#delusional hours always open and it’s usually at it’s worst at the most questionable

[ohitslen]

Sharing a meal

I wrote something for this below the cut if you’re interested :)

They never eat anything too tasty, surviving with packeted rations and canned food in their journey. Sometimes they would stop at a little restaurant and eat a nice meal; it really tasted like something gourmet after days of going with grain bars and dry jerky.

There were fleeting moments in between conversations in which one of them would remember some dish, from back in the day when things were easier and they didn’t worry about too many things. They never went deeper into the topic, just mentioning how they missed a good meal.

Staying at an inn or any motel was an expensive thing to pay for. However sometimes they had some extra money from an odd job Vash did or from Wolfwood’s undertaker services, and they would always rent a room as a treat for themselves.

It was a surprise when they entered the room and saw a small kitchen. The space was a little too cramped but it had everything they needed, it was like a deluxe room when they though about all the places they had been at. None of them had a kitchen at all, maybe they had a tiny stove or a mini fridge, perhaps a table sometimes but never the whole set together.

They both looked at each other to confirm they really were seeing the thing, smiling excitedly.

They could make a meal for themselves.

Vash knew how to cook, he had done some work on kitchens throughout his life. A few times he helped Rem when he was a child, he knows how to defend himself. Yet he didn’t know any recipes by heart, not any that would be inside their budget at least. He could get creative and probably whip up a thing or two if he was given enough time.

“I know what to do” Wolfwood said with a smile that irradiated a melancholic warmth interrupting his thoughts . A smile Vash had only seen when he talked about the things he loved.

Vash didn’t suggest anything in the end and just followed what the other man told him to do.

He went to buy all the things Wolfwood asked him for. Vegetables and some thoma meat. There seemed to be some spices in the room so he only bought garlic and onion as per Wolfwood’s request.

When Vash got back, he found Nick at the table arranging the ingredients the kitchen already had. He was already showered, hair messy and with droplets of water hanging on the tips. Getting closer, he could smell the soap, the cheap shampoo and the lingering scent of nicotine that never seemed to go away. He was changed into a black, long sleeved shirt and a pair of loose dark blue pants.

His overall appearance made Vash think how the edges of the man were less sharp, he seemed more relaxed and at ease, even if it wasn’t entirely the case. He just looked, soft.

“Hey welcome back, did you bring what I asked you for or will I have to use your meat for this?” Wolfwood greeted him without looking up from his task, the ingredients being the most interesting thing in the world it seemed.

Something warm pooled at the pit of Vash’s stomach, he didn’t know why that was and didn’t bother to think about it either, just enjoying the feeling.

Smiling, he placed the bags on the table in front of Wolfwood, taking out its contents. “I’m sure I brought everything yeah, I hope my life can be spared”.

The priest snorted at him and grabbed a potato that was rolling off the table. “Aight then, make yourself useful and start washing these and then chop ‘em to reasonable bitable sizes”. Losing no time, he took the meat and was cutting it while giving out the instructions.

While Vash was washing and chopping, the other was already preparing the meat putting it in a pot with boiling water. Once Vash was finished with all he was asked to do, Wolfwood ushered him to take a shower while the food was done, wanting to have more space in the narrow place. Vash did as told in that as well.

The shower felt great, all of the gross stickiness from the sweat and other things were finally washed off from his body. He felt light and a thousand times more content.

As he opened the door the smell hit him in the face, a delicious scent that surely tasted even better. Wolfwood was stirring the pot, poking some of the potatoes to make sure they were on the right term, and they seemed to be as he turned off the stove.

Vash got closer, mouth already watering just from the thought of how it’d taste “That smells so good! What did you make?” He asked with a big grin plastered all over his face.

Wolfwood pointed at the table with his hand, signaling him to sit down a little dismissively while he looked for the bowls on his own. It seemed like he was the kind that with less people on the kitchen when he was there, the better. “Just a broth, nothing too wow it’s something easy, and on budget”. Vash hummed with wonder and served two cups of water to busy himself with something.

Wolfwood poured the two servings of the broth, it was still hot and the bowl must surely be scalding. Yet Wolfwood’s calloused hands never flinched, placing their food on the table without much trouble along with a pair of long spoons.

“Be careful or you will murder your tongue” he warned and Vash chuckled.

“Thanks for the heads up chef, ‘preciate it” the other just scoffed at the title and sat down across him .

They both mixed the broth while blowing at it in hopes for it to cool down a little. However seeing how they were both starving and didn’t care too much about getting burnt or not, they just started to dig in.

Wolfwood was eating eagerly, having spoonful after spoonful of his food. He was beyond delighted. It had been a long time since he had the chance to prepare the broth he used to have back at the Orphanage.

“It’s…delicious” he heard Vash say in a low and calm tone. When he looked up to see the man, he was shocked to find him with reddish eyes that were glistening with tears. It didn’t seem like when was doing a show or anything of the sorts, he just seemed…at peace.

It wasn’t anything extravagant, quite possibly one of the most simple dishes Vash has ever eaten. It was made with the things that they could afford with the little money they could spare, the ingredients were definitely not of the best quality, the vegetables could have used a little more time on the pot. And it was delicious.

Vash felt incredibly warm inside, similar to how he felt when Wolfwood greeted him when he got back, just a thousand times stronger. The first sip he had of it tasted like the best thing ever cooked in his whole life, something he would have every day of the year for the rest of eternity. He didn’t know why that was at first, but after having a second spoon of it he could tell what it was.

It tasted like home.

The flavor of it, it was homely, the savor of melancholy. It tasted like their conversations about missing the past. The tang of the times they would have a peaceful night in the desert grilling worm meat around a campfire. It reminded him when he got sick and an old lady had given him a bowl of soup. It tasted like the first time Rem had given them a try of what meat and vegetables tasted like. It tasted like all the things he missed, and the things Nicholas most likely missed too.

The familiarity of it made him feel fuzzy and full on the inside, and he couldn’t stop eating. He was slow while doing it, wanting to savor every bit of what he could have while it lasted. It was rich, it was simple and it was perfect.

“…You want some more?” At some point, Nicholas had already finished his own bowl and brought the pot over to serve himself again. He looked at Vash with something soft in his eyes the other could not name, his voice was gentle and gravely, sweet and easy on his ears just adding more to the warmth inside of him.

“Yes…yes please” Vash answered, voice cracking a little. Nicholas served him, the sound of the liquid being poured soothing his soul.

Vash ate again, and Wolfwood was looking at him. The priest was taking small sips of water from his cup, always holding it against his mouth even if he wasn’t drinking anything. Vash didn’t really notice when he had started tearing up, thick streams of salty water running through his cheeks, a pool of them welling up at his chin and falling down the wooden table making a puddle of happy tears.

Vash enjoyed the heartfelt broth. He was happy, that bit of simplicity was enough to make him forget of everything else and just focus on that moment.

It was so mundane. Vash smiled with overflowing tears in his eyes while Wolfwood just watched with a fond smile of his own behind his empty cup of water.

At that moment, they were not in a random room at a random place. They were in a place where they had brought their home to, sharing a meal with each other.

#Vash just had his Ego moment #preparing food and eating together is a love language I can’t even begin to describe #and I mean eat EAT. like sitting down and enjoying the food to its fullest THAT kind of eat #delusional hours always open and it’s usually at it’s worst at the most questionable #time of the day ey aha HAHANEBWNNE #domestic Vashwood is my own personal absolutely peak favorite flavor of it as in any other thing ever #I said it earlier but I’ll say it again. domesticity and sharing simple moments are what makes life worth living #these two guys I bet rarely ever get to enjoy moments like these to their fullest so I’m doing this in honor of them never catching a break #this is special and this Vash is the cutest thing I’ve ever done #kinda wanna make him my pfp he’s so #AAAAAAA IM GOING INSANE IQNENW UEUJEHE #trigun #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun stampede #vash #wolfwood #nicholas trigun #trigun fanart #vashwood #trigun maximun #trigun fanfiction #trigun fic #lenssi writes #lenssi draws #I wanted to see this so bad and then I was like oh wait I can just do it myself. like every time I draw or write abt them LMAOOOO

[eyeless-cunt]

taking advantage of the fact that the request are open haha, how would the creepypastas react if they killed their s/o accidentally? thnks love, much love 4 u

you woke up and and chose enternal suffering

TW: Death of the reader, blood, gore, angst, depressive thoughts, hintings of panic attacks, mentions of suicide,....necrophilia....?, mentions of pills, paranoia, delusions :), ect.

Jeffery:

I'm Honestly not even sure how he could have accidentally killed you? He never takes you with him when he goes out to...do his things. He certainly never raised a knife towards you and he would never kill you out of anger. So how did this even happen?

He blacked out. He was just sitting with you, laughing about nothing important. That's all he can remember. So where are you? And whose blood is he covered in right now? It's brown and crumbly, signiling that it's been a good few hours since he came into contact with it. Where are you? He wants to see you, ask what happened. He never even noticed he was holding a knife washed in blood until he stood up, the object falling from his loose hand. Did he kill someone? When? Where? Where's the body? Where are you? Is this a dream? Where are you? He turns in circles, looking for a body. Where are you? He smells that familair scent in the air--that smell that arises from the corpses he mutilates. Where are you? He peeks behind a close by tree, expecting to see a random stranger of whom may have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Where are you?

THERE YOU ARE

Wobbiling legs, vacant eyes, a shaky hand outstretched towards an all too familar body. Why are you here? What's wrong with you? Shaky breaths, his heart that seems to stop for a whole few seconds--and suddenly—all too suddenly, the realization of what he's done hits him so hard he loses the feeling in his legs, falling beside your weeping corpse as you stare him in the eyes, filling him with a sense of glorified dread. The emotions that his brain can't seem to comprehend are flooding in all at once and far too fast, crippiling him with something that escaped him the night he killed his family. How did this happen? Why? What? Confusion and horror seeps into his bones and shoots him down, peircing his lungs in a way that leaves him gasping for air that he just can't seem to hold onto.

Jane:

She was just too obsessed. She went too far without looking around at her surroundings. Her hunt for Jeffery pushed her too hard. Before she knew it, she was standing over a body that she shouldn’t have been. As soon as she did it, her spiked anger flushed out of her system, a cold bucket of realization and horror washing over her. Immediately, apologies spew out of her mouth from behind her mask. She hurt her s/o out of pure anger of which she didn’t try hard enough to control. She’s so sure that you’ve just been knocked unconscious—she’s positive that your bleeding head wound isn’t fatal. No, you’ll be fine. Huh? Where’s your pulse? What?

Her nerves flare up, horror spiking back up again; as if it never went down in the first place. She’s not a delusional idiot. She doesn’t try to shake you awake. She won’t call out for you, expecting a response. Jane doesn’t pray to a dead god in the hope that you’ll awaken and smile at her, saying that you forgive her. That you know it was an accident. That you still love her. No. What she does is bury your body. She reflects the blame onto someone else. Jeffery. You were arguing with her about her continuous hunt for him. You told her that you wanted her to stop—you wanted her to forget. Jeffery caused this. He was the subject of the argument. He’s taken yet another person from her.

BEN:

How did this happen to him? To you? He should have been more careful. He should have known this would happen sooner or later. He should have stayed away from you. Why was he like this? Of course this happened to him, to you; the person he loved most. It was fine. It was alright. You were having fun. He was so happy just to be able to spend time with you. Why would he let you put in the plug? So close to him? He naturally collects electricity. He knows that. So why would he let himself stand so close to you as you plugged in the controller.

A lapse in judgement. He forgot. He was too focused on the way you looked today. You had only woken up an hour ago, a messy appearance still making his dead heart race. That’s no excuse. How did this happen to him? He knows how. So why can’t he feel anything? Why can’t he move his limbs? Why does he feel worse now than he had when he was drowning at the bottom of a lake? Why is he feeling like that but also simultaneously feeling nothing at the same time? Did he break? Yeah. Staring down at this body, he starts to think he might have broke. He might have just died again. He wants to die again. Please let him die again.

EJ:

He was careful with you for years. He had to be. He could break a hand just by holding it so easily. He could lose to his cravings and sink his teeth into your neck at any time. He could rip your head off with no effort at all if he were to brush your hair with anything other than small, fleeting and gentle touches. So how did this happen? He’s always been so careful. His eating schedule always revolved around you. He would have to leave for a few days so he could eat away from you, so he usually held off on leaving for months if he could.

He knew he shouldn’t have. Spending more time with you at the cost of your own life wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t logical. If the hunger got too persistent he could go feral, accidentally killing you in the process. It wasn’t logical. He knew it wasn’t logical to stay with you longer if he was hungry. So why did he do it? How could he let this happen? The cold realization that he really did lose control hits him, the feeling in his limbs quickly leaving. Static. That’s all he could feel. Numb static. You’re everywhere. He wasn’t careful enough. He lost out to his feelings for the first time in hundreds of years. And you paid the price. It was his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. HE DID THIS TO YOU.

He can’t function. The control he’s been holding over himself for a good thousand years breaks. He regresses back into what he was before he gained control. He no longer wants to have control if it leads to him falling in love with someone only to kill them later when he loses it again.

LJ:

He can’t even remember how this happened. The trauma blocking the horrible memories works fast. All he knows is that you’re leaking blood all over a table he doesn’t remember being here yesterday. All he knows is that you’re dead and he did this. He did this. No. No he didn’t. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He would never hurt you. Who did this? He didn’t. Events take a morbid turn when his abandonment issues take a turn for the worse.

He won’t let the body go. Your body. He won’t let you leave him. So he holds you forever, just like he promised you he would when you first met all those years ago. He holds you through the decomposition process, he holds you until you’re only scattered bones. He holds you until your bones are dust and you’ve been gone longer than he can remember. He says to not worry. He likes holding you. He’ll hold you like this forever. Don’t worry. He’s sure you were so scared. Don’t worry. He’s got you. Don’t worry.

Masky:

He ran out of pills at the worst possible time. The paranoia hit him all at once, making him tape the windows and glue them shut, block the door, place a camera in all the doorways. He keeps seeing things. He keeps seeing the tall man in the darkest corner of his room. He needs more pills. But he can’t leave or the tall man will get him. He’s sure of it.

You just chose the wrong time to come over. You couldn’t have known. He didn’t even realize it was you. It was so dark. The pipe in his hand was slick with sweat. All too suddenly you’re on the floor bleeding out and his chest is heaving, air seemingly desperate to avoid him. The lights get turned on. Huh? Why are you—why? Why are you on the floor? Where is that blood coming from...? Like coffee to a drunk person, the sight of your bleeding out form sobers him—paranoia and hallucinatory visions seeping out of his veins. An almost unparalleled confusion makes him back away from you, making him trip over his steps. He can’t grasp what’s exactly happening at the moment. It takes him a few minutes to realize that his s/o is indeed bleeding out on his floor—and by then it’s far too late. He’s incompetent. His incompetency was the cause of your death. His cowardice. He was so weak it ended your life. That’s how he sees it.

Hoodie:

He can’t even believe he let you get into this situation with him. He was supposed to protect you. He was supposed to be strong enough—stable enough, to protect you. He was supposed to be able to keep his sanity so that he could keep you safe. He took his pills. He stayed away from the woods when he was with you. He stayed in public places with you, and never met at night. He always had a tape recording—so how did it go so wrong? He tried so hard. He tried so fucking hard to keep you safe. So fucking hard.

He thought it was okay to take a short walk with you. You weren’t even close to the woods, it was still a semi-public place. No one was out, and while that made him uneasy, he didn’t question it. He should have. He should have grabbed your hand and taken you to fucking McDonalds or some shit. Maybe a nice stroll through Walmart. Just not here. Not alone and outside. He put you in this situation. It was his fault. He didn’t mean it. He’s never been angrier in his whole existence. He doesn’t worry, he doesn’t fear. Hoodie isn’t scared of anything. But looking down at a corpse that once belonged to you, he finds that he does indeed fear one thing. The end of your life.

Toby:

As far as he’s concerned you never died. What? What do you mean you’re holding a funeral? For who? What? What do you mean? My significant other is sitting right beside me? Is this a joke? It’s not very funny. Can you please stop calling me delusional? Hallucinating? What the fuck are you on? Do you want me set you on fire?

No. You never died. In fact, he’s looking at your smiling face right now. You’re like the sun. So bright it hurts, but so pretty. You’re telling him about your day, although he finds it odd that you’re talking about work again even though you’ve been sitting in this field with him all day. You’re a bit inconsistent and confused these days, but that’s okay. We’ll get through it together. Just like we always have. You promised, remember? Together forever, even through death. <3

#creepypasta #jeffery woods #eyeless jack #creepypasta imagines #ben drowned #jeff the killer #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcannons #creepypasta angst #jane arkensaw x reader #jane everlasting x reader #jane the killer x reader #jane the killer #jane arkensaw #jane everlasting #ben drowned x reader #eyeless jack x reader #jeff the killer x reader #hoodie x reader #masky x reader #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack #marble hornets headcanons #marble hornets #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta x reader

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl. 

rating: mature wc: 1.8k 

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?” 

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs. 

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name. 

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

*

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be. 

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

*

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact. 

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.” 

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince. 

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. 

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company. 

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long. 

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

*

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!” 

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder,  “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

taglist: @mishasminion360

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x ofc #dove #Santiago Garcia #Benny Miller #Will Miller #pedro pascal #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales fic #francisco morales #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters

[kindnessisweakness2]

{DELUSIONAL- PART 4}

*Not my GIF, can we all just take a second to appreciate those hands tho?😍*

Sitting up at the sound of her alarm, Delaney groaned. Grabbing her denim shorts she wore last night from the floor she pulled them on and made her way to Jax's room. Knocking on the door, she opened it just in time to see him exit the bathroom in only jeans and still wet from the shower. "Hey D, you sleep here?" Nodding her head she tried her best to keep her eyes from wandering to his chest. "Yeah I was too tired to drive home. Can I use your shower and borrow a hoodie? The one in the spare dorm still isn't working". Jax smiled at her. "You know you don't have to ask. Take what you want, I've got church." Delaney's heart skipped as he pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead. As she watched him pull his shirt on over his head and make his way down the hall Delaney couldn't help but think that he was going to be the death of her.

An hour later Delaney was freshly showered and dressed in a pair of Jax's grey sweatpants and white samcro t-shirt. She was most of the way done with cleaning the bar when Gemma made her way in holding a package. "Here sweetie. This came for you" handing the box to a confused Delaney Gemma leaned against the bar waiting for her to open it. Reluctantly Delaney removed the cherry red bow and lifted the lid to reveal the expensive chocolates on the inside. There was a white envelope with her name typed on the front. The same as all the other ones her 'Secret admirer' had left her. Her stomach twisted up into Knots as she opened the letter.

"To the love of my life. Why must you do this to me? You flaunt your love for him in my face. All I do is try to make you happy. I treat you so much better than he EVER Would. I send you flowers, chocolates and shower you with compliments and you don't even notice me. You pretend I'm not there. He will never love you like I could. He doesn't even know you love him. He doesn't WANT you. Not like I do. If he wasnt around, you'd be with me. You need to take this as a warning my sweet girl. Stay away from the little 'Prince' Or I'll have no choice but to hurt him."

Underneath the letter was a photo taken at last night's party of them embracing outside by the picnic tables. Delaney had told Jax how happy she was to have him home. It had been horrible not having him around. She missed him terribly. It would've been a nice photo if taken in different circumstances. Delaney covered her face at the realisation she'd put Jax in danger. Tears welled in her eyes as she knew she had no choice but to tell the club now. She didn't care about her life but Jax's was different. Jax was important to her. Hell he was important to everyone. He'd never hurt her and was always there for her without question and what did she do in return? Put him on a mad man's target list!!

Looking to a confused Gemma in panic Delaney's tears spilled over. "I'm so sorry Gemma. We need to speak to the club. I-ill explain everything. I promise" Delaney sobbed as Gemma pulled her into a tight hug. After a few minutes Delaney wiped her eyes and made her way towards the large wooden doors that lead to the club's meeting room. Banging on the door she waited for the sound of clays voice shouting "come in" before she and Gemma entered. Everyone's faces turned to worry as they looked at Delaney. Her face was flushed, her eyes were red and still full of tears and she was clearly distressed. "Can I have a minute with you guys? I'm really sorry to interrupt." Nodding his head Clay moved his chair to the side allowing Delaney to address the club from the head of the table. Gemma moved to stand being Clay and waited for Delaney to start explaining. Stood inbetween clay and jax she looked so small and fragile, especially in Jax's oversized clothes, and that's exactly how she felt in that moment. "Erm I'm not sure how to start this but for the last few weeks I've been having weird things happen. I've been getting flower deliveries and chocolates and notes left for me. Both here and at home. I'm not sure who is sending them or even why but he just calls himself my 'Secret admirer'. It all started when Jax left for Nevada. The notes are your usual creepy shit, mainly compliments but he details places where I've been that day and photos of me. I'm 100% he's following me. I didn't go home last night and I lied to you about why. Because I felt scared that he knew where I lived I put cameras up outside my house. I thought that if I could catch him on footage id know who it was and could get him to stop." Delaney swallowed thickly. Tears freely spilling over now. "I caught him on camera watching me through my window sleeping. I was so stressed I took a couple sleeping tablets so I was knocked out cold. He just stood there for hours watching me. I couldn't see who it was or anything noticeable about him as he was dressed in all black. He could've broken in and done anything and I wouldn't of woken up." Delaney broke down. All the fear and stress she felt for weeks came spilling out. Jax stood and pulled her into a tight hug. "I didn't want to tell anyone because it's not your problem. I didn't want you guys to take this on. I was just going to ignore it and hoped he'd give up and go away. But it's not just me he's targeting now. I don't care about me but I won't let people get hurt because of me" passing the note and the photo that came with the chocolates around Delaney watched as every member became visibly more angry. Jax was the worst. He held her tightly, eyes smouldering with fury and jaw tightly clenched. How fucking dare someone target her. Was the only thing he could think. He wasn't going to let anyone hurt her. He'd die first.

And as Jax made that vow in his mind to protect her, Delaney could only think that this was the beginning of something nasty. And she was the cause of it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

And that's it!! Part 4 is up!! Thank you so much for everyone's support on this story so far. I really hope you enjoy it. As always feedback and advice always welcome. Part 5 soon to follow!

Love to you all, stay safe! 🌷

#soa fanfiction #soa imagine #sons of anarchy #jax teller x reader #jax teller #charlie hunnam

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 10

It is not better in the morning.

Previous

Read chapter 10 on AO3 or read below (but be warned, there’s mature content in this one):

Once again, it’s hard to sleep. I dream of kissing Cardan, who is actually Locke, and I am wearing Taryn’s pink prom dress. And that’s the tamest of them; I have more graphic nightmares that I won’t recount here, except to say that they are awful. Every time I wake up I am either too hot or too cold. I eventually decide I am most comfortable with one leg pushed outside of the blankets and fall into a light doze.

About two hours into my botched attempt at sleeping, I awaken to some odd noises and realize that Cardan is also awake. A moment later, I realize he must think I am still asleep, because when I look over at him there can be no other explanation for what he is doing.

As before, he is in slightly sharper focus than everything else in the room. I thought I’d find him lying down, but he is sitting up with his back against the wall, and his head is bowed forward. He is definitely trying to be quiet, but it is very clear to me from his weird breathing and the sound of skin on skin and the movement of his hand what is going on.

I shouldn’t watch. I know I shouldn’t. But I woke up turned on my side toward him and I can’t turn over or he might realize I’m awake. I can’t even imagine what would happen then. Would he stop? Would he come over? Would I invite him over? I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more.

His breathing grows more labored and he brings his free hand up to his mouth to muffle the sounds that fall out of it. I hate the way my heartbeat skips at every one, the way every muscle in my body clenches with want, with need. I stay quiet, though, watching with hungry curiosity as he curls over himself and makes a strangled sound, almost but not entirely swallowed up by his palm. His shoulders shake.

When it’s over—and I am marveling at how I just watched him jerk off—he sighs, a long, exhausted sigh that somehow really endears him to me. I want to crawl over to him and nuzzle at his neck. I want to drape my body over his body so we can keep each other warm. I want to lick his hand clean, a thought that I recoil from even as I have it. That can’t possibly taste good, and yet—

“Ah, shit,” he whispers. He’s looking down at his hand, and my delusional omega brain wonders if I should go offer to lick it. But then he pulls off one of his already dirty socks and uses that. He got a shower today, but being stuck in a dirty room the size of my stepmother’s walk-in closet negates that fast. Honestly, after being stuck down here for days, I’m not sure we’ll ever be clean again.

Cardan’s head falls back against the wall. His clean hand grabs for something at his side, and when he presses it to his face, I realize it’s my sweatshirt. He exhales again, and it must be my imagination, but it sounds suspiciously like my name. He takes a few, deep breaths, then puts it back down and curls up on his side, using it as a pillow.

I feel like I have been holding my breath this entire time, but I keep holding it a little longer, just in case. There is a pulsing, demanding heat in me, concentrated between my thighs, but, as I always do, I push it to the side. I curl my knees to my chest, and hope it will be better in the morning.

---

It is not better in the morning.

When I open my eyes, it is to the migraine that threatened me yesterday finally breaking, like someone’s jammed a railroad spike into my left eye. The fever is roaring, too, and I pull my leg back inside the blankets and wrap myself up tight, but my shivering doesn’t stop. My muscles have acquired a dull ache that makes me think they’d be bruised if I could peel my skin back and look.

I think I half-expected to find that Cardan had crawled on top of me in his sleep. Then I would wake up, then he would do it, and it would be an awkward thing to work around while kidnapped but at least the worst of my symptoms would abate. But Cardan is still by his corner where I’d seen him fall asleep last night, except now he’s curled up in a ball around my sweatshirt. So there would be no morning hump session, which is good, because I am not yet at the point where that seems more alluring than scary, awkward, intimidating.

My mouth is dry, and I turn over to reach for the water bottle, but it is empty. When had it emptied? Did I empty it?

“Cardan,” I whisper. That’s all it takes to jolt him out of sleep. He sits up, and rubs his eyes, which then widen when he looks at me so I must look really terrible.

“Shit,” he says again, which brings back echoes of him saying it in the night, which just makes my entire body seize up because he’d been jerking off—over me? or over the situation?—and there was an increasingly urgent part of my brain wondering why he’d had his dick in his hand when he could have put it in me. And then, ow, a cramp on top of everything else. As if everything else weren’t enough.

I paw for the pills the Bomb left me and swallow them dry, hoping for some relief from the headache, even though it won’t be immediate. Then I start to push up to my hands and knees.

“No, no,” says Cardan, shoving out a hand but not coming any closer. “No, you just— just wait, I’ll get them. I’ll get you more water.”

“I can do it,” I insist, but it’s taken so much effort just to get this far up and I’m trembling holding myself in place.

“Jude, you look—” He trails off and shakes his head. It must really be that bad. I want to tell him he doesn’t look much better. The circles under Cardan’s eyes have deepened, and he’s already sweating so much that his curls cling to his forehead. But he just sets his mouth in a line and says, “Let me do it.”

In almost any other circumstance I would hate being bossed around by him, but I just flop onto my belly and groan, “Fine.”

Cardan, however, is wired. He must feel as jagged and sleep-deprived as I do, but I can see the extra jittery energy in his every step. I did make that joke about thrusting, but what happens when you box an alpha in rut in a basement with no outlet? Where does that energy go?

Apparently into his fist, because when he pounds on the door it’s so loud that I nearly jump off the mattress. My head throbs. “Hey!” he calls. “Jude needs water!”

There is no answer for a solid thirty seconds. When Cardan glances at me, I am frowning. “They’re usually right outside,” I say, and my stomach plummets at the thought that we’ve been locked in here and just left with no food or water.

“They’re coming,” Cardan replies, probably to reassure himself. He bangs on the door again, this time with even more urgency. “Hey!”

A few seconds later the door opens, and it is not the Bomb standing there, but the Ghost, dressed in black, his face an inscrutable mask. “Alright, I heard you.”

Cardan takes a half-step back from the door, toward me. I pull the blankets tighter around myself and flatten my back against the wall. This was the outcome we had worried about. Everything Cardan had said and done yesterday was to keep our captors out, and especially to keep the Ghost away from me.

“You need to leave,” Cardan snarls, his hands balling into fists at his sides. I am surprised at the ferocity in his voice. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him hurt people with a shove or a cruel word. I have never seen him like this.

But the Ghost is unimpressed. Probably because if it came down to a fight between the two of them, he would definitely win, even though Cardan has more muscle. “You can relax,” the Ghost says. “I’m a beta.”

Cardan blinks, and so do I. But then his eyes narrow. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The Ghost sighs. “Ask your girlfriend if I smell like anything. Her receptors are on overdrive. Even maskers wouldn’t help.”

I expect Cardan to protest that I’m not his girlfriend, and I’m about to open my mouth to say he isn’t my boyfriend, when he looks at me and asks, softly, “Jude?”

The urge to deny anything is knocked right out of me, and I inhale, concentrating. It’s difficult to get anything beyond Cardan’s scent and mine, both of which hang heavy in the stagnant air, but I do pick out something. I look up at Cardan. “Just hand soap. He smells like hand soap.”

Cardan looks skeptical.

“I’m less of a danger to her than you are in this state,” the Ghost says. “I can help her out of the room. Let me.”

In this state. He has to know, then. Uneasily, Cardan moves aside to let the Ghost into the room, tracking him as he walks over and crouches at my side. The Ghost presses a cool hand to my forehead while looking at my sweaty, tangled hair.

“Why didn’t you say you’re a beta?” I ask, shivering.

“Wasn’t relevant. When did you last take medicine?”

“A few minutes ago. What about the Roach and the Bomb?”

“Do you introduce yourself to people by telling them you’re an omega?” It’s a rhetorical question, because he then says, “We have to get you into the shower. I’ll help you up.”

I nod. I know what I look like and what I smell like, and I am not so proud that I won’t accept his help.

“Hey,” Cardan begins, when the Ghost reaches out to put an arm around my shoulder, but I give him a look and he doesn’t say anything else, although the set of his jaw tells me he’s unhappy. He crosses his arms.

“Cardan,” the Ghost says, “can you go turn the water on for her? The old heater takes a while to get started. Make it warm to start, not hot. She can turn it up if she needs to.”

“Right,” Cardan says, and over the Ghost’s shoulder I see him nod and leave.

“He listened to you,” I marvel as the Ghost peels the blankets from my body and helps me to my feet. I should feel more self-conscious that I’m wearing only a tank top and underwear and my thighs are definitely crusty with residue, but he isn’t making a big deal of it, so neither am I. Besides, between my shaky legs and my bad ankle, I am a little distracted by the effort of not toppling over.

“Alphas. Temperamental, but they like to feel like they’re doing something.” It seems like a joke, but he doesn’t smile when he says it. He supports my weight easily, and with his help I hobble out of the room.

“You really don’t smell like much,” I inform him. “It’s weird.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Right.” Mentally, I kick myself. And the Ghost doesn’t say anything else, so I don’t either.

As he helps me across the little room, I am very conscious of my body pressed against his and his arm around my shoulder. My hormonal brain, ecstatic that I am being touched, is swimming, trying to tell me I am attracted to him. Am I attracted to him? I mean, I think he’s handsome, objectively. Should I have sex with the Ghost? I probably shouldn’t have sex with the Ghost.

But, of course, those images are provided to me unbidden because the omega part of me is ecstatic that I am willing to actually entertain my horniness. What if the Ghost helped me into the shower and he stayed there with me? And Cardan also stayed? And then what? My rational brain scolds. I don’t know anything about the logistics of having a threesome in a shower. It seems like an easy way to get more injured than I already am.

And while having sex with the Ghost would be simpler from an emotional standpoint because I barely know him, he is a beta, so it would not actually solve any of my current, heat-related problems. Also, Cardan would be sad.

Do I care that Cardan would be sad? That’s an uncomfortable thought.

“Oh, thank god,” I say, when we finally reach the bathroom and I see Cardan pacing back and forth in the little hallway and hear the shower stream hitting the old yellow tile in the bathroom. I can’t wait to be clean. I can’t wait for these heat-induced intrusive thoughts to go away either, but unfortunately that’ll take a little longer.

“Do you need any help getting undressed?” the Ghost asks, in a tone so dispassionate that even my omega hindbrain wilts at how obviously uninterested he is.

“I think I can manage,” I say, mostly because I can, but also because Cardan looks like he’s on the verge of tearing the Ghost’s throat out, and I still think the Ghost would win that fight but I’m suddenly not sure. We’ll all be glad when this is over.

So I limp into the bathroom, close and lock the door behind me, and tear off my sweat-soaked tank top and my underwear. Instead of standing in the shower, I grab the soap and sit right down, not caring if the floor is gross. I nearly start crying when the water hits my skin, and am almost surprised it doesn’t start steaming around me. It feels cool, so I turn it up a little until I’m comfortable. Then I begin scrubbing myself all over.

It takes a long time before I feel clean. My body still reacts to the lingering traces of Cardan’s scent that cling to my skin and hair. But I discover that someone’s stocked the shower with a set of floral shampoo and conditioner that claims to be “scent-dampening.” Small text on the back advises that they “may have diminished effect during periods of heat or rut,” but I pour a good third of the bottles out into my hands and wash and condition my hair, detangling it with my fingers. I wash my pubic hair, too, just in case it’ll help.

When I step out of the shower, feeling much better, I eye my gross clothes and dread putting them back on. But on the closed toilet, neatly folded, someone has left me an alternative: one of those loose maxi dresses you can find hanging on a rack in the back of a Walgreens, for cheap. I pull it over my head; it’s olive green, and too long, but it fits okay otherwise. There are also some soft black shorts, which I put on under the dress. There’s no replacement for my underwear, so I wash it in the sink, wringing it out as best I can, and leave it to hang dry on the towel bar.

When I step out, Cardan, who has now taken to pacing the main area with his head bowed sulkily forward, perks up. “Hey,” he says. “You look… wow, a lot better. Your scent’s— you’re better.” His nose wrinkles. “The shampoo’s a little weird, though.”

“Not a fan of lavender?”

“It just doesn’t really…” He gestures vaguely. “...like, go with you. It’s the opposite of what you are.”

I limp over to an empty chair and ease myself into it. Because I am so tired that my filter is totally worn away, I ask, “What do I smell like to you, anyway?”

“It’s…” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and fidgets. I notice his feet are still bare, and nearly blush, remembering what had happened to his sock. “It’s hard to explain. I mean, I probably smell like a lot of things at once to you, too, right?”

I nod. “But if you had to choose,” I press, and brace myself, trying to anticipate the worst thing he could say. Methane gas, rotten fish, a dump?

“Cinnamon, I guess,” Cardan admits.

“What?” I sit forward in my chair. “You hate the smell of cinnamon?”

“No, I.” He looks flustered, but tries to channel it back into haughty and irritable. “Don’t be stupid. I’m going to go shower.”

“But—” I begin, perplexed, but Cardan has already disappeared.

The Ghost, who had been leaning silently against the wall, pushes off of it to approach me. “I should change your bandages,” he says, crouching down to expect them. I open my mouth, but he anticipates me and looks up, adding, “I know you have questions, but I’m only going through this once. Better wait until Cardan gets back.”

I press my lips into a thin line. I can be patient when it’s important, but I am feeling frayed right now. As he is re-wrapping my leg, I blurt out, “How do you know what to do if you’re a beta?”

“What, with your leg?”

“No, with—” I look down at him and find him raising his eyebrows. He had been joking. I sit back in my chair, pouting.

“My dad was an omega,” he explains. “My mom was an alpha. I saw all sides of it growing up, even if I didn’t go through it. Three days every few months I’d be on my own.”

“Was that hard?”

“It was what it was.” He gives me another look. “Now wait.”

I scowl at him. “Can I have a mandarin?”

Maybe happy not to be talking, he gets up to get one from a bag slumped on top of the mini-fridge. I catch it when he tosses it to me, and alternate between picking at it and taking sips from a fresh water bottle until Cardan emerges from the shower, damp and cleansed of sweat. He sits down across from me, and I scrunch up my nose. Lavender doesn’t really suit him either.

“I told Jude I’d only go through this once,” says the Ghost, who seems happier to remain standing. “But I think I can guess your first question. Yes, we all knew what was going on. Pretty much from the get-go. We didn’t say anything because you guys were being cagey for some reason, but we figured we could get you the supplies you needed anyway, no harm done. I only said something because I’m the only one here, and Cardan wasn’t going to give me access otherwise.”

Cardan shifts. I ask, “Why are you the only one here?”

The Ghost blinks at me. That wasn’t the follow-up he was expecting. “The Bomb and the Roach were called away.” He shrugs. “Might be good news, might be bad. Hard to say. They figured I could handle things alone while you were in heat. It’s not like either of you are in a state to go anywhere.”

“So, what, you’re all betas?” Cardan asks, cutting me off before I can follow up.

“Yes.”

He frowns. “We thought you were using maskers.”

“It wasn’t a bad assumption,” the Ghost says. “People in our line of work often do, so we can’t be traced by scent. Betas make good spies, too. Any profession that requires stealth.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense. “So were you recruited because you were a beta, or…” My stomach sinks as I consider another possibility. “You were all, like, born… nobody made you this way, right?”

The Ghost hesitates, then says, “I was, yes. The others’ stories aren’t mine to tell.”

Cardan gawps at me. “You’re thinking they were… what, de-designated? Why? To make them better at… crime?”

I shudder. Forcible de-designations were categorized as human rights violations by the United Nations in the early 1970s after certain unethical human experiments came to light. Sure, there are de-designation therapies out there for people whose designations cause extreme dysphoria or health complications, but they take months. The forcible de-designations are quick, and brutal, and painful, and if the subject survives the physical complications, they might not survive the psychological.

“I hope not,” I say, quietly, telling myself that my discomfort is brought around by the idea of anyone suffering such a painful ordeal, not because I like our abductors. I change the subject. “But you were recruited?”

“Yes.”

Man of few words. I hug my arms around my stomach. “Must be nice.”

“The job opportunities or being a beta?”

“Not having to deal with…” I peel one hand away from my abdomen and gesture vaguely.

“No, I don’t envy that.” The Ghost looks between us. “Although I do sometimes wonder what I’m missing out on.”

I glance at Cardan, who, to my surprise, actually looks angry. “If you had fresh clothes for Jude the whole time, why didn’t you give them to her?” he demands. “Why didn’t anybody stay with her? She was stuck in her gross clothes and she was alone, all day.”

Again, the Ghost looks slightly taken aback, although he smooths his face into his usual inscrutable mask in an instant. “The Bomb got these for her yesterday, but she was curled up in her nest and we didn’t know if she’d want to move or be bothered.”

“My nest?” I frown. “No, that’s not right. I don’t have a—”

“It’s a sad nest, but you did pile all the bedding in the room up in one corner.”

“No, that wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—” I look at Cardan in horror, as he is the one who put all the blankets and pillows on me, but he is looking away from me. I shake my head, and some wet hair falls into my face. “It’s okay that I was alone. I think it was better. Don’t worry about it.”

I feel the Ghost watching me closely, and shift in my seat. “It’s not shameful, what’s happening to you,” he says at last. “Plenty of people go through it all the time.”

“Not you,” I retort.

“Maybe not, but I’ve been around long enough and seen enough to know there are upsides to being an omega.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “Like what?”

The Ghost’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to tell you?”

“Yeah.” I glance at Cardan, who’s slouching in his chair and pretending to ignore both of us. “Tell me how my life doesn’t totally suck right now.”

He looks at me, then at Cardan, then says, “I guess I don’t have anything better to do.”

Next

#jurdan #judecardan #jude x cardan #jurdan fanfic #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the folk of the air #mine: fic #fic: 132 hours

[rpd-rookie]

Made in Heaven - Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Author’s note: This was request by @deshibasarathings​. Sorry it took so long. I really wanted to write something original and that looked different from all the other Chris fanfics I read on this subject. Hope you’ll like it

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Language, Alcohol 

It was summer 1998 and as America was still lovingly dancing on “Truly Madly Deeply” on Friday nights, watching Titanic for the umpteenth time at the nearby movie theatre, wearing tight crop tops, colourful scrunchies and Dr Martens, and occasionally gossiping on the Lewinsky scandal at lunch break, Raccoon City was living its last frivolous moments, and the saddest part was that no one had a clue.

“A fresh beer and a girl. That’s all I’m asking for.” Joseph Frost jumped over the door of the old convertible green mustang with enthusiasm, his usual excited smile stretching his young tanned face. “That’s it, you’re sure?” His dear friend, Forest Speyer, asked with an ounce of sarcasm that he didn’t get.             “Fine. A bunch of fresh beers and a girl.” He winked, clicking his fingers cheekily towards Forest who sighed out of exasperation. “Always so optimistic, I see. When will you finally get that there is no woman for you when you go out with Redfield and me?” He scoffed and Joseph’s smile faded away in an instant to turn into a rather sad pout. “Tell him, Chris.”       “Actually guys, I’m alright with just having beers tonight.” Chris confessed as he put the keys of his car in his pocket. “As if it’s gonna change anything. All the chicks will be crawling at your feet anyway, begging you to notice them and forgetting the existence of our delusional friend over there.” Forest waved towards Joseph who glared at him, slightly vexed. A chance the man was not resentful. “Then I’ll introduce them to Jo.” Chris tapped his friend’s shoulder and Joseph regained his smile. “That’s what I call friendship. Thank you, buddy.”       “You know that abstinence won’t make Y/N give herself to you, right?” Speyer mocked; hoping that teasing Chris a bit would make him follow him on the path of seduction, however degrading he had planned it to be. “Jealousy, however …” He raised his eyebrows and Chris shook his head.   “One-night stands are your thing, Forest. Not mine.”       “Weird cause I can remember a couple times when I saw you discreetly leave the bar with a girl on your arm. But that was certainly before Y/N’s sweet round ass joined the team.” He mimed a squeezing motion with both his hands, his tongue raunchily caressing his lips as he sneered, a gesture that made Chris punch him in the arm in retaliation.

He knew what Forest wanted. His friend’s little game was pretty clear even for someone as blunt as Chris. But he was not in the mood to play tonight. And to be honest, he hadn’t been for the last six months or so, ever since you had entered his life with your wit and charming smile and had brought him back to his old high schooler self, meaning goofy and rather unconfident (minus the acne and the greasy hair obviously). “You don’t get it, do you?”       “No, I don’t. Do you get it, Jo?” Joseph Frost shook his head in a rather silly way, a bit like a contorted puppet. “See. No one gets it.”       Chris sighed. “Come on, man! You’re not a fucking priest! So stop drooling over that chick and stop waiting for her. She clearly doesn’t give a damn about you contrary to other millions of women as gorgeous as her who’ll gladly throw themselves at you in a heartbeat. And I’m pretty sure some of them are in this bar, right now.”      

The worst thing about Forest Speyer – apart from his disgusting machismo and his arrogance - was that he was often right, his insight being most of the time spot-on.     And as the three friends entered the bar, Chris couldn’t help but notice his colleague was once again astoundingly correct since the second he stepped a foot in Jack’s Bar, adjusting his brown leather jacket around his muscular body, a pair of Ray-ban Aviator à la Top Gun hanging from the collar of his military-green V-neck, more than one head turned to goggle at him and only him.             But it wasn’t Chris’ nature to brag or to strut and so he simply approached a clean table with his friends, ignoring the stares, and waved hello at Cindy Lennox behind the counter. She immediately welcomed them with her usual warmth. “Same as usual, boys?”       “Always.” They answered in unison and the waitress chuckled before disappearing to pour them their drinks.     “What about Cindy?” Joseph whispered with a naughty smirk as he bent over the table to make sure his friend would hear him over the sound of the music.   “Damn, you’re horny, Jo!” Chris declared, slightly shocked that his friend would consider getting laid with the woman that had been serving them beers every Saturday night for the last two years. “Of course, I’m horny. I haven’t fucked in weeks guys.”   “Meaning months.” Forest corrected. “Besides, I think Cindy’s got a man.” Joseph cursed, disappointed. “All that is Irons’ fault. Do you know how many extra hours I did because of that bastard?”           “No” Chris and Forest said at the same time with an amused smile.       “Well me neither. But a lot, I’m sure.”

“Aren’t you tired of bitching about Irons, Joseph?” Joseph’s olive face suddenly became very pale as he jumped on his chair. “Y/N! You scared the shit out of me. Thought it was Irons for a sec.” You frowned, not sure how to react to the comparison. “Really? I didn’t know I had a pervy man’s voice.”   “That’s not what I meant.” He mumbled and you chuckled finding certain amusement in his discomfort. “Oh Joseph, always so talented with women, I see.” The men around the table chuckled apart from Joseph who was as red as a tomato now. “Anyway, I was at Jill’s. She told me I could find you guys here.”   “You wanted to see us?” Speyer grinned and winked as he elbowed Chris’ ribs who immediately glared at him. “Jeez, discreet. Thanks.” He murmured and looked at you. Your brows were furrowed because of how strange the situation seemed to you. You had never seen Chris and Forest acting that way. “Are you guys drunk already?”         “If only.” Joseph sighed as he took a mouthful of his beer.           “Don’t mind them, Y/N. That’s just the way they behave outside of work. Lame I know.” You nodded despite being totally unconvinced. Now you understood why Jill was never willing to join their little merry band on Saturday nights. What better way to avoid toxic masculinity than staying home watching a good old movie, dressed in pj’s?          

“And there it goes away again. Y/N enters the room and bye-bye friendship.” You wondered if you should say something about this, genuinely curious to know what Speyer meant, but the second you opened your mouth to ask for an explanation you chose to revise your decision. “I wanted to say goodbye.”       The three pair of eyes widened at you in shock. “Goodbye?” Chris repeated, his incomprehension easily readable in his chocolate brown eyes. “My resignation letter was accepted. Got the news today.”         “Wait. What? What resignation letter?” The questions came as thick and fast as sub-machine gun bullets. You agreed that the news was more than unexpected but the way Chris sounded was more than surprising. It was a if he was distressed. And he was in a way. What do you mean you were leaving? You couldn’t leave. And especially not drop the news at the last minute.   “Yeah. I didn’t tell you guys about it because I wasn’t sure Irons would actually accept it but I’m quitting the S.T.A.R.S. and the RPD.”

There was a heavy silence that even the shitty music in the background couldn’t make less awkward. But that silence was necessary. The boys needed to digest the news. “May we ask why?” Despite not being a close friend, Joseph looked rather confused and even a bit sad. Clearly no one had seen the bomb coming. And who would have? After all, you were such a workaholic; always telling people how much you loved your job. This resignation, that didn’t sound like you.       “Long story. But let’s say I don’t think my place is with you anymore guys.” A lie but you thought it was better to avoid the truth, knowing that your three colleagues would certainly hit the roof – especially Chris - if they happened to learn the real reason behind your resignation. “So, I’m gonna take off now. Enjoy your night and don’t make Jill blow a fuse while I’m gone. And hands off Rebecca!” You pointed a menacing finger at Speyer who immediately laughed. “Can’t promise you that.”

You waved them goodbye with a faint smile and walked away towards the exit of the bar, saddened that this was possibly the last time you would ever see the Three Musketeers (as you liked to call them).         They watched you leave in silence, still not believing the unexpected news. “Can’t believe I’m actually gonna say this but … the office’s gonna look so empty without Y/N” Forest declared.         “Tell me about it.” Chris’ voice was suddenly weary and miserable. To him, you were the sunshine of the office, the star of the S.T.A.R.S, always illuminating people with your good mood and your joie de vivre. Hell, you were probably the only one who could laugh to his dad jokes without pretending.     “Then what are you waiting for then?” Speyer said to Chris. “Go after her.”     “I can’t.” Chris sighed. “And what for?” He took a long mouthful of beer that almost emptied the glass. Perhaps getting drunk would help him digest the fact that you were leaving.         “ So you’re just gonna let her leave without telling her how you feel? I thought you were more courageous than that.” Chris’ stein hit the table with a loud clink.       “And what would it change?” Chris almost shouted. “She’s leaving. She’s made her decision. Telling her how I feel won’t change it.”

And yet he chose to give it a try.

He rushed to his car to drive after you. He rapidly found you, walking up towards the main avenue near the police station certainly to catch a train to go back to your place near St Michael’s Clock Tower. “Y/N” He shouted and you frowned, astonished to see him here. “Chris? What are you doing?”             “ Let me drive you home.” Normally, you would have refused, being the kind of woman that liked to do things by herself. But there was something in the way Chris was looking at you that actually convinced you to get in his car.            

The ride back to your place was rather quiet, the only voice echoing in the Mustang being Freddy Mercury’s singing on the radio. “I always knew you were a Queen fan.” You said to lighten the mood. “Is it written on my forehead?”           “Just on your jacket, Made in Heaven.” You winked and smiled when Chris finally chuckled. “How’s gonna call me that when you’re gone?” Your grin faded away as you wondered almost the same thing. Who will you call ‘Made in Heaven’ after you’re gone? That was a nickname reserved for Chris, one you had found when you were having trouble memorising everyone’s names at the office and that had stayed because of how smiley Chris was each time you were calling him that. “I can ask Forest to call you that if you want. I’m sure he’d love to.”         Chris had a faint smile. “Certainly. But it won’t be the same.”     You could tell he was really affected by your departure and was struggling to say something. But even if you wanted to know what was going on in his head right now, curiosity eating you up, you decided to give him time. Surely was he just trying to gather the courage he needed to talk.

When you both arrived at your place, Chris was still silent and thoughtless. “Do you want to come in?” You thought that a drink might do him some good and help him. He accepted the offer and followed you towards your apartment.

The main room was messy and cluttered with a dozen of boxes already. Most of them were full of old books, VHS and CDs. “I see you’ve started packing.”         “Yes, sorry about the mess. I just want to leave as soon as possible. Beer?” Chris nodded and you disappeared in the kitchen, leaving him alone in your living room. “This doesn’t sound like you.” Chris finally said and you froze, your hand holding the fridge open. You briefly closed your eyes and sighed soundlessly. Of course, he had noticed. “What do you mean?” “Quitting. Leaving. This isn’t you.” You took a deep breath and joined him back in the living room where he was standing straight as a ramrod, a confused frown wrinkling his forehead. “The S.T.A.R.S is your life. You said it yourself. So enough with the ‘my place is not with you’ bullcrap.” He almost sounded angry but you knew all to well that you were not the target of his anger.     “It’s complicated.” You confessed as you handed him the bottle of beer.           “Y/N, I know I’m not the smartest man but I think I can understand the real reason why you want to resign if you just tell me. Aren’t we friends?”           “Of course.” You harrumphed; astonished that he might doubt that.     “Then tell me. Spit it out. What happened? Why are you leaving?”

You looked through the window, scanning at the small buildings surrounding your apartment before finally deciding to draw the thick curtain to hide yourself from whoever might be watching right now. Chris observed you wondering why you were doing this and tried to say something when he saw you heading towards your phone. You gestured him to stay quiet as you unplugged the device. “Alright. You’re starting to scare me. Can you tell me what’s going on?”         “Let’s say I’m in deep shit.” You waved Chris to sit on your couch next to you and he obeyed, staring at you with confusion and worry. “Weeks ago I started secretly investigating on Irons after the secretary he had employed last April weirdly disappeared.”                       “You did what?” Chris harrumphed. “Are you crazy? Do you know how dangerous this is?” You nodded. “He found out.”           “Shit, Y/N” Chris cursed. He was furious. “I had no choice, Chris. Something weird's going on. I can feel it. And I’m sure something happened to his secretary as well.”           “She quitted! Daniels from the reception said he received a letter.” Chris replied.       “Then why is her stuff still at the RPD and why hasn’t her rent been paid since last month?” The man frowned, trying to find a coherent answer. But he found none. “I found her diary when I sneaked in her office. She wrote that Irons used to get off in his office watching a portrait of a hanged naked woman. And did you know that he was accused of rape back when he was in college? This son of a bitch …”         “Alright. Stop, Y/N!” Chris cut you off and took a deep breath to evacuate the panic that was rushing in his veins. “How much in trouble are you?”           You shrugged. “Enough to be the object of intense surveillance.”

Chris hid his face in his big hands. He was scared for you, genuinely terrified even. “What can I do to help?” He asked. “Tell me. I’ll do anything.”             “Chris.” You sighed. “Y/N” He grabbed your hand. “I care about you. More than you imagine. I can’t let anything happen to you.” You had a faint smile. How could a man be so adorable, compassionate and caring? “You’re an amazing man, Made in Heaven. You do know that?” Chris returned your smile. “But I can handle this on my own. Believe me. Just promise me to keep this a secret and act as if you didn’t know anything.             “You can’t ask me to do that, Y/N. You can’t…”

You cut him short by pressing your lips against his, which made Chris almost gasp in astonishment. But the surprise didn’t last and he soon responded to your kiss with an adorable tenderness. “Promise me, Chris.” You whispered still so close to his pink lips as you kept looking at him in the eye, waiting for his answer. “I promise.”       And he kissed you again. It was soft and sweet and tasted a bit like beer but you didn’t mind. In fact, you even allow yourself to touch his chest and bring your body closer to his. The hardness of his muscles against your palms made you shiver and Chris felt it. He smiled and he caught your lips again as he pressed his big hand on your lower back. You cupped his cheek to deepen the kiss and then everything suddenly became more passionate and burning.

Chris’s lips ventured towards your neck to leave a series of hot humid kisses and possibly hickeys that would certainly last a few days. But you would bother about that later. For now, you just wanted to melt under his touch. So, you instinctively tilted your head backwards to give him full access to your soft neck, moaning because of how delicious his mouth felt there.         Your little noise of pleasure instantly awakened something inside Chris, something he felt deep in his guts, deep in his pants. His kisses became hungrier and more needy. He wanted to hear you again.

He laid you down on your back and lay on top of you, his lips still devouring your neck and his now adventurous hands wandered towards your chest. His body felt slightly heavy but you loved this unusual exquisite proximity. “Chris.” You sighed as he suddenly groped your breasts through your shirt. When he tried to unbutton it you put yours hands on his to stop him. “What?” He asked “You don’t want this?”             “Sure I want this. More than anything. But I don’t want you to … I don’t want to hurt you. I’ll still leave tomorrow. You do realise that right?” He stared at you and you could read the sadness slowly growing back in his chocolate brown eyes.                   “It’s goodbye then” You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s goodbye.”     “Then let’s make the most of it.”

To your surprise, Chris’ face met your cleavage rather quickly and he began kissing it as he blindly yet clumsily unbuttoned your shirt. You watched him do for a small moment and when you noticed how aroused he was, you decided to free him from his clothes as well. You  took his letter jacket off and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt to pull it off. And goodness, how dreamy he was. Those muscles. Those arms. Those shoulders. Those pectorals. Those abs … aaaah. It frustrated you as much as it aroused you. How could someone be that perfect? You bit your lower lip and dared caress him and as your hand slid against his warm skin, right between his abs down to the button of his jeans, following the dark hairy line below in navel. “Like what you’re seeing?” He snickered and you smiled, loving his sudden confidence. “Do you?” He grinned and let out a small laugh. “Of course. You’re beautiful” He complimented as he freed your boobs from your bra without taking it off only to take one of your nipples in his mouth. “Holy … ah.” You moaned uproariously as you let your head fall against the armrest of the couch.

You felt Chris smirk against your tender flesh. The bastard knew what he was doing and he was fucking proud of it. You could play that game too. You grabbed him by the belt, pulling him closer to your body for your pelvis to meet his. However, what you didn’t expect was for his prominent bulge to feel so hard and huge against you even through the fabric. Chris was certainly quite a big boy.     Slowly, you unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them all along with his briefs. His cock sprang free, confirming your previous hypothesis about it. It was indeed big, bigger than anything you ever had, and hard and long and… You slightly squeezed your thighs and rubbed them. You were wet. You could feel it. And you wanted desperately some friction.             You quickly glanced at your womanhood and let your fingers crawl under your skirt and soaked panties. Your clit was engorged and your lips were swollen. And Chris was watching you silently, wondering how the wet pink flesh felt. “Wait. Let me” He lifted up your ass and pulled down your panties to carelessly throw onto the floor. Your legs spread, he looked down between them, staring at your glistening fold with a dark hunger in his eyes. He caressed you softly, very softly and you moaned between your closed lips as you instinctively embraced his delicate touch by moving your hips closer to his hand. You wanted more. And he would give you more.     

His fingers parted your lips to meet your clit with his thumb and he brushed your warm entrance to finally insert a finger inside you. You whispered his name with pleasure and it jolted Chris as if he had received a punch in his lower stomach, but a delicious exhilarating punch. He started pumping his finger in your pussy, forcing a cry of pleasure out of your mouth, and soon he added another digit to go and tickle your g-spot that he found with incredible accuracy. When you started convulsing and felt your orgasm building in you, you pushed Chris’ fingers away to pull his body against yours.

Laid on you, Chris instinctively began to rubbing him against your, his cock grinding between your legs, so close to your entrance. You grabbed his back and dug your nails in it. The friction was sending you slowly back towards heaven. “Oh my god, Chris.”     His pace accelerated until it began relentless and soon, he started panting rather heavily. “Fuck.” He cursed as he quickly lined up his cock in front of your hole to enter your pussy, unable to resist the urge of filling you up anymore. He didn’t sink in you as easily as expected and so he grabbed the armrest of the couch to use it as leverage and push himself deep in you. That thrust made you draw a sharp breath and a whimper of both pain and pleasure escaped your sealed mouth. That girth, holy shit! “Damn, you’re so tight.”  He started moving in you. He was slow but intense but little did you know that he was just warming up. “Fuck, Chris!”

You screamed when his cock started rubbing against a zone inside of you you never thought existed. You clang to the sofa afraid to fall under the strength of his deep hard thrust. You were loud and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d ever been that loud. Your previous boyfriend would have asked you to be quiet and think about the neighbour but Chris, Chris seemed to like your screams. It was all over his smiling face.

He suddenly grabbed both your legs and placed your feet on his shoulders. A position that allowed his long shaft to go even deeper in you, which you never thought was possible. And judging by how red and twisted his young features looked right now, he was definitely enjoying the position. Actually, he loved it so much he quickened the pace and started growling. You marvelled at his sweaty strong body and at his face tensed by intense pleasure “Gosh, Y/N. You’re driving me crazy.” You smiled.

You could watch him fuck you like that for ages. It was a real boost for your self-confidence. And God knows what you were capable when you felt confident.             You spread your thighs and wrapped your legs around Chris to hoist yourself against his chest, his cock miraculously still inside of you. Guess having such a size had many perks. You wanted to ride him and he immediately got your intention. Hands squeezing your rear, he leant against the backrest of the couch and chuckled as you comfortably placed yourself on top of him and started undulating on his lap, his cock amazingly buried in you. “Gosh you have no idea how beautiful you are.” You blushed and he tucked a strand of your hair behind you ear. Your eyes met and you stared at each other quietly before you eventually felt the need to grind against him. The depth of his thick dick inside of you was sending shivers in your entire body. That was incredible. You kept a pace that pleased you both. “You’re so good.” He confessed as he took a deep breath. “Are you gonna come for me, Made in Heaven?” You teased.      “That’s very likely.” He chortled, amused by the nickname.         Your hands leant on his muscular thighs, right behind your back, and you began bouncing on his cock with an incredible agility and eagerness that left Chris amazed. And you could tell by the way he was panting that he wouldn’t last long. Not a surprise. This love-making was certainly the most exquisite you had ever had. His throbbing cock hitting you deep inside was amazing, just as the melody of sweaty skins meeting each other accompanied by the wet sound of your cunt and the creaking of the couch under both your weights.         

Chris placed his hands on your bouncing breasts to grope them. “If you keep going like that I’m gonna cum in you.” He declared between two groans. “Please do”. He made you lean forward and brought your breasts to his mouth to lick them and suck the nipples. “I want you to” You gripped his hair without even realising it. It was a reflex, a way to have him … feel him closer to you, to tell him not to stop. “I want your cum in me, Chris.”

That was too sexy and naughty for Chris who let out a frustrated animalistic growl as he squeezed you butt, digging his nails in the tender flesh. He began pounding you from underneath, hard, fast and deep like a jackhammer, his balls slapping against your butt. You cried out. The sensation was divine and took all your words away. Now only plaintive onomatopoeias seemed to be able escape your agape mouth. Well, onomatopoeias and some very casual “Fuck, Chris” that would make your lover chuckle or smirk proudly.

And that’s how you felt it coming. That so well-deserved orgasm, ready to burst like a firework.  It made you cry out and nestle your head in Chris’s neck, your body convulsing like never before. But Chris wanted to see you. He wanted to see your face as you were cumming for him. He wanted to carve that moment to play it over and over after you were gone. And so he pulled up your hair to make you look at him. But you couldn’t. Your eyes were tightly closed and refused to open. And then, it all came out. And you screamed his name, on and on, loud, so loud you were sure the neighbours would probably shout at you tomorrow but you did not care. You let your juices flow along his cock and your wall clench around him.   “Damn. Fuuucck.” He growled and his moves became very sloppy yet more brutal and deeper. “Don’t you squeeze around me like that” But you couldn’t help it. That climax felt too good. Chris felt too good.

It sent him over the edge. He came hard in you, hot and sticky semen spurting in your vagina, painting your walls like nothing else. And you loved it, enjoying it the warm sensation with an amazed amused little laugh that made Chris chuckle despite his tiredness. “What’s so funny?” He asked.           “Nothing. Just telling myself that this... was made in heaven” You winked and he laughed. You were gonna miss him.

#chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #resident evil #one shot #answer request

[purplesurveys]

1248

Your ex taps you on the shoulder and says, “I still love you.” You say?  I feel like I’ve answered a similar situation recently, but I would assume it was a drunk text or wrong text, inform them about it, and move on.

Do you play video games?  Nah. I do feel a sort of connection of video games since I grew up surrounded by them, though; but I’m more of a watcher than anything. I like watching playthroughs of video games I’ll never play. Do you spend a lot of time with family?  No. We used to, back when the quarantine was still a relatively new thing – we hung out in the living room all the time. But now that we’ve settled in this new normal, we’re back to our normal routines and I usually like staying in my room.

Is your house more than two stories tall?  Technically, yes. We have a rooftop that serves as the ‘third’ floor.

Have you ever hit your significant other? Has he/she ever hit you?  My ex and I never hit one another; that’s a gigantic red flag even I would notice, considering I ignored most of the ones I saw hahaha.

What makes you an attractive person? (Talk about your personality too!)  I’m not sure if I’ll be able to answer this question directly, but I like my generosity. I’m not sure if I can call it attractive, though. But if we were focusing on physical features, I like my smile.

What color is your hairbrush/comb?  Pink.

What snacks do you have available in your household atm?  My dad splurged on chips in his last grocery run so we actually have quite a lot of junk food in the pantry at the moment. He also bought several packs of cookie sandwiches, wafers, sunflower seeds, and garlic-flavored peanuts.

Has anyone recently told you that they like you, or find you attractive?  Neither.

Are you attracted to the last person you Facebook messaged?  No, she’s just a good friend of mine.

Do you care about anyone that doesn’t care about you?  I guess I don’t, because I’m not even aware of them.

Was your last Facebook friend requests from a male or female?  Guy. It was another reporter, so I just ignored it and luckily he didn’t PM me just to ask to add him back, which others have already done. I really hate when work people try to make their way into my personal accounts.

Which one of your relatives is most likely to embarrass you?  My parents, especially when they are rude to service crew. Gen X-ers are impeccably talented at that, apparently.

When was the last time you ate a bar of chocolate?  Around two or three weeks ago when I had dinner at Angela’s. Her dad gave me a bar of Crunch so I can have something sweet after our meal.

Do you play any games on Facebook?  No, I never did hop on that trend.

What would you like to get a degree in?  I wanted a degree in journalism, and graduated with such. At the end of my college stint I didn’t want to pursue it anymore, but I pushed through with it anyway because it was too much of a hassle to shift and start all over.

Do you wake up a lot in the middle of the night? Technically not, because I stay up until the middle of the night anyway. It’s been a while since I fell asleep anywhere between 8 to 10 PM.

Would you prefer to read a book, watch a movie or TV show, or play a video game?  Watch a show.

Do you usually get popcorn or soda at the movie theater?  I don’t like either; I get fries instead.

What genre of films do you like the best?  Drama.

How many bank accounts do you have?  Two but I haven’t been using the other one in months. That was the bank account I initially opened when I first started ~adulting~ but when I got employed I was required to enroll in this other specific bank, so that’s what I mainly use now.

Have you ever had the flu?  Not really. I just get the occasional fever that pop out of nowhere.

What is your goal for the next few months?  Start saving FOR REAL, and also prioritizing furniture over merch for a while so I can finally fix up my room, which is quickly starting to look and feel like just a warehouse and not very homey at all.

Have you ever had some kind of sleep-disorder? How did it affect your life?  Nope.

Have you ever had food poisoning before? Describe the experience.  Yeah, it was from barbecue that apparently went bad, even though it tasted nothing of the sort. I woke up at 3 AM sweating profusely and with the most excruciating stomachache; I was feeling hot, cold, and nauseous all at the same time, and it probably lasted for like an hour or so.

What are two things that you have no problem paying full price for?  Sealed albums and my pets’ vet expenses.

Funny, charming, cute, romantic, smart - choose only 2 for the opposite sex.  Charming and smart.

Have you ever let somebody use you? Why did you do it?  It felt nice to help people.

You can go back in time & change something in your mom’s past - what is it? Good question; I’ve never encountered this before. I would let her live a more comfortable, privileged life, where she didn’t have to staple her shoes to keep them closed or have to choose between eating at a fast food restaurant or being able to commute back home.

Do you know anybody who is around the exact same size as you? Who? I’m not sure, actually. Everyone’s always slightly taller than me.

Ever been to a haunted house? How scared were you?  I haven’t.

Been on any websites today you wouldn’t want your parents to see?  Tumblr, I guess? My survey blog isn’t for any irls to see.

Which is worse: dusting or mopping?  I don’t really do either often, but I’ll go with mopping.

Would you marry somebody who was intensely religious?  Not for me.

Did you pull a senior prank?  No, that’s not a thing here. Did you graduate?  Yeah, elementary, high school, and college.

Have you ever been unfaithful in a serious relationship?  Nope.

What was the last song you listened to?  It’s a song called Epiphany.

Are you one of those lucky people with 20/20 vision?  Not ever since I was like 9 lol.

Is fashion one of your interests?  I’m way more interested in it now for sure, mostly because the celebrities I’m into these days put a lot of effort when it comes to their style; so it makes me more aware of the trends that come and go, as well.

Do you think you’ll eventually find that special someone?  I’m keeping it as a possibility, but it’s not a priority for me now.

Do you care what people think?  To an extent, I would say. My life doesn’t depend on it, though.

Is acting something you enjoy?  Never been.

What was the last thing you broke/sprained?  Do you mean a thing or a body part? Anyway, I’ll answer both. The last thing I broke was my BTS Mic Drop pen of V looooooooooool the figurine came off the pen :(( It was pretty cheap though so I’m fine with it; I can always get another one. Last body part I sprained was my ankle, when I had a bad fall a couple of years ago.

Have you ever fought with a friend because of their boyfriend/girlfriend? Because of yours?  Either hasn’t happened.

Has a stranger ever yelled at you for your language?  I don’t think so.

Whose house, other than yours and your families', are you most comfortable at?  Angela’s. Also JM’s, just because their family doesn’t hover and that vibe can sometimes be nice whenever I’m at someone else’s place.

Has any of your friends’ family ever yelled at you?  Never.

Did you ever play a sport as a little kid? Did you enjoy it? Not as a very young kid, but I took up table tennis starting when I was 12. Did you ever watch the show Full House?  Nope.

Is there a celebrity you are just DETERMINED to marry?  Now that’s just delusional haha. I’m pretty obsessed with some celebrities, that much I can admit; but thinking of them in the context of marriage is so many steps overboard.

Have you ever burned someone’s picture?  No. I could, but I am scared of fire and will probably just think of other ways to express my anger, like tearing up the photograph. What’s the longest hike you’ve ever been on?  Total length was probably like 3 hours. I haven’t gone too far when it comes to hiking.

Would you ever get a lip tattoo?  Not interested.

Who is the first person of the opposite sex that pops into your head? Hans.

Do your parents smoke cigarettes?  My mom tried it once in her life, I think. My dad has never smoked.

What does one of your T-shirts have written on it?  “Hope right here!”

Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want.  Anything that’s supposed to roam freely in the wild, like squirrels.

Would you prefer your partner smaller or taller?  Taller, since I’m already quite pint-sized to begin with lol.

Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times, it's too painful. It also depends on the era of the pictures. < Agree, especially with the eras. Childhood photos are always fun to look at, but I have had to delete a CHUNK of photos from years ranging from 2014 to 2020 because I’ve lost a handful of friends from that period.

Do you believe people when they say they don’t judge people?  It’s hard to for the most part, but I’ve noticed very few people people really don’t. Most of the time it’s bullshit though.

What did you love the most about the town you grew up in?  That it’s pretty close to the metro.

What’s a movie that you laughed the hardest during?  Hmm, I prefer TV shows if I’m craving comedy.

What’s a movie you cried the hardest during?  Life Is Beautiful.

What’s your favorite restaurant?  Omakase for my sushi fix; School Tteokbokki if I want Korean; Yabu if I’m looking for a generous rice meal.

Is there a dessert you don’t like?  Anything with fruits.

Favorite album?  After Laughter by Paramore.

What’s a book that you read because everyone else was reading it?  I can name authors instead of books – John Green and Haruki Murakami.

Underwater or outer space?  Outer space.

Dogs or cats?  Dogs.

Kittens or puppies?  Puppies.

Bird watching or whale watching?  Whale watching. I don’t get to be in the water as much, so I would jump at the opportunity.

What is your spirit animal?  I dunno if I have one but let’s just go with dog and elephant, I guess? They’re my favorites.

What was your best subject in school?  History.

What was your worst subject in school?  Chemistry.

What is one thing you wish you knew in high school?  Don’t waste your time.

Who is your fashion icon?  Audrey Hepburn.

Diamonds or pearls?  Diamonds.

What color dress did you wear to prom?  For my own prom it was cream-colored/beige. When I went to Mike’s ball, I went with a royal blue gown.

What’s your favorite plot-twist?  I don’t think I’ve found my favorite yet.

Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now?  Not actively.

Honestly, what’s the worst thing you’ve done when you were mad?  I dunno...road rage, maybe?

Honestly, ever made anyone cry when you were mad?  It’s very likely.

Honestly, when was the last time you REALLY cried your heart out?  Sometime in the last week.

Ever pop someone else’s pimple? No thanks.

Do you need to return anyone’s phone call?  Nope.

Who are you closest to?  Angela.

Have you ever had a bad concert experience?  No, all the ones I’ve been to have been amazing experiences.

Are you currently sad about anything?  Not really. I can’t complain.

Have you had any form of exercise today?  Nah.

Can you handle blood?  Nope, I will feel faint if I see it 100%.

Has any place hired you underage for a job?  No.

Have you ever carried a concealed weapon?  I haven’t.

Are you currently searching for a job?  No, I like the one I have.

Does eating breakfast make you sick?  No?

#survey #surveys

[luna-almighty-god]

Comfort a Little Dream N°4 [This desire I have for you.]

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Careful, there are explicit scenes in this story (violence) !

I hope you have a good read!

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

The darkness of unconsciousness was one of the most terrifying prisons he had ever known. Dream cowered, trembling, unable to raise his head to observe this desperately empty, desperately dark place. The place that had held him prisoner for so long... for hours? Days? He couldn't tell, his vision of time was cloudy, as cloudy as the feelings that assailed him.

He was scared, shaking, sobbing. And in this place devoid of life, he heard only his own groans, his own painful and pathetic groans.

He was scared. He wanted Ink. He wanted Cross. He wanted his brother.

[Someone, anyone...]

Was he dead? Was it hell? Was it his fate after his miserable life: to be plunged into darkness until he went mad?

He gritted his teeth, choking out another sob.

A gust of wind. He shivered.

He froze.

A gust of wind?

He raised his head up sharply, only to fall once again into the void. At first disappointed, his soul gripping with anguish, he suddenly held his breath. No ... There was something different. There was a... There was someone there?

“Always such a crybaby.”

Dream widened his eyes and got back on his feet. Contradictory feelings took possession of him: relief, apprehension, incomprehension. He squinted his eyes for fear of having dreamed, but it was not so: Nightmare broke away from the darkness to appear before him, as imposing and haughty as usual, his tentacles wiggling in his back.

“N ... Night?” stammered the keeper of dreams.

Nightmare kept silent, looked at him for a long time, lingered on his frail and trembling body, then on his tired and terrified face ... and Dream was surprised to see a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. No, it was impossible, had he dreamed?

“... Nightmare... Is this ....real? Or am I... ?

- You're not dead.”

The master of darkness approached. Dream shuddered, took a step back, but his twin was quickly at his level, came to slip a hand on his cheek, surprising him again. And he put on him a look that the guardian of dreams never thought he would see, a look that made him feel like a jewel, a fragile crystal that one wished to brood and cherish.

It wasn't normal... This situation was far too unreal...

“Dream…”

Nightmare's voice shook, alerting his twin, who looked at him in confusion:

“Dream... You're in a coma.”

The little dream blinked, as if he hadn't assimilated the information. He tilted his head to the side, lost, confused, believing some kind of joke or manipulative technique, or a clue that he was dreaming and that his brother wasn't really there.

“Dream, do you even remember what happened?”

What happened? He had a sweet laugh, a laugh that stunned Nightmare.

“It's hard to forget him ... But what does it matter?”

Yeah, what does it matter?

“All is well”

[He was fine.]

“This place isn't so bad, especially if I can create such illusions…”

[ Now that he had imagined Nightmare, maybe he could imagine Ink, Cross, maybe even Blueberry? ]

“No one will ever have to suffer because of me again.”

[ Yes, plus pers... ]

“BUT YOU'RE NOT FUCKING DEAD!”

Dream was startled, terrified by this excess of voices. He looked at what he thought was a fake Nightmare, this fake Nightmare whose tentacles were more violently agitated, whose gaze had become more murderous. This fake Nightmare at his wit's end, full of rage and suffering that made him tremble, made him want to cry:

“YOU'RE IN A COMA BECAUSE THE OTHER MOTHERFUCKER MADE YOU EAT BLACK APPLES! AND I STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU'RE STILL NOT FUCKING CORRUPT!”

Dream flickers. What's that?

Nightmare grabbed him by the shoulders:

“We're both unconscious right now! Your state is completely unstable, your mind is an open book! I snuck in here to wake you up, you moron!

- No... (sighs) No, that's impossible, it's...

- If you don't wake up now, your soul will destroy itself! And then, yeah, then you'll be dead for good! And don't expect Reaper to give you special treatment! So... (sighs)”

Nightmare opened his eyes when he was violently pushed away. He avoided the fall only because of his tentacles on which he leaned and raised his head, looking at his brother in amazement. Dream had just attacked him? Really?

“Shut up... “ gently blew the younger one backwards.

Nightmare frowned, took another step towards him.

“BACK OFF! STAY AWAY FROM ME!

- Dream.

- SHUT UP! YOU'RE NOT MY BROTHER! YOU CAN'T BE MY BROTHER!”

Dream didn't know how he managed, but his bow suddenly materialized in his hand and it was by instinct that he aimed at his twin before firing without the slightest hesitation. The arrow of light split the air in an instant and almost stabbed the nightmare master, but he narrowly dodged it, not without making a wince when he was grazed on the cheek.

He growled, looked angrily at his brother:

“So you want to play this…”

He never turned down a fight, least of all with his idiot twin. His old habits returned at full gallop and he threw himself on Dream, his tentacles rushing towards him. But his soul missed a beat. It missed a beat when he saw Dream close his eyes, surrendering to his attack, ready to suffer its full force, even if it was only to shatter.

Nightmare felt his stomach twist. He had to use all his self-control to manage to deflect the attack, saving his twin from certain death, and instead of hurting him he came to grab him, his tentacles grabbing his arms and legs to immobilize him in the air.

Dream froze in horror, assailed by memories.

[ Tentacle clamps violently against the wall ]

[ arm snap ]

[ Sticking a tentacle in his mouth ]

[Sets him down with a deep wound]

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”

Nightmare froze with fright, shuddered before this scream of terror, a scream he had surely not foreseen, as well as this sudden wave of negativity that pushed him to step back, to protect himself with his arms. He barely managed to hold Dream, watching it struggling, screaming and sobbing like a madman, his body arched and his eyes filled with unbearable fear.

And that terrified him. Dealing with negative emotions was one thing. Facing unknown negativity was another. But seeing his brother, his twin, that adorable being embodying positivity, screaming like a madman and struggling with despair, was surely the worst vision, a sight he would never have wanted to see.

And yet he had dreamed of it. Oh yes, Nightmare had dreamed of the day when he would destroy Dream, when he would push it to its limit, when he would make it sick with horror and make it sink, getting rid of the positive emotions that were bothering him at the time, getting rid of the last obstacle that was preventing him from reigning as a master on the multiverse.

Aren't you happy?

He should have been happy.

[You finally get what you want.]

He should have rejoiced!

[ Chuckles ]

WHY COULDN'T HE REJOICE?!

Nightmare tightened his grip, Dream uttered yet another scream. He slipped a tentacle around his throat, pressed it slowly, the body trembling, the eyes devoid of pupils.

[If he killed him now, no one would blame him.]

[If he killed him now, everyone would think that Shattered is the culprit.]

If he killed him now...

If he killed him now...!

... Why didn't he kill him before? Now he'd had his chance. He'd had too many chances.

[He wanted to hurt him.]

Yes, yes, death was too sweet, much too sweet for Dream. It was...

[ Dream choking ]

He didn't care. A little more, just a little tighter, and...

[He can't breathe]

Why did he want to save him in the first place? No, no, Nightmare didn't want to save him. He was delusional, he didn't... he didn't... he didn't... he... he...

He met the gaze of his twin, his twin who had stopped struggling, empty-eyed, half unconscious, ready to accept his death, ready to disappear from this world, ready to ... à ...

Nightmare became livid. His tentacles gave way, letting the guardian of dreams fall to the ground, stunned and confused, coughing and trying to catch a faint breath.

“Why... ? “ articulated the nightmare.

Dream was unable to move. He could only turn his eyes to his weak brother, without understanding why he had not finished him.

“Why do you seek to die... ? WHAT'S GOING ON IN YOUR SKULL THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO DISAPPEAR?”

The silence returned, heavier, colder, more unbearable than ever.

Dream remained for a long time without answering, as if the question seemed absurd to him, that there was no need to give an answer. Nightmare asked him why? He dared to ask him why? He dared to stand in front of him, to cheer him up, to imply that he was just an idiot to want to die ... When he was the one who wanted him dead all along? That he's the one who's been trying to finish him off? That he was the one who tried to kill him again not even a few minutes ago?

“... You've got to be kidding me…”

Dream blew that out with a smile on his face, as if he'd just heard a good joke. His breathing was just getting regular again, but his soul was beating wildly, his mind was no longer functioning properly. He leaned on his hands, trembling all over, more feverish than he had ever been.

“You wanted me to disappear... and now that I'm giving it to you, you ask me why? When I'm doing this for you, for all of you, you ask me why?”

Her smile had melted, his tremors had become more violent. He got up, barely holding on to his legs, ready to collapse again. But his gaze was not feverish. No, his gaze had become dark, dark and angry, witnessing the storm raging inside him, the storm that mixed his anger and sadness, his regret and remorse, his ... his ... his ...

“IT'S NOT FAIR! I HAVE FINALLY ACCEPTED MY FATE! I FINALLY ACCEPTED TO DIE ! I'VE FINALLY ACCEPTED TO LEAVE YOU ALONE, TO LEAVE YOU ALONE SO THAT I CAN BE LEFT ALONE! WHY DON'T YOU LET ME DIE? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WANTED THIS! YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED IT! DON'T BULLSHIT ME, DON'T TELL ME YOU WANT ME TO WAKE UP!”

Nightmare thought he was hallucinating, anger took hold of him again:

“LEAVE YOU ALONE? YOU'RE ALWAYS IN PEACE! YOU'VE HAD PEACE SINCE WE WERE KIDS! YOU'VE HAD IT ALL ALONG! YOU'VE ALWAYS HAD PEOPLE TO LOVE AND CUDDLE YOU, YOU'VE ALWAYS...

- WHAT LOVE?!”

Nightmare paused, stunned by such a question. He clenched his fists, his rage only getting stronger, but Dream got ahead of him before he could reply:

“DO YOU EVOKE THE LOVE IN MY AURA? IS THIS LOVE FOR YOU?”

Nightmare remained mute, caught off guard by such a question. What… ? Love to his aura?

“WHAT A LOVE! PEOPLE LIKE TO FEEL GOOD! THEY LIKE POSITIVE EMOTIONS, THEY LIKE TO SMILE, THEY LIKE TO BE HAPPY! SO OF COURSE HE LOVES ME, I'M A WALKING SOURCE OF HAPPINESS!

- Wha... Dr...

- BUT WITHOUT THAT AURA, WHO'S LEFT? NO ONE! BECAUSE NOBODY WANTS A USELESS KID! NOBODY WANTS A CLUMSY MORON WHO KNOWS NOTHING BUT HOPE, WHO KNOWS NOTHING BUT HOPING, WHO KNOWS NOTHING BUT COMING OUT OF NONSENSE BIGGER THAN HIMSELF!

- It's, uh... !

- EVERYONE PREFERS TO PLAY THE HYPOCRITE WHEN IT SUITS THEM, BUT WHEN THEY NO LONGER NEED A HELPING HAND THEY TURN AWAY FROM THEIR SOURCE! THEY GO ELSEWHERE TO TAKE CARE OF THE PEOPLE THEY REALLY LOVE!”

Nightmare hiccupped, petrified by his twin's speech. Petrified by the tears that had come to fill his eyes and run down his undone face.

“ONCE THEY'RE HAPPY, ONCE THEY'RE HAPPY... !”

Dream sobbed, grabbed his arms with force, stuck his trembling phalanges into them without worrying about the pain.

"Once they're happy, they don't need me anymore! Once they are happy, they don't care that I can disappear, they don't care that I can go wrong! »

He fell to his knees, shaken by uncontrollable jolts, as pale as death as he felt his stomach turn over, inflicting on him that repulsive urge to vomit.

“... I wanted to be like you…”

Nightmare felt stabbed, assaulted by a stabbing pain, a pain that worsened when his twin repeated:

“I wanted to be like you... To be as strong as you... To be capable of so many things like you... Many hated you, many resented you, many still do... But when people love you…”

He burst into tears, his voice going off the rails over his last words:

“...when you are loved, you are truly loved... !”

He took his head in his hands, closing his eyes with force, as if he wanted to hide, to vanish for good:

“I really loved you... !”

There was nothing left but his sobs, his crouching and aching body, his broken voice and his erratic breathing. There was nothing left but his troubled mind and his terror. There was nothing but his distress and abandonment.

And Nightmare just stood there with his mouth open, unable to answer anything, as if he'd just received a masterful slap, a truth he would have preferred to ignore. He remained silent, contemplating the feverish body of his brother, contemplating what was left of his sparkling twin as a crowd of memories hit him in the face.

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME! YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND ME!”

He was the one who didn't understand anything.

“YOU'VE ALWAYS HAD IT ALL! BECAUSE YOU ARE THE GUARDIAN OF DREAMS, OF POSITIVITY! YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN THE SPOILED BRAT! AND ME IN ALL THIS?!”

"A spoiled rotten kid" who lived a life of hypocrisy and lies.

“WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I NEEDED YOU? WHEN I WAS BEING HUMILIATED, HARASSED?”

Dream had never been there because he didn't know about it. He had never noticed anything because everybody had hidden it from him, everybody had lied to him, everybody... including Nightmare himself. Nightmare who had dared to accuse him, who had dared to call him a liar.

But Dream had only lied to one person.

[ Dream had been lying to himself all these years ]

[He lied to himself, convinced himself that he was okay, that everything was fine.]

He had lied to himself only to avoid cracking up. Only so he could continue to support others.]

[ While from the beginning... ]

[All along, it was his job to be supported]

Nightmare collapsed, fell to his knees, exhausted. Just about at the end. He made a groan, a pathetic moan, close to a sob, and barely realized that his vision had become blurred, that tears were coming out of his one eye.

What had he done?

He destroyed Dream.

What had he done?

He had pushed his twin to the limit.

What had he done?

He had committed an unforgivable act.

Seeing your desperate brother hurt you more than you thought...

Nightmare gritted her teeth. He got up, his body reacting by automatism, and moved towards Dream, came to crouch down beside him, put a hand on his shoulder.

[It's time to right the wrong you've done.]

“It's time to wake up Dream.”

[You're filled with determination]

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale -> Joku

Shattered Dream -> ErroredArtist’s

Cross ->  Jakei

Error -> Lover The Piggies

Ink -> Comyet / Myebi

Dust -> Ask DustTale

Killer -> Rahafwabas

Color -> Superyoumma

Sugar Plum -> undertale Community (formerly NSFWShamecave ?)

#comfort a little dream #Hurt / Comfort #undertale #dreamtale #dream #nightmare #bad sanses #killer #color #sugar plum #error #ink #dust #sans #Shattered Dream #fanfiction

[chellybear98]

Cheater

Hey loves! ❤️ I haven’t written in a while and I wanted to get back into it so I decided to do @2yluvers nov writing challenge ☺️ This is day 4: Joel cheated! 👀 Hope you guys like it 🥰

I’ve been twisting and turning in bed for the past 2 hours. I can’t seem to fall asleep. Why? Well because my boyfriend went to the club with some of his friends and still isn’t back yet. It’s currently 3:43am and I’m worried sick. I’ve called him about 20 times already and I’ve sent him like 35 texts and I’ve gotten no response. You may think I’m one of those crazy girlfriends who want to know where their man is 24/7 but I’m not. It’s just that he never stays out this late and even if he is staying out a little later than usual he calls to let me know so I won’t worry.

What has me the most worried though, is that Emilia is with him. I’ve never liked her and she’s never liked me. Whenever I’m with Joel and she’s around she always has the worst attitude towards me and Joel never seems to notice. Whenever I try to tell him about it he just tells me that I’m delusional. I personally think she has a thing for him but whenever I tell him about it, he gets very defensive and I always have to stop the conversation before it turns to an argument. I tend to do that a lot, stop conversations to stay away from conflict because I’m always afraid that I’ll lose him.

It’s around 5:30am when I finally hear the sound of the front door opening. I immediately jump out of bed and walk towards the living room. Joel is sitting on the couch, taking his shoes off. “Do you know what time it is? Do you know how worried I’ve been? Why the hell haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts?” my voice begins to get higher with every question I ask. Joel shoots up from the couch and turns towards me the minute he hears my voice. He had a look of both shocked and scared on his face.

“Baby! What are you still doing up?” He stuttered, sounding very intoxicated might I add. “What am I doing up? Did you not just hear what I said? I was worried sick about you Joel! It’s 5:30 in the damn morning and you’re only just walking into the house! Where the hell have you been? I bet Emilia has something to with this right?” I was fuming. I’ve never been this angry towards him. Ever. And just like a light switch, Joel’s face changed from scared to angry. “Why the hell does she always have to be the problem? She’s never done anything wrong!” I was so done with him at this point. I didn’t care about getting into an argument anymore. I needed answers to what had been going through my mind. I deserved answers.

“Why do you always defend her whenever I bring her up? Why do you make it seem like she’s more important to you than I am? I’m your girlfriend Joel. Does that mean nothing to you?” My voice became so soft that it almost came out as a whisper. I felt exhausted, defeated, drained. Joel looked at me with so much sorrow. “Of course it means something Y/N. I love you! With all my heart. You mean the world to me. You bring me so much happiness into my life and I could never thank you enough for that. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Emilia is just a friend. She means nothing to me.” I was so touched by his little speech but for some reason I just felt like he had more to say.

He had a look of regret on his face that I just couldn’t ignore. “If all of what you’re saying is true Joel, why didn’t you answer my calls? Why are you only just getting home at 5:30 in the morning? What were you doing? And if you love me as much as you say you do then you’ll tell me the truth.” I don’t know why I said all that. I just wanted to go to bed and cuddle up with the love of my life but I have a feeling that it’s not gonna happen. He had the same scared look on his face as before when we first started talking mixed with the look of pure regret. “I love you Y/N. So so much. Please forgive me.” And with that, he bursted into tears.

My first instinct was to go hold him in my arms and console him. But I knew better than that. Based on his reaction it was quite obvious as to why he was home this late. “Did you at least think of me, when you were having sex with her?” All he did was stare at me with those adorable browns eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t do it anymore. I just walked right past him and went straight to our bedroom. I pulled out a duffel bag and began shoving whatever I could into it.

Joel ran straight to the room when he realized what I was doing and began throwing things out of the bag. “Y/N stop! Please stop! Please don’t leave me! I don’t know how to exist in a world without you! Don’t you love me? Please stay if you love me.” He continuously begged. “Of course I love you Joel! I always will! And I hate myself for it. But just because I love you doesn’t mean I’m going to stay.” Tears we’re now streaming down my face at this point. He looked at me in defeat.

He knew I was leaving and there was nothing he could say or do that would make me stay. I finished packing what I could into the duffel bag and walked towards the front door. As I reached for the doorknob, I turned to get one last look at the man I love. He was standing there, staring at me with his red, puffy, tear filled eyes. “Goodbye, Joel.” With that I turned around and walked right out the door, not looking back.

#2ylnovwriting #cnco #joel pimentel #joel pimentel imagine

[padfootagain]

The Flower Shop Around The Corner (V)

Part 5: Decisions To Be Taken

Here we go with a new chapter for this series! After the previous chapter, we need to take these two back on track, don't you think ;)

Alright, here we go! I hope you all like this :)

Gif not mine

Word Count: 3508

Chris couldn't help but be relieved that it was Saturday and he wouldn't have to see you at work. He didn't think he could have handled seeing you face to face after what had happened in the café. He didn't have the strength to play an act, and pretend that he wasn't Wallet Guy. Besides, he just didn't want to see you. He had his own disappointment to deal with.

He was angry against himself, actually. He was mad at himself for getting so involved in this grotesque joke. What had he been thinking in the first place? That it was a good idea to build such expectations upon a perfect stranger? That he was going to meet the woman of his dreams through letters exchanged in a flower shop? What kind of delusional idiot had he been? He didn't live in a world of romance and fairytales, reality was much cruder and crueller than that.

He finally stood up, leaving his bed, wearing nothing but his dark underwear. His hair a mess and fatigue deforming his features, colouring the skin under his eyes, he had not slept at all the previous night. He had laid there on his bed for hours, playing the whole scene over and over in his head, and thinking about how things could have unravelled if he had made different choices…

What if he had been kinder?

What if he had walked in as the Wallet Guy anyway?

But then again, he guessed that both options would have turned badly as well.

He reached for the box in which he had put all your letters. All these little notes you had left for him were gathered in that red shoebox he kept in his closet. He walked to the kitchen and opened the bin, ready to throw them all away. There was no use in keeping them. He had fallen for a dream, a chimera, a reverie, nothing real… It was all a travesty in the end, and he needed to get it out of his system, as if he had to sober up after a night spent drinking whiskey.

He was about to throw them all away. All your letters. He had opened the box and held it above the empty bin. But instead of throwing the papers away, he kept on staring at them. He looked at your handwriting tracing the words Wallet Guy.

He was surprised by the sob that shook his whole frame.

How could he care so much for someone he didn't like in real life?

But then… then these letters were real life too, he reckoned. They told the story of another part of your life, perhaps even deeper thoughts and secrets than the ones you shared with your friends. That's what he had been doing in his letters for you. This woman he had fallen for through these words was still there in you, he just needed to find her.

He took a few steps back, until he turned around and walked back to his bed, still holding the box filled with your letters.

He randomly picked one up, unfolded it and started to read it. You were talking about how strange it felt to always be moving because of your career. Now, he understood why. And the words echoed in his heart in such a way… because he felt exactly the same. It was as if you were speaking words he had longed to let out himself but had never been able to express. You were just speaking the way he felt.

He opened another, and he found himself in your words again. How you felt like the world was changing in a bad way. How everything was going too fast these days…

He spent the rest of the morning reading your letters. By the end of it, his eyes were red with tears, but his heart and mind were much more peaceful than before.

He couldn't give up on Peony Girl. He couldn't give up on this wonderful, kind and smart woman he had found. She was inside you, he just needed to find her.

In one of your letters, you had mentioned that you had a tendency to build walls around yourself. You struggled to let people in your little world. And now, Chris guessed that it was exactly what you did with him at work. You were acting cold because you were pushing him away.

Well then, all he had to do was break this wall of yours and he was sure to find Peony inside.

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

 The plan was simple. He had to learn to know you better as Y/N instead of Peony. Meanwhile, the Wallet Guy would keep writing to Peony Girl as if nothing had happened. And if he did find the precious Peony in Y/N then… well, then he would figure that out later on. One problem at a time was enough to solve.

As he walked through the busy street, along the border of Central Park, the sun was still hot and bright in this lovely evening. A soft breeze made the trees speak up and leaves whisper, blowing through his hair and carrying pieces of paper through its whirlwind. If it had not been from the pollution of the many cars and the speedy rhythm of New York City, Chris would have found the world most relaxing tonight.

But his nerves were breaking as he advanced towards the flower shop with Dodger. He noticed that he was pulling on his leash a little, and forced himself to slow down.

What if you didn’t come back to the flower shop? What if you gave up on him?

He couldn’t blame you if you did. After all, you were certain that he had not showed up the day before. This time, he reckoned you had a good reason to hate him.

As he opened the door, Carlotta's glare was enough to make him understand that he was not going to have a good time tonight. She finished taking care of her customer, a young man buying a romantic bouquet of red roses, and she waited for him to walk out of her shop to cross her arms before her chest.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she bluntly asked.

"What do you mean?" Chris feigned ignorance, but her glare only intensified.

"You didn't show! Why on Earth would you not go?! She waited for you for THREE HOURS!"

Chris winced, but also raised a soothing hand towards Carlotta. Her black eyes stared at him expectantly, her tanned skin turned a little redder than usual by anger.

"It's more complicated than this," he replied.

"There is nothing complicated about all this, Chris."

"I went."

"What?!"

She frowned hard, questions filling her stare.

"I went. I was there right on time."

"What… what happened then? Why did you not go talk to her?"

"I did go. I did talk with her."

"I don't understand."

"Did she mention one of her colleagues speaking with her while she waited?"

Carlotta stuttered, taken aback.

"Well… yes, as a matter of fact, she did. She said that he was very annoying."

"Yeah… I guess I can't deny that I was."

"WHAT?!"

She looked at him with her eyes wide-opened.

"I know her, Carlotta. In real life, I mean. I know her. We work together. And in a daily life, we can't stand each other. I…"

His voice broke and it took him a few seconds to collect himself again. Carlotta's gaze softened and she visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping a little.

"I couldn't just… get in and tell her the truth. So, I played her colleague instead of Wallet Guy. And then I left. I didn't know what to do. I needed to think."

"She was so sad, Chris," Carlotta shook her head. "She was crying…"

She reached behind her counter and handed him a red envelope.

"I think she meant it as a farewell letter… she seemed quite… devastated."

Chris's jaw clenched at her words, but he took the letter anyway and tore the envelope open. And as he went through the letter, he could feel your pain oozing from the ink, from every letter traced, from every word drawn upon the page.

He had hurt you and he felt so guilty and disappointed in himself for it.

 Wallet Guy,

 I will not pretend that nothing happened. I will not start this letter the way I have begun so many others. I will not describe for you some beautiful detail I've seen this morning, nor a funny story, nor even complain about work or annoying friends.

Instead, I will be honest with you. I am so disappointed.

I don't understand what happened last night. You wanted to meet me, you proposed to do so. In your letters, you seemed happy and eager to finally see me face to face. So why have you not come?

I waited for you in this café. I watched couples walk in and out, old friends chatting and catching up on lost time. I've watched so many people spending their evening in laughter while I was waiting on my own. And the worst part in all of this is not even the way I felt. How stupid and terribly hurt I felt then. No, the worst part is that I do not know why.

Why did you not come?

Perhaps it is all my fault. If I were to be honest, I have let myself drift off towards a fond friendship towards you during these past weeks, maybe even more than that. Perhaps I was simply a fool to think that you felt the same way. I might have put my hopes too high and I should have known that an Icarus always falls back to the ground.

You have made my stay in New York so much more enjoyable than I could have dreamt of. And with time, I will keep a fond memory of you as my stranger writing me beautiful letters in a flower shop. But I reckon that if your behaviour speaks for the man you truly are, I was mistaken about you, to some extent, at least.

I wish things had been different. Once at home during the night, I imagined a million reasons for you not to come. I invented crazy scenarios and created stories to explain why you had left me there. An accident, an unknown sickness, even a burglary at your home, everything that I could come up with was used as an excuse. But now that the sun is up and my head a little clearer again, I know this isn't true, and you probably didn't have an excuse. And perhaps you even did come to the café, but walked away when you saw me. Perhaps I wasn't what you had imagined. If you were so superficial last night to reject me altogether solely on appearances, then perhaps it was for the best that you broke my heart so early on, after all.

All this to say that I guess you made the choice of saying goodbye yesterday. I hope for you that you will not regret it. I will not come back to the flower shop, so there is no need to leave me a letter.

I guess the dream is over.

 Farewell, Wallet Guy.

 When the droplet fell and stained the red paper, Chris didn't even understand it came from his own eyes. He sniffed, dried his wet cheeks and clenched his jaw until pain crossed his whole face.

"Yes, well… that was to be expected," Carlotta mumbled under her breath, crossing her arms before herself again.

"I know."

His voice was made hoarse by tears, and he needed to dry his cheeks with the back of his hand again before looking up at Carlotta. By his side, Dodger had felt Chris's distress, and was now softly rubbing his snout against his leg in a comforting gesture, his eyes a little sad and crying softly. Chris patted his companions' head a couple of times in a reassuring way.

"Could you give me a pen and some paper, please?"

"I am not sure she will come again… what does she say in her letter?"

"She says that she won't come back."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't…"

"I have to. I have to try. In case she comes back anyway."

There was something in his eyes, a mixture of hope and intense pain close to despair, that made Carlotta give in, and she handed him all he would need to write.

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

 Monday came. You struggled out of bed, but you got up anyway. You hadn't realized that you hadn't changed the time of your alarm clock. There was no need to get up so early, you wouldn't go back to the flower shop.

If getting out of bed had been a struggle, every step from there was a battle against yourself too. From eating your breakfast to taking a shower and dressing up, so in the end, you were happy to have gotten up early, as everything you did seemed to take an eternity.

When you arrived at work, Chris acted as if nothing had happened. As if he didn't know about how your Friday night had ended. He welcomed you with a polite smile that you struggled to return. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't ignore the obvious signs of your sadness, from the look in your eyes to your tired features.

"Are you alright?" he asked with a kinder voice.

"Yeah. Just tired."

"Did something bad happen?"

You let yourself drop in the chair opposite him around the tiny table. All around you, people were hurrying back and forth, preparing the set for the day.

You hadn't talked about what had happened to anyone but Carlotta. And you didn't know why you wanted to tell him everything. You reckoned it would be a little inappropriate, considering you and him didn't exactly get along. But you could feel your emotions bubbling again, tears forming in your eyes and blurring the world around you, and you guessed that you merely needed to tell someone about it, no matter who.

"I… I had a rough weekend."

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated, but asked the question anyway, deciding to look at his cup of coffee instead of you.

"Oh… didn't you have a date on Friday? Did it go well?"

He could see that you were trying not to cry, and his whole being grew more tender towards you. He leaned across the table and searched your eyes with his.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah… huh… he didn't show, actually."

"Oh… I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, I… I don't know why."

You cleared your throat but kept on talking.

"I… it might sound strange, but we hadn't met yet. I mean…"

You paused, looking for the right words.

"Like… on a dating app or something?" Chris proposed.

"Yeah… a little like that, I guess. And we've… you know we've become quite… at least friends and even… I mean, I hoped for more. It's not like the kind of discussion you have on things like Tinder or something, we… we've been talking for… ever since I came to New York, actually. And he seemed so kind and… But when we were supposed to meet, he didn't show."

You heaved a sigh, brushing away a tear before it could fall and Chris could see it.

"Maybe he just had a good reason," Chris spoke with a reassuring tone. "He didn't warn you?"

"No, he didn't."

"Did he contact you again?"

"I don't know. I don't want to talk to him. I haven't checked."

"Well, perhaps you should check. He might have explained why he didn't come."

"I don't want to. I… I keep on asking myself…"

You looked at him with a strange expression, you seemed to be both curious and anxious of his answer.

"Do you think I'm ugly?"

"What?" was all he managed to reply, taken aback.

"I can't help but think… perhaps he did come, and he just… didn't like me or something, and then he left."

"No, that's not what happened."

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he bit his tongue. He couldn’t let himself slip so easily… He stuttered a little as he tried to give you another answer without letting out the truth this time.

"I mean… It can't be what happened. You're beautiful."

"You really think so?"

"Of course. You're gorgeous, Y/N. If he didn't show, then it has nothing to do with you. Maybe he's just a complete jerk."

"No, he's not," you shook your head, but gave him a soft smile.

"Then, why don't you try to go back on this app and see what he has to say."

"I… I don't know…"

"Is there anything I can do?"

You were surprised by how kind he was right now, and you gave him a grateful smile. But you were called by your director, and it was more than time for you to banish the tears from your eyes, at least for the day.

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

 Chris went back to the flower shop on Monday evening, although he knew he would find no letter there. He wrote a note for you anyway and left it in Carlotta's care.

He came back the next day, but there was no letter waiting for him.

He came back the day after anyway, and the day after, on and on for two full weeks. Everyday leaving you a new letter, every day hoping you had come back, every day walking back home disappointed and a little bit more heartbroken.

Meanwhile, at work, you remained a little sadder than usual, but refused to talk about it. It didn't really matter, he had decided to get to know you better as Y/N instead of Peony Girl anyway, and so he did. He had made a habit of bringing you a cup of your favourite tea every morning (he had paid attention to details these past couple of weeks and had had no trouble identifying your favourite flavour). He sat next to you at lunch now every day, and if all your discussions started by either talking about your scenes together or some meaningless topics such as the weather, the more time flew by, the more you had full conversations.

He had learnt about your family a little. He knew you preferred oranges to lemons. He knew your favourite spot in Central Park. He knew where you came from. He knew you loved daisies. He knew your favourite Disney. He knew the way you laughed, and the sound of your breathing, and the way you crinkled your nose a little when you tasted something you didn't like, and the way your eyes softened when you read your favourite book. He knew the way the sun illuminated your eyes and the wind blew through your hair. He was learning to know you for real. And in the softness of your voice when you talked about things you loved, in the compassion and genuine interest that was alit in your eyes when you listened to him, he could begin to see Peony shining through. And he was starting to love that mixture of you and you.

But he could still see a little cloud hovering above your head. You had not truly moved on yet from the Wallet Guy.

You kept on hesitating, debating with yourself every night. For a week now, you had been walking before the flower shop every morning, wondering if you should go in and check if he had left a note for you.

The truth was, for a while, you weren't sure if you would be able to take it if you were to walk in and find out he had never come back after that Friday evening. But on the other hand, you wanted to know, and you reckoned that it would help you to move on.

But if you were to discover a letter, would you forgive him?

One day, you couldn't take any more of it. You had to know…

Had he written again to you? Why had he not come?

And so, one morning, you walked in Carlotta's shop again.

Knowing her, you were expecting a crazy welcome and her jumping in your arms, but you were wrong this time. The second she saw you walking in, she just gave you the brightest of grins, and reached behind her counter for Chris's letters. And as you walked closer, she started by putting one letter on the wooden counter.

And then another.

And another.

And the more she added letters, the more you wanted to cry, until you felt the salty taste of tears on your upper lip.

You counted them. He had written to you every single day since that Friday night…

You reached for his first letter, but you didn't even need to read it.

You had forgiven him already.

*************************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi @madamrogers @marvelcapsicle @theonelittleone @bookgirlunicorn  @simamenickk  @tessxblxckthorn​ @xceafh @illi-vanilli @panic-naran @lahoete @humandasaster @thenormreedus @symonlyjen5 @panic-naran @whothehellisspideypool @sing4mejensen 

#Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

[axelsagewrites]

Stiles Stilinski*Sister

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

Requested by Annon:

TW imagine Stiles younger sister by a few months, and he treats her like a child, and she gets sick of it that he doesn't give her chance just because monsters exist and he's paranoid and he gives her feelings that she doesn't want to feel, and he makes her feel useless and hurts her feelings and sometimes embarrassed the reader.

From birth (Y/N) Stilinski was treated like a fragile china doll. Born almost 3 months early with several complications they were concerning from the start. The baby was barely even a ‘viable’ birth. Sheriff Stilinski was panicking over the birth as his wife brought their first daughter into the world. Stiles was only 10 months old when (Y/N) was born and had no clue why the man who’d bring him food was pacing around the room inside of playing peekaboo. But as he got older, (Y/N) not that far behind, he inherited his father’s protectiveness over his sister. Of course, the Sherriff was concerned about both his children, only being heightened by his wife’s death, but (Y/N) was always the ‘most vulnerable’. The pair did their best to protect her while she tried to prove she didn’t need to be protected. Stiles would tell her not to follow him and Scott on the big climbing frame scared she’d fall. Okay well, I’ll just climb the slide then, (Y/N) would think. And so (Y/N) would and normally be up there first. School was different. The Stilinski family decided to send the two to school together as they just fit in the year’s requirements. Stiles was one of the older ones while (Y/N) was one of the youngest. They’d compete in tests, games, and anything else possible. (Y/N) would do their best to embarrass Stiles while Stiles attempted to protect (Y/N) from bullies. Even though Stiles was their prime target. Despite being in the same year they decided not to deal with each other in school. (Y/N) had her group, Stiles had Scott. It worked. Of course, Stiles still looked over the girl, but he saw she could take care of herself. Well, until the wolves came to time.

Stiles and Scott were both thrown into the supernatural world. Despite Scott being the werewolf, it was still as bad for Stiles. He had to go through a lot of the same things with none of the powers. Being human in a supernatural world makes anyone panic but Stiles had (Y/N) to think about. But (Y/N) was really into myths. Greek myths, Roman myths, strange creatures. Didn’t matter. (Y/N) had taken their late mothers’ old collection of books of myths when she was young and got hooked. As Stiles was trying to help his friend he would ‘borrow’ her books without asking. And she would notice. So (Y/N) found out. Stiles wasn’t the best liar, yet, and (Y/N) knew her brother. So (Y/N) became like Stiles; the human with the info. (Y/N) had to admit Stiles had great intuition but she had the prior knowledge. She was useful. But Stiles didn’t care. It was too dangerous. She could get hurt. You’d be safer at home. Every time he said one of these she’d sigh and walk away. there was no fighting Stiles, the boy was delusional. She did meet Derek, Deaton, and Peter. Well, she wasn’t supposed to meet Peter, but she did. Stiles had been on extra edge recently and (Y/N) didn’t know why. She’d thought it was strange he was hanging with Lydia and Allison now, but nothing was ever explained. All the involvement she had with the supernatural was either answering their questions, meeting Deaton to ask her own questions, and occasionally being dumped on Derek to ‘look over’ her. But stiles were finally talking to girls so (Y/N) didn’t want to ruin it. “So,” (Y/N) said, trying to make it casual, “What’s up in the land of wolves?” They were sitting on the sofa watching some crappy movie, eating dinner. Sheriff was at work and Stiles had cooked his best dish; take out. Stiles gulped, “Um not much. Wolfy stuff and you get it…” he waved her off. (Y/N) crossed her arms, “SO this movie huh?” (Y/N) scoffed “I’m not an idiot. Your panicking, Scott’s panicking, and Deaton’s avoiding my questions,” “You talk to Deaton?” Stiles tries to change the subject. “Yes,” (Y/N)’s eyes narrow, “I like this sort of stuff. I know about it. I can be useful too,” “I know,” “Stiles you’re treating me like a child,” (Y/N) told her brother. He sighed “I’m just…protecting you. It's more dangerous than your storybooks,” “They’re not story books!” Stiles gave her a look, “Maybe when we were 7 but now it's real. I can help.” “No,” “Sti-“ “I SAID NO!” (Y/N) flinched. “It's too dangerous. End of,” Stiles crossed his arms and sulked back. Wiping a quick tear away, (Y/N) stood up, “Fine,” she spat. “But know one day you’ll need help and I won’t run to you,” She turned on her heels and rushed upstairs. “What about your dinner?” Stiles went after her, standing at the foot of the stairs. (Y/N) paused, fighting tears, “I don’t care,” She yelled back. Stiles flinched as her door slammed with a bang. He slumped back down onto the couch, trying to find a better show to watch. It wasn’t safe. He kept telling himself. I need to protect her, for dad. (Y/N) didn’t feel the same. Lying face down on the bed, (Y/N) fought back tears and lost. He always did this. She wasn’t strong enough. She wasn’t smart enough. She wasn’t capable of protecting herself. It made her feel not enough. “Why can’t he let me,” she whispered to the photo on her bedside of her mum holding her in her arms, Stiles in dads. “I’m not a baby. You’d want me to be strong. Like you,” (Y/N)’s words fell on deaf ears of an old photo. He’d never changed. Stiles doesn’t do change.

But Stiles couldn’t control the world. The alpha pack wanted to know everything about each kid and their friends and family. They knew everything about Melisa, Danny, and even (Y/N). but they didn’t see a use for her, well not right away. Stiles and Scott were forced to stay back for Lacrosse so (Y/N) would either go to a friend or walk home. They only had the jeep and (Y/N) knew better than to ask for a car they couldn’t afford. (Y/N) knew she had to study, after all, she was in high school, so decided not to go to her friend’s house. She waved goodbye at the gates, shoved her headphones in, and started home. The walk wasn’t too bad and (Y/N) did like to be somewhat healthy with all these werewolves running around. But despite her dads’ warnings not to have her music on full because she’d be unable to hear her surroundings she did. Her dad had tried to teach the siblings a little fighting but soon gave up on Stiles. But despite the self-defense training, her dad gave her when the hand clamping over your mouth has claws on it, you just scream. Off course the large werewolf paw muffled it and his running meant anyone who heard wouldn’t see them for long. (Y/N) would like to think she’d kick them in the balls when they put her down and run but, in reality, she fought back sobs. She thrashed and struggled but the twins were still able to tie her to a chair. “Did you bring it?” A cold voice asked. (Y/N) head whipped to the side to see a man walking in with a cane and a woman guiding him. When the twins spoke, her head turned to them, “Right here,” “Good,” he smiled a creepy smile. The woman let go of his arm and he sauntered over to her chair. He grabbed her jaw, although light still strong, “Well done,” (Y/N) pulled her head back, not caring if she hit it off the back of the chair, “Fighter?” “Not really,” Aiden chuckled. (Y/N) glared and as the man went to touch her face again she bit him. Screw manners. He pulled his hand back with a hiss. Suddenly she couldn’t breath and claws were starting to pierce her neck “I wouldn’t do that,” he growled, “you won’t just get rabies from our bite,”

When Stiles saw the dinner sitting on the counter, not even heated yet, he was concerned. Scott was busy raiding his fridge for after game snacks as he called out “(Y/N)”. when no one answered the pair shared a look, “Those damn headphones,” Stiles realized. He walked over to the stairs and yelled louder. No response. He huffed and ran upstairs, throwing open her door and yelling “(Y/N)-“ but cutting himself short. “(Y/N)?” he said in confusion. Stiles went back downstairs and Scott was looking at him with a questioning look. “Maybe she went to a friend’s house?” Stiles shook his head, “No we’ve got that English test she wanted to study for,” Scott shrugged as Stiles frowned, “I’m calling her,” Scott groaned, “She’s not gonna like it,” “I don’t care,” Stiles said like it was the most obvious thing. Scott sighed, sitting the food he was eating down, “You embarrass her. Like really embarrass her.” Stiles barely glanced at him while he pulled out his phone, “Stiles! She feels crappy. Last time I was here I swear I heard crying. Just text her and give her half an hour. Then you can phone,” Stiles paused, holding to phone against his chin in thought, “Crying?” “Yeah, stiles,” Scott said, walking closer, “You make her feel useless. Give her a break,” “Okay. Half an hour,”

As the alpha’s chilled casually around the run-down living room (Y/N) panicked. Stiles was usually so protective. He would’ve got out of Lacrosse 20 minutes ago, home 10 minutes ago, and defiantly called when he couldn’t find her. It was her turn to heat dinner up after all. (Y/N)'s lip was going to go raw at her chewing. They’d took her stuff and sat it in a pile, but the phone still hadn’t buzzed. The blind man had left, and Ethan was studying something half-heartedly on the sofa. The girl sat, picking at her obnoxiously sharp nails while Aiden went between working out and playing on his phone. Then the worst thing happened, “I need to go to the bathroom,” (Y/N) pipped up with little enthusiasm. Ethan chuckled but didn’t look up. “Tough,” The girl said, clearly not caring. Aiden, however, spared a glance. He doesn’t have feelings, (Y/N) thought. “Like I really need one,” it was unfortunately not a lie. She hadn’t been allowed to go since lunch and that was hours ago. PE was last so water was gulped before the end of the day. Don’t think about water. “Too bad,” the girl told her, more aggressive, “Should’ve gone before you came,” “I didn’t get the choice,” (Y/N) snapped before she could stop. The girl let out a hollow laugh, approaching (Y/N) at a torturously slow pace, “Little girl thinks she has claws. I got these ones,” She waved her fingers slowly in front go her face, “And I’m desperate to use them,” “Just take her to the bathroom,” Aiden groaned. The girl shot him an angry look, coupled with red eyes. “She looks like she’s gonna wet herself. And I’m not cleaning it up,” “You take her,” The girl crossed her arms. “I’m a dude,” “Too bad,” The girl stood her ground. Ethan sighed from his spot, “Just stand outside the bathroom,” he told his brother, “We’re three stories up. If she jumps she’s not getting far,” (Y/N) shot Aiden a sorry look and he groaned. “Fine,” Reluctantly he stood up and untied (Y/N), her hands going to rub her wrist to soothe it, “C’mon,” (Y/N) wasn’t about to argue and followed the werewolf. The bathroom looked even more dire than her situation. Aiden motioned for her to go in and turned to lean against the wall across from the door. (Y/N) walked in, slowly shutting the door and locking it. As soon as the door was locked she sped up. Ethan was right, she was too far up and above the concrete. Not to mention she couldn’t imagine fitting through that window without being heard. After (Y/N) washed her hands she looked in the mirror and sighed, her hand going up to grab her locket. He must be a werewolf. (Y/N) told herself. She opened the necklace and let the dust fall into her hand, holding it tight. She opened the door with the other, taking a deep breath. Aiden had barely looked up from his phone when she flung the dust in his face. He coughed a little before he slumped. (Y/N) quickly grabbed him, struggling, and placed him on the floor, knowing he would’ve made a thud. The apartment seemed to go silent for a moment as (Y/N) crouched next to Aiden. When no one came she stood slowly, walking through the corridors. The only doors were the bathroom one and one other before the corridor ended and you were in the open planned living room kitchen. (Y/N) looked at the other door and saw it was a dingy bedroom with a stained bed. The dust had been a strong type of wolves’ bane she’d got from Deaton. Although not knowing the whole situation (Y/N) had known something was going to happen. She always kept a few things on her. Mountain ash, mistletoe, wolf’s bane, and such but all in her backpack. Which was currently in the corner of the living room. But (Y/N) was beyond lucky. The bedroom had a fire escape. Cringing as the window creaked, (Y/N) opened the window as quietly as possible. You could tell from the fire escape that it would creak. She sat on the window ledge, feet hovering over the metal. RING! RING! RING! (Y/N) jumped a little when she heard her phone go off. Although not having wolf hearing (Y/N) knew that they would grab her phone and probably go to find her. Maybe the noise would mask her noise. So (Y/N) jumped onto the fire escape and rushed down, metal clanging with her footsteps. As she was almost on the ground she heard one of the wolves run through the apartment and someone yells for Aiden. Well, that’ll be a nice surprise, (Y/N) thought. She looked over her shoulder as she began to run out the alley and saw the woman looking out the window. Luck seemed to finally be on her side as she was looking the other way and (Y/N) was able to scamper. (Y/N) pressed herself against the front of the building, knowing she’d be out of eyesight. Once she’d took a couple deep breaths she began to sprint. The wind ripped at her skin and her legs felt like jelly, but she pushed on. (Y/N) had only sort of saw where they went but she didn’t care where she ended up. The first thing she recognized was her friend's house at the end of the street. But (Y/N) paused. They had to know where she lived to have found her. She’d be putting this on her doorstep. But at least she could get home from here. (Y/N) ran before she could think. But as she ran past her house she only stopped to grab her bike and speed off even faster. What was a human house going to do? The jeep wasn’t even there. (Y/N) jumped off her bike, letting it fall and crash into the wall, and ran inside the vets. “Wolf,” She panted when she saw Deaton, ignoring the strange look from a couple picking up their dog. Deaton’s eyes widened and he ushered her behind the counter and into the back, “Wolf’s her dog,” He told the customers, “Out of surgery not that long ago,” they nodded in understanding and left, unsuspecting. Once the place was empty he asked, “What wolf?” “Twins, some girl, a blind guy,” She said through pants. “I used the wolfsbane. I-I ran. I’m going to be sick,”

When Scott and Stiles got their Stiles rushed to (Y/N) who was sitting down, cradling her.  She wasn’t crying, or smiling, or showing anything. Deaton filled Scott in, glancing over at the siblings occasionally. “We’ll deal with it (Y/N). don’t worry,” Scott told her, crouching to the sibling’s level, “But can you help?” “Scott!” Stiles glared at him. (Y/N) nodded slowly, “It was Aiden and Ethan. Some girl and a blind guy,” “Yeah, but where? I need you to think,” She shook her head, “That apartment was just a stop. They don’t live there,” Scott nodded but there was still defeat in his eyes, “I-I through wolves’ bane at Aiden.” “I heard,” Scott looked down, “We’re gonna have to get you protection. I don’t know what yet-“ “Teach her,” Stiles cut him off. “What?” Stiles sat up properly, “You or Derek or even Deaton I don’t care. Someone’s gonna teach her. Its no use her having protection. She’ll be alone sometimes, and she needs to be ready,” (Y/N) nodded in agreement. Scott stood up, nodding and pulling out his phone, assembly for Derek, “I guess you’re in the pack,” Stiles sighed. “There’s a pack?”

#teen wolf #Teen Wolf Ships #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf stiles imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles imagine #Stiles #Sheriff Stilinski #stiles x reader #stiles bsm #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinksi bsm #teen wolf stiles stilinski imagine #stiles brother #brother!stiles

[stitches-for-solo]

Why Is It...

...that I can’t accept that something good might finally be happening? I can feel optimistic for a little bit, but then my brain starts chiming in, usually asking something similar to “how stupid/delusional/high/foolish/out of your damn mind are you? You can’t seriously think...” 💭

...and my cynical side usually ends up winning. I feel defeated. A lot. I’m not really sure how a sane person can disagree and fight so much with themselves, but it seems to happen to me quite frequently.

I’m feeling extremely frustrated, restless, and sick to my stomach tonight. I have never been great at calming myself down or letting energy out in a healthy way. It’s not so much that I don’t try, it’s more because I just don’t know how. After all the therapy I’ve been through, you’d think I could have figured out something that works for me by now, but no. I’ve always thought therapy is nothing to be ashamed of, and that everyone could benefit from it from time to time in some way, even if they’re perfectly (mentally) healthy. It was my opinion that therapy shouldn’t be reserved for struggling through tough times or a personal crisis. Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t feel like I have a whole lot to show for it, which I’m sure would most likely be attributed to lack of effort on my part, but that’s simply not true. Maybe my frustration and confusion come off as apathy and stubbornness — and my mental and physical defects don’t help say otherwise (even though they should. I got kicked out of treatment years ago because I was having severe neurological problems, and my AA sponsor quit working with me because I had a panic attack in front of her and it freaked her out. Actually, I think she was more pissed than anything because she took time out of her day off to meet with me. She also didn’t understand the first thing about anxiety and questioned me continuously if I was ready to work with her, because she didn’t want to ‘waste’ her time. I was ready — so in reality, she wasted my time.) But as far as therapy goes, I tried to make my goals perfectly clear, but my sessions were always steered in the wrong direction. I want to learn positive coping skills. I need to learn positive coping skills. All I’ve known my whole adult life is how to get drunk to the point of not caring, and that can’t happen anymore.

I used to be a really open person. I didn’t mind talking about personal things, in fact, I was happy when someone expressed interest in me. It made me feel real. I still don’t mind sharing things with others. I truly don’t, and you never know who might be going through the same shit as you, or who could offer advice or suggestions on how to approach things in a way you hadn’t thought of. So that hasn’t changed; I’m still an open book. Ask away. I’ll talk about anything. What has changed is that now I’m finding that I’m afraid to share. I didn’t really care before, because if someone didn’t like what I had to say or something about me, they could fuck off for all I cared. I didn’t like myself and I really didn’t care if anyone else did either. But it’s different now. I’m scared of being judged, chasing people away, and plain old rejection. Oh, and being misunderstood. Sometimes trying to explain my emotions and how/why I act on them the way I do is like trying to explain calculus to a baby. I don’t get it, so how the hell is someone else supposed to get it? I feel like the more I talk, the more distant people become. And maybe it’s in my head. I’ve always been nervous about being rejected — that’s not new. But I don’t want people to think I’m nuts.

I became so isolated when I was living by myself with R & S (they were the responsible ones in the apartment). Rarely did anyone come by (most of the time when someone did visit, it was a disaster), and rarely did I talk to anyone, outside of one or two close friends that both live far away. However, I don’t consider myself desperate, so that’s a step up. For as much as I have a hard time believing any positive things people have to say about me, I think if I got up the courage to really put myself out there, I could meet a handful of people. That’s all I’ve really ever needed. Yet, at the same time, I feel like it’s a mistake to even be writing this. I fear someone is going to read it, or older entries, and think “this girl is insane”. Maybe I’m not ready. I want to be.. I want to be so badly. Before, I didn’t care. I accepted my misery as just being the way my life had to be, and I stewed in it for years. I’m trying to turn things around, but it’s so much harder than I thought it was going to be. There’s always something. Life dealt me a shitty hand, and I don’t want to focus on that anymore. Life dealt lots of people shitty hands. I have to learn to deal with it, and I know there’s plenty of people with greater problems than I can even comprehend that still wake up every morning, go to work, come home, unwind, and are in bed by like 11pm. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep that early. Hell, it’s almost 3:30 and I don’t feel tired at all. Ugh. Well, maybe I’m barely starting to feel it..

My mom and I got in a fight today. I think she misinterpreted something I said and refused to talk to me about it, even after I let us both cool off for a few hours. I don’t know why, but I seem to have the worst luck with trying to do adult things on my own. Again, it’s always something, but instead of sitting here, bitching about it, I just want to know what I can do differently so it doesn’t happen again. I’m starting to hate complaining. I never thought I’d see the day.. Anyways. This particular incident involved a huge ordeal with my idiot dentist office(s). I think there was a misunderstanding about my intent and expectation with medications, which, I guess I deserve. I don’t have any ulterior motives and I never wanted or expected someone to supply them for me (other than the dentist himself) — I just don’t want to be in pain. But I guess I understand why I can’t be trusted with certain things. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. I did it to myself, I know, but I’m trying to prove that I’m not like that anymore. I know that’s going to take a very long time, though. And speaking of my mother, we’re not getting along and it’s getting worse and worse every day. It makes me sad, knowing I’m such a burden to everyone around me. We’ve never seen eye-to-eye, and I’ll always be the black sheep of the family, or the elephant in the room, or whatever. If I knew how to fix it, I would, but I don’t, so I can’t. She can’t see me as anything but a child and I won’t accept anything less than being treated like an adult. I’m not blaming her. I think it’s equally our faults, but I don’t really see a lot of effort on her part. I know she resents me for how much my dad and her have had to help me. I’m not trying to bash her or say she’s a bad mother or anything like that. I just wish we got along. I was so upset about it earlier, I was actually crying. I used to cry all the time, but not anymore. Maybe I just have a stone heart. But it’s probably much more likely that at least some of my meds are working.

One last thing. I hate the feeling that I’m being lied to. I know some things aren’t my business, and that’s okay. But just be honest and say that. I may be a teenie bit upset by that response, but it’s a hell of a lot better than lying to me. I’d rather appreciate the honesty than have to be resentful over something that isn’t true. And when I feel like someone is being deceitful, I can’t get the thought out of my head and it drives me mad. (That’s not directed at anyone, just a general observation. I’m ready to post this and go watch tv.)

Whew. Apparently I had a lot on my mind...

#Personal #Rambling #Long Post #Don’t Even Remember What I Wrote

[absolutelyabby23]

Where’s Princey? (Sick Roman) (Prinxiety)

Pairing: Prinxiety (Romantic), Slight Logicality if you squint

Summary: (Hurt/ Comfort) Roman is sick but can’t let the other sides know in order to keep his princely image. Everything is normal until Virgil starts to worry and looks for Sir Sing-A-Lot.

Word Count: 2,049 (Sorry it’s so long, I had a lot of fun and a lot of time since I am sick myself)

Warnings: None that I can think of. Some sadness and mentions of loneliness and illness. Please let me know if I need to add anything.

Author’s Note: Feel free to send me prompts for one shots or headcanons! I love to write Sanders Sides.

Everything was spinning and blurry. His head was heavy, his nose throbbed, and his ears ached. Roman stumbled out of bed to his full length golden mirror. He could almost imagine the glass shattering as his appearance came into focus. Pale and sweaty, his nose red and running, Roman was obviously sick. Suddenly, there came a knocking on his door.

“Hey kiddo! It’s breakfast time! I made your favorite breakfast pasta!” exclaimed Patton in his usual cheery voice from outside of the room. “Logan wanted Crofters but I figured I’d surprise you instead!” Roman chuckled to himself, if you could call it that. A rough gasping noise came out instead, crackling painfully in his throat.

“I am truly sorry Patton but I’m going to be rather busy today,” rasped Roman, trying his best to sound regal and like his normal fabulous self. “Thomas needs a lot of video ideas soon and you know I can’t bear to let him down.”

“Oh okay kiddo,” sighed Patton. Roman winced at the very apparent hurt tone that his friend displayed. He knew Logan and Virgil could cheer him up but his heart broke at the thought of hurting his friends. If only they knew the real reason he couldn’t attend breakfast. Perhaps just this once he could make an appearance. Reeling, he stumbled to his makeup table. Nothing a little foundation can’t fix! Right? Putting all of his passion and creativity into his looks didn’t help. His hair still swung messily in front of his face, very greasy and stringy, much to the prince’s disgust. The makeup couldn’t hide his tired eyes or the apathetic expression he couldn’t force himself to ditch.

There was no denying, Roman couldn’t leave his room. He was Thomas’s ego and elegance, the embodiment of grace and beauty. Beauty could not take a sick day. So he never did. The others thought he was incapable of coming down with illness. However, this was so far from the truth. Long nights and adventures in his kingdom left Roman fatigued and susceptible to even the slightest bug. Whenever he was under the weather, Roman simply claimed to be brainstorming and locked himself in his room. That way the others wouldn’t worry. He could still be brave. He could still be a valiant hero. He could still slay. In their minds, he’d always be beautiful. And there was no point in ruining that reputation now. Not when the people he loved and the fans he adored would be watching.

He could see it now. Thomas tweeting that a video would be late because creativity had failed him by falling down on the job. The last time he had been gone, after Thomas’s audition, Logan had to take over and Patton was burdened by caring for him. At least he could bear to let Patton see him then. But with an illness? He couldn’t miss again. He would never do that. Perfection or nothing. So until he was healthy again, he would be nothing.

A low growl interrupted his thoughts. A dragon witch perhaps? No, just his stomach. That pasta had sounded absolutely divine and he could’ve grabbed some cold remedy while he was out. But he knew that this was the price he paid to uphold standards. He was already weak anyway. What harm could a little hunger do?

Meanwhile, Virgil had just woken up. Patton and Logan both knew better than to wake the anxious side up early. He was already sleep deprived as the situation stood. Patton knew to reheat breakfast as Virgil meandered into the kitchen. Looking around, he felt his pulse start to race. Listening to his instincts, he knew. Something was wrong.

Virgil had never really bothered with getting along with Roman. They fought and teased each other in videos but ignored each other in the mindscape. Perhaps it was a mutual treaty… or a fear of what could be. But after he had revealed his name and Roman seemed to sympathize with him, the two became closer. Just a smile or a Disney joke here and there. Perhaps a meme war or help with makeup. Virgil would never admit it, but he had begun to care for Princey. And that’s when he started noticing the disappearances.

For days at a time, Roman would stay in his room, not talking to anyone. Lately these had become more frequent and were quickly becoming disturbances to any calmness that Virgil possessed. Patton and Logan existed long before Virgil became a light side. Perhaps they would know something. The two spectacled sides were lounging on the couch, Logan wrapping his arms protectively around Patton who was snuggled into the logical side, a small frown on his face.

“Have you guys seen Roman?” Virgil asked, trying to hide the growing worry in his voice. Logan didn’t even turn around before offering his reply over the small and soft whimpers of the man he was comforting.

“He said he’s busy Virgil. Too busy for Patton as it would seem. I think it would be best to leave him be for now,” Logan said, a sharp edge to his words as he enunciated each syllable in passive aggression.

“Aren’t you guys worried though? He’s been missing a lot,” Virgil inquired, hoping to get more information from the other two. Patton looked up and shattered the anxious side’s heart with a sad smile that would have even Satan himself sobbing.

“He seems to be fine Virgil. And if not he can save himself. That’s what heroes do r-right? He’s a big kiddo now. No need for Dad anymore,” Patton mumbled. Virgil wasn’t going to stand for this. Sure Roman could be hot headed and self centered at times, but he would never hurt Patton. Not like this. Something was definitely wrong.

“Roman?” Virgil asked as he knocked on the prince’s door. No response came at first. Roman was in a fitful sleep on the other side. Nightmares of writer’s block, unsubscribes, and disappointment filled his head.

“No! Please don’t go! I can do better! Please don’t leave me alone!” moaned Roman in pure, unadulterated agony. Panic filled Virgil as the adrenaline kicked in. Without further questioning, Virgil summoned as much power as he knew how and was able to appear inside of the room.

“Too much effort…” he mumbled, slightly dazed, before snapping to attention at the sight before him. Roman was thrashing around in bed, his crown pajamas showing signs of increased sweating, pleading with an invisible audience. He was at a loss for what to do. He began to approach the bed when Roman violently sat up, breathing heavily, not noticing his dear friend beside him. However, horror filled the romantic side when he saw the object of much of his affection peering curiously at him.

A high pitched scream filled Virgil’s entire being as Roman dove under the duvet. Virgil certainly did not miss that sound but he was more concerned about his friend rather than his current lack of hearing.

“Ro… hey Princey are you okay?” asked Virgil, trying to sound calm and rational with a hint of caring. Patton and Logan were much more equipped for this. Roman tantrums were not a force that Virgil knew how to stop. But wait… was that Roman… crying?

They say that nobody looks beautiful while crying, in fact most everyone can pull rather ugly faces while upset. But as Virgil pulled the covers away from Roman, he swore he had never seen something so majestic. Perhaps it was just the effect that Roman had on people, or maybe Virgil had gotten too fond of the prince. Nonetheless, Roman looked like a lightning storm. Intense and calm. Fearful yet wonderful. Oh God, what was this man doing to him?

“Please go away,” whispered Roman, sniffling and trying to hold back a cough. “I don’t want to burden you. I can conquer this.” He turned his face away, sheltering his heart from Virgil’s exit. Probably his final exit. There’s no way that Virgil would ever talk to him, ever love him now. Roman was weak and foolish, not the brave arrogant role that he often portrayed. Roman suddenly felt a surprisingly warm hand clasp his own clammy hand. The other hand turned his face and he was met with a shocking pair of iridescent eyes.

“I know you can. But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone. You’ve been so brave for so long. But you can be brave and sick too Roman,” whispered Virgil in a calm and reassuring voice. That voice saved for protecting Patton from spiders and Logan from distressing deep sea documentaries at midnight. Now it was meant for him. To save him from his worst fear.

“I’m so alone Virge,” the creative side sobbed. “How could anyone love me now? I’m selfish and I’m awful. I’m letting down Thomas. I’m letting down the fans. I snapped at Patton. I call Logan names. I’m awful to you.” Virgil said nothing for a minute.

“You’re not selfish Ro. You’re thinking of me and the others now. You’re causing yourself to suffer so we don’t have to deal with you. That’s delusional. We want to help. You just have to let us in.” Virgil wrapped his arms around the other side, not caring about the health repercussions. “You’re not bad Roman. And that’s why I love you Princey,” Virgil said softly, pressing a kiss to the other man’s forehead.

They sat for hours just talking and holding each other. Roman opened up about his fears, his perfectionist tendencies. Virgil listened and softly argued that it’s okay to be imperfect. People still love imperfection. Even anxious emos with attitudes. Virgil was able to convince the prince that even sickness, wouldn’t make him less of a hero. And he was definitely still fabulous. The fans, Thomas, and the sides would love him no matter what happened.

“Come on Ro. I think it’s time you got the care you need,” Virgil said as he pulled the other side to his feet. Virgil guided Roman into the living room, where Patton and Logan sat watching a documentary on veterinary clinics. Patton gasped when he saw Roman. The moral side leapt to his feet and enveloped the still pale and shaking Roman in a loving, fatherly hug.

“Pat I’m so sor-” Roman began but Patton cut him off.

“It’s okay kiddo. I think it’s time we got you some soup.” Roman couldn’t hide the wide grin that spread across his face. The two sides bounded towards the kitchen, leaving Virgil with Logan. The logical side broke his deadpan to offer Virgil a small smile of appreciation.

“You did good Virge. I guess my hypotheses about Roman were correct,” Logan smirked knowingly.

“More than one?” asked Virgil, noticing the blush that warmed his cheeks under his foundation. He glanced back at Princey laughing with Patton in the kitchen and felt his heart skip a beat. Did Logan know?

“I figured that something with Roman was not in correlation with his usual behavior. I wanted to address it but Patton insisted that we let Roman do his work. I love Pat but he can be too trusting at times. My first assumption was that he would not listen to me or Patton. This was correct. My second assumption being that the solution would involve you.”

“And why is that?” stuttered Virgil.

“Because we were simply meant to be!” sang Roman in a still hoarse voice behind him. The creative side winced at a voice crack and then swept Virgil off of his feet in an amazing feat of effort from the sick side. He kissed his chemically imbalanced romance while Patton squealed at his OTP getting together and Logan complained about Roman stealing his dramatic metaphorical thunder.

A day later, Virgil was sick as well. Roman snuggled next to his sneezing boyfriend who glared at him in a teasing manner. There were no more secrets to secure a reputation. Virgil was right. Nobody hated him like he thought they would. He wasn’t a failure. He no longer felt alone and knew he could count on his friends. Sometimes even the hero needs a helping hand. They just need to know that it’s okay to ask.

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added!): @monstercupcake61176

@completelyclevername

#virgil/roman #virgil sanders #virgil #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #prinxiety #sick roman #roman #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #one shot #thomas sanders #shortysetter23writes

[residentflirt]

Day 4; under the light of a thousand stars

Title: UNDER THE LIGHT OF A THOUSAND STARS Summary: In which they give the author second-hand embarrassment Rating: T (because Alisha goes a bit down the gutter) Day/Prompt: Day 4; under the light of a thousand stars

“…in other words, yesterday's study-gig was probably the most intense thing in history.”

Dezel, all cool with his white and green hair and a black top-hat he probably stole (from the theater kids, though he said he just borrowed it for an indefinite amount of time), leaned back in his chair. Rose wasn’t entirely sure if he listened to her recital of her very humiliating and distressed afternoon or if he fell asleep. She was never sure with his ridiculous hat pulled down over his eyes, but his smirk spoke volumes.

“So?” Was his mere reply, and had she seen the rest of his face, she might have even seen the single raised eyebrow in… some way. Whatever.

“’So’ what? Didn’t you listen? I am talking of the problematic life of a maiden in distress, in dire need of advice!” Whether this was too melodramatic or not, she didn’t care, she honestly just needed help and Dezel was her best friend. He should do his best friend deeds and give her something to work with.

“Don’t expect the impossible from me, I’m not some holy spiritual being. Just ask her out already, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Boys. They really don’t understand girls at all.

With a groan, Rose let herself fall face first on her desk. Though her friend did not have any problems in the relationship department per se, it was more that he had a bit too much on the side of fangirls and they somehow enjoyed his very forward way of asking (or abducting) a girl on a date. Maybe he really wasn’t her best choice.

“Maybe I should ask Sorey. He does have a thing going on with Alishas’ male twin…” she mumbled into her book.

“Ask me what?”

Speak of the devil… or Historian.

“She needs a date with Alisha.” Dezel replied offhandedly, completely ignoring the pencil thrown in his way, it landed on his hat after Rose sat up straight again. She turned to Sorey with a smile.

“Ignore the top-hat and concentrate on me, Sorey.” Sorey looked at her curiously, “How did you ask out Mikleo?”

“Uh…hahahaa.” At least he had the gall to blush for his lack of answer?

Rose sighed, this was probably a lost cause. Maybe Zaveid could help, aside from his general losing battle with Miss Lailah he did have a certain charm to him. When he wasn’t obnoxious.

“Oh, I know something!” Sorey exclaimed suddenly and pointed towards Rose, “Mikleo and I wanted to see a movie, maybe you could ask Alisha to come with you? The more the merrier!”

Hmm, with both Mikleo and Sorey tagging along, Alisha won’t necessarily think it’s a date, but it could work out in my favor…

“Okay, it’s a date! I’ll ask Alisha later.”

 .

.

.

Alishas’ mind had been occupied with the embarrassing moment that occurred yesterday. Alas, embarrassing wasn’t quite the word she should use. She didn’t dislike her predicament, rather she might have liked it too much. No matter how it happened, being trapped underneath Rose in such a compromising position might have been the highlight of her week. The entrance of Eugille, a family friend of the Wilkis’ and in a way an uncle to Rose (and her little brother Lunarre), and his very unfortunate phrasing and altogether wrong interpretation were still mortifying.

Verily so.

“Alisha.”

The whole thing was bizarre as well. How grand were the chances of Rose slipping on her own magazines and toppling over just like that? Situations like these only happened in movies, honestly. Probably. Maybe she was cursed? No, that was out of the question.

“Alisha.”

When Rose finally moved up from laying flush against her, after uttering that godly noise (she wasn’t delusional - Rose obviously was in pain but still, she moaned) and then just looked down with half-lidden eyes.

It was too intense!

The rest of the afternoon was interesting, to say the least. There was a lot of stuttering and trying to avoid eye contact, fidgeting was also involved. Her blush took about an hour to completely disappear and she was feeling too hot to keep her blazer on. So, Alisha took that off, loosened her tie and popped up two buttons to get normal blood circulation going again. She noticed Roses’ glances though (she wasn’t dense, okay? There was mutual attraction going on but neither wanted to act first and that alone was a perfect recipe for some form of hilarious comedy for their inner circle of friends).

“Alisha!”

“Huh?!” Shocked out of her inner musings she faced to her right where Mikleo sat, looking at her worriedly.

“You usually don’t space out like that, are you okay? Maybe we should call it a day.” His white and light-blue hair framed his glasses and accentuated his soft, almost feminine features perfectly.

“Ah... I’m sorry, Mikleo. I was just thinking-“

“About Rose, I know. Look at your notebook.”

It wasn’t his usual manner to interrupt someone, so it must have been serious. Alisha dreaded looking at her notebook but did so anyway. Somehow her sub-consciousness had her write Roses’ name multiple times in her most beautiful calligraphy on top of her pristine notebook. That’s right. She wrote it on the cover, not on the inside were notes belonged.

She turned it around immediately and felt the blush rising to her cheeks.

At this rate, I can’t guarantee your safety, Rose!

“You should ask her out yourself, or else our student council president might just have the two of you locked in a janitors’ closet.”

“It’s weird how much I trust Edna to do that.”

.

.

.

After the first week of tutoring, Rose had given up on knocking on the door to the Student Council Office. Alisha was usually the only person still inside, and she really didn’t mind when Rose barged in. (At least she hadn’t called her out on it yet.)

And she was on a mission! A very important one to ask Alisha on a not-date! A hidden date!

With two guys.

Shaking her head and mentally pumping herself up, Rose opened the door with her usual vigor and the most charming smile she could muster.

“Ah, Rose!” Alisha exclaimed and shuffled around with her staple of books and pages.

“Yo!” Rose saluted and sauntered over to the desk they usually used to study. Alisha already sat, prim and proper as always and regarded her with her pretty green eyes and a coy smile.

“Tomorrow is the first test with Miss Lailah, I hope we can freshen up the last weeks and that will hopefully give you the passing grade.” Alisha said as Rose sat down and pulled out her own notebook and the book she would need.

The redhead chuckled, “With a tutor like you, there’s no way I can mess this up.”

.

.

.

They ended up studying later than anticipated, Alisha had also freshened up on her knowledge and was as prepared as she could be, thus also forgot to look at the time. Rose felt confident she would ace the test and not lose her nerves halfway through. Alas, by the time they decided to call it a day, it was dark outside.

Packing up just as the janitor came by to tell them they should start leaving the Academy, both didn’t waste any time to get out of the building. Alisha, thankfully, had a free pass with her being in the Student Council, so Rose didn’t have to fear any unnecessary repercussions for being at school so late.

“I don’t think I’ve ever crammed so much history stuff into my head at once, ever.” Rose said, stretching her arms behind her head and looking up. The sun had since yielded to the stars that now illuminated the night sky.

“You have done well, today. I’m certain you’ll pass Miss Lailahs’ class this semester.” Alisha noted with her eyes closed and a proud smile on her lips.

“You bet I will! And that means Dad won’t have me on waitress duty and I can actually sleep in on the weekend!” The red-head proclaimed in joy and turned to her companion (CRUSH), “Are you free on the weekend?”

Alisha blinked at the sudden question, “Um, I don’t think I have anything planned.”

Rose nodded, more to herself than to Alisha, it was time to ask her!

“Would you like to go see a movie? Sorey and Mikleo are tagging along too.”

There was a momentary silence and instead of answering Alisha looked up to the sky. Rose had thought her clear green eyes couldn’t be more beautiful before, but she was certainly wrong when she saw the stars reflected in them, almost creating its own galaxy in her eyes.

“I think,” She was ripped out of her stupor by Alishas’ soft voice, “I think, I’d like that very much.”

 Under the light of a thousand stars, she is radiant.

#roseali week 2017 #alisha diphda #rose (toz) #day 4 #tales of zestiria #i went and made Edna into the studen council prez #no i didnt forget day 3 #I had a severe case of procastination #residentfiction

[jukesblr]

Dream Responsibly

In an age when entrepreneurism has exploded in popularity – egged on by the innumerable Apprentice-esque TV shows that make such a mockery of the profession – it is hardly surprising that a chasmic gap has opened up between the aspiration and the reality. This article is intended as an antidote to the typically saccharine and unrealistic popular portrayals.

While starting a business may have the potential to provide you with a more rewarding life, there are no guarantees and no shortcuts. Taking the plunge is not for the faint of heart – the mortality rate remains nightmarishly high. Of the half a million businesses that will be launched in the UK in 2017, a quarter will fail within year one. Half will not see the end of year three.

Assuming that you are still reading this (having resisted the urge to gingerly retreat to the safety of gainful employment), the good news is that new businesses do survive, and whether you become a positive or a negative statistic is mostly within your control. Laying a solid foundation with meticulous planning – before building on it with a diligent work ethic – remains the cornerstone of commercial success.

▼ Start With Why

Before taking the first step, I urge you to examine your true motivations for embarking on such an epically arduous journey. Understanding what it is that brings meaning to your life will dictate the appropriate route to take. I say this because more and more people these days feel an overarching need to be busy. Perpetually busy people equate being busy with being important and of value, i.e their self-esteem is inextricably linked to their level of work activity. Their maniacal mantra is: ‘I am in the business of busyness – the busier the better!’ If this describes you, you are perfectly suited to the micro-management model of business building, whereby you are both the boss and the employee. Robert Frost hit your nail squarely on the head when he wrote: ‘By working faithfully eight hours a day, you may eventually get to be boss and work twelve hours a day.’ In fact – if you work frantically enough – you can avoid any meaningful engagement with your personal life whatsoever.

If your motivation is purely monetary, you may be interested to know that numerous studies conducted over the past decade have conclusively proven that money really does buy happiness. There is a small footnote to this however: the plateau is approximately £50,000 per annum; anything you earn beyond will make little or no difference to your level of happiness. Furthermore, chronically high levels of stress – like those that come with establishing your own business – tend to be a real happiness-buster over time. Incidentally, the ‘Buying Happiness’ research also shows that the way in which you spend your money makes a significant difference to how happy it can make you. In particular, a life experience such as a restful holiday provides considerably more lasting happiness than material goods. This presents quite the catch 22 for the aforementioned berserkly busy business people, who are surely too busy to take a holiday; and would only spend the holiday thinking about work if they did. Off to Louis Vuitton they go!

If, like me, your motivation is freedom – in terms of your time, quality of life and financial means – my recommendation is that you design and build your company as a machine that will not ultimately require you to be its operator. The idea that you can own the machine that you built and have someone else operate it for you is incomprehensible to many people, yet I assure you that this recusant mindset leads directly to the Holy Grail of personal freedom. Helpfully, it also adds value in terms of a potential exit strategy: companies that are not owner-managed invariably achieve higher valuations.

▼ Leprechauns

Our modern culture of instant gratification is plagued by delusional wannabe entrepreneurs. The pursuit of a ‘get-rich-quick scheme’ is idiocy akin to chasing a rainbow in the hope of finding the pot of gold. Producing a bonafide pot of gold takes time, tenacity and eye-watering amounts of work. Be under no illusions about the sacrifices you will need to make if you are to launch a startup successfully.

Answering two fundamental questions will help you to decide whether you would be best suited to a full-time, part-time, spare-time or seasonal business, or indeed whether you are cut out for starting any business at all: 1) How much time are you willing and able to commit to it, and 2) how little money – if any – can you afford to earn in its formative years?

In the slurry of syrupy ‘entrepreneur’ memes that pollute the internet, there is one that actually captures the essence of successful business building rather well: ‘Entrepreneurship is living a few years of your life like most people won’t, so that you can spend the rest of your life like most people can’t.’ The only caveat I would add to this – and it is a big one – is that anything that is going to significantly improve the quality of the rest of your life is most probably going to take more than a ‘few’ years to build (I would set aside five, but even then, you will have been lucky).

▼ Formation Flying

There is plenty to be said for having a wingman or wingwoman. They may have the skills or experience that you lack and / or the capital that the business needs. Either reason justifies entering into a partnership.

The complimentary skills rationale is particularly useful when starting a business organically; when it is unlikely that you will have the money to employ someone who can fulfil an essential role that you are not suitable for. Having said that – if you are mercenarily minded and have the funds to pay someone to do the same job – an employee is usually preferable to a partner in the long term (it means that you are not obligated to share any profit that your business may make, or the proceeds of sale if you ever execute your exit strategy). Bear in mind however that nobody will ever be as motivated and energetic as a business owner who has everything to play for, and building a business is a lot more fun if you have the right partner to share the thrill of the ascent with. If you remain convinced that you possess the broad spectrum of every skill required and can do it all single-handedly, then good luck to you, Narcissus.

Should you find yourself in the position of ‘founding partner’, structuring your partnership in a responsible and realistic way enables you to retain control of the business while sharing the profits with your partner fairly. A true 50:50 division of ownership is the kiss of death – the business arena is not La La Land. The norms of human nature dictate that the partners will disagree on key issues at some point, spending endless amounts of time attempting to convince each other of their views. For as long as this nonsense continues (which can be indefinitely in a true 50:50 partnership), the board is deadlocked and literally cannot move forward, damaging both the company and all those who work within it. Successful partnerships require a clear decision-making framework on which to grow. For decisions to be made dynamically and in order to get things done, responsibility must be allocated within a business to give each partner the controlling authority for the appropriate field. For fundamental issues that affect the entire business, one partner – usually the ‘Chairperson’ – must have the final say, if ever a final say is needed. Who this power falls to is usually dictated by a historic disproportion in the investment of money, experience, and burden of risk borne. In my opinion, the closest you can get to the spirit of a 50:50 partnership in any professionally run company is 51:49 and – if you take it this far – you should ideally believe that the business will not work at all without your partner.

Never take on a partner because they are a friend – this is a lethally effective way to ruin a friendship; many people pour their heart and soul into their business and very much view it as the concomitant of their self-worth. The potential for conflict when ego and money are involved should not be underestimated.

▼ 20 / 20 Vision

Most successful entrepreneurs identified the niche to be filled before they dreamt up the vision and made it into reality – not the other way around. Any examples of exception are simply those that prove the rule (and they will have been flukes). Beware of randomly searching for ideas to suit your inclination to set up a business for the sake of setting up a business. It has been my experience that when someone wants something – or likes the idea of something – there is an unfortunate tendency to imagine that which is not there. Bearing in mind that whimsical blue sky thinking is responsible for some of the worst business ideas in history, I strongly advise you to allow your open-on-impact parachute concept to marinate before you plough your life savings into it.

Innovation is not a prerequisite for success. Many a stellar business has flourished by simply taking an existing offering and making it better – the bulk of Richard Branson’s Virgin empire was founded on the ethos of reinventing the wheel. Pure originality is useful, though not essential; you can simply be better, or cheaper, or – ideally – both. It is wise to avoid competing on price alone however, because doing so may not be always be enough to win customers over. Being cheaper is of course always a huge selling point in certain markets, but the consumer must believe in your brand in the first place and have the confidence that you are the real deal. Nothing will debase your brand kudos quicker than prolific discounting. If it transpires that the price point of your offering is so low as to make turning a profit all but impossible, it is likely that your business model was not viable to begin with.

▼ Write the Blueprint

As stiff and boring as it may seem, writing a comprehensive business plan is wholly worthwhile, regardless of whether you are applying for any funding and even if the only people who end up reading it are your friends and family. The process of putting pen to paper – particularly when it comes to projecting the figures for your profit and loss, cash-flow and balance sheet – will focus your thinking by forcing you to explain exactly what your business is, how it will stack up financially, where it fits into the market, who your customers are, what you sell, how you sell it, and what you plan to do with your business in the long term. Even if you are only mirror-pitching, subjecting your idea to this structured scrutiny may well reveal it is barking lunacy. This is not the realisation that you want to be having when you have just invested your last pound in it and publicly stated that it is going to be the next Facebook. Far better to have this little eureka moment before you do any damage; when you can still make any necessary adjustments in sandbox mode.

▼ Crystal Ball vs. Grim Reaper

Nothing is more important in business than having a sound grip on your finances. Anybody who blunders through each day without knowing the whereabouts of every penny is not ‘in business’ at all – they are asleep at the wheel, careering down the motorway in the wrong direction. Getting the figures wrong will annihilate both your finances and your reputation, and the ripples will spread much further than you can imagine. Most people underestimate the grave responsibility that comes with owning a company. I may have cut my teeth the hard way and learned invaluable lessons through humbling failure, but it took me many, many years of hard work to recover. You can avoid this by doing your homework properly first instead.

Accurate cash-flow forecasts – updated in real time – are the proverbial crystal ball and are your only real defence against the prolific Grim Reaper of fledgling businesses. Be pessimistic when it comes to your projected figures – under-forecast your revenues, over-forecast your costs. The essence of business is really quite simple: income must exceed expenditure – ideally in that order – and you must track every single penny obsessively. The equation for success in business is as straightforward as the one for losing weight (eat less, move more) yet there are morbidly obese people making themselves miserable everywhere. It is the same in business – the theory is proven; the practice requires staunch discipline.

A common area of fiscal ineptitude arises from the difference between cash-flow and profitability. Profitable businesses fail due to negative cash-flow, whereas businesses operating at a loss survive for as long as their cash-flow is positive. Monthly profit and loss reports that correlate with your cash-flow forecast are a necessity because understanding both profitability and cashflow – and how they interrelate – are the only things that can give you the foresight with which to steer your ship. Essentially, these tools enable you to see the oncoming iceberg – and figure out how to steer around it – before the crunch comes.

▼ Speaking the Language

If you cannot read and interpret accounts, you simply do not understand the language of business. There is a plethora of self-help books on the subject out there, but the most straightforward and user-friendly I have come across is ‘Understanding Accounts’ by Stephen Brookson. The prevailing misconception that the accountant is responsible for financially steering the business has become the obituary of many a venture. The fact is that the only person that is ultimately responsible for the financial welfare of your business is you.

▼ Feigning Innocence

Financial cross-contamination is a deadly sin; countless business owners have sunk the ship – and all the poor souls who sailed in it – by treating the company coffers as their personal bank account. This nefarious behaviour is born of building upon foundations of sand; a catastrophic oversight that occurred at the planning stage (if any planning took place at all, which it probably did not).

The way it should work is this: Assuming that you do not have personal reserves enough to enable you to wait until the business is profitable and cash-flow positive before drawing any money by way of dividend, your startup capital must include a modest survival salary for you. Alternatively – as long as you have good reason to believe that your company is on target to make sufficient profits before the financial year ends – you can take modest director’s loan drawings in lieu of declaring sufficient dividends to clear the outstanding balance (providing of course that cash-flow is positive enough to tolerate such ongoing payments in the first place). The key word in either scenario is ‘modest’ and the salient point is that payment should be made as strictly and as professionally as any payment to any other member of staff.

It is infinitely easier to forgive the actus reus (guilty act) if it was committed in the absence of the mens rea (guilty mind, i.e understanding or intent). What you will often see instead are unscrupulous business owners jetting off on holiday, quaffing champagne, eating lobster, paying the mortgage on their house, meeting the finance payments for the car(s)…..yet all the while their staff are paid late or not at all, the overdue supplier invoices are piling up, and their premises are falling further into a sorry state of disrepair. When the guillotine inevitably falls, the business owner pleads sympathy, waxes lyrical about the blood, sweat and tears he purports to have poured into the venture, blames everyone other than himself for the failure, and takes shelter from the carnage he has created under his coward’s umbrella of limited liability. Staff have lost their jobs (often having worked without remuneration), suppliers have provided products and services for which they have not been paid (sometimes to such an extent that they themselves go bust in turn) and taxpayers lose out on the monies that the owner should have been holding on trust for HMRC. In the face of such dire consequences – arising from dishonest and irresponsible actions – the mens rea defence is patently absurd.

It is precisely through this perversion of the capitalist creed that company law leaves itself open to abuse: the table is set for the amoral business owner to have his cake and eat it – to suck the lifeblood of the company’s cashflow to fund his lifestyle, safe in the knowledge that the statute of limited liability will most likely protect him from misappropriated monies being clawed back.

Moral issues notwithstanding, the legal reality is this: a company – enshrined as it is in commercial law – is an entity all it’s own, just as though it were a person. Your duty as a company director will always be to act in the best interests of the company, not in the best interests of yourself. Understanding this separation is crucial; one of the criteria that the government use for prosecuting or disqualifying a company director on the grounds of unfit conduct is ‘using company money or assets for personal benefit’. The fair warning in this could not be clearer.

▼ Your Staff Trust You

As Benjamin Franklin famously wrote: ‘in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes’. If you employee people, you are obliged to operate a payroll; you must deduct their PAYE tax and – if they earn more than £155 per week – National Insurance (NI) from their pay. You may also need to deduct things like student loan repayments or pension contributions. Every time you make payment to an employee, you should provide them with a payslip that shows exactly how much they have earned and what deductions you have made.

All of the above involves a large element of trust: the government trusts you to pay the income tax and any other contributions; the employee trusts you to pay their income tax and things like National Insurance on their behalf. The money does not belong to your company, nor does it belong to you – the money belongs to your employees, and their money is due to the government via you.

Unethical business owners often deduct amounts equivalent to PAYE (and anything else applicable) from their employees pay, but – rather than paying it over to the government – swallow the money into the company’s beleaguered cash-flow, or even pocket it for themselves. Incredibly, it is the unfortunate employee that is held responsible in these circumstances; HMRC’s somewhat peculiar stance is that the money is ultimately owed by the employee, regardless of the fraudulent behaviour of the business owner. Again, the law seems to leave itself wide open to abuse here, but it is important to remember that such laws are predicated on the theory that business owners are honest and upstanding members of society. (In practice, it can be more like giving guns to monkeys).

▼ HMRC Trust You

You have a duty to understand how VAT works and whether your business will be required to charge it. Broadly speaking, when a business reaches the point of taking £83,000 in one financial year, it must be registered for VAT. At this point you will need to charge 20% on top of everything you sell (unless you sell reduced or zero rated goods) and show the breakdown on all the invoices and receipts that you issue. Again, the key point here is that the VAT you charge is not your money; it is HMRC’s money – your company merely holds it on trust for the government. The classic schoolboy error that new business owners make is gleefully banking the VAT they have been charging as though it is some sort of 20% Brucie Bonus. They have somehow convinced themselves that they have taken £X, when in fact they have only taken £Y. Lo and behold, some three months later, the VAT man comes knocking for his £Z (£X minus £Y). “How unreasonable!” cries the new business owner, having spent all the money that was never his to begin with and bankrupting his fledgling company in doing so. How unreasonable indeed.

▼ Powered by the People

The most powerful asset of any business is the people who work within it. A business is nothing without solid people, and this holds true for all the strongest businesses that are known for generating goodwill. Your team members should be happy in their environment and naturally motivated.

Be obsessively selective about recruitment – if you don’t employ idiots, you won’t need to rule with a rod of iron. Dictatorships are unpleasant and unnecessary; intelligent human beings – operating on a level playing field – rarely need to be told what to do. Establishing an incentivised structure with a clear pathway to success is the key (human nature will do the rest). I am proud to say that the staff of my group of companies treat the business as their own and work largely under their own steam. Many have been on the team from inception and have steadily worked their way up – credit is always given where credit is due.

▼ False Prophets

Before you taxi to the runway, please undertake your own primary research on what starting and running your own business really involves. There are several excellent websites that offer free advice for startups: Business Link, Start Up Donut, Smarta and Startups.co.uk. As these sites contain all the information you need, there is absolutely no need for you to pay a charlatan ‘business consultant’ to give you overblown advice that is already free of charge and in the public domain (if the consultant were genuine, they would advise you not to waste any of your startup capital on their piffle).

▼ Fortune Favours the Brave

Nothing happens overnight – it took a million days to build Rome. Like anyone starting any business, you will need an abundance of grit if you are to stay the course. Dogged determination and adaptability will be of more use to you than God-given intelligence, but there is of course a fine line between bravery and recklessness. Make no mistake about the fact that there will be dark moments when things seem rather hopeless; knowing exactly what you are working towards is the only thing that will get you through those times.

While it may be true that running a business is pointless if the aim is not to turn a profit, the sole motive should not be money. Freedom, independence and the satisfaction derived from creativity should be the key motivators. Money is of course a welcome by-product, but there will often be easier ways to make considerably more of it, albeit less exciting ones.

Personally, I enjoyed myself most in those formative years; when everything was touch-and-go and we were desperately trying to get the aeroplane off the ground before reaching the end of the runway (and – in the case of one company – sellotaping the wings back on in mid-air). I therefore suspect that the adventure you are about to embark upon will bring you some of the best and the worst years of your life. I envy you this first flush of entrepreneurial youth and I urge you to savour every minute of it – it is as good as it gets.

This article was originally published on my website ➪ www.jamesjukes.co.uk. Pay me a visit to read more of my work (you can also subscribe for free).

#startups #entrepreneur #entrepreneurship #entrepreneurism #business #personal development