that moves, including his own wife's friends and the teachers of his own damn children.

And most importantly Prince Andrew with his pedophile self and his connections with Epstein.

You would think that the BRF wants to investigate possible ties with an international child slavery sex ring. But no. They want to investigate Meghan bullying her employees. Give me a break.

#harry and meghan #meghan markle #DLS musings

[buck-nialled]

Twinkle - P. Mendes Imagine

NOTE: this was originally supposed to be a blurb but now its a 1.46k imagine about biologytutor!peter so yeah. im also tagging @itrocksmysocks​ bc she is the most die hard peter stan i have met on this site. hope you like this one lovely! <3

“Alright, now we just add two drops of Protoslo,” Peter instructs, removing the cap from the tiny bottle. While you were grateful to have such an intelligent and kind tutor, his appearance is as gorgeous as it is distracting. You pretend to concentrate on his nimble fingers as they carefully pinch the bottle but cannot help to transfix your eyes on the way his pink tongue exits only slightly to glide across his lips in focus.

“It doesn’t hurt them, right?” You originally met Peter in the biology lab to go over a few of the more difficult assignments. The tutoring sessions were open to everybody. But when you and Peter remained the only ones in the classroom, he could not help but share his fascination with the different microorganisms beneath the scope. You allowed him to persuade you with the lame excuse, more practice couldn’t hurt. But really, Peter Mendes was the last person you would fight on staying longer with. Since being introduced to him by the professor, he made staying on task much difficult than you assumed. Though he was not present in your lab most days, the thought of when he would be always seemed to be at the forefront. How could anybody be interested in cnidarians and protists and not on the man who speaks of them with such passion in his voice and a twinkle through his glasses?

“It won’t hurt them, right?” Your eyes dart down to the small slide where the droplet of solution coating the unicellular beings, invisible to the naked eye. You see Peter fighting the corners of his lips, which were so adamant about tilting up into a smile. He finally lets them, and even allows his teeth to reveal themselves as he replies.

“Nope. It’ll only slow them down a little and make it easier to see them.” With the microscope slide pinched between his fingers, he caps the bottle of Protoslo solution with his free hand and sets it aside. “Think of it as a sedative.” He continues, “could you get me a cover sheet?”

Nodding frantically and reaching for a small, plastic container nearby, you waste no time opening it. Upon retrieving the thin glass layer, you do not allow Peter to do all the work himself and carefully set it on top of the divot. The two of you are silent for a moment as you study the protist-infested water and solution fuse with one another. Peter turns towards you in the stool with an eager smile and raises his eyebrows. “Ready?” You swear the twinkle in his coffee eyes is even brighter. His excitement has you straightening your own spine in the stool you are seated in and nodding with enthusiasm. You wonder if he has caught on to the fact only his devotion to this subject was contagious to you. In any lab he was not present in, your head would collide with the cool tabletop halfway through in a subconscious daze.

Peter watchfully maneuvers the slide beneath the various lenses and allows the clip to catch it, holding it in place.

“Alright, turn it on.” You giggle anxiously and reach for the power switch while bringing your eyes to the two lenses.

“Wait wait wait,” his urgency halts your leaning body immediately and you watch in puzzlement as his fingers twist the dimming switch to the lowest level. He releases a breath, “that could’ve been bad.” A small chuckle leaves your lips at the attentive student. He spares a few nervous laughs of his own and you freeze to let your ears absorb the sound and truly manifest it. There is no other sound like his laugh and with these sessions being your only true way of communication, you are loyal to his giggles like a drug.

“Thanks for making sure I don’t go blind.” You remark with a small smile. You manage to successfully flip the power switch to the compact microscope and place your eyes against the lenses. Peter mumbles a quiet “of course” which should not have brought such a vibrant red to your cheeks. The vicious flame on your face, though, is now inevitable and a feeling you have grown used to enduring around him.

Minutes of comfortable silence pass between the two of you before he asks if you, “see them?” You try not to let your frustration show as you continue to adjust the nosepiece and focus knobs to the microscope. Peter somehow senses it, however, and asks politely if you could scoot over. While your right eye is gazing through one of the lenses, Peter’s left is doing the same to the other. “Here,” he mumbles, before the feeling of his hand brushing against yours is eliciting a gasp on your end.

“S-sorry,” Peter’s face retreats from the lens to see his hand still cloaking yours and the mechanical stage handles.

“S’okay.” He turns his face from the knob towards you and takes your kind smile and flushes cheeks as motivation. Nodding, his eye is staring through the lens again. You follow and allow his large hand to guide yours while twisting the knobs back and forth.

“Here we go,” he whispers through the conduction of your hands as the image below you slowly comes into focus. The proximity and Peter’s husky voice invites goosebumps to rise on your arms and neck. Cognitive functioning on your part was slowly shutting down, and you were gradually allowing your devotion to usurp all reasonable thinking. Had it not been for your tutor’s resilience in locating the population of organisms and quiet encouraging chants, your gaze would be focused on him. Another gasp leaves you when the image shifts into something discernable. The two of you sat momentarily in awe, watching the single celled beings roam across the microscope slide.

“They’re so cute!” You join in Peter’s quieted tone, squeezing his hand tighter in your visceral response.

You hear the smile in his voice as he hisses back excitedly, “I know right!”

“Do they all have that red eye?” You question. Peter hums.

“It helps them detect light and photosynthesize so they can make their own food.”

“Lucky,” you scoff, making your envy for their skill aware. Peter leans his body away and removes his hand from yours (much to your dislike) to place it against his chest and allow more or his uninhibited laughter to echo around the vicinity.

“What?”

He just shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of these little guys all because of that.” All you manage is a shrug, too entranced in his luminous teeth to do much else.

“How can you not be? Making your own food would be so cool. And all you’d have to do is stare at the sun.”

“Well, technically that’s—”

“I’m just saying it’s way easier than almost burning my apartment down each night trying not to starve.” You roll your eyes. This earns you a tilt of Peter’s head and you eye one of the strands as it flops to the side with the movement.

“You can’t cook?”

“I can cook. Can I cook well? That’s up for debate.” You mutter, flicking your eyes to the side.

“How well can you cook?” Peter asks, resting his head upon his chin. The undivided attention you are currently receiving makes the blood sprint upwards to your face once more.

“My roommate is convinced I tried poisoning her once with a batch of muffins.” So fiercely you loathed when people found humor in your misery, but Peter’s chuckles had you unabashedly laughing along seconds later.

“So I’m guessing she does all the cooking?”

“When she’s here.” You shrug. “But she’s out of town tonight so it’s just going to be me and some instant macaroni.”

Peter bites his lip in thought as you observe his eyes flickering wildly about. “You know, uh…I’m not,” he clears his throat, “I’m not really doing anything tonight. And my brothers can attest that I make a mean plate of tacos. So, if you wanted to join…” His hand which was previously holding yours is now gesturing wildly about and scratching at the back of his neck, so you opt for taking his other in your grip. He visibly stills at the embrace and gulps.

“I’d like that a lot.”

He releases a tense breath and shakes his head. “Good…but I’m doing the cooking.” The hand that was at his neck was now jutting its thumb out to point at his chest. Laughter fills the area between the two of you yet again. You squeeze his hand and peer up into his eyes, the twinkle in them so considerable in their size you could label them stars.

“I think I can live with that.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes angst #mendes triplets au #mendes triplet au #Shawn mendes au #peter mendes imagine #peter mendes #peter mendes fluff

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. v

→ one | two | three | four

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part five / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 3,127

☾v.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾v. part v: the mafia(2/2)

Sayomi made her way to the elevators once again, dispatching the control room through her walkie talkie that she needed to get to her shift.

It was currently a quarter to 1, the last minutes before her shift would start. With a hand resting on her katana, Sayomi now exited the elevator having arrived at the 48th floor.

As she approached the VIP’s room, the two bodyguards on duty sighed in relief. 

“Thank god, it’s finally rotation time”, the woman exhaled lazily.

Sayomi tried her luck at a friendly interaction, casually asking the pair a question. “I’m guessing there wasn’t any action?”

The man laughed a genuine, but tired laugh. “Absolutely nothing. We haven’t moved an inch since the start of our shift.”

Sayomi laughed at the pair’s lack of enthusiasm, her violet eyes crinkling at the edges. Her expression of joy seemed infectious, as the older members in front of her laughed along with her in their despair.

She was starting to feel like a true member of the team already.

This is nice, I didn’t expect the others to be as unmotivated as me. 

Closing in on the time designated for the shift change, Sayomi’s partner arrived as well. Seeing no purpose in waiting around when everyone was present, the pairs switched early, starting Sayomi on her very first stretch as a bodyguard.

☾v.

The first 30 minutes into her shift, Sayomi had learned that her partner was a rather quiet person by nature.

Upon starting their shift, the two had exchanged a brief greeting, nodding to acknowledge the other.

It was only after an hour of standing and staring at the wall that Sayomi decided she couldn’t stand the silence while they waited out their shift.

She initiated a conversation with the older man, coming out bold as to establish her character.

“So, how did such an average man like you get stuck working for the mafia?”

The man was unmoving, replying to her question in a soft voice. “My family’s debt… Why did a young girl like you get caught up with the mafia?”

She wasn’t expecting such an honest response from the man. It threw her off, making her unprepared to answer the question shot her way.

“Um… I guess you could say family circumstances?” She hadn’t lied, given that it was her family’s actions that left her at Meteor City.

The man nodded in understanding at her vague answer. 

Another wave of awkward silence fell over the two, Sayomi’s initial attempt at socializing having failed miserably. 

She decided not to reattempt a conversation with the man, sensing that he didn’t care for idle chatter.

Family circumstances, huh. That’s the best thing I could think of. 

Sayomi had fallen deep in thought, her brows furrowing as she reflected back on her life.

I wonder if… father ever came looking for me? Or Illumi… did Illumi want me gone too? Ah, I shouldn’t be so dramatic about this. Either way I won’t return home, because that would mean mother winning. 

She exhaled audibly, tired from the splurge of thoughts that had taken over her mind once again. 

The man glanced over at the teen stationed next to him. She was obviously just as bored as he was to be stuck with this job.

Moving his eyes back forward to the wall in front of him, he attempted to kickstart a conversation once again. “You seem a bit too young to be on your own, don’t you miss your family?”

Sayomi blinked at the man in surprise, both at the question and the fact that he had initiated a conversation.

She contemplated whether she should tell the truth or cover it up with a lie. Deciding that a lie would take more effort, she settled for the truth. “I’ve been in the assassin business for 6 years now, so I wouldn’t say too young… I do miss my little brother though. Do you miss your family?”

As the man appeared to be deep in thought, Sayomi mulled over her words. My little brother… Killua, are they treating you alright?

“My apologies for assuming. And, yes, I do indeed miss my family. But, why haven’t you escaped yet, then? With no leverage against you, you could easily run away at any time.” The man spoke while looking at her this time. 

She thought about his question. “I guess… well, I don’t really have anywhere else to go. It’s my first time in Yorknew City, and I wouldn’t want to go back home to the people that left me in the first place.”

He let out a hmm at her response, obviously putting the pieces of her situation together. “If I told you of a way you could live here in Yorknew without being trapped under the mafia… would you oblige?” 

His eyes were soft and earnest. He knew what it was like to remain helpless at the hands of the Mafia, and saw no reason she should as well, especially at such a young age.

Sayomi’s expression formed one of shock and surprise, obviously taken aback by the man’s sincerity to help.

“I suppose I would… but if you know of a way out, why haven’t you left yet?” The two were now holding eye contact as if to read the other’s intentions. 

“I’m afraid I’ve already received too much from the Mafia. I owe my life as well as my family’s safety to them.” He responded somberly.

Sayomi nodded silently, understanding the man’s situation. She decided to at least take a listen to the plan he had to offer. “So, you know of a way I can live in Yorknew without the Mafia breathing over my shoulder?”

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and the man could sense it as something between the recklessness of a teenager and the confidence of a powerful assassin. She has no fears. I wonder how much she’s experienced to be this strong at such a young age.

“Ah, yes. Sticking with the Mafia will never do you any good. There’s a way of living here in Yorknew City if you’re especially confident in your fighting abilities. It’s called Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi raised her eyebrows at the man’s words, curious. Heaven’s Arena? Sounds like some shoddy place where people bet on fights.

“Alright, you’ve got my attention. So, what does one do at Heaven’s Arena?” Sayomi asked.

The man cracked a ghost of a smile at her interest. “You fight. From what I’ve heard, it’s set up in multiple floors, and each time you win they let you advance to higher floors. I’m pretty sure the pay goes up with each floor as well.”

Sayomi was impressed. A place where they pay you to fight? Count me in.

“I wonder what the catch is though… if it’s as easy as you say, wouldn’t everyone be taking their chances at Heaven’s Arena?”

The man hummed in agreement with her words. “You’re right. The most I’ve heard is that once you reach a certain point, the matches become a fight to the death, and through any means possible. I’m guessing that’s where most people falter- it’s either life or death matches that’ll provide you with a stable income, or small fights once in a while that pay very little. Only the strongest find what they’re looking for at Heaven’s Arena.”

Gambling with your life in order to pay the bills… 

“And you think I could make it at Heaven’s Arena?”

The man looked down at Sayomi with a fatherly gaze. “I don’t think you’re the type of person to need someone else’s approval. But to answer your question, yes, I think with the right amount of training you could find a new life with Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi smiled at his judgement of her character. “Well, then that does it. I just need to find my way out of the Mafia’s grasp, and then I can get to training.”

☾v.

Sayomi’s shift was over before she knew it. Just as the pair before them had said, their VIP client had no one after him. 

Her partner had told her all he knew about Heaven’s Arena and the Mafia from his many years working in Yorknew City. 

She had learned that there were members of the Mafia hidden within the assassin recruits, keeping anyone from sneaking away. Her escape would have to be well planned out to avoid getting caught along with any consequences.

Tagging out with the next pair of bodyguards, Sayomi head back to her room once again.

2 days later

VIP Adachi Yuto’s stay came to an end, with it marking the end of Sayomi’s first job. The team was dissolved as a result, and Sayomi was dispatched by her section leader to meet with him down at the lobby.

The section leader turned out to be the man who had first brought her to Yorknew City, a familiar face that relaxed Sayomi’s nerves a great amount.

Upon meeting, he was immediately down to business, letting Sayomi know of her next assignment. 

It was an assassin’s job.

She had originally planned to find a way out of the Mafia’s scope soon, but with the mention of her finally getting some action, the plan was postponed. 

Her target was a man in his 30s. No other information was given to her besides a photo and his location. 

Not much to her surprise, an ankle monitor was situated around her right leg, keeping her from straying from the job.

Damn you, bloodlust. No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to ditch the cold blood and murder mother and father drilled into my head.

Sayomi was falling victim to her old habits. She knew it was wrong to stick around any longer, but the consequences of the offer to satisfy her thirst for blood didn’t sink in until the cool metal of her ankle monitor pressed into her skin.

The man seemed to read Sayomi’s thoughts as she realized her mistake. “The ankle monitor is programmed to shock the user upon our command. It’s enough power to deal sufficient damage to even the largest of animals, so I insist you remain focused on the missions we give you. We never enjoy having to resort to using it, but keep in mind that we will not hesitate to, given a reason.”

She looked down at her ankle in defeat. It seemed Heaven’s Arena would have to wait.

☾v.

Later that night

Sayomi paced anxiously about in her hotel room. It was a mix of long-overdue bloodlust and hatred towards herself as a result of her assassin’s instinct to kill.

Deep inside her head, a war of conflicting feelings raged on.

Calm down, Sayomi. Every time you do this it’s only proving that mother succeeded in sculpting you into her little assassin. 

She had completely thrown away a perfect chance to escape just because she couldn’t control her impulses to kill in cold blood. 

But is it that wrong to want to kill? Being an assassin doesn’t mean I’ll be exactly like mother. I can control my own future now, I am my own person.

Setting her katana down against the wall, she opted for her needles instead. It had been a while since she’d used the smaller weapons because they reminded her of the past.

Now putting the past behind her, Sayomi walked with a new air of confidence. It was her greatest skill and job to kill, she’d decided. And this was a decision she had come to on her own, a new mindset for a new beginning.

A static-ridden dispatch over her walkie talkie marked the beginning of her assignment, and Sayomi headed down to the lobby. 

Since she was still underage, a driver was provided to her, stationed in front of the hotel with her designated license plate.

The brisk night air greeted Sayomi as she exited the hotel. It was currently a few minutes past 12, the streets being mostly empty except for the young city goers enjoying the nightlife in Yorknew City.

Exhaling out an envious sigh at the stunning city lights surrounding her, Sayomi watched her breath disappear into the night as she walked briskly to the car.

The drive to her target’s location was silent. Sayomi sat alone in the back seat, watching with empty eyes as friends, lovers, and complete strangers came together in harmony within the lively city.  

She started to wonder what it would be like to live a normal life like them. What would she be doing right now? Staying up and texting friends? Going to bed before midnight? 

As the teen sat in the back of a luxurious car going towards her next target to assassinate, she couldn’t help but wish she had a normal life, with friends who cared about her feelings or guy problems instead of waiting for orders on which guy she would kill next.

These are useless thoughts. There’s no turning back now.

The car came to a stop at an intimidatingly tall company building, around the same height as the hotel.

Stretching her limbs as she exited the car, the driver notified Sayomi he would wait for her return in the same spot. 

Thanking the driver for his services, she took quick steps towards the entrance of the building. With her persistently developed speed and underground techniques, sneaking in and out of the building would be no problem.

Taking notice of the lack of security, she rolled her eyes as she let out a breath in annoyance. This is amateur work. 

Activating her zetsu, Sayomi’s menacing purple aura dissipated into thin air as she dashed past the sorry line of security, making her way to a deserted hallway.

There was a lone guard doing rounds with a bright flashlight in hand, failing to notice the slight breeze that Sayomi had left in her path.

Positioning a needle between her fingers, Sayomi flicked her wrist out at lightning speed, sending the needle flying towards the guard. 

It hit home in the guard’s neck, knocking him out instantly. Taking nimble steps towards the fallen guard, Sayomi made quick work of grabbing his access badge before heading to the elevators. 

Seeing as no one else was around, she tabbed an elevator, rocking back and her toes as she waited.

Just as she had expected, the elevator required an access badge, which she tapped against the scanner while pressing on the button for the 38th floor.

In a bored attempt to keep herself preoccupied on the way up, Sayomi spread her band of needles out in her hands. Closing her eyes, she ran a pale hand over the band. 

Her hand came down on a single needle, the needle she would use to finish off her target. Putting the band back into her pocket, she held the single needle between her knuckles, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

The elevators chime signified Sayomi’s arrival at the 38th floor. The floor was empty, being past working hours and in between shifts for the security guards.

A single desk lamp shone in her target's office, and Sayomi strolled casually to the partially open door.

She could see from where she approached that her target was busy at work, having stayed overtime. 

Knocking twice on the inside of the open door, Sayomi just barely caught the attention of the man before moving her wrist in a single, fluid motion.

The man had no chance to react, slumping face down onto his desk with a muffled thump.

She had hit the jugular clean and precise, leaving no trail behind of her job besides the now motionless man.

Satisfied with her work, Sayomi returned to the elevators with a skip in her step. A few months without my needles and I’ve still got it!

Greeting her driver with a smile this time around, she didn’t blame him for being utterly confused. 

The job had taken her just under 5 minutes, the majority of the time belonging to the elevator rides up and down from the 38th floor.

Dispatching her section leader of the completed job, Sayomi returned back to the hotel, looking as if she had gone out for an evening stroll.

Her section leader greeted her in the lobby, letting her know she had the remainder of the night off. She frowned slightly at the news, her adrenaline still rushing from the short job. 

An easy target like today always left her wanting more, unsatisfied with the lack of fighting that came with it.

I’m getting all caught up in this again.

Shaking away her thoughts of possibly finding more action, Sayomi returned to her room with slumped shoulders. She forced herself to set her needles back down on her nightstand, finding it hard to keep herself from fiddling with them.

It was late. And though the 51st floor around her seemed to be deep in sleep, Sayomi was restless. 

She decided to wash up and take a quick shower to relax her nerves, changing out of the uniform and into one of the other outfits they had provided her with.

Wrapping her silvery-white hair in a towel, she opted to sit on the floor, gazing out of the floor length window in front of her.

Yorknew City was quieting down, the street vendors having cleaned up for the night, stores being long closed, and clubs starting to die down. The last of the neon signs flickered in the darkness, looking like tiny specks of color from where Sayomi sat, high above most of the buildings bordering the one she was in.

The 16 year old girl sat cross-legged in a trance, no longer focused on the city in front of her, but something within her mind.

What am I gonna do now… I ruined my chances of escaping anytime soon. All because I couldn’t control myself, my old habits. Does this mean mother was successful with her plans?

No. I don’t have to give in to defeat. I’ll find a way out, just like how I got out of Meteor City. Maybe if I gain their trust they’ll take this ankle monitor off. 

I just have to become one of their obedient assassins, quiet and reliable. 

Sayomi fell asleep slouched on the rough carpeted floor that night, lost in her own thoughts and emotions.

But despite the uncomfortable position, her face proved differently. She was only ever at peace when she was fast asleep, because that’s when she could see her loved ones within dreams.

Illumi, Killua… Are you two taking good care of each other? Are you doing better than I am? 

Do you guys even miss me? 

I miss you two so much I feel like I could die. 

☾v.

to be continued.

a/n: taglist open!

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x oc #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hisoka #hisoka x oc #hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka morrow x reader #kuroro #kuroro lucilfer #hxh #hxh au #hxh imagines #hxh x reader #hxh oc #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter au #hunter x hunter imagines #killlua #zoldyck family #killua zoldyck #illumi #illumi zoldyck #silva zoldyck #assassin au #gon #anime au #phantom troupe

[slashersins]

so i posted this little thing about getting abandoned in a cemetery . and it’s fuck up and all . but i was thinking after i wrote it that it’d be the ( almost ) perfect way to meet one of the slashers . here me out , 

so you’re a thirteen year old kid who’s been abandoned by a group of people at an old cemetery . that’s already the start of some horror movie . but like . . . fuck just . . . 

think of young and up and coming snuff film maker jesse cromeans . he’s out in some back water town looking for easy prey . maybe he’s already in the process of making a little movie . chasing some piggy into dense woods he’s previously scoped out . he gets creative . he makes sure her screams are the loudest when thunder rumbles and booms out shaking the earth . he’s bloodied , his little piggy all dead . and now he just needs to get rid of the body . easy enough , he knows there’s an old cemetery near by . but when he shows up there’s just . . . this kid . a kid who isn’t supposed to be in this place , especially not this late at night and especially not when it’s storming . and jesse is observant . he sees how you sob and shake and desperately try to open the gate , he sees how it’s been bent to stick in place , and he knows you didn’t do that yourself . some part of him feel for you . but he doesn’t approach . the corpse forgotten by the outer egde . 

he waits , seeing if someone will come to get you but after fifteen minutes pass no one shows up . so he moves closer . soon he’s on the outside of the gate . and you’re looking up with puffy red eyes and fear . jesse knows he’s intimidating with his height and mask , he knows you’re scared . so he’s slow with his movements . carefully undoing the makeshift lock and letting the gate fall open . he expects you to run , but you stay in the mud , sniffling as you stare up . he stays with you , keeping lookout for someone who might be coming for you , making choices of whether to just get his car and take you to some gas station so you can have help finding your way home . of leaving you here alone . but the way you looked at him tells him that you need him with you . so he stays until he hears the sound of a car and sees the shine of headlights . he’s gone but watching , making sure you’re inside the car before he’s taking the corpse he’d left outside the gate and goes back into the wood . waiting for a clearing so he can dump the body and leave . 

maybe a few years later . maybe a lot of years later , you’re working at some coffee shop or something , and a tall man walks in , ordering his coffee on his electronic text to talk . you smile up and tell him it’ll be a few minutes .and something about your face tugs at him . it brings up an old memory . be blinks down at you , watching you , his eyes glance to your name tag , memorizing it for later . you make his coffee , serve him , all with a smile . all while jesse has been googling you , searching , looking at old pictures and his suspicions are proven true . you’re the kid who was abandoned . all grown up . he’s curious . wondering about you . and maybe , just maybe he’ll stop by the coffee shop again . he remembers you , but to you remember him ?

or or or or or , this take !

same situation . but this time it’s painfully close to the land that surrounds camp crystal lake . you’re supposed to be in the near by town on vacation with your dad . you’re still taken and cruelly left alone in a cemetery . but even more lost as you don’t know anything about this area . you’re panicked , so fucking scared . more than likely your step sister and her friends going to fuck around on camp crystal lake . you don’t notice the lumbering undead giant watching you . you’re technically on his land , which means he has every right to kill you . but something about the way you cry and sob and desperately claw and shove at the gate reminds him so much of drowning . feeling abandoned and alone . 

he isn’t sure what to do , but he won’t let you suffer . not like he had . so he moves , slowly and quietly . you don’t notice him until lighting hits and you look terrified as he raises his machete . it breaks his heart to know that you’re terrified of him , that he’s causing you so much fear . but he swings his blade down , breaking the gate for you . he opens it , and takes off his ratty jacket and puts it over your shoulders . offers you his hand . you’re panting and scared , slowly reaching out for his hand . then the bells ring . someone’s on his land . 

he makes a motion for you to stay there and then heads towards camp . he finds two boys and two girls , drunk and laughing . he’s stalking forward , ready to end their lives when one of them mentions a kid they left at the cemetery . it makes jason want to kill them more , but he pauses . if he kills these teenagers then it’s likely you wont have a way home . you’re already cold and soaked to the bone and suffering . so instead of murder jason decides he will scare them off . it’s the first time he’s let anyone drive off his property . but no sooner are they in the car does jason take off towards you . he wants to make sure they get to you , that they don’t forget you . 

he’s satisfied that the teens show up , screaming at you to get into the car . he sees how you looks back , searching for something , searching for him , hands holding his jacket tightly around you . he supposes , that just this once it would be fine . so long as he could help someone in a way he never was . 

year later when the bells rings again , like the always have and always will , he goes to inspect . he doesn’t see a group . just one . it will be easy and quick . he watches , waiting for the right moment when they see the intruder pull out an old ratty jacket that looks familiar . 

you smile down at it , brushing your finger tips over the worn fabric as you look around the camp . you don’t really remember if the man had been real not . but you had proof . didn’t you ? 

memories flood jason as he sees your face , and remembers the small shaking child that made his chest clench . he can’t stop his feet as he walks forward , looming over you , gazing down . you jump slightly , started as you stare up at a familiar face . but your shock turns to awe and excitement . a gentle joy on your features . you take the jacket and hold it up in offering . you never got to tell him thank you . and now you could .

BUT THEN THERE’S THIS ?

bubba being out and causing a ruckus with his brothers . they’re young and silly , bubba not yet wearing the face of someone else but a full face thin leather mask that fits awkwardly and has his hair pointing out in all directions . 

he hears your cries through the storm . he’d been on his way back to his house with nubbins and chop top . but he’s pulled towards the noises of distress , some of his own filling the night air . he stumbles through trees and mud to find the place where these sounds come from . he’s even more worried when he sees you there . trapped and almost caged like a farm animal  but you’re just a kid , younger than he is . his inner mother hen comes out , rushing towards you babbling and squealing , trying to convey that it’s all okay . 

his normal skittishness is gone as he forces open the gate . getting on his knees and tilting his head , babbling at you curiously , trying to calm your sobs . you’re barely able too . and he sneaks up closer , making a soft noise . it’s gonna be okay , he might be able to do much but he’ll help . somehow it calms you and you scoot up , closer , cold and feeding off of the stranger’s warmth . 

bubba makes a quick decision to take your hand . he’ll walk you to dratyon’s gas station . it’s warm there . you let him guide you , stumbling a bit , but bubba never lets go of your hand . dratyon’s pissed when bubba shows up , starting to yell until his attention is taken by you shaking and soaked and muddy and all sobbed out . now he’s cursing for a different reason . blankets and a warm drink are given as bubba fusses over you and whines and whimpers . he’s angry . he’s worried . you looked so lost and scared . 

your step sister and her friends show up , frantic , asking if drayton has seen any kids come in or - he points to you . and they sigh in relief . they take you home , bubba hovering . you manage to get out a thank you before your shoved into the car .

it’s been a few years since you been this far out . here to visit your dad . when you pass a familiar gas station , it makes you pause . so you turn the truck around and walk inside .the old man behind the counter hasn’t seemed to change much over the years . and you wave and smile , asking if he remembers the girl who came in late one night worse for wear . he barks out a laugh that he does , and asks if you’re that girl . you smile and nod . then you ask about the older kid who’d helped you . and drayton pauses , thinking to himself . he admits that it’s been his youngest brother . and asks if you’d like to come over for dinner to see him . you beam and nod your head yes . it’s be nice to see him again . 

#jesse cromeans #jason voorhees #bubba sawyer #jesse cromeans x reader #jason vorhees x reader #bubba sawyer imagine #jason vorhees imagine #jesse cromeans imagine #bubba saywer x reader #( sometimes you just gotta take your trama and make it into something happy ) #( is this how i cope ) #( i get abandoned and find a friend and future lover )

[zabiume]

I think we can all agree that this year was Not Great, but I personally made a few good fandom friends and re-kindled my love for a) writing and b) writing about the things that make me happy, so I decided I wanted to spread a little early holiday cheer by sifting through my drafts and handing out little fic presents for the lovely people that made this year so great. @nneefa, as a fellow IchiHime dirtbag, I think it’s only fitting that this one goes out from me to you <3 Happy Holiday season, hope you’re staying safe!

Title: Make My Wish Come True

Pairing: Ichigo Kurosaki/Orihime Inoue

Set in the time-skip, angst & fluff, 2k. Read on AO3

Summer rolls into autumn and it’s almost like there’s an undertow of something there, just beneath talk of graduation, and cram school and college. They return at the tail end of the final semester in a blaze of quiet victory, and like always – the world is a little tilted off axis than when they’d left it.

Senior year is quiet, spare the occasional study date or two, the roundtrips to Orihime’s bakery, her apartment, and back. Her presence by his side has somewhat been cemented, underclassmen no longer surprised when they exchange greetings in the hallway, when greetings turn to walking to class together, each moment lingering, spilling into the next. Something integral has shifted, fallen into place in a quiet way, subtle – as it usually is with them.  

Sometimes, he notices the way her eyes hold his a lot longer than they used to. Sometimes, he teases her a little bolder than he’d usually allow himself, just to see the crackle of warmth in her eyes when she laughs.

Or at least, that’s what he thinks it is. When acceptance letters arrive and he hears from Tatsuki that she’s decided to go to Nagoya, he’s a little more than surprised he didn’t hear it directly from her. He’s happy for her nonetheless, because the farther away from him she goes, the safer she will be – and he cradles this thought like a knife wedged between his ribs, pretends his heart doesn’t bleed a little every time he pushes it further.

They meet a few times soon after that, but it’s all brief because she’s always got somewhere to be and he’s always got somewhere to return to and soon enough, they’re at the train station and Tatsuki’s cordoning off everyone else until the air is quiet between them – them alone, like they haven’t been for weeks, and he doesn’t quite know what to say. His throat feels thick.

“Thanks for being my friend, Kurosaki-kun,” she whispers, when eventually one of them – Orihime – gathers the courage to press their bodies into an awkward hug. It sounds an awful lot like good-bye, an awful lot like déjà vu, but it’s sincere in the way that only Orihime knows how.

He’s still unsure of how much he’s allowed to touch her before it borders on disrespectful, but the stiffness of his body probably sends a different signal to her. When his hands are just barely about to touch her shoulders, she draws back with a misty smile.

“Write to me, if you’re not too busy,” he manages, around the block in his throat. He doesn’t want to take too much of her time; there are other people who are going to miss her – Orihime is a missable person.

She pauses, like there’s something else she wants to say, but she’s shaken out of it by a sobbing Chizuru, a distraught Keigo, some person or the other who needs her warmth a lot more than he does at the moment.

So he steps away, watches in reverence as she irradiates the room for one last time.

She leaves on a train headed north and he feels like he stares after its smoky silhouette long after it departs.  

  ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

Winter arrives, and it’s as bleak as the last – perhaps bleaker. There are unsent letters crumpled in Ichigo’s waste basket, drafted emails in his inbox, half-written sonnets in a journal he keeps tucked in a far corner where Yuzu doesn’t think to clean in fear of finding something that will taint her image of her older brother.

It’s something, alright – just…not what she’s probably expecting.

He goes on dates with shy, doe-eyed girls and he’s so consumed with guilt that, when he starts to count down the minutes until he can get home and call her, he stops going on them entirely.

When he hears from Tatsuki that ‘there’s a guy...,’ though, he debates booking the next train to Nagoya to go scope him out.

(out of concern, he tells himself, and not at all that he’s a little envious of a guy that managed to capture her heart before he did).

He feels lovelorn and stupid, all the unspoken words dying on his tongue when they talk over the phone, the distance bridged with stories of new cats she befriended, new professors that don’t mind the colour of his hair as much as they do his opinions on Shakespeare.

She laughs, all quiet and hushed, around two days before Christmas and he can see it – the way she’s probably folding laundry or making dinner and he realizes with horribly embarrassing clarity that he misses her.

“Are you coming home anytime soon?” he asks, cutting her right through her narration of how she nearly set her kitchen on fire trying to follow Chad’s frittata recipe. It’s a good story – funny in a way that only she knows how – but his heart hurts and he doesn’t know how many more phone calls he can take before going a little stir crazy.

There’s a pause, and he feels color fill his cheeks at just how blunt and forward his words sound. He’s about to apologize, to take it all back, when she speaks very slowly into the phone.

“…Who told you?” she asks, almost reprimanding. “Was it Tatsuki-chan? ‘Cause she’s always telling me I can’t keep a secret, so it’s a teensy bit ridiculous that – “

His head spins. “Wait, Inoue, hold on,” he interrupts, squeezing his eyes shut. When they open again, his heartbeat flares. “What?”

“I’m coming down to Karakura very soon.” She giggles. “I was going to surprise you, but –“

“When?” he demands, already shuffling through a mess of papers and his laptop to look for his calendar. His university let off on Friday, so that still gave them –

“Uhm, tomorrow…?” She pauses, then weakly laughs her way through a very nervous, “Surprise!”

Ichigo freezes, his heartbeat now thundering loudly in his chest. “Why didn’t you didn’t tell me!”

“That’s the point of a surprise, Kurosaki-kun,” she says softly, almost teasing.

It’s embarrassing how high his heart soars.

He doesn’t ask her how long she’s staying, or when she’s going back or any of the other questions that remind him of this wide gulf between them. Just bullies her into giving him her itinerary, her train ticket details and how many bags she’s bringing with her so he can cajole his dad into letting him borrow his car.

“What are you hoping to achieve exactly?” Karin drawls, eyes narrowed at her brother, who has all of a sudden developed a scary spring in his step.

He doesn’t answer her, just lets Yuzu know he’s heading out –

(–to buy bread, he doesn’t tell her, knowing full well what reaction that would get) –

“A Christmas miracle, probably,” he hears Karin mutter as he slams the door behind him.

  ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

It’s a little more than obvious that all their friends have resorted to taking a wide berth when she arrives. Ishida mutters something about his residency, Chad tells her he’s running errands, Tatsuki promises a late dinner before she heads back. Ichigo, though. Ichigo shows up at the train station at dawn, a bag of bread in his hands.

(“he’s misses you so much,” Tatsuki had told her, and it takes every iota of strength to stomp down old butterflies from springing back.)

They’ve taken to walking around town, perhaps nowhere in particular, perhaps to their old haunts – the stairs by the river, her apartment that’s not so much her apartment since she moved out, Karakura High.

There’s an old tunnel by the back where she used to go, and it’s all too instinctual to take him there. Show him this part of herself that existed before him.

Ichigo is tall now – taller – and he’s sharp everywhere, from the edge of his jaw to the tips of his unruly hair. But his eyes are soft, soft as they’ve come to be (maybe always were) when he looks at her.

“Here,” he says, handing out a slice of bread to her as they lean against the wall. “I know it’s not the kind of scrap you’re used to, but I figured you’d like it.”

Orihime smiles, the warmth of an old joke shared with an old friend not lost on her. Their fingers brush and it’s almost like she’s the Orihime of two years ago, all shy smiles and bolts of electricity from even the smallest moment shared. She loves him that much, and the distance has taught her that she isn’t embarrassed about it at all.

When Ichigo’s fingers linger on the back of her hand a little longer, she wonders if he feels it too. If this is something beyond what it used to be when they were all white shirts and grey coats – young and deer-eyed in this world of chaos and war and growing up. If the Ichigo of today has something in his eyes that the Ichigo of two years ago didn’t.

They circle back to town, watch the snow feather down and shower them in gentle, cold prickles. Ichigo has grown quiet, the cadence of their collective footsteps the only sounds on the way back to the clinic. When they arrive at his front porch, he grabs her shoulder before she can venture into the house.

His grip softens, and he smoothens the crinkles on her sweater with his fingertips.

“Sometimes, I have a hard time saying what I feel,” he starts, the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple belying the steady darkness of his eyes. His fingers run warm circles over her clothing and she holds her breath. “I want- I mean I do feel things, I just don’t know how to –” He cuts himself off, makes a frustrated noise, turning his head sideways like he’s too ashamed to face her.  

Orihime pauses for one whole second, then drags him by the collar down till their noses touch, hoping to God she hasn’t read this situation wrong. That she isn’t entirely off the mark. Her heart beats so painfully loud and when his lips come down to brush tentatively against hers, it’s all she can do to not squeak. The kiss is clumsy – his lower lip trembles against her upper one – but it radiates warmth all through her chest and the only thing that stops her from pulling him back and kissing him again is the fact that his dad is probably watching from somewhere behind the curtains.

Ichigo’s cheeks turn dark and he coughs into his palm and she can’t help but feel a little bashful herself.

“Was that okay?” he asks softly and she feels herself falling for him all over again, just as head-over-heels as it used to be. Like watching an old favourite movie and finding new favourite parts to love.

“It was more than okay,” she whispers, licking her lips with a small smile. “It was very good.”

His mouth edges up in a warm smile and this time, she doesn’t try to fight back the butterflies.

#i realize in retrospect this isn't about Christmas at all #oh well #ichihime #myfic #bleachmas 2020

[emersonfreepress]

okay so is there content that you had planned for the ROs and story in general but then scrapped cause there wasn’t a good place in the story to stick it in? and if so, can you share what it was? 👀 👀 👀

yes, definitely. *rubs hands together* oh man, you done asked THE question today xD I can't wait to get into this 😁

Academics. I almost decided to have classes and grades be a minor part of gameplay, but the more time I spent designing it the more I realized I wanted nothing to do with it 😂 I haven’t really enjoyed academic gameplay in other interactive fiction because I 1) hate having to choose between studying and interacting with awesome characters, 2) have terrible short term memory, and 3) hate school in general!! So instead I just opted to have the MC be really good at school, point blank period so I could focus on social drama and relationships instead! 😆

Physical skills. I spent literal months crafting the catering scene around setting up stats for stamina/endurance, dexterity, and strength instead of just magnetism, confidence, and persuasion. They had their own backstories with the MC’s parents being overly invested sports parents instead and I think the background choices were like... martial arts, gymnastics, and track? But yeah, I ended up scrapping it all because I was spending hours on research about those individual sports so I could integrate them into the MC’s narrative organically but like... when I tried to think of what use they would be in the actual story, I came up blank. Best decision yet, esp since it means a lot less coding!

Skin tone customization. For one, I noticed that a lot of my favorite IFs don’t offer that customization and it hasn’t impacted my experience at all. For two, I originally realized I might as well not implement it since I am striving real hard not to introduce any customization that won’t actually be mentioned in interesting or meaningful ways in-story. I don’t think it’s really all that common for real life friends (esp in high school?) to comment or compliment each other’s skin and like... when it comes from someone who doesn’t share a similar complexion or ethnic background, that type of commentary gets... d i c e y. So then I wanted to be sensitive to that but what’s the pay-off? An RO mentioning how they love your skin tone once? Awkward sentences with the MC referring to their own skin color? Idk, just wasn’t vibing with it. I’m open to revisiting it in beta or something but for now it’s scrapped.

Singing, Rapping, and Gaming as Hobbies/Talents. I feel bad about scrapping these, honestly 😂 They’re great and I really wanted to incorporate them but it just came down to already having a lot of stuff to code. Plus, I know I can write the Hobbies/Talents I stuck with far better. And for Book 2 purposes, as well!

Leo. as @sourandflightypeaches ​​ asked me about a long while ago, I had to scrap an entire RO 😢 His name is Leo, he was the nephew of wealthy west African diplomats residing in Emerson, and I love him dearly! His backstory was largely based on my mother’s childhood and the circumstances she lived through after immigrating to America. and... ok, i’m about to go on one hell of a tangent so buckle up and bear with me if you can 😅

my intention with this story, aside from writing things that I personally enjoy (graphic violence, spooky woods, social drama, romance, conspiracies 😚), is to explore greed, wealth, and how the ways people and families interact with those two things influence young people and who they grow up to be. here i go sounding pretentious af 😝 and here’s where I apply a cut for those who want to preserve a little mystery to the main characters!

With Gabe, we’ve got someone who grew up with very little stability or financial security but who has found unscrupulous methods to gain status and money, with both noble and selfish motivations.

Kile has some of that childhood experience in common with Gabe, having been in the foster care system since infancy, but they lucked out when they were adopted into massive wealth by a caring, loving couple—a couple that uses their wealth and privilege to be far more lenient and protective of Kile than is actually reasonable or responsible.

Jack comes from a prestigious wealthy family on his dad’s side who he loves dearly but there’s no getting around the fact that they love him back as much as they despise his working class mom.

Jessie is a spoiled sweet heiress (being the baby of her family and the only girl) and while she lives blissfully ignorant of the harmful source and impact of her father's income and career, she bears the weight of the expectation to fulfill very traditional gender roles, including her behavior and appearance, but also extending to her career and life plans.

Rain's wealth led to them growing up sheltered and isolated but also extremely accommodated, giving them maximum freedom and opportunity to discover and develop their personal talents and interests. However, they have almost no positive relationship with their parents who have essentially decided to give up on a kid that couldn't be exactly the accessory they tried to mold them to be—both in terms of their identity and personality.

Rupan/Rohan, at their very core, rejects everything about conformity, self-importance, and excessive luxury—which means they have never, ever truly fit in with their peers. Going full non-conformist, however, has resulted in them becoming alienated from much of their family, as well, despite them all loving each other very much. Their history with false friends and betrayals has led them to over-indulge in their vices and reckless behavior to compensate for that isolation. Sometimes, they just get in over their head and many times, they know better. Every time, it's just that the feeling of finally belonging is utterly intoxicating.

Vivian/Vincent has two extremely successful parents who didn't inherit but instead built up their wealth and they aspire to be just like them, to a degree that is well and truly unhealthy. Their mother specifically is an over-achiever and applies mountainous pressure for them to follow in her footsteps, especially academically. Vi is completely capable of achieving what their mom expects of them, but they were already an extremely sensitive perfectionist so this has made them intensely critical of themself. This is a large part of why they are such a rigid, no-nonsense person and that in turn has made them one of the most disliked people among their peers—which is a huge personal failure to them since their father is a very well-liked and socially successful person in town.

And the Emersons are peak privilege: inherent high social status, brains, looks, charisma, athleticism, and massive wealth. They could never have been anything less than extremely popular, just by virtue of their last name and the nature of the town's social dynamics and politics. And they do enjoy that privilege (esp Curt lol). However, it should go without saying that being so high profile, even (or maybe especially) just in the isolated scope of your hometown, isn't always a boon. Their family's and their own perceived failings are widely discussed and privately mocked and/or celebrated. Real friends are scarce while fake ones and snakes are plentiful. Plus their dad is a gigantic dickhead who sees his kids as extensions of his own status and reputation and not much else. Public shortcomings make for an unbearable time at home and the world outside the estate is at once overly accommodating, full of assumptions, and even subtly hostile at times—all unrelated to their own actions or character.

And with the MC, I think the narrative will make it clear there are several ways that story can go. You start off with irresponsible parents that have lost their wealth due to their own mismanagement and material ambitions—how that affects any individual MC should differ based on choices and consequences!

So why bring any of that up when I was supposed to be talking about my cut OC? 😂😂

Leo was going to be the unwelcome recent addition to his uncle’s household, the son of a brother his aunt hates for (petty af) Reasons, and she took that resentment out on him directly by restricting his access to nearly every aspect of the family's wealth. Especially material goods and living conditions. He was basically treated like the help, tasked with playing nanny for his many younger cousins and burdened with doing the homework and providing academic cover for his dumb as rocks cousin in the same grade as you all. To sum it up, he was basically a victim of trafficking at the hands of his own family with his uncle out of town enough to feign ignorance to how bad his wife was treating his nephew and his aunt going out of her way to keep him busy, at home, and isolated. This is sadly a super common form of trafficking in Francophone African cultures (although I don't think most people view it as trafficking. and I’m sure the same is true of other cultures but I don’t want to speak outside of my purview). And like I mentioned above, it’s how my own mom's (and idek how many cousins') child/teenhood went.

It’s a perspective on modern wealth, privilege and greed that I really, really wanted to tell. I am confident in saying it hasn't been explored in interactive fiction yet (though correct me—and direct me 👀—if I'm wrong) and out of all the wealth/greed explorations I came up with, it's the one I have the closest personal ties to and the strongest feelings about. The characters and plans I had for it were detailed and I'm proud of them but at the end of the day... I just couldn't find a place for Leo in the story at large.

Leo was, in fact, the last main character I came up with, when I had already designed and fleshed out the larger story and started crafting the timeline of major events. I think the worst thing I could have done for a story and perspective that I care about this much is shove it into a plot that didn't have room for it at the very base level, regardless of how well the character or his story is written. Shoe-horned characters always stick out. I didn’t want to disservice Leo by having him be the character that did nothing or could be removed from the main plot without affecting it at all, y’know? That’s so much worse than just forgoing the indulgence, imo :((

ugh.... Leooooo 😭 I'm so sorry bb, I failed youuu 😥

#lovely anon #answered #hotmess #ok I am truly so sorry for going on and on like this #writing #ch design #ty for this question it was really nice to revisit this stuff 😃 #and a nice reminder to not look back lol #scrapped

[ddixons-angel]

Fated: Season 5

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: So the last two chapters have been rather depressing with only a little bit of light at the end but barely anything that passes as fluff, I swear it does get better in this chapter though!! Please bear with me~~ :D I also completely forgot I chose this gif xD 

Chapter 7

The weather was not kind to the group as they all travelled down the road. It was scorching hot with the sun beating down on them. The tree sap Gloria had gathered for the group could only do so much for their hydration as she was only able to collect just a little more than half a bottle. Daryl was still pushing himself away from Gloria and even the rest of the group. Glenn had tried to offer him water but like he did with Gloria, Daryl brushed him off completely. 

“Tell ‘em I went lookin’ for water.” Daryl tells Abraham then he walks off into the woods. 

Gloria sighs as she watches him leave the group. Carol pats her shoulder as she walks beside her, Gloria glances at her and smiles softly. Daryl still hadn’t spoken to her yet, it seemed as though he was avoiding her whenever she tried to approach him. She tried to brush it off as him not wanting to lash out at her again, but it still stung. 

“What’s that?” Glenn says, looking in the distance.

In the middle of the road, there seemed to be a package of something that looked like bottles. As the group came closer, they saw that they were indeed bottles full of water. They all circled around it cautiously, not knowing what to do with it. They were all on borderline dehydration so the fact that they had bottles upon bottles of water in front of them was beyond tempting. Rick goes up to the bottles and picks up the paper on top of it. 

“‘From a friend’.” Rick reads, then scoffs and looks around. 

Shortly, Daryl comes out from the woods and he has a questioning face as he approaches Rick who hands him the paper. Gloria frowns when she notices burn marks on his left hand, he’s never had those before and they looked rather fresh. 

“Well, what else are we gonna do?” Tara asks, looking around the group.

“Not this,” Rick says firmly, “we don’t know who left it.”

“If that’s a trap, we already happen to be in it. But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend.” Eugene says, his eyes never leaving the bottles of water.

“What if it isn’t? What if they put something in it?” Carol says.

“There’s no way this is safe, it’s too good to be true.” Gloria says, shaking her head. 

Eugene doesn’t heed their word and goes for the water, picking up a bottle and opening it, calling it ‘quality assurance’. Rosita and Tara call out to him in protest and as he is about to take a drink, Abraham knocks it out of his hand, the contents of the bottle spilling all over the ground. 

“We can’t.” Rick says, eyeing Eugene.

There is tension within the group as they all stay silent, then they all look up as thunder rumbles. Soon enough, it begins to rain on them. Rick instructs them all to use anything they have to collect the rainwater. However, before they were able to, another roar of thunder sounds and in the distance, they all see dark storm clouds rolling in. 

“There’s a barn!” Daryl shouts to Rick over the sound of pouring rain.

“Where?” he shouts back.

The group follows Daryl’s lead to a barn nearby. Rick opens the door and he, Maggie, Carol, and Abraham scope out the place to make sure no one is inside. Once it’s cleared, the rest of the group file inside. The group dry themselves off then get ready to rest for the night. Daryl had started a fire for the group on one side of the barn and when he deemed it good enough, he went off to sit by the wall across the door with his crossbow. Gloria rummages through the bag of medical supplies, taking out an alcohol swab, a bandaid and an ointment for cuts and burns Steven had packed for her. She makes her way over to Daryl and kneels down beside him. 

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Gloria tells him, her voice soft, “but let me take care of the burns on your hand. The last thing you want is for it to get infected.” 

Daryl glances at her then down at the ground again, still not saying anything. However, he nods, granting her permission to help him with his burns. A small smile tugs on Gloria’s lips then she carefully takes his hand and places it in her lap. She opens the alcohol swab and proceeds to clean the burn, furrowing her brow when she sees that it’s a circular burn, like that of a cigarette. She sighs but doesn’t say anything about it, not wanting Daryl to pull away from her any more than he already has. Once cleaned, Gloria opens the tube of ointment and squeezes a small amount onto her finger, then gently dabs it onto the wound. She then patches up the burn with a bandaid. 

“All done,” she says with a small smile as she looks at him.

“Thanks...” Daryl says, biting his lip hesitantly.

Gloria closes the tube of ointment then hands it to him, “I’ll leave this with you, there’s more bandaids in the bag if you need to change it.” 

Without waiting for him to respond, she gets up and walks towards the door. A part of her was hoping that Daryl would grab her hand and pull her back to sit with him, but all she felt was disappointment when he didn’t. They’d drifted so far apart in the last few weeks, it was almost as if they reverted back to when they had just met at the quarry. 

Gloria makes her way to the door, wanting to tighten the chain that was holding it together so that the others wouldn’t be disturbed by its constant clanging. She is about to reach up to grab the chain when she sees a herd of walkers just outside the barn. She lets out a gasp at the sight, then pushes the door closed with her entire body. 

“Shit!” Gloria curses as the walkers had made it to the door, pushing and trying to get into the barn. 

She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold the door on her own, there were way too many walkers. Daryl was instantly by her side, pushing the door when he saw her struggling. Her eyes connect with his and he nods at her, reassuring her silently that they would be okay. Soon, they’re joined by Maggie, Glenn, Carol, Rick, Michonne, Sasha, Abraham, Rosita, Tara, Noah, Eugene, Gabriel, and Carl. Their entire group, minus Judith, were working together as an entire unit to keep the barn safe from walkers. 

---

The morning was peaceful compared to the night before. The storm had passed in the night, allowing the group to get some rest. Gloria’s eyes flutter open at the sound of birds chirping outside the barn, a familiar scent of smoke and leather consuming her. She sits up and rubs her eyes before realizing that there was something covering her for warmth as she slept. A smile tugs at her lips as she recognizes the angel wings on the leather vest. Gloria looks around and spots Daryl awake and fidgeting with his crossbow. Holding the vest in her hands, she gets up and makes her way over to him.

“Thanks,” she says as she hands it to him.

Daryl stops fidgeting with his weapon and looks at her for a moment before shrugging and taking it back from her, “‘ts nothin’... ya looked cold...”

Gloria smiles as she watches him shrug the vest back on his shoulders, “I was, but then I wasn’t, thanks to you.”

He lets out a small scoff but doesn’t look at her, seemingly avoiding her gaze. He is about to say something else when the door to the barn opens and Maggie calls their attention. Shortly after, she brings in a man who introduces himself as Aaron. The sudden appearance of a complete stranger rattles them all and they are now on full alert. 

It turns out that the group was being watched by Aaron and his friend. Maggie and Sasha decided to bring him in after he approached them both, only to be interrogated by Rick. Aaron told them all about his camp, a community called Alexandria, and wanted to bring them all back with him but after Terminus and what happened at Grady Memorial, none of them were trusting his word. Rick made this clear when he punched the man in the face. After interrogation and sending out a group to see if what he was saying about the routes and cars were true, Rick decided that they would take a look at the so-called community. Now, at night, they were on the road. Glenn, Rick, Michonne, and Aaron were in one car while the rest of the group were in an RV provided by Aaron, driven by Abraham. 

“Shit!” Abraham swears as he slams the breaks on the RV.

The road ahead of them was swarmed with walkers, Glenn’s car was ahead of them and had run into multiple walkers. Daryl was in the seat beside Abraham holding the map and navigating him on where to drive for a detour, hopefully to meet the others. 

“Look!” Maggie points at the flare that was shot in the distance, “you think that’s them?”

“Only one way to find out,” Abraham says as he starts to drive in the direction of the flare. 

They soon come across a herd surrounding a car and Gloria notices underneath the car is a man struggling to hide from the walkers. As the RV approaches, the walkers are attracted by the headlights and begin to make their way towards the vehicle. 

“We gotta help that guy,” Gloria says, putting attention on the man trapped under the car, “he must have been the one who shot the flare.”

Abraham looks at her then nods, without saying another word, he gets up from the driver’s seat and heads out the RV, smashing all and any walkers that come near him. The others follow suit, killing off all the walkers in the area before helping the man under the car. 

“It’s okay, they’re all dead, you can come out,” Gloria says, crouching to look at the man. 

“I can’t... my foot...” the man whimpers. 

She looks at the man’s foot and gasps when she sees that it’s trapped under the back wheel of the car. Daryl and Abraham take action immediately, carefully lifting and pushing the wheel off his foot, they drag him out from under the car. They thought it best that they would get somewhere safe before Gloria took a look at his foot and so they found an empty garage-like building and made their camp there. They had set up a makeshift bed and leg rest for the man to rest on as Gloria examined his foot in the second room.

“Looks like your ankle is broken,” Gloria says, then she looks around finding some wooden sticks and a cloth, “this is gonna hurt, I’m sorry in advance.”

“I don’t think it’ll hurt as much as when it actually happened,” the man chuckles, “I’m Eric by the way.”

“Gloria,” she says, “and I wouldn’t be so sure about it not hurting as much, just brace yourself.”

Eric is about to say something when he cries out in pain when Gloria begins to wrap his foot in the cloth with the sticks to keep his ankle in place. She gives him an ‘I told you so’ look and chuckles when he scoffs playfully at her. 

“Thank you, for saving my life and helping me with my ankle,” Eric says with a smile.

“It’s not a problem, treating a broken ankle is a lot better than the other things we’ve seen,” Gloria smiles back at him.

“I’m glad you decided not to leave,” Eric says sincerely.

Gloria frowns at his words in confusion, “what?”

“Alright, I’m gonna be very honest with you right now, Aaron and I were listening to you and your group before we approached you,” Eric says carefully then adds quickly, “but only because we weren’t sure whether you were good people or not! We couldn’t risk coming up to you without knowing.”

“That’s totally an invasion of privacy... this better not be a habit in your camp.” Gloria eyes him warily.

“It isn’t, I promise.” Eric says, “anyway... I just wanted to tell you that I think Glenn’s right, this group needs you. And right now, I may be biased because you helped me with my ankle, but I really do think it’s a good thing you decided to stay and not leave.”

Gloria ponders for a moment before chuckling, “if I left, you would have been fine regardless, Maggie knows how to do this too.” 

“I think I would have tried to track you down if you really did leave,” Eric grins at her.

She rolls her eyes at him then pats his knee, “I’ll let you rest.”

Without another word, Gloria gets up and walks out to the other room where the others are. Soon, Rick and the others arrived at the building. Gloria was relieved to see Glenn safe. Aaron had reunited with his boyfriend, Eric, and Rick had finally decided that they were trustworthy enough to take them back to their community in the morning. Gloria decided that she would help take first watch that night as she now sat outside in front of the door. An hour into her shift, the door opens and Daryl walks out. 

Gloria looks at him in confusion, “what are you doing?”

He leans on the wall, not responding to her question, “ya were gonna jus’ leave...?”

A pang of guilt hits her as she realizes that Daryl must have overheard her conversation with Eric earlier. She looks away and sighs, silently giving him his answer, but he wanted her to say it. He goes to her and pulls her up by her arm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Ya were gonna jus’ leave without sayin’ anythin’ to me?” Daryl asks again.

“I thought about it...” Gloria says, unable to look at him. 

“Why?” he asks, frowning.

Gloria finally looks at him, but she didn’t know what to tell him. She couldn’t say that a large reason was that he pushed her away and ignored her when she kept trying to reach out, she knew exactly what that would do to him. Gloria knew very well that he felt guilty for Beth, just as much as she did, and his way of coping was to push everyone away. She was sure he knew how much it hurt her, but she also understood why he still did it. 

“Was it ‘cause o’ me...?” Daryl mutters, looking at her, guilt in his eyes.

“No,” Gloria says almost immediately. 

The look on Daryl’s face told her that he didn’t believe her. He knew that when he pushed her away, it hurt her and he hated himself even more for it. Whenever Gloria tried to reach out to him, all he wanted to do was go to her and let her soothe his pained heart. The only place he wanted to be was in her arms as she comforted him and chased all of his guilt away. But he couldn’t allow that, he felt that he didn’t deserve any of that. Her affection, forgiveness, love. He had let them down, he let them all down. If it wasn’t for him, Beth wouldn’t have gotten taken by the people at Grady Memorial, and she would have never met Dawn, and Dawn wouldn’t have ever had the chance to kill her. 

That guilt weighed heavily in Daryl’s heart and he felt the need to let it eat away at him, because he felt that he deserved it. He couldn’t let Gloria talk him out of it. He knew that she was the only one who would be able to, so he had to push her away, but when Daryl hit the bottle out of her hands that day, he realized that he had almost hit her. And that terrified him more than anything. Daryl was so afraid that he would some day turn into his dad, which was why he did everything he could to avoid being anywhere near Gloria. If he ever hurt her, he’d never forgive himself. 

“I pushed ya away...” Daryl mumbles sadly.

“No matter how many times you push me away, I’ll always come back to you, Daryl,” Gloria reassures him.

“I almost hit ya...” he says, his voice small but thick with emotion as the tears in his eyes threaten to fall.

“But you didn’t,” she says back, taking a step towards him and caressing his face with her hand, “you’d never hurt me.” 

That was all it took for Daryl to break down, he lets out a pained whimper as he repeats her words, “I’d never hurt ya...”

He allows himself to lean into her as she wraps her arms around him. He rests his head on her shoulder as he cries, letting out his emotions as he holds onto her for dear life. Gloria holds him close to her, rubbing small soothing circles on his back. She lets him cry in her arms for as long as he needs and soon, his sobs die down to small shaky breaths. Daryl pulls away from her with a small sniffle and Gloria smiles softly at him.

“Feeling better?” she asks, her head slightly tilted to the side.

Daryl nods shyly, as if embarrassed that he cried in front of her. Gloria gently puts her hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb lovingly and he can’t help but lean into her touch. 

“I love ya.” he says, looking her in the eyes. 

“I love you, too.” Gloria says, smiling lovingly at him.

He finally breaks into a small smile at her words then pulls her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her body. She snakes her arms around his waist, her head resting on his chest. They stay like that in a comforting silence for a small moment.

“Daryl...” Gloria calls out softly, but she doesn’t move from her spot, “do you have any more cigarettes?” 

Her question causes him to frown in confusion and he looks down at her, “what?”

Gloria pulls away from him to look up at him, “do you have any more cigarettes?”

“I do... why?” he answers, hesitant.

She lifts her hand with her palm up, “give them to me.”

Daryl furrows his brows even more, “but ya don’ smoke.”

“I don’t, but you do,” Gloria says, making him even more confused, she sighs softly, “the burns on your hand... I know where they’re from.”

Daryl purses his lips, unable to say anything as a guilty look falls on his face once more. He hurt himself, he burned himself with a cigarette on purpose and she knew. He didn’t want her to be able to figure it out but he knew that she was smart enough to put the pieces together. Without another word, Daryl reaches into his pocket and puts his remaining cigarettes in her hand. 

Gloria looks down at them, “the next time you want a smoke, you ask me, and I’m going to check your hands before and after.”

He nods obediently. Even though he did feel like he was being treated like a child, deep down he felt oddly warm. No one but Gloria has ever shown this much love, care, and respect for him, and it made his heart swell. 

“I love ya.” he says again.

“For taking away your cigarettes?” Gloria tilts her head, slightly confused, she thought he would get upset.

“For carin’ so much.” he says with a side smile then he leans in to kiss her lips gently.

Gloria smiles into his lips and kisses him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was aware that she was on watch duty, but her and Daryl needed this time alone together. Somehow, she just knew that their group would be safe that night and she had a good feeling that their journey to this Alexandria place would be a good place for them all to start something new. 

---

Next Chapter

And they’re back together!! Yayy!!! Well they never actually split but you know what I mean haha and they met Aaron and Eric! And now they’re off to Alexandria~! See, a lot of good things happened :D Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, all of your comments/likes/reblogs mean so so so much to me and I appreciate every single one of you ^^ 

I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

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[0poole]

Soul

Breaking news, everyone: Pixar made another slapper.

I’m gonna get it out of the way first, but the only (and yes, only. Not like someone trying to say “only” even though they have many more nitpicks that they just don’t want to talk about) problem I had at all was that the super high realism of the settings of Earth kind of made the more cartoony faces of the people look a little more off. But, it’s kinda like the same thing people were talking about with that cat in Toy Story 4. It looks super real, which is impressive, but I feel like it was almost too real compared to the faces. Obviously it was too real compared to the supernatural settings because that was intentional, but yeah. It’s not even a big problem, it’s just the only one I can think of. I do think the realistic renderings of hair, light, water, etc at least work with cartoony stuff, but apart from that it looked almost like it could’ve been a photograph, with no exaggeration in the buildings or anything else.

I mean, I love the faces, so I definitely wish they went the extra mile showing extra personality and character in the buildings, as faces do with characters. Considering the faces matter like a bazillion times more, I still think they knocked it out of the park on the visuals. People with more investment and knowledge into the topic already said that the faces of any of the people of color felt cartoony and unique while also being true to life and respectful (My family recently stumbled onto some old animations from the 30s and lemme tell ya... We’ve come a long way), but seriously the characters that sold me on the visuals were the Picasso-esque beings who may or may not be the Gods of the universe maybe?

Spoiler boundary of course. It’s definitely worth a watch.

And that’s honestly what made the realistic world so much better. When the accountant guy went into the real world to set the count right, it was one of the most fun I’ve had just watching something. The sheer contrast between him and the world was so much fun, and it even solidified that those beings weren’t even acting in a different dimension or anything. They’re literally just beings that exist, meaning that all the other parts with the unborn souls and such are just as real as Earth. Or, even better, they’re the ones who can just casually rip a hole in dimensions. As far as depictions of Gods go, if they are even Gods at all, I think they’re one of the best I’ve ever seen. They feel like they could actually be how Gods actually exist, since all the commonalities of Gods involve supernatural power, which would suggest they’re supernatural themselves. I mean, I have a story with Gods in it too and they’re basically just that although admittedly a lot less imaginative.

With those guys being my favorite design, second place definitely goes to the lost souls, although obviously for more subjective reasons. 1) They’re purple, 2) They have one eye, 3) That eye is yellow which I always think is the best compliment to purple, 4) Tentacles, 5) Creepy in a kid’s movie. Franky, I would’ve made them a lot creepier, but even then they’re super creepy, if not visually then in their behavior. They’d just be kind of sad if they were just mumbling around, but since the first introduction to them starts charging at the main characters like a deranged monster. Considering how weird everything in that dimension is, finding something that isn’t nearly as innocent as everything else instantly invokes fear, since you have no idea what that thing can and wants to do to you. Sort of similar, I would’ve also made the “In the Zone” moments a bit more crazy and colorful, like when Joe fell through the void between the road to the Great Beyond and the You-seminar (is that how it’s spelled?), but these “I would do it differently”s might just be a fault of my design ideas or just subjective interests. I would’ve watched 2 hours of pure, nonsensical abstract worlds like the You-seminar with no explanation to how they work.

I definitely have a relief with the story, mostly entirely revolving around 22′s character. I was kind of worried she’d be too childish to really enjoy, but I feel like she was done really well. All the major historical figures’ remarks on how hopeless she were both funny and also really tied into her character “flaw” at the end as she was a lost soul. It might not be the most unique character archetype of all time, but it definitely makes sense, with all the people bringing her down implanting in her mind that she was an anomaly, and after a while was just sort of following it. Plus, she seemed genuinely interested in Joe’s weirdness, instead of being super mindlessly irreverent. And her being able to expand Joe’s understanding about his own world, like with the barber and his student, brings her up as more than a whiny, bratty child in the scope of the story. She didn’t JUST learn.

Even though I kind of expected it from the get-go, I’m also relieved that the movie didn’t shy away as much with the dark elements of death. It was kind of suggested that this wasn’t going to be a perfectly casual romp through a magical afterlife like Inside Out was with the mind because of the unborn souls unabashedly saying “Hell” in the TRAILER of the movie. I feel like that alone made the story super interesting, because it shows they’re actually going to be a bit more serious with things instead of just simplifying the unknowable complexities of the before & afterlife. Even with the dead souls going into the Great Beyond, it was a mix of being weirdly peaceful for some and super scary for others. My family thought it was peaceful for the most part, but my mom specifically though it was terrifying, and even though it’s a lot more peaceful than almost all other depictions of death, I can’t blame her. The souls were just kinda accepting it, like they’d been brainwashed or something, but still acknowledged that they were dead and were going into the afterlife. Plus, Joe, being the main character who we are supposed to sort of reflect in a way, was super freaked out by it, so that could easily suggest it’s to be afraid of and the other people are the weird ones.

I think the true message of the story being so strange was better too, because it would’ve been so boring if it fell into a super basic message we’ve heard millions of times. I feel like it has a similar sentiment to the basic messages, but is at least a more interesting way of saying it, if it is even like that in the first place, because it’s also somewhat vague in a good way. I think my brother/mother misinterpreted and simplified things a bit too much, where they thought it was sort of like a happier way of saying “accept your lot in life and don’t change it.” I could probably go on a full other rant about why I think this is wrong, but part of it is I don’t really know how they came to this conclusion in the first place, considering with that scene with that guy who threw the computers off his desk as his lost soul was cured (I guess you could call it that?), who obviously realized he wasn’t okay with his lot in life and was destined to change it. I think they sort of misinterpreted “the spark” and other things it as a 100% for-real, this-is-how-the-real-world-works sort of way, and not as much as a fictional way of saying things. Not necessarily symbolic, but I guess symbolic also? It has some of the same weird logical problems as the Cutie Marks from My Little Pony, except they’re obviously better since Cutie Marks determine your life down to your very job some of the time, while “sparks” are more vague and seemingly up to you. They’re more like when an unborn soul realizes there’s something on Earth they want to figure out, not necessarily their hobbies or jobs. For example, they kind of cited the barber character as the one who supported their point, but I think he does the complete opposite. He wanted to be a vet, but he ended up being a barber. But, they sort of assumed his “spark” was to be a barber, and that his personal interests didn’t matter because the “spark” forced him into a less favorable job. But, in reality, I feel like his “spark” is more his interest in love for the people around him, which is why he decided to get a more practical job to support his daughter (wife? one of the two) when he really needed to. Plus, he still enjoys being a barber because his devotion to love lets him connect to people as he cuts their hair. After all, he seems to be succeeding in his goal, since Joe was just like “Hey, let’s go see this guy he’s the exact guy we need!” People who don’t show love and interest for others don’t make that kind of impression in people’s minds. I feel like if we knew each story of everyone’s life down to the last detail we could fully determine what the mechanics of the world and its people are meant to say from a fictional context, but with such a limited selection I don’t think you can say something so sure. Sure, every choice in a movie is made specifically for a purpose, but I feel like if a movie tries to hard to be like “Oh but don’t worry here’s an exception” a million times it gets bogged down by its own attempt to make the message as obvious as possible.

Anyway...

There are also a lot of neat little details I loved, like how even though they did this for basically no other point in the movie, they made sure to include people from all around the world in that mess of dead souls, firmly sort of putting in the idea that the entire globe is in a sense one single entity that leads to the same place. They could’ve so easily just made everyone speak English for that throwaway scene, but I feel like including people from all around the world was very beneficial. Even the EXTRA little things, like the path to the Great Beyond looking like the neck portion of a guitar with the metal bits that separate the notes, or the facial features of the Gods blurring when they turned their heads in the other direction.

But yeah, who would’ve guessed Pixar made another good movie, right? Even then, Soul’s in the upper echelon of Pixar films. I really hope they (and Disney) realize they can go bonkers with a movie and still benefit/survive from it, since they’re so damn rich and inherently profitable. I think AAA animated movies like this that are the perfect amount of artsy are few and far between, and we need more of them. If anything, I hope they get more artsy, but I guess I’ll still never say no to a fun fantastical romp either. Basically, Pixar has looped me into watching any and everything they produce because it’s never “bad” I think. In the grand scheme of quality, even their worst work (Cars 2) is still not “terrible,” per se, even if it feels like it exists more as a cash grab than a genuine tale.

#soul #pixar #christmas #disney plus #disney+ #poole #opinions #rant #rambling #review #thoughts

[bigskydreaming]

IGN’s recent Bat-focused article (Batman: What Does Red Hood Need to Do to Get A Good Story?) praises fanfic writers and also is an amazing critique of how stagnant Jason has become under recent DC management and I’m so surprised at how good it is and how well thought out the solutions were

Hmmm. I just looked it up and I mean, I’m not trying to start anything but I both agree and disagree? Like, it makes some points for sure, I mean, its not like its saying things that I haven’t said a thousand times about Dick, like.....these characters need to be allowed access to a full range of emotions, both good and bad, in order to be fully fleshed out, so I mean yes on that premise alone I absolutely agree this is as true for Jason as it is for Dick or anyone else.

Tbh my only real criticism of the piece is it thinks Jason exists in a particular predicament the other characters aren’t in as well. And that I just don’t agree with, like they kinda lost me a bit with their first paragraph:

His complexities and moral ambiguity make him a compelling and distinct character among his more strait-laced Robin-brothers. Sadly, the character has seen little growth since his rage-filled reintroduction into comics. The ‘former Robin becomes a villain’ idea was enough for DC to coast on for a while but since rejoining the heroes, Red Hood has done little else.

First off, this may just be me being pedantic but I’m ALWAYS going to go fetch a grain of salt before continuing reading anything that pits Jason against his brothers in a war of his moral ambiguity against their strait-lacedness. Because to me, that’s just a fundamentally shallow view of the Batfam that caters to the idea that they each must have their own distinct niche in order to be fully viable individual characters, when a) no, and b) they don’t fit neatly into the niches people keep trying to slot them into and it never ends well for anybody. 

Like Jason is morally ambiguous in a lot of ways too, yes, but umm, even if we assume that the writer is only speaking of Dick, Tim and Damian, we’re talking a guy who beat the Joker to death with his bare hands and has ten assassins and mercenaries on his speed dial and who co-led the Outsiders, a guy who was deeply immersed in weighing the pros and cons of getting revenge for his father by getting Captain Boomerang killed and is forever being DMed by Ra’s because he’s convinced he can get Tim to say He Has Some Points Actually, and the kid who was an assassin with a body count by age ten and who has struggled constantly ever since his debut to define his OWN personal view of morality that is not wholly predicated on what he was taught by any single individual.

And this is a big part of where I part ways with the article, because I think it falls into the same trap that a lot of people do by believing fanfic is inherently better by doing the same thing from just a different angle. Fanfic CAN be better than the canon, I absolutely believe that, I believe it is at times, but to do so, it has to like, BE BETTER. It has to do things differently, and not just paint a slightly different veneer over the same things. Like, pedantic though it might be, I outlined the above issue because its a mode of thinking the canon absolutely falls into again and again, and just like the writer of that article themselves, like....I think fandom as a whole is no different? 

Like, yes there are great stories about Jason out there, some writers have done great and interesting things with him, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a huge trend in fandom of doing the exact same thing I see here.....which is honestly a huge part of the exact same problem the article is decrying canon for......LIMITING Jason (and all the Batfam) by reducing them and their stories to finite niches as a way of spotlighting them as different from their siblings.....except they’re not that different! And that’s okay! They don’t have to be! Families can have lots in common, families DO have lots in common due to like.....shared variables during their formative years. 

I mean Jason was heavily influenced by environmental factors in how and where he grew up before he ever met Batman, but like the article goes into itself, he was no less influenced by Bruce himself as his father figure.....which is something he absolutely has in common with his siblings, thus its not hard at all to see how his siblings could have similar complexities and moral struggles that stem from trying to reconcile Bruce’s influence with the many other things and people that have influenced their childhoods.

And similarly, while the article is dead-on about Jason’s stagnancy....this is something that applies in equal measure to the rest of his family, because they’re all facing the same issues in terms of how DC views and utilizes them, and fandom as much as it likes to condemn DC for doing just that....frequently does the same thing. Like, Jason’s stuck in canon, absolutely......but Dick keeps being popped out into his own microcosm to experience a couple years of stories that essentially turn him into completely different characters isolated from every communal part of his character’s history, and then ERASE everything that’s happened at the end of each of these stories and reset him to square one.....and that’s just a different kind of stagnancy that again, still never allows for actual character progression or development. Tim has LITERALLY been regressed back to Robin, like a hard reset that’s its own kind of stagnancy and Damian has had years of character development upended just to kick him back to where he started, effectively strip away all the connections he’s developed at least in any meaningful way, etc.....and the same holds true for Babs and Cass and Steph and even Bruce himself IMO, in a lot of ways.

Its absolutely a problem, but its a problem that extends far beyond just Jason even if he is a great example of it. And its also a problem that extends into fic itself, and that’s why I don’t agree with a lot of the conclusions that article draws beyond just the fundamental “these characters need to be allowed access to a full range of emotions.”

Yes. That. That right there, THAT I think is crucial, but I think that writer needed to widen the scope a little to take in the full impact of what that actually MEANS for the characters....so as to not accidentally repeat the same problem they’re being critical of by essentially arguing for a full range of emotions for Jason....while still defining or viewing Jason through a finite lens of “the more morally ambiguous Bat character, at least as compared to his brothers.”

Because its that last part that’s so detrimental, because it seems like such a little thing at first, until you realize that essentially its just putting a ceiling, a cap on how far those full ranges of emotions can be expressed. Like the problem with Dick Grayson in canon and fanon is NOT that he can’t be written with a full range of emotions.....its that his character absolutely can encompass a wide range of opinions and viewpoints and emotional stances from “I don’t believe in killing as a first option” to “I absolutely can, will, and have beaten a damn clown to death for joking about murdering my brother”.....and he can still walk away as Dick Grayson after expressing both those things, because his character is big enough to include them both. HE’S not limited as a character, its canon writers and fandom writers that both heap artificial limitations of their OWN on him, say that his character is so defined in such a specific way that there’s no way for the latter expression of his character to actually be IN character.....and the fatal flaw here is fully fleshed out characters are never just one thing. They don’t fit in niches anymore than people do, and notice the problems we all run into when we try and pigeon hole people as being just one thing, like humans can’t be contradictory or act against their own self-interest or be hypocritical or evolve or even regress past prior viewpoints....basically, any time you try and sum up a human being in one line, no matter how accurate that description is, there’s still SOME things that are going to be left out of that picture. 

Now, these things don’t always have to matter that much, like if I look at a serial killer and say that’s a serial killer, like, I might be leaving out of the picture that once he helped an old lady across the street and didn’t kill her and he doesn’t even know why, and I for one, simply do not care that I leave that out of the picture. Its irrelevant to the big picture for me. I can acknowledge that it adds a smidgen of nuance to that particular picture and then go yeah but also I don’t care, nuance denied.

But in terms of fictional characters, these things that get left in the discard pile when we try and sum up characters as just one thing, like, they can be hugely significant, because characters unlike real people, are simply WHAT WE MAKE OF THEM. That stuff that’s been left out of the big picture look at that character because its stuff most people to DEFINE what that character looks like have deemed irrelevant....its still there, and still perfectly relevant for anyone who wants to pick that stuff up and make something of it, use it to change the overall picture or even just point to ways and places that picture can absolutely encompass and include these other elements and STILL fundamentally be that same picture, that same character.

And this isn’t to say that characters can never be written out of character, its to say that usually IMO what ACTUALLY makes the difference between something being out of character and something just being an unexpected but still valid character choice is just.....how these things are executed. The latter is when writers make the effort to JUSTIFY their character choice, to sell audiences on why and how this is absolutely something this character would do, to take them on a journey of what led the character to making this choice and let them see how those steps actually line up, that’s an actual journey that character might take. The former is when writers just don’t bother and are just like, well here’s a thing that character did, and you know it was in character because well that’s the character and that’s what I wrote them doing lol, what more do you want. No. Yawn. Next.

But the trick is if you’re going to try and make a character a SPECTRUM of emotions and choices rather than just a same datapoint recurring over and over again endlessly, a literal sticking point that never advances, never progresses, never changes......you have to actually give that character free range to utilize that spectrum of emotions and choices.....not just confine them to accessing all those possibilities but ONLY within a narrowly defined niche that is its own kind of limitation.

A character can START from a logline, absolutely. Can BEGIN in a narrative niche as a way to INTRODUCE them as seemingly different from their surroundings or their peers when they do not yet have the backstory, the evidence of past stories and character choices readers can use to interpret their actions or guess their choices.....but narrative niches, IMO, are meant to have a shelf life, an expiration date. They’re a seed for characters to grow FROM, to grow PAST, not return to over and over again.....because that’s when a niche just becomes another house that stagnancy built.

Anyway, thanks for the thoughts and the article mention.....it was an interesting exploration of thoughts for me even if I didn’t ultimately agree with a lot of what was already said....still a worthwhile read though I think and I mean hey, its cool if you still agree with it more even if I don’t, lol. This is just my take.

[serendipitykpop]

do you like him?

Pairing: mark lee x reader

Summary: “So do you like Mark?”

“Let’s see. What do I have to get done today?”

You mumbled to yourself as you made a list of all the chores you had to get done before the weekly movie night later tonight. The ‘99 line made a unanimous decision to hold it at your house every Friday, even though you hadn’t suggested such an idea. Though, you didn’t mind since you always ended up having a good time with them anyways.

They were currently sprawled all over your living room, taking advantage of your brother’s gaming console while your family was out doing their own thing. You barely spared a glance their way as you were too busy to deal with their shenanigans.

“Do the laundry, make the snacks, order the pizza, clean up the movie room to set  up the blankets and pillows, and I think that should be it.” You nodded and got up to gather the dirty laundry. You passed the boys on your way, letting them where you were if they needed anything. They grunted in response, too focused on the tv screen.

“Y/N!” You heard someone loudly yell your name, interrupting your thoughts. You let out a sigh and turned to the door. Yukhei poked his head into the basement with a big smile on his face. You didn’t like it when he had that particular smile.

“Yes, Yukhei?”

His smile widened from being acknowledged. He happily walked in and leaned against the dryer with his arms crossed. You quirked an eyebrow.

“I have a question.”

“And I don’t know if I have an answer.”

Usually, whenever he had a question, it was so far fetched, you had no idea how to respond to appease his curiosity. Then again, his rapid-fire of questions always happened when you want to sleep after a long day, but Yukhei just has to absolutely know why it’s not possible for the moon to be made out of cheese.

Yukhei blinked at you, making you sigh.

“Fine. Ask your question,” You said as his smile returned to his face. He looked both left and right as if scoping out the possibility that someone was listening in. You rolled your eyes and began putting clothes into the washer.

“Do you like Mark?”

Your eyes widened and you froze in your spot, then slowly turned to him. He acted as if his question didn’t carry so much and that it was just another one of his silly questions. You gulped. What kind of question was this?

You nervously laughed, lightly punching him in the arm. “Yukhei. What are you talking about-”

“Well, I was just wondering since you tend to stare at him a lot when you think he’s not looking. Then, you brighten up like a lightbulb when he comes into the room. You practically drool when you see him in concert attire and even casual attire. I sometimes think your face is going to get permanently stuck in a smile from how much you laugh with him. You’ve also got this goofy look on your face when he gives you a hug and then-”

“Okay, I get it already.” You place your hand over his mouth to stop him from exposing any more of your secrets. You were beet red in the face and pretty sure there was steam coming from it because of how embarrassed you were.

“So is it true?” Yukhei asked after you dropped your hand. You groaned, facepalming. You thought you hid it well, but apparently not.

“Why must you know so badly?” You finally looked at him in the eye. He smiled and shrugged.

“Oh, because Guanheng and Dejun don’t believe me.”

“You three have talked about this-”

“GUANHENG. DEJUN.”

“Shut up, Yukhei! What are you doing?” You exclaimed, trying to shut him up. You didn’t want Mark coming down to see what you were all up to. He was the last person you wanted to explain this to.

Not soon after, two heads poked into the basement.

“You called?” Guanheng smiled as they walked in and Dejun closed the door behind them. You really wanted to die.

“Mark’s going to get suspicious if we’re all down here without him.”

“Don’t worry about that. He’s too busy playing with Donghyuk right now,” Dejun assured you, but you didn’t feel any better.

You shot a death glare towards Yukhei to which he only smiled innocently. You ran a hand through your hair out of stress. The three boys got closer.

“So is it true? That you like Mark?” Guanheng whispered, cupping his hand to make it more secret.

“I won’t believe it until Y/N says so,” Dejun said to Yukhei. 

“I’m telling you they’re totally in love, man.” 

Which caused an argument between the three of them. You only wanted to do laundry, but now you were being bombarded with questions and their shenanigans.

“Well, it is questionable when Y/N looks at Mark as if he’s the cutest thing in the entire universe and goes on about for hours.”

“And Y/N does laugh a little louder when the joke isn’t that funny, but it makes Mark super happy.”

“And isn’t it always Y/N who is the first person to comfort Mark when he’s feeling insecure or doesn’t feel good?”

“Y/N also has a tendency to space off with this loopy smile whenever Mark is mentioned.”

“Even when it comes to special events, Y/N does the utmost for Mark, but only for him.” Guanheng and Dejun went back and forth, listing all the embarrassing things you do around the boy.

“See, doesn’t all of that mean Y/N likes Mark? Dare I say, even love him?” Yukhei gasped and the two of them nodded along.

“It does make sense.”

“Yes, after all, those are the things you do when you like someone.”

“So there’s no denying it, Y/N. You love him.”

“Ooo, you love him!”

You were trembling with embarrassment. Your face was the reddest the boys have ever seen. All of your feelings had just been brought to light. What more could you argue when the facts were all there? They were so obvious.

“All right! So, maybe I do like him!” You exclaimed, making big smiles appear on their faces. They instantly erupt into chaos, yelling about how it was all coming together, that they were going to be groomsmen in due time. “Shut up! He’s definitely going to hear now!”

“You love him, Y/N! You really love him!” Guanheng teased.

“I can’t wait for the wedding!” Dejun beamed.

“I want to be the godfather, I called it!” Yukhei interjected, pointed to himself and eyeing the other two.

Was it really a good idea to have told these boys your biggest secret?

“Just, wait. I don’t plan on telling him anytime soon, so I need the three of you to keep your mouths shut, okay?”

“But why?” They whined like children who couldn’t get what they wanted. You sighed.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have right now. Maybe, there will be a day where I tell him, but for now, I like how we are.”

They pouted.

“But-”

“No buts.”

“Fine.”

“But we’re happy though, Y/N. You were able to tell us something as big as that.”

“Did I really have a choice?” You chuckled and they shrugged.

“Now, boys. It’s up to us now to get these two kids together. We have to be discrete, but also forward in our advances.”

“Right.”

“So what we need to do is get them to be together all the time. We need to tell the other members, so we can all get this to work.”

“Oh, no, you don’t! You’re not getting the others involved!”

“But why not? We want little Y/N/Mark babies running around soon!”

“Yeah, how else are we going to have that when nothing happens?”

“You three better run. Now.”

Chaos ensued as Yukhei, Guanheng and Dejun run around the basement in pursuit of finding a place to hide from your wrath. They really were going to get it now that they have teased you that much.

“So you two gonna get freaky later?”

“YUKHEI.”

“WE’RE SO DEAD.”

“YUKHEI, WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?”

“IT WAS A GENUINE QUESTION THOUGH.”

Little did you all know, there was a certain someone listening in behind the wall.

“Woah. I don’t think I was meant to hear all that,” Mark mumbled, red as a cherry with his hand over his mouth. Though, he couldn’t help but feel giddy that you felt the same way.

“What do I do now?”

#mark #mark scenarios #mark imagines #mark lee #lee minhyung #minhyung #minhyung scenarios #minhyung imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream

[lihikainanea]

What if Bill and Tiger go to Sweden to visit Bill’s family. One evening, Bill and Tiger are in bed. Tiger is on top, riding him when suddenly the door swings open and in walks Gustaf. Oops! Tiger is so embarrassed but Bill laughs and laughs. What would happen next?

oh godddddddd, poor tiger. Listen, I sincerely hope that NONE of you ever have to experience the utter, horrible embarrassment of having somebody walk in on you. It is mortifying.

And part of me wants to take the easy way out here and say that Bill was on top and he’s huge so he probably covered most of her, but now you’ve gone and made me cringe with second hand embarrassment by telling me that’s not at all what happened and oh godddd.

Maybe it happened because tiger’s been a little shy for sexy times with Bill because they are literally just surrounded by his entire huge family and she thinks that not only will they hear them, but that there’s the potential for somebody to just whip the door open--not that it’s really something anyone would do, without knocking first.

Except maybe it’s some crossed wires. Maybe the entire family is out, but Bill and tiger hung back to just sit on the dock and enjoy each other’s company.  Except then they realize--they’re alone. For the first time in a week. And neither one of them have to say anything, they just exchange a look and then Bill is tripping all over himself trying to catapult out of the Adirondack chair he’s in and tiger is pulling at every part of him she can get a hold of, and these two idiots just trip their way into the house and up the stairs, all over each other.

Except Gustaf--who was off on a hike to write ~poetry~ by a secret lake-- comes back to the cabin, because he wants his headphones. And when they’re not in his room, he thinks for a moment--right, he loaned them to Bill yesterday when they were outside and Bill didn’t want to go and get his.

Gustaf thinks the house is empty, and Bill always keeps his door closed, so he just swings it open--and there’s tiger, booty shakin’, riding Bill like she’s in the fucking Kentucky Derby and he’s a prized stallion.

The poor girl. Poor Gustaf, gentle Gustaf who always just wants people to feel comfortable around him. Tiger launches off of Bill, dives for the covers and Bill quickly wraps them around her. Gustaf is gone so fast he leaves a puff of air in his shape in the doorframe.

And oh god, tiger is mortified. Bill wants to chase after his bro, ask him what the fuck he was thinking, but tiger is already crying and hyperventilating and he needs to make sure she’s okay first.

“Easy kid,” he soothes, “I know that was awful.”

But tiger just curls in more on herself, hugs the sheets tighter around her.

“Oh god,” she wails, “Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.”

“Tiger, stop,” he tries gently, putting a calming hand on her back but she flinches. She’s barely getting any air in, so Bill reaches for his pants on the floor, grabs her inhaler from the pocket. He holds it to her lips, steadying her with his hand on the back of her head.

“Deep breath kid,” he says, and when she tries to inhale he pumps a dose through. He gives it a second, cupping her cheek as he tries to talk her down.

“I know, tiger,” he soothes, but she’s still wheezing.

“Bill he...he saw...I was...he just barged in and I was...”

Bill gently presses his palm over her mouth to stop her rambling--she needs to focus on just trying to breathe.

“Stop,” he says firmly, “Just take a deep breath.”

She tries, and manages a deep enough one. He coaxes her into another one.

“Tiger, look at me,” he says gently. And her eyes are shifty but they flit to his eventually, and she lets out a little sob.

“I’m sorry that happened, kid,” he says. And truth be told, he’s actually....kind of relieved that it was Gustaf. Any other brother and it would have been much worse, but he’s not about to tell tiger that.

She whines again, a fresh set of tears wet her cheeks, and he swipes them away.

“Tiger I’m so sorry,” he says again, “But kid, look, it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.”

But oh god Bill, you bonehead, that’s not what she wants to hear, and it just makes her cry a little harder.

“Bill I wasn’t just naked,” she wheezes, “We were...I was....oh god.”

Bill sighs--she’s got a point.

I’ll bet it takes a long ass time for him to be able to calm her down--maybe he tells her a few stories of some really embarrassing moments for Gustaf to try and help her feel better. Maybe he tells her that he walked in on Gustaf once, and whether to not that’s true is debatable--maybe he fibs just a tiny bit, because tiger is really freaking out and he needs to help her reel it back in. Either way, she’s by no means calm, but after awhile maybe she stops breathing so heavy.

“I’m gonna go talk to him, kid,” he says softly, “Do you want to come?”

“No.”

“Tiger, you should face him sooner rather than later, before this gets bigger in your head,” he says as he pulls his pants on. But she shakes her head vehemently. He turns to head out the room, and she grabs a hold of his hand so tightly it hurts.

“Bill, don’t mention anything about this to him. Not a fucking word,” she says. Bill looks at her confused--but just nods his head. Sometimes, he has to fib to her a bit for her own good. Being honest at this point would just make her worse.

And look, I’ll bet this is really not a big deal for Bill, or for Gustaf. Sex is so much more of a casual thing in Europe, and especially the Nordic countries where they just have a much healthier (in my opinion) view on sex. It’s something that everyone talks about, it’s something that everyone is open about, it’s just a natural part of life. The only reason Bill might be a little upset is because he’s a bit of a jealous bean, and now his big bro saw tiger naked and that makes Bill’s blood boil. But rationally, protective streak aside--he’s really not at all disturbed by it. So I’ll bet the conversation between him and big bro is pretty casual--just a light-hearted “knock next time, would you?” and Gustaf smiling wistfully, making a small joke that Bill should be thankful it wasn’t Valter who walked in.

But Gustaf, wise as he is, probably knows that tiger is a little less than comfortable with it all.

“Is she okay?” he asks, and Bill looks at him pleadingly.

“Can you talk to her?” he says, “She won’t talk to you first. She’s going to spend the rest of the trip avoiding you, actually--and that’s if she ever comes out of the room.”

Gustaf nods. And Bill’s right--tiger probably doesn’t leave the room for the entire day. Trips to the bathroom are an affair worthy of a spy operation--she scopes out the hallway, pastes herself to the wall, and sleuths to her target.

But look, Gustaf doesn’t ever want to make her more uncomfortable, but these things...they kind of need to be talked about. And tiger has to look him in the eyes again at some point, just for her own sort of...emotional healing process. But she’d also rather just avoid him for the rest of her life, which is precisely what she was doing that night when Bill finally dragged her out of the room for dinner. And when he threw an empty pitcher at her to make more sangria--tiger makes the best sangria, and it is capable of rendering all of the very big Skarsgard men into puddles of crawling, drunken drool--she heads into the kitchen and he juts his head at Gustaf to follow her.

And you know what? Oh god how I love the drama. Gustaf goes into the kitchen, and closes the patio door behind him. Tiger probably assumes it’s Bill. But Bill--Bill knows her, and Bill knows that her first inclination is always to run. So Bill quietly goes in through another door, and stands hidden at the entryway to the kitchen.

And when tiger turns and sees Gustaf, her eyes go wide. And she back pedals.

“Easy,” Gustaf says as he holds up his hands and tiger is struck with how much Bill resembles him in that moment, “We need to talk.”

But tiger is checked out. So she plunks the pitcher down, and goes to run out of the kitchen--but Bill steps out from his hiding place, and she runs smack into his chest.

“No,” he says firmly, and he flicks her nose. Tiger stares up at him pleadingly.

“Turn around,” he commands, and with big hands on her shoulders, he turns her around to face his brother.

“Look at him, kid,” he says, and just to make sure--he cups her face gently in one hand, squeezing her cheeks together as he makes sure her focus stays on Gustaf.

And Gustaf can’t help but laugh a little--because tiger is looking at him, her eyes all big and wide and scared, but her lips and cheeks are squished together like a fish.

“I’m sorry,” Gustaf says earnestly, “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. I can’t even begin to imagine how embarrassed you are, but there’s...there’s no reason for it. This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

And that’s the great thing about Gustaf. He doesn’t say shit like I barely saw anything because that’s a damn lie and he knows tiger would see right through it. He doesn’t make a joke about how his bro is a lucky guy. He just acknowledges how embarrassing it was for her, and reiterates that it’s not a big deal for him. It puts her at ease immediately.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she squeaks, through squished cheeks. She smacks Bill’s arm and he lets go.

“I know,” Gustaf says, “And I’m sorry. I’ll knock next time. Deal?”

He holds his hand out. Bill shoves her forward and she turns and smacks him. He just winks at her.

“Deal,” she sighs, shaking his hand.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #family drama