#five minutes ago i was in the one direction fandom

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) - A Maze Runner Story

As Brave As You Are (Newt x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 12,051 Warnings: death, bloody wounds, fighting, mental and physical torture, guns, suicidal thoughts and actions Spoilers: no spoilers because the books and films came out ages ago

After helping Newt recover from his ankle injury, Y/N and Newt formed an unbreakable bond that always had them looking out for each other. When they escaped the Maze, then navigated the Scorch, they always had each other’s back. It isn’t until Y/N is captured alongside Minho by WCKD and Newt contracts the Flare that he realises how he truly feels about Y/N.

Problem is, will he rescue her in time to tell her?

Note: I'm back in my dystopian future era thanks to the new Hunger Games film so of course I had to write for my original YA crush. This piece is based on the movie series mainly. Don't get mad at me, I love the books more, but I can appreciate the storylines that came out of the path they took with the films. And if there is one thing the TMR fandom can agree on, it is that the film cast was the best cast ever for the series. So enjoy - not sorry that it's horrendously long, Newt deserves it xx

‘Medjack! Medjack, now!’

Y/N recognised it was Minho was calling for help. Clint and Jeff ran out of the med hut to see what all the commotion was. It wasn’t long before they were hurrying back inside, carrying Newt of all people between them, Minho and Alby in tow.

‘Clear the table,’ Clint ordered, and Y/N quickly followed through, practically throwing off containers, bowls and medical instruments to get Newt on there as quick as possible. Once Newt was up, Y/N finally noticed the unnatural twist in his ankle and it almost sent Frypan’s sloppy sweet potato soup right back up. 

She was still pretty new to her job as a Medjack, being the greenie and all. She was the only girl in the Glade of the current twelve residents, so she was intimidated at first as to what role she could play in the place. Medjack seemed the most suitable, and she seemed to have a knack for it, having stitched up some eyebrows and cleaned up knee scrapes with ease and precision. 

But even though she’d seen blood, dealt with displaced bones and joints, she still got queasy doing her job. It didn’t help that Newt was hissing through clenched teeth from the intense pain, an occasional sob passing through.

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Minho said. ‘We split up for only five minutes. I thought we could cover more ground that way. And we’ve run that part of the Maze like a hundred times already. I thought we’d be fine…’

Clint held Newt down as Jeff and Y/N took a look at Newt’s ankle. Jeff only pressed gently with his fingers around the bone, but Newt’s responding howls confirmed the severity of the injury.

‘The bone is completely shattered,’ Jeff said grimly. ‘We’re going to need to reset his foot first though. Y/N?’

‘On it.’ She rushed to a shelf that held bandages, then to a cupboard with flat boards about shin length. She grabbed two of those before heading back to the table.

‘You’re going to have to hold him down,’ Y/N directed at Alby and Minho, gesturing to follow Clint’s efforts. Then she turned to Newt, whose face was slicked with tears and sweat as he continued to writhe in pain. ‘Newt. Newt, can you open your eyes for me? I need you to focus on me.’

To his credit, Newt opened his eyes and he didn’t look away from her. 

‘Good. Good, Newt,’ she said. ‘Now, we have to realign your foot. It’s going to hurt a lot. We’ll go on three, okay?’

In the short time Y/N had known Newt – which arguably was no time at all, as he ran every day and she was in the Medjack hut all day. They didn’t interact unless he or another runner got hurt, or at dinner if only to say hello. Even so, she had come to know he liked it plain and straight, no bullshit. So, despite his pain, he took two deep, calming breaths and gave her a nod to say he was ready for what they had to do.

Y/N nodded back, then looked to the others, who had their hands braced on all Newt’s limbs. ‘Ready?’ she asked, to which they nodded in reply. Y/N gently held Newt’s ankle, eliciting a quiet whimper from the boy. ‘Okay, on three. One, two…’ She cut herself off as she slammed her hands either side the ankle bone, causing a loud cracking sound as the ankle snapped back into place. 

Newt’s wail of pain must’ve been heard from across the whole Glade it was so loud. He writhed and pulled to sit up, but the boys held him down as Y/N and Jeff bandaged the two splints either side of Newt’s ankle. Jeff then dabbed a small dose of chloroform in a cloth and pressed it to Newt’s nose. Soon enough, the boy was unconscious, finally pain-free.

‘You guys go have dinner,’ Y/N said to Clint and Jeff a little while later as they were cleaning up the hut. Alby and Minho had left soon after Newt fell asleep, but it was almost dinner time now. ‘I’ll stay with Newt tonight.’

‘You sure?’ Clint asked. ‘We can do shifts if you’d prefer.’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I insist. You guys rest up. I can do this. Consider this my final test to becoming a fully-fledged Medjack.’

Jeff chuckled. ‘You have much more to learn, Greenie, but suit yourself.’

‘We’ll bring you back some food, Y/N,’ Clint said as he and Jeff left the hut, leaving Y/N to idly clean up.

Newt woke up from a dull throbbing in his ankle, which turned into a harsh pain, causing him to sit up in alarm. 

‘Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ a voice gently said as equally gentle hands pushed him back down.

‘My ankle,’ he said, voice hoarse and dry. ‘It hurts…’

The face of the voice finally came into view: it was the Greenie. Y/N offered him a small smile as he finally recognised her. In one hand, she held a needle with clear serum. Her other she offered to his leg. ‘May I? It’ll help, I promise.’

He hesitated for a moment, but the intense pain in his ankle broke his composure as he eagerly nodded. The painkiller worked immediately, and Newt sighed with relief as the throbbing eased significantly.

’There,’ Y/N said, wiping the needle. ’That should help for a bit. Sadly, we don’t have much left for me to give you more than once a day, but I’m hoping you won’t need it beyond the end of the month.’

Confusion clouded Newt’s mind as he tried to process her words. ‘What… What happened?’ But he answered his own question as images of the Maze flashed through his mind, and he remembered it all. How he bid farewell to Minho. How he climbed as high as he could along the Maze walls. How easy it was to let go. 

Then the pain fully encompassed him, and then it was just a blur. How Minho found him. How Clint and Jeff laid him on the table he realised he was still on. How angry and embarrassed he felt having his friends see him broken and miserable. 

Newt managed to pull himself into a sitting position, propping a pillow behind him to cushion the hut wall. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked glumly, eyes unable to lift from his injury.

He couldn’t be bothered with pleasantries. He was too tired, and, frankly, saw no point in keeping up appearances anymore. 

To her credit, Y/N seemed to pick up on his mood, saying, ‘It will heal to a point you’ll be able to walk again. But it won’t ever heal properly.’

‘You mean I’ll have a limp?’

‘Potentially.’

’So I can’t be a Runner anymore?’ Y/N didn’t reply, finally drawing Newt’s attention away from the source of his pain and to her. 

Newt had only interacted with Y/N on a few occasions. Mainly at mealtimes or the odd occasion he passed her by on the way back from a run, only talking as much as greeting and farewelling one another. As the only girl so far, of course he found her intriguing, but he never had time nor a reason to get to know her.

And while he’d come to think of her as the quiet and gentle Medjack in comparison to Clint and Jeff, he didn’t see an ounce of pity on her face as she looked at him. Only quiet contemplation, as if there could be any other answer but no to his question.

‘I guess that’s up to you and Alby,’ she finally said. ‘I mean, I know what I should say is no. I’m sure Clint and Jeff will say no. But it’ll more so come down to if you want to go back in or not.’ Her eyes flickered to his ankle, sadness glazing her eyes briefly before returning to him. ‘But I think I can take a guess as to what your answer will be.’

Newt’s gut twisted with guilt and shame that she’d figured it out, and his face flushed with embarrassment and anger. ‘So, you going to tell everyone?’ he asked, words thick  with hopelessness. ‘I mean, that’s your job, right? Diagnose me, then tell Alby, then the whole glade how pathetic I am?’

Y/N shook her head. ‘I think you give me too much credit. I’m not an actual doctor, you know,’ she said, coming to stand beside him. She inspected his ankle for a moment, then turned her gaze to him, and it shocked him to see such intensity in her eyes. It was as if suddenly he was the most interesting person in the world.

‘I can say it was a running accident,’ she finally concluded. ‘You can tell your truth when you’re ready. It’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it right now. That includes me.’

He stared, stunned, as she packed up the last of her things by a spare medical cot at the other end of the hut. It wasn’t until she let out a loud yawn that Newt noticed it was dark outside. The silence of the Glade told him everyone else had gone to bed so it was late. Or early, he couldn’t really tell.

Y/N fluffed a sad excuse of a pillow and put it on the cot. ‘Now that I know you’re alive, are you going to be okay if I get a few minutes shut eye? I can stay up if you’d like.’

Now that the initial shock and embarrassment of the day’s events had subsided, Newt realised how exhausted he was still. ‘No, that’s okay,’ he said. ‘I think I should rest a bit more anyway.’

Y/N nodded and swung her legs up to lie down fully. Newt went to slide himself and his pillow back down to do the same when Y/N spoke again.

‘And Newt?’ she said, her voice soft and almost hesitant.

‘Yeah?’ he called back.

She was silent for so long Newt thought she’d gone to sleep. But then she spoke. ‘For the record, I don’t think you’re pathetic. For wanting it all to end, that is. I actually think what you did was really brave. You might be scared and maybe out of hope, but at least you did something about it. The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

Newt’s breath caught in his chest as it swelled with a mix of emotions. Brave? What he did was the act of a coward. Tears streamed silently down his face, both from a deep shame, but also a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Newt had lost all hope after a year of searching for a way out and finding nothing. But she didn’t know that, and neither will the next Greenie, or the Greenie after that. Even some of the boys already in the Glade didn’t know that. That’s why they waited every day for the runners – for him – to come back with news, with a shred of hope that they’d get out of there soon. 

Newt twisted himself so he could see Y/N, who was rolled away from him, her body rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Even if he thought it would all be hopeless in the end, some truly believed they would get out of here.

And maybe that was something worth fighting for.

~

Two years on and Newt and Y/N had managed to forge something akin to a friendship. 

Y/N had kept her word and said Newt had had a running accident, and he’d agreed with her for the sake of his worried friends. Y/N had also been right about his ankle; it healed to point where he could walk and do a decent jog with a limp. But he would never run again. 

He was transferred to work as a Track-Hoe in the gardens with Zart. But it wasn’t all bad. As more boys arrived – never any girls much to their confusion – Newt developed a knack for leading others, for diffusing hard situations, and for wrangling the boys into line. Because of that, he was promoted to Alby’s second-in-command, which gave him more meaningful work to do than just the gardens – stuff that might actually get him and the other Gladers out of the bloody Maze. 

It also meant he had more time to talk to Y/N. He would make sure to drop by once a day (and not just at mealtimes) to check in on her. For a time, he convinced himself he did that because it was his job as second-in-command to keep up group morale, and he would visit everyone in the Glade. Eventually, however, he realised it was because he genuinely enjoyed her company.

Since that night, Y/N had come out of her shell more. Still a little shy and apprehensive at times, but she would openly joke and play along with the boys’ antics. She was more confident in her work as a Medjack too, not afraid to boss Clint and Jeff around if she needed something from them.

Newt’s visits became longer, as they talked about any and all things. Aside from Alby and Minho, Newt considered Y/N one of his closest friends. And she must’ve felt the same – or at least in a similar fashion – as she entertained his thoughts about life beyond the Maze, and the rants he would go on thanks to whichever stupid shank put the fertiliser in the wrong place.

It was a friendship built on mutual respect and genuine care for one another, something that helped Newt convince Y/N to come with him and the others when they finally decided to leave the Maze. But he couldn’t help but feel a deep dread and guilt as he waited behind Thomas, knowing that Grievers were right around the corner.

While the others caught up, Newt turned to Y/N – who’d been helping him through the Maze with his limp – and offered her a spare spear he’d been carrying.

Her eyes widened at his offering. ‘I can’t take that. I can’t fight.’

‘Well, you can’t just go in there without something to protect yourself,’ he said, this time forcibly handing the spear over. Y/N clutched the spear awkwardly, and Newt saw the uncertainty in her eyes, in her trembling hands.

Newt felt bad for making her hold such a violent weapon. All her hands had ever done were help people, save them at times. Now he was asking her to kill. It was for the greater good they both knew, but to kill, nonetheless.

Newt placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and locked eyes with her. ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘you stay with me the whole time, do you understand? I promise you won’t have to use that unless absolute necessary.’

Y/N bit her lip to stop it trembling too, but she nodded, steeling herself in preparation for the fight ahead. Newt reciprocated the action and gave her shoulder a final squeeze before turning to face Thomas as he explained the plan.

They fought the Grievers, taking down a few while some of them took down Gladers. The Gladers were backed against the door that Teresa and Chuck were trying to open with a code. Minho shouted numbers at them as he, Newt, and the others fended off one last Griever.

Before he could finish, Minho was caught by a Griever, and Clint ran out to save him. But the Griever’s tail caught him, sending him over the edge of the walkway they fought on with one flick.

‘Clint!’

Before Newt could stop her, Y/N rushed out from behind him, spear drawn back and flying at the Griever in seconds. Not being a fighter to begin with, let alone a good one, the spear bounced off its metal leg without much effect. It did, however, alert the Griever to her presence, turning all its attention to her. Minho leapt to his feet, finally free, and ran back to the group. ‘Y/N!’ he cried as he ran. ‘Run!’

Y/N seemed to finally realise her situation, looking up at the Griever frozen with fear. The horrible creature raised its claw to end her, but Newt moved faster. 

He ran as fast as he could, limp be damned, past Y/N and threw his spear at the Griever’s head. It landed true, puncturing one of the creature’s bulbous eyes, drawing a painful screech from it. Newt didn’t wait to see what it would do next, as he grabbed one of Y/N’s arms and Minho grabbed the other and ran back to the group, practically throwing her behind the front line and against the door. 

Teresa finally got the door open and the Gladers tumbled in, Thomas throwing one last spear down the Griever’s throat as the doors closed. 

Lights flickered on to show they were in some empty room with a door on the wall behind them leading to a corridor.

Thomas looked at the group, taking heavy breaths. ‘Everyone okay?’

‘What’s left of us, that is,’ Winston said, his tone sad and regretful. 

As Newt eyed the group, he noted how many they’d lost, how little their group seemed all of a sudden. 

Minho stepped ahead with Thomas, pointing towards the door. ‘Well? It’s not going to open itself.’

As Minho and Thomas led the group to the exit, Newt turned to Y/N, whose eyes had a distant look glazed over them. ‘What were you thinking?’ he asked, bringing her attention to him. ‘I told you to stay behind me. You could’ve been killed.’

‘I-I know. I’m sorry,’ she stuttered out, tears teetering in her E/C eyes. ‘I just… Clint… It all happened so fast, and I was just kind of moving before I knew what I was doing.’ She looked down at her hands then, and Newt noticed a slight tremble to them. ‘I thought I could help, but I was too slow. And I put you guys in danger too. I’m just… I’m sorry.’

Newt’s guilt came back full force then. He placed a gentle hand over her trembling one, grasping her fingers to stop their shaking. When she looked up at him confused, he just said, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into thinking you had to fight. You won’t ever hold a weapon like that again. I promise.’

Y/N opened her mouth to object no doubt, but Newt cut her off. ‘But you have to promise me something back. Promise me that you’ll let us protect you. You can help by keeping us alive, just like you always have. But you’ve got to listen to me, you got it?’

He used his authoritative voice this time, and it seemed to work as Y/N calmed down, her unshed tears now gone.

‘Okay,’ she said, quiet but strong. ‘I promise.’

Newt nodded. ‘Good that.’ He turned to see the others leaving through the door then turned back to Y/N. ’Do you think we’d be lucky enough not to face anything else beyond those doors.’

‘I think we should consider ourselves lucky for getting this far.’ To her credit, Y/N managed a small smile as she looked up at him. ‘But why should our luck run out now?’

There it was again; the glimmer of hope Newt had felt from her since the night he injured his ankle. Newt couldn’t deny that they’d made it this far – by design or by luck, they’d made it. 

And who was he to deny that things might be on the look up for them now?

Together, Y/N and Newt followed the rest of the Gladers to meet their makers.

~

‘I never thought I’d say this… but I miss the Glade.’

The group around the fire grew silent at the implication Frypan’s words had, the memories they conjured up. Y/N couldn’t help but agree as she looked into the dark sky above her, peaking from behind the crumbling pillars they took refuge under. 

The sky was always so clear back in the Glade, she recalled silently. But, just like their current situation, the sky was now obscured. 

The people who rescued them from the Maze were actually WCKD – the people who’d put them in the Maze in the first place. The past twelve hours had seen herself, Newt, Thomas, Minho, Frypan, Winston, and a boy named Aris find Teresa, break out of the facility, and enter the deadly Scorch. In their search for supplies, they’d been attacked by crazed, infected people, driving the group to hide where they were.

The Maze was dangerous, but it was familiar and the only home Y/N recalled ever having. Out in the Scorch, safety wasn’t guaranteed. 

She looked to Winston, who laid back, his shirt pulled up to expose the bloody bandage she’d wrapped his torso in. Y/N tried not to think about the infected scratch marks underneath, and more specifically what gave them to him. The Grievers were one thing, but the things that attacked them? They used to be people.

Not wanting to sit in her thoughts anymore, Y/N stood up, brushed off her pants, and grabbed knife from their pile of weapons they’d found in the abandoned mall. ‘I’ll take first watch.’ 

She didn’t wait to hear if anyone objected, already walking around the stone that covered them so she was on top. To her relief, the others let her go without argument, putting out the fire and quickly settling down to sleep.

After half an hour, Y/N decided to get up and patrol around the area, knife tightly gripped in her hand and her footsteps quiet despite the sand. 

There was so much of it,  the sand. The lady in white – Doctor Ava Paige – had said in her video that the whole world was just desert now. The thought made Y/N yearn for the Glade even more. For the grass, and the woods, and the bonfires they used to have, and the games they played. The boys – Clint, Jeff, Alby, Gally, Chuck. 

Y/N wasn’t a hateful person, but she clutched the knife tighter at the thought of all the loss they’d all suffered at the hands of WCKD. 

It’s why she didn’t hesitate to follow Newt when he’d found her in her room – for some reason, she hadn’t been allowed to stay with the other girls from the other mazes just yet. It’s why they were now braving the Scorch searching for people that Thomas didn’t know even existed. They wanted a better life out from under WCKD’s thumb.

The crunch of sand had her whirling around, awkwardly poising the knife as if to attack, but she relaxed at the familiar person standing there.

Newt raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Whoa there,’ he said, the quirk of a smile on his lips telling her he was just joking. ‘You could do some real damage if you’re not careful.’

Y/N blew out in relief, the knife dropping to her side again. ‘Thanks, but we both know that’s not the case, Newt.’

Newt shoved his hands in his jacket pocket, shrugging his shoulders as he did. ‘I don’t know, I’ve seen you with a scalpel. Absolutely terrifyingly precise with that thing.’

Y/N chuckled softly, appreciative of the distraction. But her smile dropped as she looked out into the dark cityscape. The moon hid behind clouds so Y/N couldn’t make out anything. ‘Is it pathetic that I’m scared to see what the world has become?’ she asked, not daring to raise her voice above a soft mumble.

Newt stepped up beside her, his body radiating the last remnants of heat from the fire and it warmed her slightly. ’Someone once told me that I was brave for facing my fear,’ he said after some quiet contemplation. 

Y/N looked up at him confused, but he looked down at her with a knowing, smug smile. Much to her chagrin, she couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head at him. ‘I don’t recall saying that specifically. But if that’s how you saw it, who am I to tell you that wasn’t what I meant?’

Newt hummed in agreement looking back out at the dark expanse, contemplation scrunching his brows together. ‘I’ll be honest with you, I’m scared too.’

That surprised Y/N. Newt, second-in-command, casual, leader Newt was scared? ‘You are?’

Newt nodded. ‘I’m scared that we’ve made a mistake. That Thomas is wrong and there aren’t any mountain people.’ He turned back to Y/N, the most serious she’d ever seen him. ‘I’m scared we’re going to lose more of us, and then what was our escape for? But… it’s not my place to take away hope when the others are so full of it. Including myself.’ Finally, Newt’s smile returned, and it warmed that cold pit of despair Y/N had been falling into ever since they left the WCKD facility. ‘Or, at least, I think that’s what someone very wise once told me.’

Y/N stared at him, awestruck. Hopeful. Newt was hopeful again. And she didn’t want to read into it, but she thought the knowing smile he was giving her told her that she had something to do with it. The thought alone strengthened her resolve, and she looked down at the knife in her hands, less afraid of it all of a sudden.

Y/N held it out to Newt. ’Teach me.’

He raised an eyebrow in a silent question. ‘What?’

’Teach me. How to fight,’ Y/N explained, eyes unwavering from his. 

Concern flashed across Newt’s face for a brief moment. ‘Y/N, I told you, you don’t have to fight if you don’t want to.’

‘If there is one thing I’ve come to know about WCKD is that it doesn’t actually matter what I want anymore. What any of us want,’ Y/N said, feeling the most certain she’s felt in a long time. ‘The one thing we have on WCKD is that we are defiant. We escaped, and are taking away the one thing they want most of all: a chance to find a cure. So, if we’re going to have any hopes of making it to the mountains alive, I’m going to have to know how to fight. So please – teach me.’

Newt contemplated her for a moment, and Y/N just prayed he wouldn’t say no. Or even worse, laugh. Instead of doing either, he took the knife from Y/N’s hand, his fingers brushing across her palm as he did. 

‘All right,’ he said, moving his feet apart to get into a fighting stance. ‘First of all, you’ve got to have a wide-ish stance, and stay light on your toes so you can control when you back away from your opponent.’ 

He demonstrated the movement by quickly shuffling away, always keeping his feet a certain distance apart and the knife gripped tight by his hip. ‘…and when you go into attack.’ He moved so fast Y/N didn’t see his footwork, her eyes locked on his as they bored into hers, knife poised at her neck as if he’d strike.

He stepped away and gave her the knife back. ‘You think you can do that?’

Y/N nodded and took the knife, and for the next hour Newt taught Y/N basic blocks and manoeuvres that he’d picked up from Thomas and Minho and just from basic instinct. Just like she’d been with her Medjack skills, Y/N was a quick study, performing move after move when Newt asked her to. 

She impressed herself. For a natural pacifist, she wielded the knife quite fluently.

They decided to finish the session on a quick sparring match. Newt took a swipe at Y/N, and she stepped back just like Newt had taught her. She then rushed in for an attack, to which Newt threw up his own knife in time to block. Y/N anticipated the pushback and twisted out of Newt’s way as he stumbled slightly forward. While he was disorientated, Y/N gripped his wrist that controlled his knife and pointed her own into his back. 

‘Looks like I win,’ she said, breathless but proud.

Y/N didn’t like the carefree scoff he gave her, followed by, ‘Are you sure?’

She doubted herself for a moment, loosening her grip enough for him to twist out of her reach, knock her knife away and bend to sweep her legs out from underneath her. Y/N landed hard, groaning at the pain in her butt as Newt looked down at her and laughed. 

‘I’m glad you find my pain amusing, Newt,’ she grumbled, rubbing her sore behind.

Newt laughed for a moment longer then calmed down. But his radiant smile remained on his face, brightening the darkness surrounding them. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said between remaining chuckles. To his credit, he held out his hand in an offer to help her up. ’But the surprise on your face was priceless.’

Y/N contemplated his hand for a moment, whether she should just push it away or take it. Instead, an idea came to mind, and she gripped his hand tightly then pulled him to the ground with her. He landed on his stomach beside her, getting a face full of sand.

Y/N let out a loud laugh before quickly covering her mouth to stifle the relentless laughter that wished to burst from her. 

Newt spat and coughed out sand as he made to sit up. ‘Well,’ he started, spitting out more sand as he looked up at Y/N, ‘I should’ve seen that coming.’

That just made Y/N laugh even harder, using now both hands to quieten the giggles. Goodness, when was the last time she’d laughed this freely? When was the last time she’d felt such joy? After everything they’d been through, Y/N was worried she’d forgotten what was like to laugh.

When she’d calmed down, she looked down to see Newt propped up on his arms looking up at her with an odd expression on his face. Like he was in awe, maybe. Whatever it was, it made Y/N acknowledge how handsome Newt had become. His baby features had faded since she’d first met him, being replaced by a lean figure and a toned jawline from working in the gardens every day for two years. And with his big brown eyes, tousled blond hair and funny accent, Y/N wondered how he had changed so much without her realising it. How she hadn’t realised he’d grown up.

The intensity with which he looked at her brought a heated blush to her face, and so she turned away into the cool night breeze, willing the blush to cool down. Newt shuffled to sit up next to her. They didn’t speak for a minute, until Newt suddenly stood up. 

‘Well, um,’ he started, and for the first time since Y/N had known him, he sounded uncertain about what to say. ‘I better let you continue with your shift. At least you know how to defend yourself now.’

Y/N hastily stood up as well, making sure there was at least a step between them. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Thank you for that. I’ll be sure to practice.’

‘Good that.’ 

They looked at each other for a moment, and even though Newt said he was leaving, he made no move to leave. Maybe he doesn’t want to, she thought, and the mere possibility of that being true warmed her heart.

But he took a step away, gave her a shy smile and a small wave farewell. ‘Goodnight, Y/N.’

‘Goodnight Newt,’ she said, those two words hanging in the air long after he’d left.

As she finally woke Frypan up for his shift, she clung to the knife and went through all the manoeuvres Newt had taught her until she fell asleep. 

Newt was unable to sleep until Y/N woke Frypan up to take the next watch shift, and laid down to sleep herself. Newt opened his eyes to see Y/N laying across the pit they’d dug out for the fire. She faced him on her side, and Newt noticed with curiosity that she held the knife she’d practiced with close to her chest. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, and paired with her heavy breathing, Newt figured she was completely asleep. 

An odd sensation fluttered in his chest and stomach as Newt considered Y/N’s sleeping face. It was the same feeling that had fizzled in his chest when he’d looked up at her as she laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time any of them had laughed as freely as she had. 

And he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she looked doing so – hiding her bright smile behind trembling hands, eyes narrowed but sparkling with joy. 

All because of him.

He rolled onto his back then, not wanting to give the thought anymore weight. There’s no point getting your hopes up, he reminded himself. But like a moth drawn to flame, Newt couldn’t help but tilt his head to gaze upon her peacefully sleeping. An ache carved itself deep in his heart. How had he not realised her growing up, changing? Being the only girl for a long time, of course he and the others found her pretty. But now that he looked at her – really looked at her, and wasn’t concerned with his life for just a split second – he realised just how beautiful she was. 

It was in her features, but also in her determination to be better for the group. It both hurt and impressed him when she asked for his help. He promised her she would never have to fight again, but things have changed drastically since the Maze.

It was in her ability to still find the joy in things, to still be able to laugh despite their situation.

It was how she believed in Thomas, in Aris, in the mountain people, even if she was scared. 

‘The rest of us can only wish to be as brave as you,’ he whispered into the night, a silent promise that he’d tell her that sometime. 

And with the fluttering in his chest finally easing into a calm warmth, he finally fell asleep.

~

Everything exploded with chaos as Y/N, Newt, Thomas, and Minho navigated their way through the Right Arm camp as guns fired and explosions went off. 

Teresa had betrayed them. Y/N couldn’t believe it when it was revealed in front of everyone, and she still couldn’t believe it as Minho pushed her head down, sheltering her from another explosion. Teresa truly believed WCKD could find a cure, but still at the expanse of Y/N and her friends’ pain. And just when Thomas was going to blow them all sky high, Jorge and Brenda had come in like a saving grace, and that’s when all hell broke loose.

‘This way!’ Thomas yelled over the din, beckoning them behind a weapons container.

However, Minho stopped suddenly and picked up a launcher. Keep going!’ Minho called over his shoulder as he shot at WCKD soldiers around him. ‘I’m right behind you!’

Thomas and Newt reached the container, but Y/N stopped and turned at the sound of a painful cry. ‘Minho!’ she cried as her friend fell, his body convulsing from a launcher shot. 

‘Y/N, no!’ Newt called after her, but she was already running back to Minho, grabbing at his jacket to drag him to safety. 

But Y/N was not strong like the boys, and certainly not strong enough to move Minho in any hurry. She looked up just in time to see a launcher fire at her, then her body felt like it was on fire. 

She was sure she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear anything as the electricity struck every nerve with a vicious bite. After what felt like an eternity of pain, she was granted a moment of peace as her vision went white, then in a flash was swamped by darkness.

Newt’s heart stopped when he saw Y/N shot. She convulsed as Minho had, then collapsed beside their friend unconscious. The second Y/N hit the ground, Newt found his voice again, feelings of anger and desperation clawing their way through every vein in him.

‘Y/N, no!’ His cry came out broken as he made to run to her, but a strong hand gripped the back of his jacket and pulled him back. 

‘No, boys,’ Vince shouted over the din, holding both Newt and Thomas back. 

‘Let me go!’ Newt protested, struggling against Vince, eyes darting between him and Y/N. ‘I need to help her! Y/N!’

But WCKD soldiers were already picking up Y/N and Minho’s unconscious bodies, dragging their feet through the red dirt and into a berg.

‘I’m sorry, son,’ Vince said, and Newt thought he sounded genuine. But that didn’t stop icy terror gripping tight on his heart as the doors began to close on Y/N, Minho, and other immunes from the Right Arm.

Thomas called for Minho, and Newt called for Y/N, but neither could do anything to help their friends as they were flown away. Back in WCKD’s clutches once again.

When the sun rose, the remaining survivors came out of hiding and began scrounging up supplies. They were moving on, Vince claiming there was nothing they could do but keep going with who and what they had left.

Newt couldn’t accept that, and neither could Thomas apparently, as he claimed he was going after Minho, Y/N and the others. Without hesitation or any further explanation, Newt was the first to sign up and join him.

And so, they went on a quest to rescuing Minho, Y/N, and as many immunes as possible. The train hijack was a huge success with immune numbers, but no Minho and no Y/N. Even so, Newt refused to accept that he’d never see either of them again. Even when they almost got killed by cranks. Even when he, Thomas, Brenda, Frypan, and Jorge were almost blown up by turret guns.

Even when he found out he was infected with the Flare.

He could feel it, his mind slowly slipping away as the Flare ate away at his sanity. He was usually level-headed and rational – it’s part of the reason he became second-in-command in the first place. Guilt and shame ate away at him as he sat on the rooftop of their hideout in the outskirts of the Last City, explaining to Thomas why he just bit his head off about being in love with Teresa.

Not that I’m one to talk, he thought as he rolled down as his sleeve, silence wrapping around him and Thomas comfortably. Newt could feel Thomas didn’t know what to say, and Newt didn’t like long silences so he broke it.

‘The crazy thing, though is…’ Newt started, a soft but sad scoff escaping him, ‘I’m not scared of dying. I used to be, back in the Maze. Because it felt like my friends were dying for no reason, without purpose. But…’ Newt looked over his shoulder, past Thomas, and to the peaking spires of the Last City. To where Y/N was being held somewhere.

‘I have something to die for now,’ Newt said, eyes never wavering from the spires.

Thomas came to sit beside Newt, a sad realisation drawing his brows and lips down. ‘You’re not just talking about Minho, are you?’ he asked.

It was how gentle and matter-of-fact Thomas spoke that had Newt’s chest tightening with fear and an immense pressure he’d been scared, until now, to acknowledge. His throat threatened to close on him as he spoke, rendering his words tight and uncontrolled. ‘I failed to protect her, Tommy,’ he managed to get out. ‘I promised I’d always protect her, and I didn’t.’ 

It surprised Newt how simultaneously hard and easy it was to speak about his feelings, and now that he had started, the words just flowed. 

’She’s just always been there, so I never saw it coming,’ Newt continued, a melancholic smile adorning his lips as he recalls the day he met you, how you helped him with his ankle. How, since then, you’ve always been by his side, growing with him, changing with him, supporting him and everyone else around you. 

’Saw what?’ Thomas asked.

‘I never saw that I could have a future after the Maze, after all of this,’ Newt explained. ‘That I would want a future… with Y/N.’ And with that, his tears finally spilled over, the pressure in his chest bursting into sobs that wracked his whole body. Newt was vaguely aware that Thomas was now holding him, and so he wrapped his arms tight around his friend, around his brother.

‘I love her, Tommy,’ Newt whispered over Thomas’ shoulder, his words obscured somewhat by his tears and holding back sobs. ‘And I’m scared I’ll never be able to tell her before I go.’

‘Hey,’ Thomas said, pushing Newt to arm’s length. He kept one hand on Newt’s shoulder and used his other to grip Newt’s neck, forcing their eyes to lock. ‘We’re going to find her – and Minho, and the other immunes. We’re going to get you that serum that helps with the Flare – as much of it as possible – and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying. No one is dying. You hear me?’

No one could replace Alby, but the way Thomas was taking control of the situation reminded Newt of his old friend. How kind yet stern he could be. How hopeful yet pragmatic he was. It was something familiar that Newt was thankful for. He quickly calmed down, wiped away his tears and nodded at Thomas.

‘Good that,’ Thomas said, a small proud smile gracing his lips at his use of Newt’s common phrase. 

Newt couldn’t help a chuckle as well. ‘Good that, indeed,’ he agreed, and followed Thomas back inside the hideout to finalise their plan to get into the WCKD facility.

…and you’re going to tell her. You’re not dying. 

There was a nagging voice in the back of Newt’s head that was telling him not to believe Thomas. That Newt was going to die, or worse, turn into a crank and hurt his loved ones. That voice had followed him from the Maze, to the Scorch, and now the Last City. It was the voice that had driven him over the edge of the Maze walls all those years ago. But not anymore.

Newt had to keep hope, just as Y/N had taught him. He just had to be brave.

~

Y/N sat in the corner of her white-walled cell, hugging her knees to her chest as she rested her head on top. She’d sat there for hours, perhaps days. Y/N lost track of time after her first month in WCKD’s facility. 

There were no windows, and the lights never dimmed. She pressed her eyes into her knees in the hopes of downing out the incessant white light. Her eyes ached with sleep deprivation, but she refused to sleep. The nightmares were much worse to deal with, and they always came whenever she closed her eyes.

Images of her friends dying in the Maze and the Scorch, of Grievers chasing her, of her friends turning into cranks and attacking her. Images fed to her by WCKD. 

She knew they weren’t real, but she could never wake herself up in time to escape them. So, she stayed awake, knowing that she’ll have no choice but to face her nightmares when the doctors and scientists come to test on her again.

Y/N shivered at the thought of seeing another needle, of seeing her blood drained from her while WCKD turned her mind against her. When will it be enough? She might’ve lost track of time, but Y/N knew she’d been in the facility for a while now. If they hadn’t found anything by now, something told Y/N that nothing she gave would ever be enough. That included her life.

She knew Thomas and Newt would be dumb enough to come after her and Minho – that’s just the kind of people they were. Her heart ached at the thought that their efforts would be in vain. 

Y/N hadn’t seen Minho since they arrived, having been separated from each other and the other immunes. Something about how they were the most promising subjects, she overheard from a scientist one time. Y/N didn’t know if Minho was alive, and if he was, what condition he was in. 

But Minho was strong, the strongest of all the Gladers in Y/N’s opinion. If he was being tortured like her, he would be able to hold on. Y/N highly doubted she would last much longer.

The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you…

Y/N wasn’t sure if Newt knew she was actually awake that first night in the Scorch, but she’d heard him, his words so soft she thought she’d dreamt it at first. But it had been real; Newt thought she was brave.

She was too dehydrated to produce tears, but an ugly sob desperately tried to escape her aching chest. She bit her lips instead, hard enough to draw a little blood, and the sob died out, leaving her body quiet except for her mind.

I’m sorry Newt, but I am not brave.

Even so, Y/N refused to crumble to WCKD anymore. They’d taken everything from her. Her life, her memories, her loved ones, her friends. Even her hope – something she so naively believed no one could take from her. They would not take her dignity.

She raised her head at the sound of her cell door unlocking, blinking a few times as bright light flooded her vision once more. Two WCKD soldiers and two scientists stood by the door, and Y/N spied a gurney just behind them. 

One of the scientists – young male, maybe in his early twenties – stepped forward. ‘Time for more testing, Y/N,’ he said in a cold tone. But he had the sense to look sympathetic as his eyes roamed over Y/N as she stood up, showing how pale her S/C skin had become, how dark the circles beneath her eyes were, how the cargo pants and grey t-shirt hung off her in areas where she used to fill.

Y/N knew it was useless, but still she ran for the door, pushing past the scientists with ease despite her weakened state. However, she hit the soldiers like a brick wall, unable to fight against them as they restrained her arms and pressed her against the wall. The male scientist recovered quickly and injected her with a serum that made her drowsy enough that she wasn’t in control of her body. She was conscious as the soldiers strapped her to the gurney and the four of them wheeled her down corridor after corridor, and all she could do was watch fluorescent lights pass her by as she stared at the ceiling. 

Soon enough, she was in a familiar room: the test lab. 

‘It hasn’t been that long since we last tested her,’ the other scientist – a female, about the same age as her co-worker – said, her words laced with worry. ‘We put her under again, we risk losing her for good this time.’

‘I didn’t make the call,’ the male said as he continued to set up equipment around Y/N. ‘When Janson says he wants a cure, I don’t question him. Do you?’

The female didn’t answer, switching her focus to helping her co-worker. Y/N could slowly feel the serum wearing off – it was obviously only a light dose, the scientists knowing they’d put her under when they began testing. 

But just as they unstrapped her to move her to the nightmare simulator, the room shook, sending Y/N rolling to the ground as glass and steel broke around her. 

Sounds were muffled briefly and her vision blurred in and out of focus. She couldn’t hear what exactly the soldiers were shouting, but she saw them run out of the room alongside other soldiers. That just left her and the scientists. 

Y/N flexed her fingers, the serum completely wearing off. Before she could stand though, two hands roughly grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. ‘Come on, Y/N,’ the male scientist said, pushing her towards the machine. ‘Just one more trip under…’

Fear electrified Y/N’s every nerve. No, not again. With a desperate cry, she shoved the male into the utensils table, sending him and the tools scattering across the ground. Before he could get up, Y/N straddled his upper body and slammed his arms into the ground.

‘Get off me!’ he yelled, struggling violently beneath Y/N. He managed to twist them both around until she was the one pinned to the ground. Y/N struggled but to no avail. She was significantly weaker than she was when she was first captured and he knew that.

‘You little brat,’ he spat in her face. ‘Ungrateful, selfish immunes. Your duty is to save us all! You–’

He was cut off when he suddenly went slack, falling unconscious on top of Y/N. She scrambled out from underneath him, then looked up from the floor to find the female scientist with a syringe in her hand. She looked between her unconscious co-worker then Y/N, a scared and disbelieving expression morphing her delicate features. 

‘Go,’ the scientist finally said, her voice shaky, but the resolve in her eyes told Y/N that she wouldn’t chase after her. The room – no, the whole building – shook again, and when Y/N looked out the window, she realised why.

The city outside was on fire. Buildings crumbled, and Y/n could hear the screams and cries of civilians through the broken windows. The scientist wouldn’t chase her because there was no point. 

This was the end.

‘Go!’ The scientist insisted, and Y/N didn’t think twice. She picked herself up, ignoring the cuts and scraps of glass it caused her, and ran out of the room.

She ran into the corridor, ignoring the cries of soldiers and other scientists who recognised her as a subject. She didn’t know where she was going, but this was the most freedom she’d had in forever.

Then a thought came to her – Minho. She had to find him, he surely had to be alive. She would run through every floor if she had to to find him. So she ran, looking into every test lab, every storage closest, every break room on the floor. 

‘Minho!’ she cried, uncaring at this point if someone heard her. She just wanted to find him. She didn’t want to die without a familiar face with her. ‘Minho, where are you?’

She rounded a corner, right into the chest of a WCKD soldier. He was caught by surprise, giving Y/N an opportunity to slam him into the wall. It was like her fear was giving her a boost of strength, as she kneed him in the groin, sending him to the ground. He dropped the pistol he was holding, and she quickly picked it up and smacked the butt over the back of his head. He fell to the floor in one last scuffle and laid unmoving as Y/N sucked in deep breaths.

‘Y/N?’

She whirled around at the familiar call of her name, only to find three other people had entered the corridor. Thomas, Minho, and Newt. Her eyes scanned over them all, heart aching with an intense relief it threatened to crush her chest. ‘Guys?’ Her voice was hoarse with disuse and exhaustion. She was surprised she even had a voice after all her screaming.

Newt stepped forward, a relieved smile gracing his lips. ‘Yeah, love,’ he said, sounding on the verge of tears. ‘It’s us.’

Y/N’s first instinct was to run into his arms, the only place she’d felt since leaving the Maze. But she took a closer look at him. He was paler than when she last saw him, almost sickly with how dark the circles under his eyes were. Crank.

She pointed the pistol at her friends, causing them to raise their hands in shock. ‘Whoa, Y/N, it’s us!’ Thomas exclaimed.

‘No,’ she said, her voice cracking ever so slightly. ‘How do I know I’m not in that simulator again? How do I know this isn’t just another test, another trial?’

‘What are you talking about, Y/N?’ Newt asked, worry crinkling his brow. 

’She doesn’t trust her mind,’ Minho said, as if in explanation. ‘Boy, they really did a number on her…’

‘Shut up!’ Y/N unlocked the safety and pointed the gun at Minho. ‘You’re just trying to trick me. Make me think everything is all right. But it’s just a lie. You’re not here. You’re not here…’

Newt stepped into the firing line. ‘We are here, love. I promise, we’re really here.’

‘Newt…’ Thomas warned, but Newt remained, eyes locked on Y/N’s.

Y/N couldn’t look away from Newt. He sounded so genuine, so much more real than previous simulations. But WCKD couldn’t be trusted, and they were wearing soldier uniforms…

Her hands shook but her voice was strong. ‘Prove it,’ she said. ’Tell me something only the real Newt would know.’

Newt swallowed thickly. ‘Okay, um… You cut yourself when you tried out being a Slicer and had to have Clint and Jeff fix you up. That’s when you thought being a Medjack would be a good idea.’

‘WCKD was watching us the whole time. They would’ve seen that,’ she countered, using both hands to grip the gun. 

‘Okay, okay,’ Newt said, looking away a moment to think of something else. When he finally looked back at her, he was calm once more, eyes genuine and sincere. ‘How about how I jumped off the walls of the Maze in an attempt to kill myself?’

The world around the four of them seemed to freeze, as if the world wasn’t collapsing outside. To Y/N’s knowledge, Newt had never told anyone the truth of what happened that day. It was the shocked and tragic expressions on both Minho and Thomas’ faces respectively that had Y/N loosening her grip on the gun slightly.

Newt took a small step closer, eyes never straying from her. ‘I had lost all hope of getting out of that bloody maze. So I did the one thing I could do to control the situation. But I failed.’ He stepped closer again. ‘I was embarrassed, ashamed. I was just a coward. But you healed me and told me something I will never forget. I have held onto it like a lifeline through the Maze, through the Scorch, and all the time I was looking for you.’

He took one final step towards her, unfazed at how the gun pressed hard against his chest. Now that he was so close, Y/N saw just how sick he was. He looked like the early stage victims of the Flare they’d seen in the decrepit city they’d lost Brenda and Thomas in temporarily. And while Y/N refused to believe Newt – her beloved, sweet Newt – was infected, his eyes were the same as always. Open, honest, and truthful.

‘The rest of us can only hope to be as brave as you.’

It wasn’t the fact that he knew the exact words – again, WCKD had cameras everywhere in that Maze, they would’ve heard it. It was instead the emotion tied to the words. She felt them, felt the lifeline they’d created for him in his darkest moment. He wasn’t lying, and that meant he was real.

Finally, she allowed the sob to break free as she dropped the gun and threw her arms around Newt’s neck. He breathed out in relief, bringing her closer to his chest, face pressed into her H/C hair.

‘It’s really you,’ she whimpered, grasping tighter to the person she’s always been able to rely on. The person who has always protected her and brought out the best in her. Her closest friend, her safety net, her home. 

‘It is, love,’ he said into her hair, breathing her in deeply. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you before.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, pulling away to look up at him then to the other two. ‘I can’t believe you came after us.’

‘I know right,’ Minho said, punching Thomas’ arm lightly. ‘Dumb shanks.’

‘You can berate us later,’ Thomas said, rubbing his arm. ‘Right now, we’ve got to get out of here before Lawrence brings down the whole city.’

Y/N went to ask what he meant but gripped onto Newt instead as the building shook again.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Newt said, grabbing Y/N’s hand with one hand, and holding a launcher in the other. Together, the four of them ran to escape WCKD once and for all.

~

‘Brenda!’

Y/N didn’t care about the rain of bullets and walls of fire around her as she ran for the berg. After hearing Teresa’s broadcast, she needed to get the cure back to Newt fast. Leaving him was one of the hardest things she has had to do. He wasn’t in great condition, but Thomas insisted that he’d take care of Newt. But the medicine Thomas had given Brenda all those months ago didn’t just buy her time, it had cured her completely. It could do the same for Newt.

If she could make it in time.

‘Brenda!’ Y/N cried as she spotted her friend. ‘The cure! I need the cure!’

Brenda understood, immediately retrieving one of the extra capsules Mary had made from Thomas’ blood before WCKD raided the camp. ‘Here,’ she said, passing over the injector. 

‘Thanks!’ Y/N said, already sprinting back into the war zone before anyone could stop her. 

She could feel it, the exhaustion, the strain she was putting her body under. Underfed and under trained, she was struggling. But she refused to stop. Newt had come all this way to find her, risked his life to get her out of WCKD’s clutches when he could’ve been administered the temporary cure and been safe on the berg already. No, Y/N refused to let him die without trying.

Minho, Brenda, Frypan, and Gally – Y/N was still shocked about that revelation, but that was for another time to discuss - followed around her, covering her with guns and other weapons as they ran through the war zone.

After an eternity of running, the group rounded a corner to find a sight that made Y/N feel like she was back in the nightmare simulator. Newt was leaning over Thomas with a knife aimed at his chest.

‘Newt, no!’ Y/N cried, running towards the two boys without thought. 

Newt faced her at the call of his name, and she froze as she saw his black eyes. Dark veins branched over his skin and black blood dribbled from his chin. He was a full-blown crank now. 

He raced at her, snarling as he swung the knife at her throat. She ducked just in time and rolled away as he slammed the knife down where her neck was. She quickly jumped to her feet, and despite her fatigue, muscle memory took over her legs, then her hands. That first night in the Scorch came to mind, how her and Newt sparred. The injector was her knife, and Newt her proper opponent.

‘Newt, it’s me,’ she said, slipping into her Medjack demeanour – calm and steady. ‘It’s Y/N. Please, snap out of it for a moment so I can help you.’

She thought he would run at her again, but his brows crinkled with concern and he looked at the knife in his shaky hands. He looked back at her, and the voice he spoke with broke her heart. It was a mixture of his sweet accent and a gargled croak where blood clogged his throat. 

‘Y/N…’ he started. ‘Run away… Before… Before I kill you.’

The scene reminded her of the time he came in with his injured ankle. How desperate he was to fade into nothing because he was scared and ashamed of what he’d done. But just like then, she refused to be scared of him. 

Y/N shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving you, Newt,’ she said. ‘None of us will.’

Newt seemed to realise there were more people than just her and Thomas, turning around to see the others. The sight of them seemed to distress him, though, as he snarled angrily and charged at her. She shuffled back as he swung at her again and again, but as she stepped back again, she tripped on something. She fell onto her back, knocking the air out of her lungs. Before she could gather herself up, Newt was on her, straddling her similar to how he had Thomas pinned before. Newt raised the knife to bring down on her but was tackled by Thomas.

They rolled for a little, then scrambled to their feet as they fought once more. This was Y/N’s only chance. She pushed herself up and ran for the boys, injector at the ready. Newt was bringing the knife forward in a wide arc that would gut Thomas when Y/N threw herself in between them, slamming the injector into Newt’s arm.

Right as his drove the knife into her stomach.

‘Y/N!’ 

She wasn’t sure who called her name, because all she could focus on was Newt as some of the blackness in his eyes cleared and she saw some of his gorgeous brown eyes. She also felt her body finally giving up. As if it knew that this was the end. After all the torture and pain, she had stayed alive so long for one reason. To save Newt – the boy who had been there from the start. So much so she hadn’t realised until he wasn’t there how much he meant to her. How he’d wormed his way into her heart and consumed it without her even knowing. 

She gripped his hand that held the knife in her stomach, unfurled his fingers from the handle, and brought them to her chest where her heart was slowly slowing down. Her weak legs gave out, and she brought Newt down to his knees with her. She could’ve been imagining things, but she swore she saw recognition in his half-black eyes which made her smile as tears finally fell from her eyes.

‘It’s okay, Newt,’ she whispered. ‘It’s okay because… I love you.’

Her vision blurred and she finally let go of Newt as the both of them collapsed to the ground. Her breaths were short and sharp as the pain made itself known. A rush of feet thumped around her, and she had the slightest awareness that someone was moving her, but she didn’t care. She was finally at peace as darkness, at last, consumed her.

~

Y/N woke to the sound of waves rolling over on sand. The first thing she saw was grey canvas, then rolled her head around to see she was lying on a cot in a small tent with tables and medical supplies similar to how her Medjack hut looked. But she wasn’t alone.

‘Oh my God.’ Brenda’s face came into focus as the girl crouched by Y/N’s cot, disbelief and relief morphing her gentle features. ‘You’re awake! You’re finally awake!’

‘Ow,’ Y/N clasped at her head at the sudden loudness. ‘Could you lower your voice please?’

‘Yes, right, sorry,’ Brenda said, but her lips split in a bright smile as she helped Y/N sit up. ‘I’m just so happy you’re okay.’

‘What happened?’ Y/N asked, all she remembered was being stabbed then falling unconscious. She pulled up her fresh linen shirt to see her wound bandaged. ‘I thought I was done for.’

‘So did all of us,’ Brenda admitted, her tone sombre as she pulled up a seat beside the cot. ‘We got you to the berg as quickly as possible and Vince got you stable, but you just weren’t waking up. It’s been a week.’

‘A week?’ Y/N made to get up but sat back down as her wound pulled in an unpleasant way.

‘Whoa, where do you think you’re going?’ Brenda asked stabilising Y/N back in her bed. ‘You’ve just come out of a coma induced by physical and mental torture. Not to mention you were stabbed.’

‘I’m fine. Trust me, I’m trained… somewhat,’ Y/N said, this time able to swing her legs over the side of her cot. Brenda didn’t try and stop her, but she did have to help Y/N when she stood. ‘Now, where is Newt?’ Brenda didn’t answer right away, and tears threatened to pool in Y/N’s eyes at what her silence could mean. ‘Brenda… Is he… Is he alive?’

Brenda, again, didn’t answer, and her face didn’t give anything away either. Instead, she just held back the flap of the tent and motioned for Y/N to exit. Y/N took cautious steps forward as she followed Brenda into a completely new place that had her staring in awe.

It was a bustling camp where sleeping quarters and other spaces were mapped out by canvas strung up on carved wood pillars and posts. Y/N spied a kitchen area where she swore she heard Frypan laughing with some others. 

There was a gathering area where a giant stone stood in front of the seats. There were names carved into it, like what they used to do in the Glade. Y/N tried to make out if a certain blonde’s name was on it. She caught familiar names like Alby and Chuck, Clint and Jeff. 

‘Y/N?’ 

She swung around to find Brenda smiling as she was joined by Thomas, Minho, and Jorge. The three of them ran at her, arms wide open to capture her in a hug.

‘You crazy shank, Minho said, laughter on his lips. ‘Look who finally decided to join the living again.’

‘And here I thought I was the lazy slinthead for sleeping for so long,’ Thomas said jokingly, pulling Y/N in for another hug. ’I’m so relieved.’

‘Welcome back, hermana,’ Jorge said, a warm smile gracing his lips as he gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

‘Good to be back,’ Y/N replied, smiling at the three males. ‘What happened after I thought I’d died?’

Thomas went to reply, but Minho cut in. ‘We’ll explain later. Right now, I think you should go say hi to someone else.’

Confused, Y/N followed Minho’s gaze to Brenda, who stood atop a hill and was staring over the other side of it. Y/N quickly reached Brenda’s position and followed her gaze to a large garden that people were working on. But her breath caught at the sight of a familiar blond at the edge of the gardens talking and pointing in all directions to people.

‘Hey, Newt!’ Brenda called out, causing the blond to turn around and look up. At first, he saw Brenda, but his gaze soon fell on Y/N and his whole face changed into disbelief.

With the other gardeners forgotten, he started climbing up the hill, and Y/N couldn’t wait another moment so she started walking down the hill. 

They met in the middle, with Y/N standing at Newt’s height on the uphill. Neither said anything to begin with, both in disbelief and awe at who stood in front of them. Y/N looked over Newt, noting he still looked pale and somewhat sickly. But the dark veins were gone, as was the black blood and his black eyes. And the sun shone so brightly that his hair looked golden. It was as if he was never infected to begin with.

With a shaky hand, she reached out to rest her hand over his beating heart. ‘You’re alive,’ she whispered, too scared to voice it too loudly in case this was also another nightmare. 

But he proved her doubts wrong as he rested his own hand on top of hers. ‘I am,’ he said, and the usual warmth of his voice truly convinced her he was real. 

His face pinched suddenly with concern and guilt. ‘I’m so sorry, Y/N,’ he said, his hand tightening slightly over hers. ‘I hurt you. I almost…’

‘It’s okay,’ she interrupted, using her free hand to cradle is cheek and keep his eyes on her. ‘You didn’t. I am here, too. Looks like we both saved each other.’

To her relief Newt smiled. It was a genuine, happy smile, something she hadn’t seen on him in a long time. He nuzzled into her hand briefly, before bringing it down with his free hand so he held her hands between them. 

‘Before I passed out,’ he started, ‘I remember you saying something.’

‘Oh.’ A blush heated upon her cheeks, but she refused to look away from him. ‘Right. I did say something.’

She was trying to play it cool, but as soon as his deep brown eyes fixed on her, she knew he could see right through her. But he didn’t smile smugly, he didn’t tease. He actually looked scared as his jaw clenched, fighting to find the next words to speak. 

‘You said you love me,’ he finally said, words tight but hopeful. ‘Is that true?’

Y/N’s mouth dried up suddenly, constricted by all the things she wished to say but couldn’t say all at once. It’s not like she was scared, she just never thought she would live long enough to have a future, let alone one with love. One with Newt.

But she had – she had survived WCKD’s cruelty, she had survived the terrors of the old world, she had survived when so many of her friends hadn’t. And it was her duty to live her gift of a life to the fullest.

‘Yes,’ she finally said, and it was like breathing in fresh air after being underground for so long. ‘I love you, Newt. I don’t know when or how it happened, but I do. I love you.’ 

There was a second of hesitation, but then Newt broke out into a wide smile, and Y/N swore she saw tears brim in his eyes. He suddenly reached one hand up to cradle her neck as he pulled Y/N in for a sweet kiss that simultaneously knocked the air out of her and breathed new life into her. He held her neck and hip, and she pressed her hands against his chest, satisfied to feel his heart thundering beneath her hands. The heart that almost never beat again, the heart that had saved her over and over again. 

The kiss was short but was no less breath-taking, and when they pulled apart neither could stop the smiles on their faces. 

‘I love you, too,’ Newt said. ‘If that wasn’t already obvious.’

Y/N threw her head back in a hearty laugh. She slung her arms around Newt’s neck, a cheeky grin dancing across her lips. ‘I’m not so sure. Maybe we could try that again to make sure?’

‘Cheeky bugger,’ he murmured as he pressed his lips to hers again. Y/N sighed into the kiss, grasping the baby hairs at the base of his head. 

They pulled apart at the sound of their friends whooping and clapping atop the hill. Y/N felt her face erupt with embarrassed heat, to which Newt laughed as she ducked her head into his chest. 

‘All right, come on lovebirds!’ Minho called out. ‘Dinner’s almost ready.’

As they walked down out of sight, Y/N went to follow but was stopped by a loose grip on her wrist.

‘What is it?’ she asked as she turned back to Newt.

‘I just…’ Newt turned to the gardens below, then to the water, then to the sunset that bathed the whole camp in beautiful hues of orange, pink and purple. When he finally turned back to Y/N, she thought he couldn’t look any more handsome with that pure sunshine smile and sparkle in his eyes. ‘Thanks.’

‘For what?’ she asked.

‘For teaching me how to be brave,’ he answered.

Y/N gave his hand a squeeze. ‘You were always brave, Newt,’ she said. ‘It’s how I learned how to be brave in the first place.’

Newt squeezed her hand in return, then they walked hand in hand back up the hill and down to dinner to where their friend awaited them. 

Where the lives they never imagined they’d get a chance to live awaited them.

#maze runner newt x reader #newt x reader #tmr newt x reader #maze runner imagines #maze runner x reader #the maze runner #minho #tmr frypan #tmr thomas #tmr minho #tmr newt #tmr gally #tmr brenda #tmr jorge #the death cure #the scorch trials #romance #angst #friends to lovers

[basicallyjaywalker]

Wanna ramble about a moment/character in ninjago you think people need to talk about more?

I don't know who you are anon, but I'm glad you asked!

I am desperate for people to character-analyze Wu. I'm desperate for a lot of character analysis including Nya but since I got a lot of my Nya feelings out with some lovely folks the other night (edit: the other night was a month ago dw about it. this took a minute) I'm going with Wu this time

Master Wu to me is such an interesting case of a character who it is so easy to ignore the bits of the show that hint at his wider issues and traumas. He is a man defined heavily by his family and by his past. A lot of criticism he gets, I think, is due in part to that.

I've mentioned before that I've been rewatching S1 with a friend of mine and intermittently pausing to infodump on them about interesting character things I notice from that season. A lot of that has been Wu-focused because despite having seen RotS dozens of times throughout my life (watching it on CN, watching it on Netflix when only it and Legacy were around, rewatching it with friends) I have only just started noticing the seeds of character written in.

I might also just be reading too much into things, but hear me out

In S1 (and by extension, the pilots), Wu is characterized as your typical old wise teacher. In the first few minutes of EP1: Rise of the Snakes, he is chewing out the Ninja for playing video games instead of training. The line he uses? "Never put off until tomorrow what can be done today."

It's a line that gets repeated throughout the series. In fact, it gets repeated that very episode when the ninja go (pun not intended) to fight the Hypnobrai and a literal pre-teen. At first, it seems to just be a piece of wisdom. Some old proverb Wu's picked up over the years, possibly one he even coined himself. However, in EP7: Tick Tock, Wu tells the story of who, possibly, first told him this.

(Source: Tick Tock/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added.)

It was Garmadon. Now, I'm not gonna dwell too long on Garmadon, if you spend five minutes talking to me you'll learn he was the first character whose story I obsessed over and I want this essay to be about Wu, but I think he plays a role in Wu's overall story, as does Wu's family as a whole.

Prior to this, Wu and Garmadon's relationship has been more of a sibling rivalry taken to a good vs. evil extreme. We didn't know why Garmadon was evil and we didn't know about Wu and his relationship as kids. However, this scene establishes the backstory. They were, as Wu puts it, "the best of friends." That is, until Garmadon gets bit by the Devourer going to get the katana Wu lost.

Now, I know the Devourer bite was destined to happen because of the Overlord or some shit, but Wu doesn't. As far as he's concerned, Garmadon getting bit was a direct consequence of both his mistake and his cowardice. He lost the katana. He was too scared to get it. Garmadon went over instead. Garmadon got bit.

The scene goes on to show the FSM tending to Garmadon in the aftermath. Wu is watching from behind the door, likely told to stay back, but concerned. And in his POV, we get this intense moment, where Garmadon turns, looks directly at him (his eyes turning bright red for the first time), and says "It's all Wu's fault!"

(This clip should begin at the start of Wu eavesdropping. If it doesn't, skip to 0:58. I highly recommend also paying attention to Wu's body language during this scene.)

The camerawork does a great job of showing how this probably felt for Wu. It zooms in, Garmadon's voice echoes, and the background blurs. We see in the flashback that this is a moment Wu has etched into his memory. Not to mention, he was likely a very young child when this happened. LEGO characters' ages are weird, but Wu in this scene has the Big Eyes, which always seem to be used for characters under 12. We don't know exactly how much older Garmadon is to my knowledge, but he doesn't have the Big Eyes, so he's probably closer to 12 and a few years older than Wu for sure.

Imagine that. Being in elementary school and your older siblings gets hurt. They're acting strange. They're lashing out at your father. Then, they blame it all on you. They're hurt because of you. Wouldn't you internalize that?

I could go on about Wu's relationship with Garmadon, but again, I think I've spent enough time on it and I don't want to only focus on that. It's an important part, but there are others.

Let's talk about Wu's relationship with his dad.

Now, I have not yet read the Spinjitzu Brothers series. I cannot speak to any development of Wu and the FSM's relationship in there. I have, however, read The Book of Spinjitzu and blogged some of my thoughts on it here, including some of what it says about Wu.

For those who haven't read it, first, there is a Google Drive folder floating around with all of the canon spinoff books/graphic novels in it. Here's the link if you wanna read them!

The FSM is an... intriguing figure. I mean, in the series he's basically god? He made the entire world. That's already a very high bar to live up to. Then, in Book of Spinjitzu, there's a few specific parts that, when I read them, signaled that Wu internalized a specific message when he was young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 3).

Wu does not want to disappoint his father. It is up to him (and Garmadon until he turns evil) to "uphold the legacy of Spinjitzu" and, by extension, his family. He says he was "very young" when this was explained to him. Considering he seems to already be training at an elementary age, "very young" means VERY young.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 16).

Here, we again see Wu being very aware that he has some large burden to carry. Something else interesting here is that the thought of the Green Ninja Prophecy is already weighing on him too. His considering if he might be the Green Ninja is of extra interest because of how the Green Ninja Prophecy and the--I wouldn't call it obsession, possibly fixation?--with who it is factors into his later actions, but we'll get to that later.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, Page 19).

This one in particular gets me because it comes after Wu mentions Garmadon becoming more evil. It is a statement of power. Wu knows that the legacy of Spinjitzu now rests in his hands alone. He cannot let himself fall the way Garmadon did. He cannot disappoint his father. Whether or not the FSM intended it, Wu always knew the fate of the world rested, at least in part, upon his shoulder. He knew this from the time he was a young boy and it remains in his mind to this day.

Now, these quotes are indirect, but they all point to one clear idea: As a child, Wu internalized the idea that he alone is responsible for keeping Ninjago safe. He will play a pivotal role in its history.

There's not evidence in this book that the FSM's was a bad father, per se. However, just because one doesn't set out to harm their children, doesn't mean they won't. I often say Wu has an "Atlas complex," which I have no idea if it is an actual concept but use it to refer to this idea. Wu feels as though he is responsible for holding up the world, much like Atlas. He must keep the balance, he must solve the Green Ninja prophecy, he must make his father proud.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 61).

I'm going to get further into what this means for Wu as a teacher to the current Ninja Team, but for now let's look at Wu's first foray into teaching.

Morro. Wu's Biggest Mistake.

That might seem like an overstatement, but it's not.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

Okay he says regret, not mistake, but I was paraphrasing.

Let's turn back to his quote about his destiny. Wu writes, "Is my life's mission to be the Green Ninja? Or maybe it will be to find the Green Ninja and protect him (or her)??"

From a very young age, Wu was not only aware of the Green Ninja but prophecy but also thinking about his place in it. We see this again when he takes Morro in and trains him.

(Source: Ghost Story/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom, highlight added)

A big thing Wu is criticized for here is making Morro believe he is meant to be more. That he is the Chosen One. And Morro, being a young homeless orphan just now given some semblance of power and protection, latches onto that. And I can see it, but when you take into account the above that he was trained from (likely) a younger age than Morro and given a similar level of responsibility, it becomes more understandable. Wu is just doing what he was taught. He doesn't believe that he is harming Morro until it is too late.

This is the entire story, but I'm specifically going to be discussing 1:36 onwards here. I also wanted to add that rewatching this scene made me lay down on the floor! What the fuck! But I digress.

There's a lot going on in this scene. For one, Wu washing his hands of Morro in some ways, but not others. He turns his back on Morro when he tells him that destiny has decided, but looks at him again when Morro storms out. He goes to save Morro from the Grundal, but decides that he cannot "teach those who would not listen." Most importantly, when Morro leaves to go find the Tomb of the FSM, Wu leaves the door open. He waits for Morro to return, but never goes after him. And Morro never comes back.

Wu gives Morro's fate a dismissive response at the end of his ghost story ("I am saddened he was banished to the Cursed Realm") but it's clear he still cares deeply about him in the finale of the season.

Wu's VA in this is phenomenal btw. That "Please Morro!" and "MORRO!" make my heart ache.

Morro believed Wu stopped caring, but he didn't. Even after all he's done, even after trying to destroy all of Ninjago--destroying what Wu had spent his life trying to protect--Wu tries to save him. He begs for Morro to come with him. Morro refuses, Wu watches him perish.

Someone else Wu is close to is gone. Wu again considers himself responsible. Everything is his fault.

And finally, we reach Wu today. A cautious, secretive man. He loves his students, this much is clear. Even as early as the pilots, he drops his wise teacher persona to joke around with them.

As with Morro, he trains them like his father did him. He even uses the same methods his father used when he trains them.

(Source: The Book of Spinjitzu, page 32)

While he is hard on the Ninja, wanting them to succeed and training them to help defend the Realm, he lets his guard down more than it seems he did with Morro. He also learned a valuable message from his experience with Morro when he hides the Green Ninja Prophecy from the Ninja, getting angry when they start to push themselves in the same way Morro did upon learning about it. It's clear he doesn't want a repeat.

Now, I can't speak for later seasons (I will eventually) but this fear of repeats, his students going down a dark path because they're tempted by power or greatness, losing someone else, likely drives Wu not telling them other important information. That is just a passing thought though.

Final notes:

I'm currently in the process of rewatching S7: Hands of Time. I actually got this ask right after finishing EP68: Scavengers, which opens with Wu having a nightmare. In it, he and Misako are walking outside of Yang's temple. While walking, Misako delivers this line in response to Wu reminiscing about the time they've spent together:

(Source: Scavengers/Transcript | Ninjago Wiki | Fandom)

This line, to me, is Wu's subconscious trying to tell him something he needs to hear. It's hinting at what might be his greatest flaw. Wu is haunted by his past, by his mistakes. He finds it difficult to tell others because of both his guilt and his desire to not put that worry upon them. In this very season, he makes the mistake of trying to face his past on his own, and he nearly dies for it.

In the same episode, you see Wu trying to make sure Lloyd doesn't make the same mistakes.

(Source: Prev)

Wu stresses the important of the team. It's as if he sees Lloyd blaming himself for what happened to Wu, sees him doing the same thing Wu has, and is trying to prevent him from doing the same thing. This is further emphasized when, after Wu falls asleep (well, fakes falling asleep), Lloyd says "Wu's mistake was going in alone. So was mine."

Master Wu is, like many characters in this show, someone who is more complex than meets the eye. He is not just a wise, old teacher. He is a man who, throughout his life, has made mistakes and carries the weight of each of them on his shoulders. He is a man who tasks himself with making up for those every day. He is a man who wants better for his students, his family.

Until the day he dies, he will guide and protect his students. And possibly? Even after death too.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #master wu #long post #anon tag #this made my day i looooooooooooooove character analysis #i know a lot of what i post about it may not encompass the full series but i just think that makes it more fun tbh #i'm working with what i have and later i may come back to this and add even more things #i'm also very passionate about wu analysis as a former wu hater because i think the fact that his character stuff is so buried #leads to a lot of the hate #Why didn't he tell the ninja things? well he told morro things and look how that turned out #he grew up believing the weight of the world was on his shoulders #in one way or another #i won't lie and say the man does not make mistakes #but like i mention in s7 when he does he is fucking haunted by them #he is not breaking the generational trauma but he is damn well making an attempt for someone who probably doesn't realize he has it #p.s i tried to add image desc to each ss to make it more accessible but if i messed it up please let me know! #i spent way too much time on this #somebody do a word count i'm curious but too tired to copy this all into docs #falls over #part 2 of this is just the dark island trilogy but i think i'm gonna wait to do that #this took so long and the words are now refusing to words #thank you for reading #i need to take a nap after writing this I feel physically spent #please enjoy another rook branded ramble disguised as a comprehensive essay #other essayists bring you professionalism and academic vibes #i scream into the void and put way too many links o7 #happy birthday ninjago!!!! i finished this in honor of you hopefully it is worthy

[tickletastic]

On the Dotted Line

Fandom: Star Trek

Ship: N/A

Summary: Bones thinks Jim needs a lesson on the importance of actually reading his medical consent forms before signing them.

When Jim had gone for his last bi-monthly physical, he had a long, itemized list of hypos and vaccines awaiting him, Bones lining them up on the examination table with a sheepish, apologetic smile on his face. Bones reminded him that it had been five years since his last round of immunizations, save for a few vaccines here and there based on some of his newly developed allergies. Jim was annoyed and impatient, though he had noticed, subconsciously, that his body had been behaving a little differently for a few weeks. He found himself in uncontrollable sneezing fits when the Enterprise flew past a gas giant, and felt his entire body itch after visiting the science team in the middle of their specimen examinations. He knew the vaccines weren’t optional, but it didn’t make the surprise of them any less annoying. 

The thing is, Bones couldn’t even count on two hands how many times he had reminded Jim about his vaccines over the past two weeks, repeatedly bringing it up in hopes that it would soften the blow when the appointment finally did roll around. Somehow, Jim still seemed oblivious about the appointment, despite Bones’ many reminders, and the signed consent forms that had arrived in Bones’ email minutes after he had sent them to Jim a week earlier. 

“Kid, you know those emails I send you about your appointments aren’t just to sit and look pretty in yer inbox, right?” Bones had teased, wincing when Jim flinched away from the fifth hypo, “they could’ve given you the rundown about this appointment, had you bothered to read ‘em.”

Jim was testy, and he sent Bones a warning glare, “I signed them, didn’t I?”

Bones had just rolled his eyes, deciding it might be best to engage in the conversation when Jim was a little less irritable, a little less vulnerable. 

It is protocol, on the Enterprise, for physicals to be done on a bi-annual basis, most of the crew not changing very much over the span of six months. Of course, the medbay is always open in the case of an emergency, but, for the sake of documentation, complete physicals happen twice a year. 

While most of the Enterprise gets along just fine with two physicals a year, their loyal captain has a long, non-exhaustive list of allergies, a new one springing up practically once a week, and a penchant for lying about injuries. As a result of their own stubborn captain, and other stubborn captains in the fleet, Bones managed to have a new protocol introduced into Starfleet regulations that required ship captains to have brief physicals bi-monthly. 

Bones, sick and tired of his best friend’s irritability and surprise when a new appointment would arise, despite his constant reminders and emails filled up with consent forms, decided that a lesson of sorts would be in order. Bones is Jim’s primary physician, of course, per request of the captain himself, but there might come a day when Bones’ schedule is filled, or he’s attending an off-ship medical conference, when Jim might have to see a different doctor. For the sake of himself, and any other doctor that might have the displeasure of seeing to Jim Kirk’s temperaments, Bones wanted to solidify to Jim how important it was to read his consent forms prior to signing. It’s not like they have to do with Jim’s immediate physical health or anything, right?

Two months later, when Jim’s next physical rolls around, he is begrudgingly dragged to the medbay, upset that he has to attend another appointment when he, “literally had one like a week ago.” 

This time, Bones has gone in a more old-fashioned direction. Bones has, waiting for him and Jim at his desk, a printed copy of Jim’s signed consent forms, his sloppy signature adorning the bottom of every last one. 

“Alright, Jimmy,” Bones says, motioning for Jim to hop up on the examination table, “I take it you read through the consent forms?”

Jim raises an annoyed eyebrow, physically fighting back the eyeroll, “I signed them, didn’t I?” 

“That you did,” Bones responds with a nod, “so you would know that today we are doing some sensitivity cataloging to use for reference in case of later injuries?”

Jim narrows his eyes, a light pink dusting his cheeks, “sensitivity training?”

“Yup,” Bones replies, popping the ‘p’, he shakes the forms in his hand, waving them in front of Jim, “every last detail written down on these forms.”

“Yeah,” Jim responds, nodding in an attempt to hide his surprise, “yeah, of course.” 

“Okay, in that case, let’s get started.” Bones opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out a feather, placing it on the top of the desk, in plain sight of Jim. “So, would you like to start with rough touch or light touch? We’ve got to catalogue both,” Bones pauses to smile deviously at Jim, “you know, for the sake of thoroughness.” 

Jim’s cheeks are rapidly turning more and more pink as he squirms on the examination table, his eyes avoiding the feather at all cost. “I think I might actually have some business to tend to on the bridge, Bones. Isn’t my last physical enough for now?”

Bones grins, “don’t worry, Jim, it won’t hurt at all. Spock’s got the whole ‘captain act’ handled for a bit.”

Now, Jim openly glares at Bones, and Bones just feigns innocence, “you’re evil. I’m firing you, I’m having you sent to a patrol ship, or one of those garbage ships that collects space debris.”

“Sure you are, Jimmy, sure you are,” Bones chuckles, “so I guess rough it is?”

“Wait- no- I- Bohohones! Shihihit, dohohon’t!” Jim giggles, pushing back against Bone’s fingers digging into his sides, “stahahap!”

“No can do, doctor’s orders,” Bones replies, fighting against Jim’s struggling, “and you signed the forms, you should have known this was coming. I warned you, after all.” 

Jim shakes his head, squirming every which way until he eventually falls back, legs dangling off the side of the examination table as he shrieks in response to Bones’ fingers. 

“Alright, rough on your sides is a 5/10, I’d say,” Bones says out loud, as if truly recording Jim’s sensitivities for anything beyond his own lesson. 

“Shuhuhut uhhuhup!” Jim screeches, body jolting when Bones’ fingers move to his tummy, “nohoho! Thihihis ihihis soho duhuhumb!”

“Wow,” Bones feigns offense, “this is for your own sake, kid, and you should’ve known all about it given that I sent you all the information.” 

Jim’s laughter is loud and full by this point, chuckling hysterically as Bones pokes and prods all over his tummy. When Bones’ finger grazes the top of Jim’s belly button, he shrieks, unable to stop his own body from arching, inadvertently moving into the touch. 

“I think we might have found an outlier, should I catalogue your belly and belly button separately? Bones asks, spidering his fingers around the sensitive spot, “whadya think, kid? Or should we average the ticklishness of both spots and consider it one?”

“Bohones plehehease!” Jim squeals, desperately trying to push at Bones’ hands, “ihihim sorry!”

“I don’t think you are just yet, but I know you will be soon.”

Bones’ hands move up to Jim’s ribs and Jim screams, squirming so hard that Bones has to save him from falling right off the table. Jim’s fists weakly hit against Bones’ chest as he hiccups and snorts through his laughter, throwing his head back. 

“Ihihim sorry! Ihihim sohohorehehe! BOHONES!” 

“Alright, alright, I’m almost done, Jimmy, just one more spot and I think you’ve learned your lesson,” Bones relays, his fingers slowing on Jim’s ribs, “if I were less knowledgeable, I’d say that your ribs were a 10/10, but I’d say that was a solid 9.”

Jim pants, his entire face red up to his ears, too tired to fight back anymore. When Bones’ fingers scratch roughly into his shoulder blades, he feels as though he’s been electrified, ticklish energy flowing everywhere in his body, his laughter quickly goes silent, and he struggles against the half-hug thing that he and Bones are in, trying to break out of Bones’ hold. 

Bones smiles, incredibly endeared, and lets Jim go, his body slumping onto the table. “Now that, was the 10/10. So are we going to read our forms before signing them now?”

Jim is still giggling, twitching on the table and nodding eagerly, “yehehes, yehes, I wohohon’t doho it ahagain.”

Bones takes a playful step towards Jim, as if he’s going to strike again, and Jim shrieks, curling against the wall the examination table is pressed up against. 

“Alright, alright,” Bones reaches out and ruffles Jim’s hair, “you’re good to go, kid.” Bones eyes Jim, whose face is bright red, clothes ruffled, hair a mess, “but maybe wait until you’re less red to join your crew.”

“Shut uhup,” Jim groans, standing up and making an attempt to straighten out his clothes, “you’re so gonna pay for this.”Bones turns to his desk, not bothering to watch Jim as he leaves, still red and grinning, “sure I will, kid, sure I will.”

#lee!jim #ticklish!jim #ler!bones #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #bones mccoy #star trek #james kirk

[canmom]

Animation Night 164: Yaoi, Yuri

The fashion on Tumblr lately has been to divide everything in the world into yaoi and yuri, hasn't it? Well, tonight we don't need to make any abstract stretches of the imagination: it's time for anime where boys kiss boys and girls kiss girls.

So. Five minutes ago, before Tumblr deleted it, this post was off to a pretty good start! I was happily explaining about the differences of nuance between 少年愛 shōnen-ai, 耽美 tanbi, ジュネ june, やおい yaoi and ボーイズラブ bōizu rabu on the one hand, and on the other, why 薔薇 bara (rose) isn't a genre title but nevertheless the editor of 薔薇族 Barazoku ('rose tribe') magazine coined 百��� yuri as a distaff counterpart, the 'lily tribe', and that really caught on.

I was starting in on a brief sketch of some history, how Tokugawa Japan was super gay and had a defined set of social rules for gay relationships in the form of 男色 nanshoku, but this was squashed by the Meiji restoration, and thus gay manga became a subgenre cultivating its own specific otaku audience.

So then I was gonna tell you about how the early shōjo manga focusing on gay relationships, taking the old term shōnen-ai [which originally referred to pederasty], were quite nerdy and literary, but the subgenre rapidly grew in the 70s and 80s, cultivating an otaku audience of its own - primarily women termed, somewhat disparagingly, 婦女子 fujoshi but this demographic breakdown is certainly not absolute and there is a term for male fans, which is 普段し fudanshi. We coulda gone into the whole world of doujinshi, of the massive convention comiket; I coulda cracked open Kimi Rito's History of Hentai Manga for some interesting tidbits about how certain images become encoded as symbols and then reused routinely in manga.

And you know, I might have talked about how this is distinct from manga aimed at gay readers in gay magazines (like the above mentioned 薔薇族 Barazoku) which might be termed ゲイ漫画 gei manga. Perhaps we might mention here the upcoming adaptation of gay manga meme sensation kuso miso technique:

I was maybe gonna talk a little about some of the older genre conventions of BL; the masc top or 攻め seme and the effeminate bottom or 浮け uke; maybe a little about how yaoi fandom got exported into anime fan culture in the West and the strange phenomenon of the 'yaoi paddle'.

...well, it looks like I managed to skim over all that anyway. Spite works wonders for typing speed, it turns out. But believe me, that's really just surface level stuff. We're working on a followup to the legend of Animation Night 69, so we'll be able to get in a lot deeper in a few weeks~

Anyway, even today, BL and yuri works rarely get adapted into anime in a particularly high profile way. But 'rarely' is not never! In Animation Nights past, well: on Animation Night 69 we watched the delightful 風と木の詩 Kaze to Ki no Uta (The Song of Wind and Trees), an OVA adapting the seminal (ha ha) shōjo manga about a French twink at boarding school. That was the direction of Yoshikazu Yasuhiko, known also for Venus Wars and definitely the subject of a future Animation Night, it was as moving and melodramatic as you could hope from 70s shōjo. Sayo Yamamoto (AN36) brought us the incredibly charming figure gay skating series Yuri on Ice; and then of course Kunihiko Ikuhara (AN155), bless his heart, made his always bold statements on yuri with Yurikuma Arashi ('Lesbian Bear Storm') and BL with Sarazanmai, which I will surely cover if we ever reach the point where we're like 'let's marathon a TV anime' again ;p

Tonight though? We'll be looking at a couple of relatively recent films on both sides of the fence.

For the BL wing, we have the film 海辺のエトランゼ Umibe no Étranger, aka L'étranger de la Plage or Stranger by the Shore. Kanna Kii, the mangaka, had previously worked as an animator at Studio Hibari, a small anime studio that dates back to the late 70s and broadly seems to specialise in shōjo. Kii returned there to design characters and supervise the film, and evidently Hibari were very excited to adapt the work of their alumnus, because they absolutely spared no effort.

The story centres on orphaned highschooler Mio and his neighbour Shun, an aspiring gay novelist on a remote island in Okinawa. The pair grew close three years before the start of the story, but Mio had to leave Okinawa; we join him now as he returns to that same shore, still holding feelings for Shun.

I'll admit, I don't know a ton about this movie - but it comes highly recommended by kvin who described it as one of an 'oasis' of strong BL works released around 2020. And the clips I've seen - well, they're the gifs used in this post, really nicely drawn scenes of affection. So I'm pretty excited!

Our yuri wing... well, there's a few good choices for yuri TV shows I could show you, but tonight it's late and we need something short and sweet, and that really narrows the field! What I have is あさがおと加瀬さん。Asagao to Kase-san [Kase-san and the Morning Glories], a one hour OVA adapting the manga 加瀬さん Kase-san by Hiromi Takashima. The OVA starts partway into the manga, when plant nerd Yui Yamada has already started dating her crush, the athletic Tomoka Kase. It follows the trials of the girls' relationship as they are coming towards the end of their time at school - relatively low-key, slice of life first relationship typea thing.

The animae was adapted by studio Zexcs under the direction of Takuya Satō, who you might remember as director of the first part of Armitage III [AN153]. Zexcs spun out of JC Staff at the end of the 90s, and they've been pretty busy since then - for me their most notable creation is Aku no Hana (The Flowers of Evil), a truly unique rotoscope anime with an incredibly engaging, tense story about teenagers and the imp of the perverse... which sadly never got the love it deserved! yes I'm still beating this drum!

Anyway, while I have not been able to find a ton of production information, I am told at least that Kase-san was a passion project for Satō - evidently a yuri fan given he also took on the adaptation of Otherside Picnic. It began first with five-minute web adaptation Kase-san and the Morning Glories in 2018 that's more of a musical montage of moments from the series, which was then able to be expanded the next year into an hour-long OVA...

A lot of romance stories focus on the characters getting together, so it's interesting that this one skips right over those chapters of the manga and gets going once the characters are already together, focusing more on the trials of an ongoing relationship between two goofy hormonal kids trying to figure out if this is just a class S thing or something that they want to last. A great deal of effort is put towards character animation, intimacy, the little flinches and reactions. You can read a little discussion about it here on ANN.

So! With apologies for the late start once more (T_T), it's time to begin! Animation Night will shortly be live at twitch.tv/canmom, and I hope you'll join me for a gay old time~

#Youtube #animation night #long overdue subject and i wish i had had more time to do it justice

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

My Personal Bodyguard

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: No

Prompt: You're a server at the International Hotel when Elvis arrives as the big entertainment act. While serving his manager, you notice something fishy going on. Can you change things for Elvis? Or will you run out of time?

TW: Swearing (a ton lmao), mention of drugs + violence

Rating: Pg-13     ||     Word Count: 5793

A/N: Fix-it fic #1 is complete. this was therapeutic for me to have the reader absolutely wreck the colonel lol

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“Bet you didn’t think we’d be this busy when you took this job did you?” Nathan, your coworker asks, and you shake your head with a breathless laugh.

“Absolutely not,” you reply. “I’ve worked at hotel restaurants my whole life, and I figured this would just be like everything else, but I guess not. People really go nuts over that Elvis guy, don’t they.”

“I guess so, yeah,” Nathan replies. “My sister won’t shut up about him, and I’m pretty sure my mother would divorce my entire family if Elvis asked her to.”

You’ve taken a job at the new International Hotel, which just opened about a week ago in Las Vegas. It’s one of those old sorts of hotels, with a casino and a stage for shows to entertain the guests. Or to keep them inside the building longer, whichever happens to come first. Anyway, you and Nathan have both been in charge of setting the tables for the first show this evening. The famous Elvis Presley is going to perform for the first time, and as far as you understand, he’ll be performing twice a night every night for the next six weeks.

You’ve heard his songs on the radio, of course, and you like them. But you don’t really know anything about him. You’re busy and don’t have a lot of time to freak out over men ten years your senior. Anyway you’re just a server at the hotel. It’s not like you have any business interacting with Elvis anyway.

“We’d better pick it up,” Nathan says, unfolding the last tablecloth and throwing it across the bare table toward you. You catch it, helping him fluff it out to drop onto the table. “We only have about five minutes to finish this before the King of rock’n’roll will be here to warm up. Can you grab some more silverware, I think we’re short a few.”

You nod, jogging over to the cart parked by the side of the stage. You dig around for a few seconds, not finding anything. Hearing a familiar voice in the distance, you hop up onto the stage and sneak into the back to find your manager. Wading through a sea of people running here and there, you finally see her and tap her shoulder.

“Hey, Katie, we can’t find the-”

Your voice stops abruptly when you see him. Elvis Presley in the flesh. He’s strutting in your direction in the most outlandishly beautiful costume you’ve ever seen. It’s a white jumpsuit, half unfastened to show off his chest, with a popped collar and studs all around. Your eyes can’t help but fall to his open chest before they flick back up to his face. He’s incredibly handsome, so much so that you actually feel your mouth pop open. His hair is incredibly dark and long, laying softly on his forehead. Everything about him screams sex, and you start to maybe understand why everyone is obsessed with him.

You and Katie step out of the way as he and his posse pass, and you feel totally worthless. Like a peasant in the street as the king passes along. Just when you think you’re in the clear, you accidentally look him straight in the eye. He winks and smiles at you without missing a beat, and you nervously smile back, dropping your eyes to the ground.

“Hello?”

You snap out of your daze with the literal snapping of Katie’s fingers in your face.

“We can’t find the…” she gestures for you to continue.

“Silverware. We’re short a few,” you respond. She nods, helping you find them.

By the time you’re running down the steps of the stage to place the silverware in the correct spots, people are starting to file in. Hundreds of them, all around, of all ages, genders, and social classes. You quickly make your exit toward the kitchen to alert them that everyone is starting to file in. You hide there for a while, chatting with the cooks and staff before your manager rounds all of the servers up to assign tables. She pulls you aside for a minute.

“Y/N, you have more experience than our entire waitstaff combined. You get the special task of serving the hotel owner, Mr. Kohn. And Mr. Presley’s manager, Colonel Tom Parker, will also be at your table. Prompt and attentive service, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you respond with a smile. It isn’t a question, but you want to reassure her that everything will be fine.

You grab onto three menus from the stand next to you and take a deep breath before heading out into the crowd. In the fifteen or twenty minutes you’d spent getting ready in the kitchen, the entire place has packed in. It’s a full house without a doubt.

“Hi gentleman, good evening and welcome to the International Hotel, Mr. Kohn and Colonel Parker,” you say with a grin, passing the menus out and hoping you’ve remembered their names correctly. “Can I get you gentleman started with any beverages this evening?”

“Red wine. Whatever you have that’s the best,” Mr. Kohn responds.

“I’ll have the same,” Colonel Parker adds.

You have to sustain your grin even though it falters when you look at the tubby man sitting in front of you. Something about his energy is off. You can’t explain it, but you don’t trust him for some reason. His accent is impossible to place and the way he leans on his cane is too comfortable. Too in control, or something. Nevertheless, you push the thoughts away, reserving to do your job and nothing else.

As you start to walk back toward the kitchen, the band starts up an upbeat tune. Your head snaps to the side, and you figure you can stay for a quick moment to see what all the fuss is about. You step down and back into the shadows below your table. You’ve heard Elvis practicing a time or two in passing as you go from one wing of the hotel to the other, but you’ve never stopped to listen. You don’t have that kind of time.

The lights shine bluish purple on the stage, and you hide in the shadows, crossing your arms over your chest. He emerges in that glorious white outfit, waltzing onto the stage. He takes his guitar from a bandmate and approaches the microphone. The voice that comes out is even more amazing than on the radio. Your eyebrows actually shoot up in surprise at how lovely it is; low, smooth, and velvety. It’s like a blessing to your ears.

You can’t help but smile when he uses his hands to enthusiastically direct the backup singers behind him and his right leg bounces frantically up and down as he strums his guitar furiously. He’s incredibly engaging, just the perfect mixture of wild and charming. Enough to make the audience feel like they’re getting value for what they paid for.

“Ain’t nobody gonna be a better show than that!” you hear that familiar unplaceable accent from above you. “I’ll tell ya, if I was you, I would book for him for a hundred years.”

“Well, no better time than the present, but I hear Schilling has him doing a world tour,” Mr. Kohn responded.

“I think that Mr. Presley could be persuaded to make the international his home, provided he was paid pretty well.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Elvis’ strong voice interrupts your eavesdropping, and you realize that you should get the mens’ drinks before they get upst. The last thing you need is to be fired from your job by the owner of the hotel. You run into the back kitchen and pop out the red wine, grabbing a few glasses as well. You shove everything onto a tray and, by the time you’re walking out of the kitchen toward the table, the band has started another song. One that you haven’t heard before.

“Your drinks, gentleman,” you say, noticing the sly movements both men take to cover up writing on the lace tablecloth. You set the drinks down and get out your notepad. “Can I get you any appetizers or food? Or would you like me to come back?”

“We’re fine for now, honey, thanks,” Mr. Kohn says roughly, shooing you away.

You smile tight-lipped and leave the table, but press yourself back into the shadows below. You’re hoping to overhear something, but with the music blaring it’s difficult. You’re dying of curiosity to know what they’re guarding so secretly.

“What are you going to pay me?” the Colonel asks with a laugh.

You walk up the stairs to the upper level with your tray to start loading empty dishes and cups onto it from the tables above. It isn’t your job, but you need to know. As you pass by your table, you shift the heavy tray to the other side of your body, making sure to use the momentum of the shift to glance down at the tablecloth. Luckily, just as you peer over their shoulders, Elvis’ performance heats up, dragging everyone’s attention to it. You watch as Elvis drops down to his knees on stage, belting out a beautiful note. You take the opportunity to glance down at the tablecloth. Although you can’t see very well, you manage to catch the words “5 million” and “International Hotel” before you have to sneak back to the kitchen.

Even as you put the dishes into the sink, something feels wrong to you. You lean over the sink taking a deep breath and trying to put things together.

5 million…international hotel…better show…book for a hundred years?

You don’t understand completely, but the whole conversation feels wrong. As you think for a moment, you reach up for the wine and trot back out to the table. You’d sworn to yourself not to do this, but you can’t stop yourself from meddling. On your way back to the table, you get momentarily distracted by Elvis’ lewd movements in stage, watching as he drops into a half-squat. He’s giving his absolute everything to the performance, and it’s paying off without a doubt. Something about the words of the song almost feel hollow to you, as if it’s speaking to something other than the performance itself.

You take a deep breath and approach the table with the wine bottle, watching as Mr. Kohn scribbles on a napkin with a hotel pen. Just as the Colonel’s grimy fat fingers reach for the napkin, you ‘accidentally’ nudge his elbow into a nearby glass of wine, spelling the red liquid everywhere. As it began to drip slowly off the sides of the table and seep into the white fabric, you throw a hand over your mouth.

“I am so sorry!” you yell, reaching into the pocket of your apron to grab napkins. You expertly swirl them around the one with the writing on it and then shove it into your pocket.

“That was completely my fault! I will absolutely rectify this situation,” you say, as a brief moment of panic settles in when you realize the man sitting in front of you can literally fire you at any second. To your surprise, he’s fairly calm.

“Not your fault, dear,” Mr. Kohn replies. “The Colonel needs to learn some etiquette, apparently.”

You smile, feeling heat flood into your face with embarrassment and fear. You quickly retreat back into the shadows, clutching at your chest.

“You do whatever you want, Colonel. As long as that boy stays on that stage,” Mr. Kohn says in a low tone.

You’re about to rush back into the safety of the kitchen, when you see large white figure coming toward you out of the corner of your eye. Elvis has left the stage and waded into the crowd and he’s…he’s kissing a bunch of the audience members? You watch from the shadows as the crowd grows around you, and you can’t help but widen your eyes as you watch his plump lips close passionately around a woman’s. He’s sweating in a way that makes everything he does that much more attractive. He smiles handsomely as he gets taken away by the crowd. You’re literally turning to go back to the kitchen when you feel a hand on your wrist. You whirl around in shock to see Elvis standing right in front of you.

“Come on, lil darlin, I need a favor from ya,” he shouts over the crowd.

Fans start pressing into you. Even though you murmur some no’s and try to pull away from him, his strong grip persists and drags you up onto the stage with him. You awkwardly clench your fingers, turning to stare like a deer in the headlights at the crowd before you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t make it up there, man,” Elvis says, gesturing to the upper seating sections.

He releases your wrist, and you bring it over to cover up a wine stain on your white employee t-shirt that you’ve just noticed.

“Now, I just wanna take a quick second here to say thank ya and acknowledge all the people behind the scenes that make this thing go round,” he says, smiling at you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you look at him for the first time. He’s incredibly handsome, so much so that it almost physically hurts to be near him.

“What’s your name, darlin?”

“Y/N,” you lean awkwardly in to say it over the microphone.

“And what do ya do here, Y/N?”

Hearing your name come out of his lips in that deep southern drawl makes your heart flutter.

“I’m a server,” you respond. “I serve tables.”

 “A server, perfect. It’s the people like Y/N over ‘ere who keep things runnin round here, and they’re gonna make sure yall’s nights are as special as possible. So don’t worry bout nothin but enjoyin the show,” he says, winking at you.

He reaches out to grab your hand, pulling you closer to him. You allow it, but avoid eye contact with him and the crowd. The napkin feels like it’s burning a hole through your pocket, and you momentarily think about shoving it into his pocket. You’re close enough to him. So close, in fact, that you can smell the scent of his cologne and sweat mixing under the bright hot white stage lights. But with his jerky movements and everyone watching, it feels too dangerous to try.

“Well, Y/N, I know I can never really pay ya back, but I wanna do a lil song for ya. For all the lovely people up in this place who take care of us,” he continues and then begins to sing.

You recognize the song, and your stomach does flips as he sings it looking directly at you. He releases you to do a big finale for the crowd, but not before he grabs your face by the jaw, pressing a hot wet kiss straight to your lips. You freeze as the curtain begin the drop, not sure how to act. He releases you, laughs, and faces the crowd again to say his thanks before the golden curtains begin to drop and separate you from the eyes of the wild crowd.

You stand, still frozen, even when it’s just you and him. You think quickly about kneeling down to give him the napkin, but before you have a chance to do so, you remember the tablecloth. You need to get it before they dispose of it.

Before he can even say anything, you dash out the side door and back down the stairs toward the table. A few people wave to you, acting like they know you now that they’ve seen you onstage. You nervously smile back and can’t believe your luck when you get to the table and see it empty. They’d left but the tablecloth is still there. You quickly remove the dishes, placing them out of the way to yank the tablecloth off. You can barely read it in the dark and parts of it are stained a deep wine red, but some of the puzzle pieces start to come together as you read the scratched words.

…previous debts cancelled….line of credit…

Your eyes widen with the realization of what’s going on. They’re forcing him to stay there. To play there…until his dies probably. You run back to the kitchen with the tablecloth in tow. You spread out in the back corner behind a rack of drying dishes and pull the napkin from your pocket. Reading them together, you shake your head, feeling anger crash over you like a wave.

They’re forcing Elvis to stay at the International so his manager can pay for gambling debts. It’s pretty clear from the writing what’s going on, and it infuriates you. You fold the napkin carefully and stuff it back into your pocket before folding the tablecloth over your arms. You have to get back to Elvis before his manager does. You’re a second too late. When you return to the stage, you see Elvis tightly hugging his manager. You peer out from the shadows to watch as the Colonel begins to dig around in his pockets, clearly looking for something. His face screws up in frantic conern, and you clutch the napkin in your pocket with white knuckles.

“I, eh, I must go back to the table,” the Colonel says in a panicked tone. “I…I believe I have fohgotten something theh…”

 He stumbles off through the side door, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Do ya need help, Colonel?” Elvis shouts after him, but the old man hurriedly waves him off.

Your eyebrow quirks knowingly. When Elvis turns back to start upstairs, you step out of the shadows.

“Mr. Presley, could I…talk to you for a minute?” you ask in a timid voice.

“Sure thing,” he says, squinting to see you in the shadows. “Ah, you’re that lil server I pulled up on stage ain’t ya? Listen, I didn’t mean to embarrass ya none or anythin like that. If you want an autograph, I can-”

“No, thank you,” you reply shaking your head. “I mean…it’s not that I don’t want an autograph, that’s just not why I wanted to talk to you. I actually, well…”

“What’s wrong, honey? Y’aright?” he asks, concern crossing over his features as he steps closer. Your yes flutter for a moment as you breathe in his utterly manly smell.

“Yes…I’m just not sure that you’ll be,” you say, pulling out the napkin from your pocket to hand it to him. “I was Colonel Parker, your manager’s, server tonight. And well…I found this.”

You watch as his face contorts while he reads the scribbled writing and tries to understand its meaning. His expression cycles through several different emotions and finally settles on a look with furrowed eyebrows. You feel guilty, being attracted to him in that moment considering what he’s probably going through. But you can’t help it. Raw sexuality oozes from every inch of his body.

“There’s also this,” you suddenly speak, remembering the tablecloth.

You unfold it to show it to him. He runs a hand over his face and turns to see the writing on the tablecloth. He stands, motionless, before slowly dropping into a crouched position. The corner of his mouth turns up in to a wicked smile. He laughs, deep and throaty, before nodding and clenching his jaw.

“Mm…mhm,” he hums to himself. “Well, thank ya for bringin this to my attention, darlin.”

He glances up at you with pained eyes.

“Goddamn bloodsucker…fuckin jackass,” he murmurs to himself, and you start to back away before you hear him sniff hard. You peer closer to his face to see him angrily pushing a few tears from his cheeks.

“Are you alright, Mr. Presley?”

He doesn’t respond, massaging his temples with his fingers. You hesitantly drop to your knees, placing a hand onto his back and gently rubbing circles on the white jumpsuit. He glances up at you, and you suddenly understand. Your mother is always going on about how it feels like you’re the only person in the world who matters when Elvis Presley looks at you. You’ve always thought she was full of it, but now that you’re here, everything makes sense.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Mr. Presley,” you say softly.

“Just Elvis,” he says, reaching out to touch your face. “Please.”

He sniffs with a small nod and his blue eyes shine brightly even in the dim lights behind the stage. You feel your chest heaving, and you gulp. You shouldn’t allow a married man to touch you so tenderly, but you can’t stop yourself.

Suddenly, his lips are crashing onto yours, and his fingers are on either side of your face, pulling your lips taut against him. You don’t kiss him back at first, too shocked to move. But when his lips curl around yours again, you can’t help yourself. You give in. After a minute or two, he pulls back abruptly and immediately apologizes.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” he says, avoiding your eyes. You shake your head and gulp.

“That’s alright,” you say quietly. “I just hate to see you suffer.”

“Thank you, Y/N, right?”

You nod with a tiny smile and he stands before holding out his hand to help you to your feet. Once you’re standing, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm.

“Thank you,” he repeats. “I’ll see ya round, baby.”

He turns to leave, and his face has an unplaceable emotion. He almost looks as if he’s just floating through the world. You stand there for a moment in the stark silence on stage by yourself, not knowing what to do with yourself

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Yousaw Elvis every so often over the next few years. Sometimes he invited you up to his room after the shows, and most of the time you just talked and listened to music. Your presence seemed to relax him, although you couldn’t explain why. Your relationship was purely friendly, until one day you were listening to a particularly intimate song. It had been late at night, and you were both so lonely. It was an accident, you both knew it, and it cast a shadow over your relationship.

After that, Elvis began to tour around the U.S. You barely saw him. You sometimes wonder if your efforts to help him have made any difference because it sure doesn't seem like it. You still work in the kitchen, but you're manager now. You direct more than you serve tables. You're also a few years older and wiser. You never stick your nose into other people’s business again, and you wonder if you ever should have in the first place. You know he never thinks about you, even though you think about him almost every day. You’ve almost convinced yourself that he doesn’t even remember you.

Until that day.

You’re on serving duty today, with one of your servers out for personal reasons. As you walk to the front of the room by the stage to replace the drinks for your table, you glance up at Elvis on stage. He’s sweaty, as usual, but the way he moves around is off.

“I’d like to turn the house lights up, ladies and gentleman,” Elvis slurs onstage. “Cause now that you’ve seen me, I’d like to take a look at you. Oh ya beautiful, thank ya! Ohh, we got some high rollers in ‘ere tonight. Mr. International Hotel himself. And right next to ‘im is my so-called manager, Colonel Tom Parker. But I hear rumors that Colonel is an alien.”

The crowd laughs, but your heart sinks uneasily as you watch Elvis pick up a martini glass from the table closest, getting ready to down it. You move quickly, reaching up to lift it out of his fingers.

“Mr. Presley, please don’t do that” you hiss. You’ve never seen him act like this before. You’ve known about his addiction to drugs, but you’ve always thought he could handle it. Perhaps you don’t realize how dire his siutation is.

“Somebody call the FBI and tell ‘em that he has abducted me,” Elvis continues. “That he has locked me in this golden cage to keep me here forever with you, ladies and gentlemen.”

He starts to sing the lyrics of suspicious minds, the same lyrics you’d heard the first time you ever saw him perform. But the way he sways back and forth makes you incredibly nervous.

“I can’t get out…cause Colonel’s got some big debts, baby.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know whether it’s because of the awkward tension or the fact that he is finally confronting the Colonel after all this time. You stare up at him, clutching hard onto the martini glass.

“This is the last show I am ever playing here,” he says. “I’m gonna get on my jet plane, the Lisa Marie…it’s named after my, uh…”

That’s the last straw for you. You set the glass down and rush around to the side door of the stage, running up the stairs as he babbles on. You stop at the edge of the curtain, not sure whether to rush onto the stage or just watch.

“Hey, you’re that server right? The one who gave him the napkin?”

You whirl around to see Elvis’ producer, Jerry Schilling.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply.

A fat lumbering man waddles through the shadows up to you and Jerry.

“Stop the show,” the Colonel says. “Stop the show!”

“Fuck the international,” you hear Elvis say, and you glance back at him up on the stage.

“What the devil is happening here?” the Colonel hisses.

“That’s what he wants to know,” Jerry answers.

“Oh…security,” Elvis slurs, gesturing to where you’re all standing. Your palms begin to sweat. “Securityyyyy…securityyy blah blah blah…”

This is getting embarrassing, and the Colonel begins to walk toward Elvis.

“800 shows?” Elvis shouts as the curtains begin to descend onto the stage. “You don’t have a goddamn passport, you son of a bitch! You are fired! You are fired!”

The Colonel increases his speed, as much as he can. And you would laugh if the whole situation isn’t as bad as it is. You feel an odd sense of relief knowing that what you’ve done has helped.

“You’re fireddddd! Elvis screams into the microphone.

Silence descends on the entire space before Elvis repeats himself in a quiet voice. He drops the microphone and begins to walk off. One of the band members speaks up, pleading to go after Elvis, but you step out of the shadows.

“No, I will,” you say sharply.

As you pass the Colonel, you begin to see realization dawning on his face. You stare him down as you pass, refusing to look away. He knows what you’ve done, and you couldn’t be happier. You chase after Elvis and grasp onto the cape of his blue jumpsuit.

“Elvis, please wait! Let me help. What can I do?” you ask.

He turns with a massive smile on his face. His hands find their way to your cheeks, grasping at your face.

“Baby, you’ve helped me more than you realize,” he says. “You freed me. For the first time in so many goddamn years, I feel free as a bird.”

You smile, feeling your skin grow hot at his touch.

“I’m really glad to hear that. What will you do now?”

“Get the fuck outta here,” he replies, shaking his head.

His eyes search your face for a moment before he clicks his tongue.

“You wouldn’t wanna come with me, would ya? I know we barely know each other, but…I dunno somethin about ya makes me feel safer. And I owe ya for savin my ass, anyways. Maybe I can help pay ya or somethin. Find somethin for you to do.”

You are completely taken aback, and you don’t know what to say. One the one hand, you could really use the cash. And you can keep am eye on him, too. On the other hand, it would be a lot of changes all at once. Your apartment, your job, your family. You’d have to leave it all.

“Could you give me some time…just to think about it? I want to, god do I want to. I just don’t know if its practical.”

He nods, taking your fingers into his hands and pressing a kiss to them.

“Of course, baby. I tell ya what, I’m gonna leave tomorrow cause the sooner I’m outta this dump, the better,” he says. “If you wanna come, you meet me in the parkin garage tomorrow mornin.”

“I will.”

“Aright,” he says, smiling handsomely as he tucks some hair behind his ear. “I hope I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You clutch onto the strap of your bag as the elevator bings. Taking a deep breath, you step out into the parking garage.

You’d spent the entire night making list after list of pros and cons. Your list of pros continued to grow and grow, while the con side became shorter and shorter. You’d been up until three in the morning before you finally decided to pack what you could and meet him in the morning.

“Where is he?” you ask as you step toward Jerry.

“Went up to get his daddy,” Jerry responds. “But hopefully we’ll be outta here in a minute or two. Hey, thanks for everything you’re doing for him.”

“He’s a very special person,” you reply. “I’m just trying to help.”

“We all appreciate it. After everything that happened with Priscilla, he needs another strong woman in his life. He’s lost all the other ones,” Jerry says quietly.

“Thanks, Jerry.”

Just as you move to sit down in the open car, you see Elvis stalking out of the elevator. He stops in stride, looking to the left.

“You bloodsucking old vampire. You bled me dry, and you still want more?”

You’re too far away to see who he’s talking to and what they’re saying, but you still rise from your seat.

“Don’t you Mr. Presley me, you toad.”

“If you are so determined to get out of our contract-”

“You’re goddamn right I want out!” Elvis is yelling.

“You still got your claws in me! You’ll still have me workin here like some goddamn slave in a salt mine! You phony no good piece uh trash! I should shoot you in your fat goddamn face!”

He turns to walk out, but then his eyes soften when they land on you. He turns back.

“Who are you?”

“I am you and you are me.”

Your feet start moving you forward before you can do anything to stop yourself.

“Cut the horseshit! Everythin I’ve ever known about ya’s been a lie!”

“EP, you good?” Jerry shouts. Elvis holds a hand up, shaking his head, to ward you off.

You ignore his warning sign and stop in your tracks when you see the Colonel walk toward the elevator. You take Elvis’ hands in yours and hold onto them tightly. He looks down at you with hopeless eyes, tears staining his cheeks. You reach up to wipe one way as the Colonel continues to talk.

“...away from all of this,” he’s saying. “But if you choose to leave, I for one would be very lonely. So would your father. But I think you may be lonely, too. For you see, my boy, the truth about the rock of eternity, it is forever just beyond our reach.”

The anger bubbles up inside of you, and your heart slams harshly against your chest.

You rip your hands away from Elvis and slam the door open button as the elevator doors start to close. The open and you slide your palms agains the doors to keep them open. The Colonel’s eyebrows are raised.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say harshly. “You don’t talk to him like that, you sick manipulative little bastard. I don’t know why you’re doing this, and frankly, I don’t give a damn. But you are not gonna ruin his life because you have some kinda gambling addiction, you lying piece of shit. So listen up and listen good, Humpty Dumpty. You can sue Mr. Presley if you want, but it won’t made a damn difference. With all the massive fraud and mismanagement that I’ve witnessed over the past four years, and Dr. What’s-His-Fuck shoving addictive medications up Mr. Presley’s veins? If you think any court in the United States won’t convict your fat ass, you got another thing coming. The Presleys will sue you for every single fucking penny you own, since they all belong to him anyway. Mr. Presley is leaving the Internatoinal Hotel for good. His contract is hereby terminated. Permanently.”

“Strong words from a hotel server,” he shoots back, and you quirk an eyebrow.

“Listen, asshole, I’m not afraid of you or whatever little pathetic power you hold. Mr. Presley is leaving, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop him. Stay away from Elvis. If you even attempt to contact the family again, I will personally fly up here and stick that cane so far up your fucking ass, it will come out of your brain. Do you understand me?”

He says nothing, just stuffs his cigar between his fat lips with a wicked smile on his face. You remove your hand and turn around to leave, but you aren’t satisfied enough. As soon as you make eye contact with Elvis’ glassy eyes, the anger takes you over. You spin around with a flying fist and clock the Colonel straight in the face, between the eyes, as hard as you possibly can. He doubles over immediately, his hands flying onto his nose.

“Rot in hell, you fuckhead,” you spit sharply as the elevator doors close.

You turn to see all of the band members and hotel staff staring at you with wide eyes. You glance at Elvis and shrug.

“What? The bastard had it coming.”

“Maybe I should hire ya as my personal bodyguard,” Elvis says, laughing. “That was sexy as hell.”

You just smile and shrug.

“It was nothing. Let’s get going before he calls security or something.”

You climb into the car, sitting next to Elvis. He takes your hand, intertwining your fingers. You sit together as his thumb rubs circles into your skin.

“You came,” he says quietly. You squeeze his fingers.

“Of course I came,” you smile. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Plus, you offered me a job.”

Confusion flashes across his face.

“I would like to officially accept your offer for the personal bodyguard position. I can start immediately.”

He laughs, raising your fingers to his lips to kiss them. You settle into the car. Things are looking up.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

taglist: @mrsjna @floralcyanide @austinbutler17 @slutforsomegoodlettuce @cb97slut @datsavageavenger @misspygmypie @yourfriendhenrywinter @queenslandlover-93 @kittenlittle24 @slutforblueeyes @theliterarybeldam @guns-n-queen @x-earthangel @adoreyouusugar @butler-trouble

#elvis #elvis 2022 #milasfics #milaselvisfics #milasthings #milaselviscontent #elvis imagines #elvis fics

[chockfullofsecrets]

Top Gun Maverick: Kid Shit

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: He scoffs. “I’m not ticklish anymore, Mav. That’s kid shit.”

Mav uncrosses his arms. “Yeah? Wanna bet?”

In the aftermath of the mission, Bradley and Maverick revisit some old traditions.

Wordcount: 1769

A/N: Yeah, this was just about the stage of the [watch the new Mission Impossible > start catching up on Tom Cruise movies > start looking for fic > read everything @ticklish-academic has ever written for this fandom > get ideas] pipeline I expected I'd get to. Feel free to hit me up if there's anything else you want to see for M:I/TGM while the hyperfixation lasts :P

--

After the crush of people on the deck breaks up, handshakes and hugs and general oh-shit-we’re-alive energy starting to fade back into the normal schedule of things, he and Mav get shuttled off to sickbay and told in no uncertain terms to stay put until the adrenaline wears off enough for them to tell exactly how bad they’re hurting. Mav puts up a fight, of course, but Bradley knows better - every aviator’s heard the horror stories, herniated discs and torn muscles from the force of ejection, and he’s got one that’s more personal than most.

Mav does too, to be fair, but it’s not like anything short of a direct chewing out from the Almighty himself would keep him from being stupid about his health. And even then, it’d be a toss up.

A week ago, he’d have pulled one of the staff aside and asked to be as far away from Mav as he could possibly get. The urge isn’t completely gone. Mav promised him they’d talk it out, when they got back, but after the mission - Mav saving his life and him saving Mav right back and sitting there in the backseat of that old as shit plane with nothing to do but trust him and try not to pass out - maybe they’ve bonded, okay? Maybe talking’s just going to make it worse. He’d rather wait until he has the option to walk away, if he needs to.

Really earning that Rooster callsign, huh. He’d be angrier at himself if he had the energy for it.

As things are, they’re pointed to adjacent cots and left to stew. Five minutes pass. Fifteen. He avoids looking at Mav like it’s his new vocation in life and starts counting wall rivets.

Half an hour in, he groans for the fifth time in as many minutes and slides down until he’s laid out flat enough to adequately convey his despair. “Come on.”

There’s a shuffle from the cot next to him. “I hope that’s not you realizing you broke something,” Mav says dryly.

He groans again. “I’m bored, Mav. Where the hell are the rest of the Daggers? You’d think they’d at least bring us a deck of cards or something.”

Mav makes a noncommittal noise. Emboldened, he props himself up on an elbow and dares to look over. “How are you okay with this, anyways? You hate sitting still.”

Mav’s reclining into the curve of his rickety half-raised bed, arms folded neatly over his chest like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Bradley’s struck by an intense, childish urge to get up and flip the whole thing. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled either. Not my first time playing the waiting game, though.”

Of course it isn’t. Come to think of it, he’d be surprised if a mission for Mav didn’t end in medical intervention.

He says as much, a little more snidely than he means to, and Mav turns his head with glacial indolence to raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Bad mood, huh.”

And doesn’t that just - it makes him feel like he’s a teenager again, gangly and sweaty and more upset about everything than he should be. Not the tone, even, just that Mav hasn’t been around to look at him like that in so long - and the words come out almost without his permission. “Yeah - well, I’m stuck in here with you, aren’t I?”

Mav’s bland expression flickers, just for a moment, and he instantly feels like the worst person on earth. The man saved his life less than twenty four hours ago, and here he is mouthing off like he’d used to when they’d known each other well enough not to take it seriously.

He lays himself back down, too much of a coward to see whatever else Mav’s face is broadcasting at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Mav’s still looking at him, he can feel it. The silence stretches out before them like a ship’s runway, pitching and yawing like he’ll launch straight off it and into the water if he’s not careful.

And then, like he always does, Mav takes the challenge and starts taxiing. “Lighten up, kid, or I’m going to have to cheer you up the way your dad used to.”

Bradley’s surprised enough to look back at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mav cocks his head, mouth twitching. “What, you don’t remember?”

Something about the tilt of Mav’s smile, the not-entirely-begrudging amusement in his eyes, registers somewhere in the back of his brain - and he does remember, then, though it’s not his dad he’s thinking of.

It’s Mav - Mav sneaking behind him and sweeping him up before he can run, Mav reaching over to him in the passenger seat where he’s buckled in and can only move so far before the seat belt catches him, Mav dumping him onto the couch and grabbing one of his legs before he can start kicking and-

He scoffs. “I’m not ticklish anymore, Mav. That’s kid shit.”

Mav uncrosses his arms. “Yeah? Wanna bet?”

He tells himself firmly that the reflexive flinch when Mav starts getting up is fear for the old man’s spine and absolutely nothing else. “Mav, come on, you’re not supposed to be moving around - Mav!”

He scrambles back the singular inch that his cot allows, barely managing to sit up before Mav’s perching on the edge of it and smirking at him. “Hey, you don’t look bored anymore.”

Well, Mav’s got one thing right. His entire brain’s diverted from boredom to run a diagnostic on what feels like every single one of his nerve endings, and he’s more than a little suspicious of the results. “You’re - I’m being threatened here, that’s not-”

Mav shakes his head disbelievingly, still grinning like the devil himself. “Threatened? What happened to ‘kid shit’?”

“I’m not ticklish,” he insists. He can almost make himself believe it, too, that his body’s just operating on decade-old instinct, responding disproportionately to a memory meant to stay in the past. “Try me, it’s just going to be awkward for both of us. You probably pulled something just coming over here, old man.”

It’s not a go fuck off and die, and Mav knows it - Bradley watches him pause for a moment and mull it over, grin softening into something warmer and less provocative, and has to consciously pull the corners of his mouth back into the stern line he wants them in to prevent himself from smiling back. “Bold words, kid.”

“True words,” he fires back, just before Mav’s wriggling fingers hit his stomach and prove him very definitively wrong.

He’s laughing before he can even try to stop himself, doubled over and curling up like he can somehow still manage to keep Mav’s hands away from the spot they’re already attacking. “Shihihit! Mav!”

“That’s me,” Mav says flippantly, sliding close enough to get an arm around him when his body makes a commendable attempt to escape by rolling off the far side of the bed. “Not ticklish, huh? Pretty sure things went in the other direction.”

Mav’s obviously messing with him, but he’s not wrong - Bradley doesn’t remember anything tickling as badly as Mav’s fingertips kneading into the bend of his waist do. “No!” he yelps anyways, smashing one arm over his mouth in a desperate attempt to stay quiet and throwing the other out frantically to get Mav the hell off him.

Mav’s arm tightens across his chest. He’s being reeled back in, forced out of the fetal position he’s locked himself into and giving Mav even more room to wreak havoc - it’s too much, all at once, and he squeals. Squeals, like he’s a teenage girl at a concert and not a naval aviator in his thirties. He has the sudden, paranoid thought that Hangman might hear him through the vents.

The thought of it makes him laugh even harder, frantic - smothering himself in his elbow is keeping him quiet enough for now, but if Mav keeps tickling him like this it’s only going to last so long. “Ha - ahaHA - quit it,” he pleads, sacrificing his assault on Mav’s iron band of a grip to wrap an extra arm around his face. “Ihihi - I can’t-”

Mav releases him almost instantly, letting him flop onto his side and curl back up until he can stop wheezing out giggles into his kneecaps. “Well, that’s different,” he offers - Bradley can hear him grinning, the bastard. “You never used to ask me to stop.”

Just the thought of being tickled more nearly sets him off again. Thankfully, Mav decides to shut up and wait for him to catch his breath before he coughs himself to death on Navy property.

He calms down. It’s easier, now, less charged, to roll over onto his back with his hip mashed up against Mav’s thigh and reach up to smack him in the shoulder. “Well, yeah. We’re in public, Mav,” he says defensively. “You can’t just go around doing that to people.”

Mav catches his hand before it can drop back down to his chest, squeezes it playfully with his eyes lit up like fireworks. “Hey, you asked for it!”

Bradley hasn’t seen him this happy in - well. That’s kind of his fault, isn’t it. He wrestles his hand free for a moment before thinking better of it, relenting and letting it fall somewhere in the vicinity of Mav’s legs. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Mav laughs to himself, then, just long enough that it’s worth Bradley cracking an eye open to glare at him. “What.”

“Nothing,” Mav says quickly.

Bradley glares harder.

“Nothing!” he promises, then just as quickly retracts it. Typical Mav. “It’s just - my hangar, I’m working on a P-51 Mustang out there. You could come out and see it sometime, if you wanted to.”

He’s not sure what’s so funny about it, but he lets himself grin anyway. “As long as we don’t have to dogfight in it - that sounds good, Mav.”

“It’s about as far as you can get from public, though,” Mav adds, teasing, “so I can go around tickling anyone I want. Fair warning.”

Oh, there’s the joke. He can’t even bring himself to pretend he doesn’t want to go, though, just scoffs and shoves at Mav’s arm again before letting his eyes fall shut. “Go lie down before I change my mind, Mav, I saw that wince.”

“Yeah, yeah.” A hand ruffles through his hair. It’s nice. “You look tired, kid, knock it off.”

Mav doesn’t move until he falls asleep. Maybe it’s not so bad being someone’s kid again after all.

#tickling #top gun maverick #pete “maverick” mitchell #bradley “rooster” bradshaw #chocfic

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

I Won't Say I'm In Love (Hangman Drabble)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader

Word Count: 966

TW: Pining, Denying Feelings, Mentions of Being Cheated on in the Past, Reader w/ First Name, Mentions of Clothes

Notes: Based on "I Won't Say I'm in Love" from Hercules.

Thank you to @green-socks for the request! 💖

Top Gun Masterlist

“Shut up, Bradshaw. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jake increased the speed on his treadmill in the hopes his rapid footfalls or labored breathing would drown out the other pilot’s words.

But Rooster just turned off his own machine and walked around to lean on the front of Jake’s as he stared him dead in the eye. “Come on, man. There’s nothing wrong with having a little crush. We’ve all noticed the change in you over the last week or so. Every time she walks into the room, you light up like a Christmas tree. You’ve got it bad. Just tell her you like her and ask her out already!”

Jake snorted loudly as he continued to speed up his jogging. “You’re way off base. I don’t do relationships. Been there, done that, and it’s not worth the aggravation. Why put in all that effort when I can walk into any bar on any given night and walk out with any girl I want? Night after night after night. No mess, no feelings, just sex. Why would I want to change that?”  

Rooster stared at him in utter bewilderment for a moment before he shook his head and muttered, “Dude, who hurt you?”

Jake bristled at the remark, but he tried to casually brush it off. Rooster didn’t need to know how close his comment hit home. He didn’t need to know about the girl Jake had thought was the love of his life, the one he had bought a ring for only to come home early from a deployment to find her in their bed with her Pilates instructor.

So instead of addressing the comment, Jake increased the speed on the treadmill to the maximum setting as he huffed out, “Just get off my case.”

Throwing up his hands in defeat, Rooster said, “Fine. But maybe just consider the fact that while we have a perfectly fine, well-equipped, free workout room back on base, you drag me all the way down here every single day right before her shift so you can show off in all your post-workout glory. Or the fact you paid for my membership as well as yours so we can do that. Or the fact that you were late for a briefing last week because she switched shifts, and you hung around for an extra three hours just to see her for five minutes. You’ve got it bad and that’s okay. But I know you, and I just hope you don’t let your pride stand in the way of your happiness. Or hers.”

Rooster nodded towards the door and Jake’s eyes snapped to the figure walking through the front door. You looked just as perfect as ever in your yoga pants and “Hercules Gym” t-shirt. As you settled in behind the front desk, your eyes flickered around the room until they met Jake’s, and a brilliant smile spread across your lips.

Jake almost faceplanted as he stumbled under the glow of your gaze, but Rooster managed to turn down the speed just in time for Jake to catch his balance. Rooster raised one eyebrow as he gave Jake a very pointed look but didn’t say anything as he turned and walked towards the locker rooms. Chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, Jake cast one last look in your direction before he followed.

Rooster had already changed clothes and left before Jake finished his shower which he was grateful for. Though the two men had squashed their old rivalry and grown closer after their recent mission together, Jake couldn’t deal with more of Rooster’s well-meaning lecturing right now. Deep down, Jake knew Rooster just wanted him to be happy, but he just wished he would leave him alone when it came to you.

Heading towards the front doors, Jake was thrilled to see you alone at the usually crowded front desks. As you heard him approaching, you glanced up and beamed when you saw who it was. “Hey, Jake! I saw Bradley leave a while ago and I thought I might have missed saying hi to you today. Did you have a good workout?”

“Always do.” He winked and flashed you a toothy grin before asking, “How are you today, Meg?”

“Oh, the usual. Overworked and understaffed, but what are you gonna do about it?” You glanced over Jake’s shoulder at something and groaned. “Speaking of which…. I’ve got to go get fresh towels out of the back. Will you still be here in a few minutes, or do you have to go?”

Jake’s mind flashed to the training session he had scheduled in less than an hour back on base and the strike he already had against him but that thought quickly faded as he looked at your hopeful face. “Yeah, I can stick around. Take your time.”

Somehow, your smile grew even wider as you nodded and said, “Great! I’ll be right back!”

You hurried from behind the counter and headed toward the back of the gym, giving Jake’s arm a soft squeeze as you passed by him. Leaning against the counter, Jake’s eyes never left your retreating form. The way you walked, the way you talked, from the moment he had met you, he had been hypnotized. And over the past few months, as he got to know you, your hold on him just grew stronger.

Because Rooster was right, although he had no idea how right he was. Jake didn’t just have a crush on you; it was so much more than that. For the first time in years, he felt the first stirrings of something deep in his chest. Something he thought he would never find again. And while he wouldn’t say the words out loud, he knew he was in love.

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @lorecraft, @green-socks, @heart-0n-fire, @marvelousmermaid, @mayhem24-7forever, @wildbornsiren, @hederasgarden, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite, @straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped, @sweetheartlizzie07, @yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-fox, @imjess-themess, @callsign-phoenix

#drabble #vee's musical fic event #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x f!reader #glen powell #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #miles teller #hercules #i won't say i'm in love #pining tw #mentions of clothing tw

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch) Crosshair x Reader: Hold

Author's Note: I figured I'd combine these! I hope that's alright and this was what you're looking for! Thank you for the requests!!!

I present to you what should have happened.  JK I'm enjoying the show (even though I do hope Crosshair comes back!!) and totally excited for Season 2.  This is just one of many alternate scenarios, as is commonly written in the Star Wars fandom.

Word Count: 1,169

Warnings: A touch of angst.

You watched the quiet exchange with hands clasped together and teeth biting your lips, waiting, hoping…

Dawn had risen over the ocean planet, the pale light washing the sky in pastels.  You should feel nothing but relief after the squad returned safely to the ship.

The squad escaped Kamino.  Everyone was safe.  You only caught a glimpse of him through the viewport and nearly tripped over your feet racing off the Marauder.  With you being a jedi on the run, Echo had thought it best that you remain on the ship while he led the others to rescue Hunter.  You had watched in horror from the platform as laser blasts streaked through the dark, stormy night and impacted the structures of Tipoca city, setting them ablaze, while your squad was still in there.  There was no way of knowing whether they found Hunter or if any of them made it.

The decision to go after them was easy enough, but by the time you geared up and stepped out into the deluge, the tube that ran underwater to Nala Se’s laboratory was destroyed.  Debris littered the sea around you and sank into the murky depths.  It was too dangerous to fly the ship over because the Empire might have detected you on their scanners.  You could only wait.  Wait and wonder if Tech, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, and Omega were okay.  Wonder if Crosshair was alright after all.

What was most important was that everyone was okay.  You nearly burst into tears when they climbed up onto the platform at the first light.  They were fine.  They were shaken up from the ordeal, sad that the closest thing they had to a home was obliterated, disappointed that Crosshair was still refusing to come along, but fine.

Even so, you couldn’t help but hope.

With eyes locked on Crosshair’s lean form, you hoped.

Omega returned to the group, shaking her head.  Your heart dropped.

Why was he doing this?  Something wasn’t right…  It had to be that chip.  Had to be.  Hunter had quietly told you what Crosshair said, that his chip was removed a long time ago.  Had it really?  Then why did he clasp a hand over the side of his head before?  When you first saw him?

You watched in disbelief as the squad started up the ramp into the Marauder.

“No…We can’t just leave him.”

“There’s not much more we can do,” Hunter murmured, resting a hand on your shoulder as he passed.  He looked over his shoulder at the sniper before his eyes flickered back to you.  A worn sigh emerged from his lips before he nodded, silently granting you a little extra time.

You nodded in return, determined.

Five minutes.  No more.

So you jogged over to where Crosshair stood on the platform with his back facing the squad.  He gazed out at the colorful sky with features screwed tight in pained skepticism.  His hand twitched, as if he was resisting the urge to touch the wound on his head again.

“Cross?” you said.

He stole a glance in your direction, but didn’t budge.

“I know that you’ve been through a lot.  Believe me, we have too.  But our best bet is to stay together.  We all need each other now more than ever.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he replied, teeth clenched.

“No, it isn’t.”  You reached for his hand, gently wrapping your fingers around it and pulling it to your chest.  “Please, Crosshair.”  Your voice lowered to a longing whisper.  “I’ve missed you so much.”

When he didn’t reply, you released him entirely.  Bitter tears spilled down your cheeks as you looked over at Hunter, who stood with arms crossed.  

Three minutes left.

Perhaps it’s in vain. 

The pain of that thought pierced through your heart like a viroblade, stinging your veins.  Shoulders slumping, you met Hunter’s eyes in defeat.  His expression softened at your visible hurt, and he waited for you to join him up on the ramp.  He knew better than anyone what this meant to you- what Crosshair’s absence had put you through.

Each painstaking step took you farther from Crosshair, and it was as if your feet were made of durasteel.

Suddenly, you couldn’t go any farther.  You halted mid-step.  Another teardrop plummeted from your face , mingling with the rainwater on the platform at your feet.

You turned back around, ignoring Hunter’s quizzical expression, and marched right back until you were standing in front of your sniper.  He gazed down at you, frowning in his usual serious way, though he didn’t quite reign in the surprise in his eyes at your reappearance.

Without so much as a word, you threw your arms around him.

His muscles bunched and tensed at the contact.  It was apparent even beneath his armor.

As if you had landed a blow.

You only held onto him tighter, burying your face in his shoulder.  For several seconds you remained like that, clinging to the man you loved.  Searching.  Grasping for that part of him that you missed so terribly.  Although, it was starting to feel like a shout into the void. Except it wasn’t.

To your surprise and relief, you felt pressure on your form as he wound his arms around you and squeezed back.  He was returning the embrace tenfold, making you feel as though you might melt into putty if it weren’t for his arms holding you so securely.  A whimper of relief choked out from your lungs.  The tears kept falling for an entirely different reason.

His head rested on top of yours, earnestly seeking more of your touch.

Another cry escaped your lips.  Crosshair shifted to hold you even tighter.

“I’ve missed you, darling mine,” he told you.  His admission sent a quake through your bones.  He was starting to sound like his old self again.  You felt one of his hands leave your back to clasp over the side of his head again as he winced.

Feeling compassion for his pain, you pulled away to observe his expression.  “Let’s get out of here.”

He blinked his eyes open, still clutching his head, and nodded.

With your hand still grasping his, you led him toward the ship.  Hunter gave you a look of approval despite the part of him that was cautious.  He stepped aside so that you could bring Crosshair aboard.

Inside, Tech had a datapad out in front of him while he checked over the Marauder’s controls to ensure everything was fully functional.  He caught sight of the two of you, and his eyes widened in contained surprise.

“Oh.  You’re coming with us after all.”

He sounded pleased, which was what you’d hoped.

“Crosshair?” Wrecker exclaimed.  You heard his heavy footsteps as he stomped his way up to see for himself.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Echo commented.

Omega was grinning ear-to-ear.  “It’s great!  Welcome aboard!”

“First thing’s first,” Tech stated.  He adjusted his goggles as he eyed the wounded area of his brother’s head.  “Let’s get that chip removed.”

#the bad batch #bad batch x reader #bad batch crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #bad batch reader insert #crosshair x reader #bad batch crosshair reader insert #bad batch imagine #bad batch fanfiction #bad batch crosshair x you #bad batch crosshair fanfic #crosshair reader insert #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars the bad batch fanfiction

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Stay- prompt: Hospital Stay, Dennis Reynolds

Fandom: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Pairing: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds

A missing scene where Mac finds out that Dennis is in the hospital after S15 E6, and hails a taxi from the seminary to be by his side.

Read here or below the cut

Mac finds out Dennis is in the hospital through Dee- a garbled phone call in the middle of the night as he stands outside the seminary in the only spot that has a good connection. He can’t make out most of her words, but he hears the name of the hospital, and ‘COVID’, which is enough to make his stomach drop.

It’s ridiculous. He’s been doing all he can to get over Dennis, to banish any thoughts of him from mind by devoting his attention instead to religion. And stupidly hot priests (not Gus).

Perhaps this shouldn’t be surprising, though. If Mac’s learned anything from the decades he’s spent around Dennis, it’s that the guy can’t stand not being the centre of attention. He probably infected himself with this stupid illness just to bring Mac crawling back to him, ready with damp washcloths and pec massages to help him feel better. The thought is frustrating beyond belief, but what’s even more frustrating is that it’s goddamn working- within minutes, he’s sat in the back of a taxi, at Dennis’ beck and call just like always.

“Y’okay?” The cabbie asks, tapping his fingers repetitively on the wheel as Mac fidgets in the back seat.

“I’m... I’m fine. Just on my way to see a friend.”

“Ah... at the hospital?”

Mac nods. “COVID. I found out from his sister they admitted him.”

A sigh. “I see. He got a bad dose of it?” At Mac’s confusion, the cabbie waves a hand and rephrases. “It serious?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. He’s known for being pretty dramatic.”

The cabbie laughs slightly and Mac settles back against the leather of the seat, put a little at ease by his own prediction. He carries it with him all the way through the automatic doors of the hospital, reminds himself of it as he wanders along the corridors in search of the room he’s been directed towards, and by the time his palm meets the handle, he’s convinced himself of its validity.

Dennis is a goddamn attention-whore, that’s all. He checked himself into this place like it was a five star hotel and persuaded Dee to get Mac worried and-

His predictions shatter on the linoleum beneath his feet as he rounds the corner.

“Den?”

The nickname slips free, unused for years, at the realisation that he was wrong. Dead wrong. Dennis isn’t capable of this kind of scheming right now. He isn’t capable of much at all except laying on his side, curled beneath the hospital blankets, shivering and sweating simultaneously. An oxygen mask fogs up with each shallow breath he takes.

“Shit, Den.”

Mac lets his feet carry him right to Dennis’ side, where each new detail of the tableau further deconstructs the lie that his best friend is faking this for attention. The pallor of his skin. The way there isn’t an inch of movement beneath his closed eyelids even when Mac says his name. The curls clinging with sweat to his forehead. The cannulas and the wires and the rapid beep-beep-beeping of a pulse that’s too fast to be normal.

It’s a good thing there’s a chair close by for Mac to sink into before his legs give out on him, shaking with the anxiety of this discovery. Dennis is sick. Really sick.

Mac can only recall one other time where Dennis has looked this bad- years ago, when the flu had quickly gone from being a minor inconvenience to something life-threatening. His lips had tinged blue from something the doctor they saw later called ‘hypoxia’, and Mac had carried him out from the bedroom into the range rover before driving him down to the hospital. He’d stayed there for nearly three weeks, two of which were spent unaware of anything with a tube down his throat. Pneumonia. It makes Mac nauseous to even think about.

He closes his eyes quickly, shaking away the image of that time lingering in his head, and reopens them to find heavy-lidded blue irises looking foggily back at him. His heart skips a beat.

“H-hey, Den. You... you okay, bud?”

There’s no reply except for Dennis’ slow blinking, and it soon becomes clear that he’s too spaced out from the fever and the cocktail of drugs he’s on to bring it down to form any kind of response. In all likelihood, he probably doesn’t even know Mac’s speaking to him.

Perhaps that ought to make him more anxious, but instead Mac finds it quells his thundering heart slightly. At the very least, if Dennis isn’t going to remember any of this, this doesn’t have to be as awkward as it currently feels. It can be like old times, just for a while.

Safe in this knowledge, he reaches out and tentatively brushes back an errant curl that hangs over Dennis’ too-warm forehead, thumb grazing over the skin there a moment too long.

“You’re gonna be okay, Den. I promise.”

He murmurs it like an oath, even though it’s one he doesn’t know he can keep. Dennis still gazes blearily at him, half-conscious, shuddering with every other breath. Mac adjusts his oxygen mask, then lowers his hand to take his best friend’s.

It’s cold- too cold. The coldness of his eyes recently whenever Mac dares to step too close.

Still, when he squeezes it, Dennis squeezes weakly back, some fibre of his consciousness still hanging on somewhere within the depths of those icy blue irises.

I’m sorry, it says. For everything. I needed you, and I still do.

Or maybe it doesn’t at all. Maybe Mac’s the one who’s delirious here, sweating his way to insanity in the pursuit of something which doesn’t exist, which burnt out all those years ago and can never be rekindled.

Dennis moves slightly, an arm feebly reaching up to tug at the confines of the oxygen mask, and despite Mac’s insistence that he keep it on, it’s eventually pulled down anyway.

He looks rough beneath it. God, he looks rough. His lips, just like that one time, are tinged blue, and Mac tries in vain to push the mask back up so the much-needed oxygen reaches its target. Dennis stops him every time, though, still blinking slowly but trying to speak now.

It takes a while, but at last...

“M... Mac...”

In an instant, Mac is gone again, unable to prevent himself from tumbling back down the rabbit hole he promised he was done with.

“Yeah... yeah, man. I’m here. I’m always here.”

“S...sss...ssstay?”

There are tears in his eyes, springing unbidden, when he nods. His unoccupied hand drifts back up to the sweat-damp curls and strokes them, ever so gently. The persistent beep-beep-beeping begins to slow beneath the touch.

“Of course, Den. Always.”

#iasip #its always sunny in philadelphia #bthb #bad things happen bingo #macdennis #dennis reynolds

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

I Won't Say I'm In Love (Hangman Drabble)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader

Word Count: 966

TW: Pining, Denying Feelings, Mentions of Being Cheated on in the Past, Reader w/ First Name, Mentions of Clothes

Notes: Based on "I Won't Say I'm in Love" from Hercules.

Thank you to @green-socks for the request! 💖 Top Gun Masterlist

“Shut up, Bradshaw. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jake increased the speed on his treadmill in the hopes his rapid footfalls or labored breathing would drown out the other pilot’s words.

But Rooster just turned off his own machine and walked around to lean on the front of Jake’s as he stared him dead in the eye. “Come on, man. There’s nothing wrong with having a little crush. We’ve all noticed the change in you over the last week or so. Every time she walks into the room, you light up like a Christmas tree. You’ve got it bad. Just tell her you like her and ask her out already!”

Jake snorted loudly as he continued to speed up his jogging. “You’re way off base. I don’t do relationships. Been there, done that, and it’s not worth the aggravation. Why put in all that effort when I can walk into any bar on any given night and walk out with any girl I want? Night after night after night. No mess, no feelings, just sex. Why would I want to change that?”  

Rooster stared at him in utter bewilderment for a moment before he shook his head and muttered, “Dude, who hurt you?”

Jake bristled at the remark, but he tried to casually brush it off. Rooster didn’t need to know how close his comment hit home. He didn’t need to know about the girl Jake had thought was the love of his life, the one he had bought a ring for only to come home early from a deployment to find her in their bed with her Pilates instructor.

So instead of addressing the comment, Jake increased the speed on the treadmill to the maximum setting as he huffed out, “Just get off my case.”

Throwing up his hands in defeat, Rooster said, “Fine. But maybe just consider the fact that while we have a perfectly fine, well-equipped, free workout room back on base, you drag me all the way down here every single day right before her shift so you can show off in all your post-workout glory. Or the fact you paid for my membership as well as yours so we can do that. Or the fact that you were late for a briefing last week because she switched shifts, and you hung around for an extra three hours just to see her for five minutes. You’ve got it bad and that’s okay. But I know you, and I just hope you don’t let your pride stand in the way of your happiness. Or hers.”

Rooster nodded towards the door and Jake’s eyes snapped to the figure walking through the front door. You looked just as perfect as ever in your yoga pants and “Hercules Gym” t-shirt. As you settled in behind the front desk, your eyes flickered around the room until they met Jake’s, and a brilliant smile spread across your lips.

Jake almost faceplanted as he stumbled under the glow of your gaze, but Rooster managed to turn down the speed just in time for Jake to catch his balance. Rooster raised one eyebrow as he gave Jake a very pointed look but didn’t say anything as he turned and walked towards the locker rooms. Chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, Jake cast one last look in your direction before he followed.

Rooster had already changed clothes and left before Jake finished his shower which he was grateful for. Though the two men had squashed their old rivalry and grown closer after their recent mission together, Jake couldn’t deal with more of Rooster’s well-meaning lecturing right now. Deep down, Jake knew Rooster just wanted him to be happy, but he just wished he would leave him alone when it came to you.

Heading towards the front doors, Jake was thrilled to see you alone at the usually crowded front desks. As you heard him approaching, you glanced up and beamed when you saw who it was. “Hey, Jake! I saw Bradley leave a while ago and I thought I might have missed saying hi to you today. Did you have a good workout?”

“Always do.” He winked and flashed you a toothy grin before asking, “How are you today, Meg?”

“Oh, the usual. Overworked and understaffed, but what are you gonna do about it?” You glanced over Jake’s shoulder at something and groaned. “Speaking of which…. I’ve got to go get fresh towels out of the back. Will you still be here in a few minutes, or do you have to go?”

Jake’s mind flashed to the training session he had scheduled in less than an hour back on base and the strike he already had against him but that thought quickly faded as he looked at your hopeful face. “Yeah, I can stick around. Take your time.”

Somehow, your smile grew even wider as you nodded and said, “Great! I’ll be right back!”

You hurried from behind the counter and headed toward the back of the gym, giving Jake’s arm a soft squeeze as you passed by him. Leaning against the counter, Jake’s eyes never left your retreating form. The way you walked, the way you talked, from the moment he had met you, he had been hypnotized. And over the past few months, as he got to know you, your hold on him just grew stronger.

Because Rooster was right, although he had no idea how right he was. Jake didn’t just have a crush on you; it was so much more than that. For the first time in years, he felt the first stirrings of something deep in his chest. Something he thought he would never find again. And while he wouldn’t say the words out loud, he knew he was in love.

Taglist: @valoraxx, @m3laniehearts, @autumnleaves1991-blog,  @rule107, @vintageleather, @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak, @slutforadambanks, @americaarse, @reneki, @ynbutbetter , @sugarcoated-lame, @imagineadream, @sadpetalsstuff, @salty-thembo, @rachelizabethgraham, @duckandrobin, @queenbbarnes, @grincheveryday, @uselesslyromantic, @choochoo284, @littlebadariell, @blue-aconite, @thescarletknight2014, @dempy, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996

#sfw repost #drabble #vee's musical fic event #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x f!reader #glen powell #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #miles teller #hercules #i won't say i'm in love #pining tw #mentions of clothing tw

[thesugarhole]

hey, hi. sorry for sending this ask. I know it’s inappropriate, but we badly needed some help right and i hope you’d consider .. its for our elder cat who needs immediate care, you can find the post here. i pinned it also in my blog btw. Hoping you’d be so kind to boost/share to help us alleviate the cost as it would tremendously help us a lot. if you can, pls try to answer this privately as some people might i pressure you to do so.. i know its weird, just wanted to avoid it if possible. Thanks a lot, and sorry again for being so direct. 🙏

you people genuinely fucking disgust me. its always the same scam, its ALMOST always the same cat, its always the same method of finding people to send this shit to- like i almost have it down to a T, with how patternized i get these asks. usually i dont have to look into it more than 2 minutes before blocking and reporting, but you happen to catch my ire specifically because ive been having a very shit couple of months lately.

make a blog

reblog some fandom and pets shit to make it look well lived (yall been severely slacking on it, you barely have 50 posts

first ever reblog from staff being one day ago

compose the bait post (poorly done everytime by the way. what fucking wednesday??? next week? next month? you sent this to me on a friday)

make sure you cycle your sick cat images, lest you send the exact same one to the same person within the span of two months!

go to popular cat image of the week

scroll through every note, follow, send ask

uwuu im so sorry to bother but pls reblog or donate my cat is very sick and im on disability and i have paper skin and the cat has glass bones please please please please. ANSWER PRIVATELY RAWWWWUGHR

people who you catch in their first ever sick cat scam give you a buck

seasoned users block and report

eventually some speak out, scam dedicated blogs share it

grift over before the week ends (seriously, ive never seen you guys stick for more than a week to this crap, its either you find a lot of newbies giving you a dollar fast enough, or you get caught fast enough.

no idea if its the same dumbass trying it everytime, changing names to 'emily' to 'sherri' to whatever, but you people are nuts to not give up on this scheme in particular because you manage to snag a couple bucks from the notoriously non fact-checking tumblr userbase.

i dont even know where yall grab the fake vet bills because at this point the same sick cats images/videos have been using the same five animals. hell, HERE'S ONE reblogged just five days ago (currently: 28/10/2023) from the person im reblogging from! and heres YOUR post i guess, for comparison. youre welcome for my reblog. at least you switch out language and disability points and vet bills with more frequency that you switch the cats. sick cats in a vet environment are harder to come by, i'll asume.

the literal audacity one of you had some months ago to grab an actual sick pet from an actual tumblr user looking to pay their vet bills for your grift is nothing short of vile, and im happy other people including the actual cat owner got to document it. and i can also hope the cat itself is fine and recovered, or at least in a better place.

fucking grow up and get out of my inbox with your rabbie dee ass posts (man, remember that one? geesh.)

#scam #tumblr scam #tumblr pet scam #pet scam #information #sigboo #dappertreees #sugar.txt #cuties replying #dappertreeez #dappertime

[honeycomb-fics]

#Ghosted

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100

Pairing: Dimple x Reader (gender neutral) ft Dimple!Serizawa

Word Count: 2.4K too many

Fluff, Humor, Rom-Com (I will most likely make this a series)

Summary: What happens when you catch feelings but you’re already dead? Your series of misfortunes catches Dimple’s eye and he has to wrestle with the implications of romance in the afterlife.

AO3 link

Dimple was planning on spending his day accompanying Shigeo as he went with Teruki to look at the new Hagemon collection. He figured he would at least get some entertainment from his day dropping some snide remarks at how tragic he found their shared sense of fashion, but he couldn’t help but notice he was feeling a bit restless and bored. Even in the face of being able to toss some insults at Teruki, it was becoming less exciting as his hair grew back and he stopped switching wigs every two weeks, material wasn’t as readily available.

Something caught Dimple’s eye as he leisurely floated behind the two adolescent boys who were chatting away about god knows what, he zoned out a while ago. You had just rounded the busy corner, carrying an armful of coffee orders for your coworkers from Mobucks ready to make the trek back to the office when you tripped over a piece of uneven pavement, effectively dropping every last beverage.

“Oh fucking hell,” You sighed out, throwing your hands in the air in resignation, “The nightmare never ends..”

You rifled through your bag for some spare napkins and fruitlessly attempted to dry your pants before picking up the cups off the sidewalk. You stomped your feet as you made your way over to the nearest trash bin, chucking the coffee cups in with a vigor. A deep grimace lined your face as you wiped your hands clean, preparing to make a 180 back to the coffee repeat the entire errand.

Dimple watched the whole mess unfold with a sense of fascination at your expressions and exhaustion. Something about your deep sense of annoyance resonated with him.

He glanced at Shigeo before starting to float across the street in your direction, “Catch up with you losers later!”

You were already halfway down the block by the time Dimple floated in your direction. He opted to just linger slightly behind you as you entered Mobucks, he was a little put off by the fact that he felt inclined to follow you in the first place.

“Welcom- wait weren’t you just here?” The barista asked, “Was there something wrong with your order?”

You stared deadpan back pointed with one hand to your soaked pants that were clearly covered in coffee, “No, just dropped them. Give me a sec and I’ll retell you the entire order.”

Dimple thought to himself ‘this shit is hilarious’ watching you fish through your disorganized bag for a list while customers in this queue piled up behind you. Some impatient middle aged man let out an annoyed huff and you were growing visibly more distressed.

“I can.. probably look your order up in the system actually,” the barista chimed in after five minutes of your desperate searching.

‘Well damn why didn’t you say that sooner’ Dimple retorted to no one. Feeling himself starting to get annoyed on your behalf.

“Oh thank god,” you breathed out a sigh of relief, “I was never going to find it in this quagmire.”

You paid with your company card; which Dimple, much to his dismay, took note of where you worked, and you patiently waited for all ten drinks to be re-made. Throughout your entire journey back to the office, he trailed behind you feeling a small pit of anxiety hoping that this batch of drinks didn’t meet the same destiny as the last. Every time they started to teeter in your arms, he would subconsciously rush forward with concern.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Dimple mused aloud.

He floated in front of you briefly and allowed himself to get a good look at your face, seeing if that was what drew him to you. He noted that, sure, objectively he considered you attractive but that wasn’t quite hitting the nail on the head completely. After all, he’s dead, what business does he have going around being attracted to the living anyway? Once you had safely made it to your office building he decided he had done his part and went his separate way.

-  -  -

Unfortunately for Dimple, he found himself increasingly curious about you since your Mobucks incident and since he just happened to know where you worked it was quite convenient for him to check in at his leisure. He had made several general observations about you, most of them frustrating. One, you were very ordinary, you worked an office job, had no ESP powers to speak of, you probably had hobbies but he didn’t dare follow you home. That was a line that even Dimple was not about to cross. ‘Well at least not yet you pathetic creep,’ he thought to himself. Two, despite having no detectable curse, you were one of the most unfortunate and unlucky people he had ever laid eyes on. This was both very entertaining and distressing for him. He watched you almost fall down a stairwell only to catch yourself at the last second, but subsequently drop the entire box of documents for the board meeting, which you had a complete meltdown cleaning up. There was something about the unbridled rage you exuded in private moments only to instantly put on a mask of cheerfulness in a public setting was- cute. Wait, cute? No.

That brought Dimple to his third point and possibly the most intolerable of them all, he had enough self awareness that he could admit he did find you attractive. He needed to stop this.

-  -  -

Dimple decided to visit Spirits and Such to clear his mind and reset for a bit. He figured watching Reigen flail around would provide him some much needed distraction from his current duress. He was thinking too much, and he was quite frankly over it. However, as soon as he phased through the wall he saw Shigeo sitting on the couch, he knew his plans had just gone to hell. ‘Shit,’ Dimple cursed in his head, ‘If anyone is going to see right through me, it’s him.’ He briefly thought about just retreating but he didn’t want to deal with the aftermath next time he decided to show his face.

“Oh, look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Reigen acknowledged Dimple with a teasing sneer, “I thought you finally moved on, it’s been so long.”

“Heh, don’t get excited. I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy? What do you even do?” Reigen rolled his eyes, glancing over to the spirit curiously.

Dimple mumbled just within Reigen’s earshot, “Not run a fake business..”

“Do you just come here to start—,” Reigen shot up from his desk, visibly perturbed. One of the things Dimple enjoyed about his friend, a term he loosely used for Reigen, not that he would ever openly call him that to his face, was that he was so easy to rile up.

“Oh I thought I heard Dimple’s voice,” Serizawa happily greeted the spirit, as he entered the room from the office kitchen, presumably finishing some small chore, “It’s been awhile!”

“Dimple?” Shigeo finally spoke up, “You disappeared on Teru and I the other day”

“I had something to do,” He attempted to divert as he settled on the other end of the couch Shigeo was on, “Did you get anything especially hideous from that store?”

“You seem different,” Shigeo’s eyes bore into him. Dimple knew that he was going to be persistent. The kid was growing more and more confident by the day and Dimple couldn’t be more proud but by god this was not the time.

“I am not different.”

Serizawa chimed in from his comically small desk, “I think that if you should talk about it if you’re struggling”

Dimple cast Serizawa an exasperated look, “FINE. I met this person, well I didn’t meet them. But I find them interesting. And I just have been checking in with them periodically. I don’t know why I am drawn to them, I would like it to stop. Immediately.”

“Maybe you’re sick,” Reigen offered, not even looking up from his laptop as he answered emails.

“I appreciate the concern for once. But I’m dead, you idiot,” Dimple replied, his tone laced with sarcasm, “I can’t get sick.”

Somewhat excitedly and curious, Shigeo asked, “Do you think you have a crush?”

‘That’s it’ Dimple thought to himself as he phased through the wall, fleeing the situation, ‘I’m done with this shit. They can mock me all they want.”

Out of a stroke or luck, you happened to be walking down the same street Dimple was aimlessly floating down. Heading to a Mobucks to work on a project in peace. Dimple mentally remarked on how you must be their most loyal customer; however, he just didn’t realize that it was pumpkin spice latte season and one of the few things that kept you going was a seasonal flavor.

Against his better judgment, he watched you for a few moments quietly as you got your order and situated your temporary work station in the coffee shop. His mind wandered on how it was nice to see you actually have a peaceful moment for once and how he enjoyed the serene expression on your face when you took the first sip of your drink. When horror struck through his body when Mob’s words ran through his head ‘do you think you have a crush?’

For once, Dimple didn’t allow himself to flee the situation. He forced himself to stay and ruminate on the emotions he was experiencing regarding his curiosity towards you. He couldn’t say for sure if it was a romantic inclination because you have never been able to communicate with him, but what if you could? How would that even work? Would he even want it to?

“What kind of fucked up beauty and the beast shit is this?” Dimple laughed to himself, thankful that no one could hear his self deprecating comments. He had almost wished he never came to this conclusion because now he was reeling at the frustration of it all. As much as he didn’t want to confide in anyone regarding his situation, Shigeo was the person closest to him and had figured it out. There was a chance he would spout something optimistic but he was usually realistic and straightforward when it came to Dimple. Dimple was really holding onto that one strand of hope that someone could talk some sense into him and make this disappear.

-  -  -

Dimple arrives back at the Spirits and Such office looking even more visually distressed than he did when he left. He looked around the room for Shigeo hoping to find the young boy for some kind of comfort, only to be greeted by Serizawa and Reigen. Reigen seemed to be taking in his frantic energy with amusement, leaning back in his office chair, spinning his pen in his fingers.

“Wait. Are you actually in love?” Reigen said half laughing, a look of shock on his face that he didn’t even bother to hide, “I didn’t even know that was possible?”

“Reigen, sir,” Serizawa admonished his boss, “Maybe we should be more gentle with Dimple… he seems stressed.”

Reigen flapped his hand in Serizawa’s direction, waving off his concerns, “If you’re so hung up, why don’t you just possess someone and, you know, actually talk to them. Instead of doing whatever you’re doing. It would be a hell of a lot less creepy.”

Suddenly, Dimple rushed forward, getting directly in Reigen’s face, causing the strawberry-blonde man to scramble back in his chair, “Wow, an excellent idea for once!” He exclaimed, snapping his small green fingers, “Let me borrow yours.”

“Absolutely. Not.” Reigen adamantly refused with a look of abject horror and disgust on his face.

Dimple quickly retreated, already forming another plan, not without shooting Reigen a quick look, “Whatever, you’re too ugly anyway.”

He was too determined with his next course of action to bask in the sounds of Reigen’s offended sputtering, focused on floating nonchalantly over to Serizawa’s desk. Feeling kind of like an idiot for not coming up with this idea himself, he could have been interacting with you this whole time. It’s not like possessing someone is necessarily hard, he’s wasted a lot of time.

“Heey, pal,” Dimple greeted, toying with one of his pens.

Serizawa eyed him warily for one moment before sighing and hanging his head. He calmly raised one hand when Dimple opened his mouth to voice his request.

“I will agree to help you on one condition,” Serizawa said, lifting his head up, sounding oddly stern, “That you do not do anything inappropriate while you are using my body.”

“I really would not trust him,” Reigen advised from across the room.

“Let the big guy make his own calls. I will treat your body with the utmost respect,” Dimple assured, trying his best to look convincing. He honestly didn’t have anything nefarious planned. The idea of just you being able to hear him speak for once was enticing and he was willing to be on his best behavior. The threat of Serizawa being able to vaporize him into nothing was always there, and there was something that Dimple couldn’t pinpoint but.. when Serizawa was annoyed with Dimple it did seem like he was considering it in earnest.

“If you two are going to do this just.. get out of here and do it. I don’t think I can take listening to it anymore,” Reigen said with his head in his hands, looking completely exasperated, “I don’t have any clients this afternoon that require you, Serizawa. Please, just.. handle,” He waved his hand around in a circle in Dimple’s direction, “This.”

“Alright let’s go”

-  -  -

Dimple spots you sitting at the same table at Mobucks, with your brow furrowed, seemingly concentrating very hard on something on your laptop. He hesitates for one moment before making his way over to you, not wanting to interrupt your work, but when has he really ever cared about being polite. Why would he start now? He finally had a corporeal body to borrow and a chance to interact with you, like hell was he going to waste this opportunity. Serizawa was nice but Dimple had his doubts that he would lend his body out habitually.

-  -  -

The empty chair at your table scraped against the floor loudly, diverting your attention from your work. Your eyes shot up from your laptop to the man in front of you. He was tall, quite handsome, with deep brown eyes, but he was wearing a shit-eating grin and he looked over your table.

“Oh, is this seat taken?” He inquired, as he slid himself into the chair.

#dimple x reader #ekubo x reader #gail writes #my writing #mp100 reader insert #my magnum opus #fluff #a cry for help 📢 #a possession of dimples heart uwu #pls stop me

[dreamlandforever]

@writersmonth Prompt: Day 23 - Storm

Fandom: Teen Wolf | Sterek WC: 1.2K

AO3

XXIII. Storm | Of Joint Tombstones and Rings

“Since when do you shoot guns ask questions later?” Scott asked Stiles, trying to convince his best friend of being less trigger happy.

“Since somebody decided it would be fun to mess with my family!” Stiles countered, gun still in position. 

Scott nodded once. He knew what that was like. It didn’t mean he liked it, but he understood. It was just that he wished Stiles wasn’t that insistent in leading the group. Stiles might have FBI training, but Scott was the one who could actually get shot at and survive.

“Someone’s pissed.” Isaac commented, because he had no regards for his own safety. Scott rolled his eyes at that, but stood physically between Stiles and Isaac, just in case.

Stiles, however, simply glared at Isaac and nodded his head in the direction where his Spell was telling him Derek was. “Get moving.” 

“You know, bro, when people say ‘storm of bullets’, it is actually just an expression.” Scott said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. 

“Scott.” Stiles said tightly. “They have Derek.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Scott said. He was sorry that Derek was in danger. He was sorry Stiles was this stressed out. And most of all, he was sorry he had to go behind Stiles’ back.

Before they even made it to the end of the corridor, Scott heard the fight begun. Stiles turned to him, and all Scott could do was shrug, before running head first into the battle. Stiles yelled at him from behind, but before Scott could really understand what he was saying, Stiles was right next to him, shooting at one of the hunters trying to hold Derek down. 

All in all, the battle lasted less than five minutes. Scott had sent the rest of the Pack ahead once they were close enough to smell Derek. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Stiles, but he knew his Pack was safer in there than Stiles. He knew he had made the right choice when Derek nodded his gratefulness at him, before hugging Stiles back with all his strength.

Stiles was a great strategist, and even a better shot. But he was still human. And when Derek was involved, Stiles always had a one track mind. Which is why making sure both Derek and Stiles made it out alive when either was in trouble fell on Scott’s shoulders, the way it fell on Stiles’ when it came to Kira. 

“I’m going to kill you.” Stiles said sharply, and Scott nodded. Then they both hugged tightly, because they had all made it out alive. 

“I’m sorry.” Scott said again, holding Stiles tighter. 

“I know. Thank you.” Stiles responded. “Now,” Stiles began, before turning back to his boyfriend, “why the hell did you go looking for trouble, you fucking idiot? There’s a storm out there! Your scent was washed away!” Stiles yelled angrily.

“I didn’t just leave! I told Malia where I was going, I saw something out of the window and I was going to check it!” Derek defended himself. 

Malia stared blankly for a second, before muttering. “Fuck, was that when I fell asleep? He said something but I didn’t understand.” 

“You make sure we know, you asshole!” Stiles yelled again.

“Fine. I fucked up there. But I had it handled!” Derek defended himself once again.

“There were three Hunters holding you down!” 

“And I had it handled!” 

“Joint tombstones is not a plan, Derek!”

“It wasn’t a joint one five minutes ago, dumbass!”

That seemed to shut Stiles up.

“If you think,” he said dangerously low, “that there will ever be a time when I won’t come and get you, even if I have to kill half the world to do it, you don’t know me at all, Derek Hale.” 

Derek closed his eyes for a few seconds. “I know. I wasn’t trying to get you worried. I saw someone outside, and I had to make sure the Pack was okay. It was only one Hunter, the rest didn’t show up until Erica and Boyd got here, and he called for backup.” He explained as carefully as he could, trying to reign his anger in.

Stiles nodded. “Okay, then.”

“Okay?” Derek asked, raising both his eyebrows at him. Stiles nodded, and Derek just smiled back.

Scott felt dizzy. He would never understand how his best friend and Derek worked, he was just happy they did.

“Can we go home now?” Erica asked, using the shirt of one of the Hunter’s to clean the blood on her hands. “They are all out of it right now, but they’re going to wake up sooner or later.” 

Stiles followed the trail of blood to see if anyone needed attention, but noticed that Lydia was already patching up the bleeding hunter. It was mostly a superficial wound from the looks of it, anyway.

“I’ll call Chris.” Scott offered, already dialing. Stiles just nodded, staying right next to Derek. 

“So…about those joint tombstones” He said jokingly.

“Marry me first, we can talk about tombstones after.” Derek countered, already pushing Stiles to the exit. 

“Is this how you ask me to marry you?!” Stiles half yelled.

“You asked me for joint tombstones.” Derek countered.

“Okay.” Stiles relented. “But no. Ask me again. Make it romantic. And when you’re not bleeding.”

“Okay” Derek accepted easily.

“Wait, for real?”

“Yeah, I’ll make it a surprise, sure.” 

“You’re going to ask me to marry you? For real?” 

“I asked your dad for his blessing like three months ago. I was waiting for a better time, but you yelling at me about tombstones seemed as a good time as any.”

“You asked my dad?” 

“I needed to make sure he wouldn’t fill me with bullets.” 

“The ring’s very pretty!” Erica chipped in.

“You have a ring?!?!” Stiles yelled again, getting inside the Jeep when Derek opened the passenger side door for him without a complaint.

“That’s how people propose, I’ve been told. So, yes, ring. You’ll know when I’m proposing because I’ll have a ring, and won’t be bleeding.” Derek teased, and Stiles was rendered speechless.

“Scott!” He yelled out of the window, frantically trying to spot his best friend in one of the cars.

“Yeah, buddy?” He called back, from Lydia’s Civic. 

“I’m getting married!” 

“Congratulations, man!” 

“Thank you” Stiles mumbled, looking at Derek as he put the Jeep in Drive and headed back to his place. “I love you.” He said, because he felt like it needed to be said.

“I love you, too, Stiles.” Derek said, like it was the simplest thing. The wind was still blowing, and the rain was falling hard, but Stiles didn’t even notice the noise. His head was buzzing with excitement. 

“You love me. You want to marry me.” Stiles repeated, because it still didn’t seem to make sense in his head.

“Stiles, we’ve been dating for five years.”

“And yet you want to marry me.”

“Always.” Derek said simply, placing a chaste kiss to Stiles’ hand.

“I love you.” Stiles said again, because he didn’t know what else to say. Derek chuckled softly, focusing on the road ahead, mindful of the wet roads. He was, after all, transporting precious cargo.

#writersmonth2023 #writing prompt #jwritessometimes #sterek #teen wolf

[rivalsforlife]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I saw this going around a little while ago and wanted to do it myself mostly because it doesn't involve me having to answer about anything I did this year.

1. How many works do you have on A03?

20

2. What's your total A03 word count?

262,994, apparently

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ace Attorney! I have to admit I've been writing persona 5 fanfic for most of this year but am still undecided on if I actually want to publish that. if I ever finish it.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

A Rose By Any Name (by a margin of like 1000 kudos), Deep Dark Secrets, Childswap, The Catch-Up Game, Love Languages.

I am eternally going to feel a bit bitter that the first one is that high.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I used to respond to them all the time because I love the interactions, but then I started getting burnt out by school and now have such a massive backlog..... so I pretty much never do these days. I'm very sorry and I still read and really appreciate all the comments I get!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't write a lot of angst... and I definitely don't have a tendency to leave things on an angsty note. Maybe Need Not to Need which was in early disbarment era, or Left Behind, Looking Ahead because it's a missing scene in the middle of aai2, and Franziska ends it on the conclusion that she should prepare to not have Edgeworth in her life anymore.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Since I don't write a lot of angsty endings most of them are happy lol. Maybe The Opposing Council's Proposal because it ends on a proposal, which is a pretty happy event.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope! Everyone's been really nice.

9. Do you write smut?

Definitely not. It takes me like five minutes to work myself up to writing a kiss. I'm too squeamish about that kind of thing.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No, and I feel like that's not something I'd be very good at doing. There's so much work involved and I haven't had any situations where I feel like characters from different franchises have to meet in order to express some aspect of characterization that they couldn't do otherwise, which would be my main motivation for writing one.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!! Plenty of my fics have been translated into Chinese. I had one person write an entire rec list for my works in Chinese before and was so happy about it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope, I feel like I wouldn't be good at this either, I've always been the kind of person who isn't good at playing with others and would want to take control of the whole thing lol.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Narumitsu without question. It takes a lot to get me to actively care about romance, much less write it.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a PLvsAA canon divergence fic where everyone stays brainwashed for a much longer time (and Edgeworth also gets brainwashed) that I wish I could finish, but I feel like it's a lost cause at this point. I have an earlier version of that fic which went in a completely different direction and is less than one chapter away from being complete. There's also One Good Narumitsu Story left in me that I've had in my head since 2018, never been able to bring myself to write it, and am not sure if I ever will. I hope I do someday, though.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think one of my favorite comments I've ever gotten talked about putting effort into developing relationships and characters outside of the main focuses of the fic - Catch-Up Game being an example, even though narumitsu is the focus, I spent some time paying attention to Phoenix's relationships with Trucy, Maya, Iris, and generally tried to make it seem like the characters had their own lives outside of what Phoenix and Edgeworth had going on. That's something I still feel pretty proud of and try to keep up when I can.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

DESCRIPTIONS. I can't describe people very well at all, probably at least partially because my facial recognition skills are atrocious. I can't describe locations or settings, either. I sometimes feel like it becomes far too obvious that I rarely leave the house.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think it's fine on a one-off but not extensively. Like with Klavier as an example, the occasional Achtung or pet name or whatever is fine, but when it starts to be longer sentences or full conversations I draw the line.

Overall I think the best way to handle it (in a hypothetical conversation between Franziska and Edgeworth, depending on if the POV character is Edgeworth or Phoenix):

a) If the POV character speaks the language (like Edgeworth), doing something like "Franziska switched to German, so Phoenix couldn't overhear. "I am speaking in German, but you are reading it in English.""

b) If the POV character does not speak the language (like Phoenix), saying "Franziska switched to German and started yelling at Edgeworth" makes more sense - when I hear a foreign language, at least, I wouldn't be able to repeat it afterwards, because my brain does not process the words like it would English words, so I don't think it should stay in writing either.

There are practical purposes too: I wouldn't trust google translate to capture any nuance, and don't speak any other languages, so I'd want to find someone who knows the language to translate for me, which can be annoying and inconvenient for them. Also, readability. I don't think a reader should have to open up a new tab to understand your fic, is the point.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Warrior cats!! Way back in 2012 or so.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

The Catch-Up Game is still my favorite, at least partially because I got so much engagement while posting it that it was a lot of fun to go through comments on it. The narumitsu server talked about it a lot, and I'll forever be bitter that a rogue mod wiped those channels, because it's a really good feeling when something you write can inspire discussion like that. Also, I'm still satisfied with most aspects of that fic on its own - I reread a couple of chapters just the other day and was enjoying myself, which is always a win.

#ask games

[thewholedamnboulangerie]

I was tagged by @bisexualbard-writes my beloved to post 5 things I like about myself!!! Thank youuuuuu ☀️🦦💖🪐🥰

I have a pretty good sense of direction, and oh my god when I was younger I did NOT appreciate this enough. I don't have the innate sense of where north is that some people do, but (particularly if I'm travelling in right angles, not in curved lines) I can usually keep track of the general direction I'm going in with a lot of accuracy, and I can read maps super easily and remember the exact routes I've taken before, provided they aren't too complicated!! It is a vvv useful skill and I LOVE it.

I am very good at picking up foreign languages! Comparatively speaking I haven't made much progress with Thai, given that I've been semi-immersed in it for close to a year and a half by now, but that's mainly because I've just been learning via osmosis rather than putting any actual effort in whatsoever. Still, I can usually understand any really simple sentences without much trouble and pick out at least a few words of the more complex ones when I'm watching something in Thai now, so that's something!! (Also, my duolingo streak is currently at 951 days!)

I am quite judicious, just as a general rule (...with the notable exception of What Time To Go To Bed). As in: I don't tend to act rashly, or speak tactlessly, but for the most part I'm also fairly good at steering clear of the level of caution that just saps joy and stirs up anxiety rather than actually being beneficial. This is not to say that I always make sensible decisions - far from it! I am always making objectively silly decisions! But since my objectively silly decisions tend to be for the purposes of indulging in the delights, as long as they fulfil that goal and don't cause any collateral damage that's too insane, I'm usually happy to consider them subjectively Correct decisions (with - and I really and truly CANNOT stress this enough - the exception of absolutely any decision related to sleeping habits 💀).

I am SO good at platonically matchmaking my friends!! I love to introduce my friends to each other, or throw them into groupchats together, or (on one memorable occasion) drag the blorbos from my tumblr dashboard AND the blorbos from my workplace to the theatre together! And then watch as they all instantly imprint on each other like lil ducklings!!! This has happened so many times and it is my favourite thing every single time! (And of course, the fact that my own taste in friends is so elite is almost certainly a contributory factor to how well they always get along. All of you are so so good and lovely! ❤️)

I am very good at directing my gaze. By which I mean several things!! First of all: I AM ALWAYS PERCEIVING. When it comes to things I care about and enjoy, I am noticing details! I am connecting dots! I am picking up on hidden meanings! I am spotting clues and interpreting them! I am reading your tags with fluency and delight even though you censored them and miscounted the asterisks! I am remembering that thing you said five months ago and bringing it up again at the funniest possible moment!!! My brain is Kim Theerapanyakul's murderboard and it is covered EXCLUSIVELY in all the things that are shiniest and most precious To Me and I am solving their mysteries!!! Secondly: when it comes to the worst parts of fandom culture, I am never perceiving. If there is a bad take, I will simply not see it. If I do see it, I will simply forget about it in 3 minutes flat. No cursed opinion has any power over me because I shall simply magnetically repel it thank you goodbye xoxo Most importantly: I am a very firm believer that life is always terrible and also that life is simultaneously always wonderful. Both are true at all times; it just depends where you're looking. And sometimes life inevitably forces your gaze towards the most terrible things the world has to offer, and there's no choice but to engage with them. But when given the choice, I like to think that I'm pretty good at directing my gaze towards the wonderful end of the scale. The everyday delights are my best friends and hopefully they always will be!

Tagging a few blorbos from my dashboard who I don't thiiiiiiink have been tagged in this yet: @divorcedmalewife, @fallen-robin, @youneedtolightenup, @yourrescuemission, @diamondcrystals, @thevorelock, @guntapon, @nangong-shunu

#tag meme #listen it took me a while to get around to actually doing this but do NOT mistake me!!! #i fucking love saying nice things about myself #hehe #it mostly took a while a) bc im BUSY; b) bc of the 'tact' bit specifically from number 3 #there were SO many other options that i ALMOST put in but then was like 'girl. on THIS website?? you can't say that it's GAUCHE' #talking in public about my god-tier self-esteem and body confidence???? on the low self esteem website???? im too tactful for that #i will simply wait 48h and THEN edit it into these tags so i can say it without anyone seeing it. yes perfect!!!

[woweliohowsilly]

Like a Date, Date?

Dr. Harvey x OC

hiii i’m new on here with this fandom, feel free to send requests:))

Ren huffed, it’d been an exhausting day in the mines and he could have sworn he felt a small trickle of sweat, or perhaps blood, weaving down his forehead. Blasted bats wouldn’t give him a break when he saw that diamond vein. He hoisted the handle of his pick over his shoulder and glanced around the room. Only six rocks left and he’d be down, but damn was exhaustion beggining to set in. Ren fished in his pockets and pulled out a field bar, leaning against the cave wall as he snacked. Lucky for him, the ring on his finger let off a large enough glow to where if anything was approaching him, he’d be on it in no time. Finishing his snack, he began on the last few rocks, eventually, breaking one that fell down into a ladder. Finally! Ren climbed down and was shocked to see the most infested layer he’d come across thus far. In a matter of seconds a good sized magma slime was crawling towards him, it’s sentient eyes glowing evilly in his direction. Ren brandished his sword and swung at the creature, slashing at it rather brutally before it combusted. Then that buzz. That god awful buzz that plagued his nightmares even when he wasn’t in the mines. It wasn’t alone, certainly not. He felt a bite at the back of his head and whipped around to be met with that stupid white bug and whipped his sword at it. Then another bite on his calf, and another on his earlobe.

“Ow! Fuck!” Ren exclaimed, swinging violently. If he wasn’t bleeding earlier, he for sure was now. There must have been at least four of them ganging up on him, each of them taking little nips and bites at whatever exposed flesh they could get to. Ren found himself quickly becoming lightheaded, his swings losing more and more power as he continued until it became a little too much. His feeble attempt to climb the ladder was all for naught when one of them clocked him right in the head and he fell three steps down, knocking his head on the floor and promptly passing out.

Harvey was quickly growing concerned when Ren hadn’t shown up for their Friday night at the Stardrop. He impatiently tapped at their table after waiting for thirty five minutes, it wasn’t like Ren to show up late, unless maybe he had gotten caught up in farmwork, but it was the middle of a bitter winter and Harvey knew Ren was in the mines. Seconds felt like they were crawing by and the clock had seemed to slow down, Harvey stood up in a tizzy and marched over to where Demetrius and his family where sitting all together, truly a once in a bluemoon event but no time for that. Harvey cleared his throat and caught the attention of all four, Maru, who smiled as did Robin, a curious and skeptical Sebastian and Jolly Demetrius with his blidning white smile.

“Demetrius, are you familiar with the mines?” Harvey asked politely, trying to swallow his anxiety. Demetrius shifted in his chair and nodded.

“Dangerous place, you should know Harv, you’ve patched me up more than once.” He replied, sipping his beverage. Harvey sighed.

“Ren went to the mines today, he was meant to meet me here about thirty minutes ago, and it’s not like him to not show up. I hate to intrude but would you accompany me?” Before Harvey had time to finish his sentence Demetrius and Maru were on their feet, ready to assist. The three of them jogged up the mountain and to the mine shaft where they took the elevator down, quickly recognizing that they’d have to take the ladders. Demetrius brandished a pocket knife and began down, ready to defend whatever may attack. It didn’t take long to get down and find a passed out and injured Farmer Ren on the floor of the 92nd level. The three quickly sprung into action, Maru and Harvey attending to Ren and Demetrius playing knight in shining armour against the creatures of the caves. It took all three of them to hoist Ren up the two ladders and into the elevator. Maru ran ahead to the clinic and prepped a bed for Harvey to tend Ren to on. Demetrius carried the farmer in and laid him down on the bedding whilst Harvey pulled on gloves and began to asses, starting a fluids line and getting Ren’s vitals back to a stable condition. Demetrius and Maru excused themselves after ensuring Harvey and Ren would be okay and retreated back to the bar. It took two hours of cleaning up wounds and stitching up particularly deep cuts before Ren stirred gently, his body shaming him for being careless. Harvey sat right up in his roller chair and offered a hand out to a disoriented Ren.

“What, the hell happened?” Ren’s voice was groggy, but still ringing with his thick southern accent.

“Go a little too deep perhaps?” Harvey suggested with a chuckle, “I don’t know how many times in my career I will say it but you have to be more careful down there, those mines are dangerous as all get out!”

“Sorry Harvey, I must have missed our date, huh?” Ren sighed, carefully rolling to his side to face the doctor. Harvey felt his face flush red and he turned away quickly. “Did I say something wrong?” Ren questioned, seeing the flustered look on Dr. Harvey’s face.

“No no, not at all, I just didn’t think you were considering it a date, but if you like to I-“

“Oh, yeah, I guess I sorta assumed it was. Were you, looking for just platonic or-“

“Uhm, I’m not sure. I think it would be nice yes, but, oh I don’t know, how about maybe another time? When you haven’t nearly died?”

Ren chuckled and reached out, patting Harvey’s knee. He had a smug expression written all over his face and he smirked like he had gotten what he wanted.

“Ain’t no secret I’ve been pining after you, just haven’t been sure how to say it. Talk about bad timing, yeah?”

Harvey supressed a school girl style giggle and settled instead for an agreeing nod. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the area where his sinuses were and shook his head with a playful smile.

“Same time tomorrow, except maybe steer clear of the mines.”

“It’s a date right? Like a date, date.” Ren clarified, still smug.

“Like a date, date, yes.”

#stardew valley #stardew oc #stardew harvey #sdv harvey #sdv farmer #sdvx #sdv fanfic #sdv ocs #sdvoneshot #sdvxharvey