#just in case the statue doesn’t have a top

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“ 

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths. 

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds. 

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping. 

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.” 

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner. 

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute. 

“Pretty banged up.” 

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else. 

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?” 

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym. 

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm. 

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause. 

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.” 

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more. 

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home. 

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise. 

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“He’s not awake.” 

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see. 

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion. 

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.” 

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision. 

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation. 

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”  

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go. 

She's not wrong. 

You need to go to bed. 

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him. 

Simon asked you stay with him. 

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back? 

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap? 

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all. 

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs. 

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery. 

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return. 

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients. 

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment. 

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh? 

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here? 

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested. 

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath. 

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown. 

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job. 

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck. 

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway. 

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghoap #soap x ghost #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #simon ghost riley

[nevernonline]

✧.* must love dogs; csc one shot.

✧.* synopsis: after a breakup (three years ago) your friend finally attempts to get you back on the saddle by creating you a dating profile despite your protesting, hooking you up on dates with some of the eligible bachelors of their choice, none of which impressed you. until one day you met the boy with the dog.

part of my seventeen movie series.

paring: seungcheol x reader (y/n uses she/her pronouns.)

genre/s: fluff, strangers2lovers

warning/s: alcohol mentions, swearing, cigarette mentions, swearing, some pg-13 jokes.

word count: 3.7k

note: im notorious atp for not editing, pls. I hope you enjoy my lil must love dogs inspired fic, its one of my fav movies!! xo.

“So how was bachelor number five?” 

With a roll of your eyes, you gazed at your friend Seungkwan resting his feet on top of your shared glass coffee table, ticking the tip of the city guide book and magazines rested on top. 

“Boring. He was nice or whatever, good looking, but he wouldn’t shut up about league of legends and his job. Other than that he asked me no questions about myself or what I do. A failure as most would call it.” 

“So I take it you wouldn’t want to go out with him again?” 

“God, whatever gave you that impression? I thought you could tell we were headed for marriage?” 

“Hey. I’m doing you a very nice thing, you don’t have to be so sarcastic about it.” 

“Look, I know. But just because Jun is getting married and I still haven’t moved on doesn’t mean I need to be dating all of the sudden.” 

The boy patted the seat next to him. Scooching over from his spot, making room for you on the couch. 

“ It’s been nearly three years since you ended it with him. At least fuck someone before you dry up.” 

“That’s fucking gross and what vibrators are for.” 

A small scream left your friend's mouth as he covered his ears trying to remove what he had just heard coming out of your mouth. 

“Y/n his wedding is in two months, we need to find someone to bring that’s not me. You don’t want to feel the embarrassment of his pity party and everyone feeling sorry for you.” 

“Why can’t you just be my date?” 

“Too obvious. Plus your whole family will be there, just do it or you know your parents will be in your case again. This ‘ secret man’ you’ve been seeing doesn’t exist and I think your Mom is starting to catch on.” 

He was right. Your parents come from a high status, as do your ex boyfriends, they were the reason you both had met and became friends in the first place. But, when your relationship ended you lied to them, it was working well until you got a call from your very upset mother telling you Jun showed up to your house with his family and a girl on his arm that wasn’t you. 

“Okay, then why can’t I choose my own date?” 

“The men you chose to quote on quote date are literally disturbing, I’m sorry but it’s the truth. Like that one dude you brought here last time? Whatever the fuck his name was literally was wearing a necklace vial of his own blood and claimed drinking your own urine and reusing water is the only way we can save the planet.” 

“Okay, but he was nice.” 

“He literally didn’t flush the toilet because he only went number one. That’s fucked, no.” 

“Can I at least, like at the very least have some approval over the men you match me with then?” 

“Maybe.” 

“ Kwanie, please. Come on, don’t make me use the what goes around card, it’s my turn” 

“No, it's absolutely my turn.” 

“Not true, you wasted it two months ago when I had to bail you out of that strange house party orgy thing by saying your dog died and coming in crying to a bunch of naked strangers. You owe me.” 

“Valid.” 

“How did you not realize what that party was anyway?” 

“This is not currently about my life failures, but yours my beautiful friend.” 

Laughing at Seungkwan's major mishap, you forgot to greet your dog, Lucky. She was waiting and crying at your feet, finally waking up from her sweet slumber to greet you. 

“Hello my baby, do we have to go outside?” 

“She went for a walk this afternoon, but after her dinner she crashed so she probably wants a walk. I can go if you want to change or shower.” 

“No it’s alright, I can take her, you're already in your pj’s and after my date I need a distress, want anything from the mart?” 

“Ice cream?” 

With a small nod you jumped up, taking the small curly creature in your arms and grabbing her harness before heading back outside into the warm spring air. 

Ten minutes into your evening stroll, you decided to sit on the green wooden bench overlooking the water, the same bench your grandmother always spoke about when you asked her the same story about how she and your grandfather got engaged. The gold plaque with their names rubbing off sitting behind your back. 

Suddenly you heard a man yelling from behind you, running through the green grass lit up with fluorescent lights. 

“Hey, Kkuma, no come back.” 

A small white dog came up behind Lucky sniffing her and starting to play, you noticed her cute hairclip and ran your hands through her fur. 

“God, I’m sorry. She normally doesn’t run off like that.” 

“It’s okay my dog lov-“ 

As you turned around to look into the round eyes of the owner, you were stunned with how beautiful he was. 

His dark hair pushed under a cap, a white t-shirt too big for his frame sitting beautifully in his toned shoulders, and his red sweatpants matching his shoes. 

The unfamiliar man was bending down now petting your precious pet and his own at the same time talking to them in sweet baby voices. 

“This is Kkuma by the way, and you are?” 

“Y/N” 

“Hi y/n, you’re so cute, you and kkuma can be best friends if your mom lets you.”

You let out a roaring laugh realizing he thought you had introduced your pet and not yourself.

“Oh sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s just I’m y/n this is Lucky sorry my fault.” 

“Oh god, cool. Sorry Lucky, I’m Seungcheol. You can call me Cheol and this is Kkuma.” 

“Nice to meet you Cheol and Kkuma.” 

“You too. Look I know I just met you and all, but I’m new to the area. I was wondering if you’d want to get coffee and let the girls hangout sometime?” 

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Let me give you my number.” 

Seungcheol handed you his cell phone with a new contact page pulled up giving you full reign to type your name and number into his list. 

Handing the device back to him your fingers touched, creating an electric shock, to not like you to believe in signs, but for some reason it felt like the universe trying to tell you something. 

“Thank you, I’ve actually got to get going, but if you're free tomorrow would you want to grab coffee and hangout at the dog park?” 

“Yeah, totally. Just text me a time, we can just meet here. What kind of coffee do you drink? There’s a good spot by my apartment. I can just pick it up for us.” 

“Wow, that’s so nice of you. Just a black americano is cool or a cold brew whichever.”

“No fun I see.”

“How would you know that? Just because I don’t like sugary drinks doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.” 

“I don’t know, we will see.” 

“We will. I’ll catch you tomorrow girls.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

“You too!” 

Seungcheol left the same way he came running through the grass with Kkuma on his heels, following him all the way back to their home. 

Strolling back down the pathway back to your apartment, you could help but feel butterflies in your stomach, you knew nothing about the man you just met other than his name and his cute dog, but there was a lot of unknown. 

Smiling like a Cheshire Cat, you unlocked the front door and watched Lucky sprint back into Seungkwan lounging on the couch, eating for the ice cream you had forgotten. 

“Where’s the snacks? Also why are you smiling like an idiot you’re freaking me out.” 

“We met a guy with his dog, a very cute guy might I add, who actually asked for my number and wants to get coffee tomorrow.” 

“ What the fuck, it’s late tell me he doesn’t live in the park?” 

“No he said he just moved to the area, he was clearly not a park dweller he had keys, and smelt amazing actually.”

“Smelling strangers? A new low even for you”

“Oh my god, fuck off.” 

Seungkwan pulled his phone out and opened various social media apps preparing himself for best friend stalking duties. 

“What’s his name?”

“Seungcheol, not sure about his last name, but he goes by Cheol and his dog was Kkuma.” 

“Great.. okay, found him I assume?”

“What the fuck, how? Let me see.”

“Eager aren’t we?”

“Fuck off?” 

Grabbing Seungkwan's phone from his grip, you scroll quickly through the new faces' social media.

“Yeah, it’s him.” 

“Okay, let me see. Wait, he's actually hot AND seems to have his own business?” 

“Oh my god.”

“Here, look” 

After the next few hours, you and your friend stumble on into your separate rooms preparing yourself for slumber, which never seems to reach you and before you know it dawn is creeping its way through your curtains, and your backup preparing yourself for a day with you and Lucky's new friends. 

Something about your energy was excitable and nearing frantic, you could wait to step outside into the fresh air with your pocket sized princess at your side, but it was still early. 

You had decided on pampering yourself for this morning, finding the need to make yourself up, you spread on your skin care with glee, drew perfect lines of eyeliner and strained your hair, pulling it up into a nice tight ponytail the hair tie matching the taupe tone of your sweat suit perfectly.  Before you knew it it was 9:45 a perfect time for you and Lucky to step outside the door. 

Placing her in her tote bag, you stepped inside of your favorite coffee shop, the light pink walls covered in photos and paintings, the smell of the espresso seemed sweeter. 

“Morning, y/n you look beautiful today. Would you like the usual?”

“Thank you, for me, yes. But can I also get a large americano, just black and he didn’t tell me iced or hot, so iced is good I think? Or maybe hot with a cup of ice on the side? If that’s okay?” 

“He? Did you finally start dating someone?” 

“Oh no, just a friend of mine. Seungkwan told you shit about me didn’t he?” 

“Yes. Sorry.”  

“No worries, can I actually get two of the plain croissants and two of the flower dog cookies too?” 

“No problem, it’ll be right out.” 

“Thank you.” 

Taking a seat next to the pick up counter you scrolled through the instagram of the boy you’re meant to be meeting, telling yourself it’s just to remember his face, but really it was to get a peek into what else he’s into or if he was single. 

“Y/N” 

“Oh shit, sorry. Thank you guys, see you tomorrow.” 

Picking up the paper coffee carrier and pastry bag, you waved goodbye to the baristas and briskly walked back to the bench you were at yesterday, your bench, spotting the back of Seungcheol’s head watching the water with his dog. 

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” 

“Oh, no problem. I just got here.” 

Placing your items down on the bench, you freed her bag and greeted Kkuma alongside her before taking your seat. 

“Here’s your coffee, I wasn’t sure if you wanted hot or iced so I got you a cup of ice too just in case, a croissant, and a little treat for your girl too.” 

“Wow thank you so much, hot is fine actually. How are you?” 

“Good, nervous. I mean it’s not every day you meet a stranger for coffee.” 

Seungcheol laughed, tipping his head back slightly before taking a bite of his pastry. 

“Sorry. I know it’s weird, you just seemed like someone I wanted to get to know, and Kkuma liked you so I figured you’re good people.” 

“Well, thank you. You too. Lucky generally does not like men other than my friend Seungkwan, my dad, and my ex-boyfriend so consider yourself special.”

“I do.”

“So what brought you to this neighborhood? Work, a relationship?”

“No relationship, but actually my business partner is from here. We decided to open our warehouse and stuff here because it’s much better than doing it in the city. We have a spirit company and we’re planning on opening a brewery and bar, so that’s why I’ve been working late nights. I guess it served me well, I made a friend on my first day.”

“You’ve only been here for a full day? What the hell? You already know the best spot in town. What kind of stuff do you guys make?”

“Beer and soju mainly, we’ve been working on it for five years now and are finally at a spot to open up and start selling it to people, which is cool. But what about you? What do you do?” 

“I’m a medical student actually, my parents are both doctors, I used to really want to be one too, but I don’t know, I don’t really have the same passion for it as I used to.”

“Well what would you do if you had the choice?”

“I always wanted to design stuff for dogs, start a rescue, anything like that. I got so happy seeing Kkuma as an accessory girl.”

“Yeah, she’s very stylish. I think you should go for it, you know? Why waste time becoming something for someone else and risk being unhappy just for their sake?”

“Honestly I wouldn’t even know how to start a business on my own, let alone tell my parents.”

“Hey, I didn’t either and look where it’s gotten me.”

You turned back to the water, staring into the calm blue waters, trying not to go into your own head. 

“You’re oddly inspiring, I’ll give you that much.”

“Thank you, y/n. You’re oddly sassy, I’ll give you that.”

“Shut up, I’m not.”

“You already tried to clock me by saying I’m no fun because I drink black coffee and you said oddly inspiring like a back handed compliment. You definitely are, but I like it. 

“Good.”

You had continued your twice weekly hangouts with Kkuma and her dad for two weeks now, getting excited whenever the days roll around to see the two of them again, but you haven’t hung out once without them around, which made you wonder if your friendship or crush rather on this boy was only due to your dogs being friends themselves. 

Seungkwan tried setting you up on more and more dates with more and more duds, he was starting to lose hope himself, knowing that the one person he could set you up with was Seungcheol but he didn’t want to overstep. 

Strolling home from another failed connection, you decide to stop and have a beer before going home to give the dirty details to Seungkwan about who you had just met. 

Pulling open the tab of one of your drinks from your six pack, you took a deep breath and sat down, feeling your eyes welling up with tears. 

Another can opened as you went to take the first sip. A hand comes on your shoulders, whispering a boo in your ears. 

“What the fuck!” 

Jumping up from your seat the hand on your shoulder belonged to Seungcheol, the look in his eyes went from happy to concerned as he saw the small streaks of tears on your cheeks, you top now dribbled with spots of beer. 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Want a beer?”

“Sure, thanks. I’m sorry I scared you, I thought you heard me behind you.”

“It’s alright, I was in my own world anyway. You look nice, where are you headed?”

“Soft opening for my bar actually, I texted you, but I figured you didn’t respond because you were busy.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I would’ve loved to come. I was a bit preoccupied on an awful fucking date.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“Well the good news is you technically didn’t miss it, it doesn’t start for another twenty minutes and you’re dressed very nice. It worked out. 

“Fuck I wish I paid more attention, I could’ve got you some flowers or something.”

“Next time. Will your roommate be alright taking care of Lucky?”

“Yeah of course, he knew I would be out tonight. I’ll text him just to be sure.”

“Cheers to hanging out without our kids?”

“Definitely.”

With that suddenly your awful night and doubts about your relationship with the raven haired boy went out the window. 

“Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Seungcheol lent his arm out for you to wrap your own around, and you both stayed out that way for a few moments, before discarding your cans and walking the way to his new venture. 

“Here it is, you ready?”

“When you told me you were opening this up I thought you hadn’t even started? But it looks like it’s fully ready.” 

“Ah, well we had planned to wait a bit, but we’re getting too antsy, so here we are.”

“It’s beautiful, holy shit.” 

“Thanks, sit here, I’ll be right back.”

You took a seat on the green leather booth, looking around and taking in the ambiance of the custom lighting and ribbon like wallpaper, when a blonde gentleman walked over sitting down across from you. 

“Y/n? Right?”

“Yeah, nice to meet you…”

“Jeonghan, I’m Cheol’s business partner.”

“Jeonghan, right. Nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot.”

“Likewise, you’re so much prettier than Cheol let on actually.”

“Oh?”

Without a chance to interrogate the new face further Seungcheol walked back over to your table, setting down a few bottles of various spirits for you to try, including a couple of cocktails. 

“He didn’t scare you too much did he?”

“Not at all, he was just telling me actually how much prettier I am than you alluded to.”

“Jeonghan, don’t do that to her, come on. You know very well I told you she was pretty, I even showed you her instagram, you agreed.”

“I know, I just wanted to make you tell her yourself and my job is done, see you around y/n.”

“Nice to meet you.”

As Jeonghan left the table you felt your cheeks growing with heat, unsure if it was the alcohol or the fact that Seungcheols friend made him confess he thought you were good looking. 

“Sorry about him, he’s a menace.”

“No need to be sorry, I have my own menace at home and I don’t mean my dog.”

Seungcheol laughed, pouring you a shot of his very own soju to taste, filling with anticipation hoping you enjoy the drink he’s serving you, looking for your approval became a big part of his mind lately. 

Lifting your glass up to his and clinking them together, the liquor poured down the back of your throat filling your mouth with sweetness and warmth. 

“Holy shit.”

“Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

“No, very good. That’s actually delicious. It’s so clean and fresh.”

“That makes me so happy to hear.”

“I’m happy you’re happy.”

“Okay, beer next. This is just a standard sour, some lime and sea salt, sort of beach vibes.” 

“Sounds amazing, okay.”

Tipping your head back you sipped at the foamy top of the glass, savoring the flavors in your mouth. 

“I hate you so much.”

“What? Why?”

“Seungcheol, you're way too humble when you talk about your business, this shit is amazing. I said I hate you because I’m going to crave this shit and I’ll have to see you all the time.” 

“I thought you liked seeing me all the time?”

“You’re okay.”

“I have to say it’s cool to be here with you without the dogs, not that they distract too much, but they definitely take away giving you my full attention.”

“I mean how could they not, they’re cute as fuck,”

“So are you.”

“Wow, two drinks in Cheol and you’re already calling me cute? I wonder what else you’ll say the more you drink?"

“Technically we’re four drinks in, but I guess I remember the time I spent with you more than you do. Did those drinks on the bench mean nothing to you?”

“Oh fuck, I did forget. I guess technically I’m five drinks in then, catch up, bitch.”

You and Seungcheol spent the rest of the night being greeted by his friends, most of them already assuming who you were, letting you know that Seungcheol talks about you more than you realized. 

Feeling your blood alcohol content rising, you decided to take a step outside and refresh. 

The bell of the door opened up behind you, putting you face to face with his cherry lips once again, watching them light up a hand rolled cigarette to his lips. 

“Doing okay?”

“Yeah, just wanted to step out for a second. Are you good?”

“Very. Want a cig?”

“No, I’m good for now. Ask me again later.” 

“So will there be a later? You’re not ditching me now?”

“I’d never do that.”

“So, y/n does this maybe get me a chance to take you on a date? I’m kind of drunk so I’m feeling oddly bold.” 

“Is this not sort of a date?”

“I was hoping you thought so. Is that a yes?”

“Absolutely. I thought you’d never ask.”

“Before we go on our date though, y/n. I have one final question?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you still think I’m boring?” 

“A little.” 

Seungcheol grabbed your waist and spun you around, causing his perfectly rolled tobacco to fall on the sidewalk. 

Blissfully you were giggling and laughing under the red led lights of his bar. 

“Take it back.” 

“Nope.” 

“Please.” 

You looked into his puppy dog eyes and did something out of your comfort zone. Wrapped your hands loosely around his neck, placing a deepened kiss onto his lips. 

His mouth tasted of cigarettes and salt with a hint of vanilla from the lip balm he always had on him. 

“Is that a good ‘sorry I called you boring’ kiss?” 

“It’ll do for now.” 

“Good. They’ll be more where that came from.” 

“Promise?” 

“Pinky promise.” 

You and Seungcheol unwrap from each other, finding Jeonghan standing and  cheering in the window watching the two of you. 

“Can’t believe I got a hot date and a sister for Kkuma all in one.” 

“You lucky dog.” 

#❃ - duffytalks #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen headcanons #seventeen x reader #svt reactions #seventeen imagines #svt fic #svt texts #svt imagines #seventeen au #seventeen fic #scoups x reader #scoups x you #scoups x y/n #seungchol x y/n #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt scenarios #svt oneshot #seventeen oneshot #svt series #seventeen series #svt scoups #svt x oc

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 1

Eddie doesn’t even know why he’s at this stupid party. It’s full of jocks showboating for their girlfriends, their girlfriends clustering together and giggling like watching Tommy Hagan do a keg stand is somehow dreamy. He’d had an entire beer spilled on his shoes, been heckled out of the kitchen and into the backyard, and left to brood out by Harrington’s ostentatious, heated in-ground pool. And it’s barely been an hour.

Within that hour, he’s made enough money to buy two month’s worth of cigarettes. That’s the rub of it all, isn’t it? Counting his time with packs of cigarettes, and bald tires that need replacing. And stupid things like food for their barren fridge and heat in the trailer once fall fully bleeds into winter. Wayne can only do so much, with rolling blackouts hitting the plant, and rent increasing a little more every year.

So Eddie goes to parties full of people he hates, lunch box secured to his person with the chain at his hip, switchblade stuffed in his back pocket. Just in case.  

This party is only ramping up, people trickling out from the overstuffed house to loiter on the back porch, occasionally stopping by to procure his services. As the first hour dwindles into the second, Eddie’s supply is getting dangerously low. 

He’s just considering leaving when he notices the King himself trailing after two girls he vaguely recognizes as the two that have been haunting the edges of the jock table the past few weeks. 

The brunette is scowling, hand wrapped tightly enough around her redheaded friend’s wrist to make the skin turn unnaturally white as she yanks her along none too gently, her short legs making ferocious strides that have both her captive friend and Harrington stumbling to keep up. 

Harrington’s got his hands up like he’s placating a spooked horse, talking too quietly for Eddie to hear over the pounding beat of the music. The girl isn’t spooked though. Despite being the shortest of the group, she looks like a predator on the hunt, just waiting for a slip up to make her kill. 

Whatever Harrington is saying must not go well. The brunette shoves her friend behind her, stabbing her finger into his chest, voice rising in rage. “–know he meant it, Steve!” she yells, flatting her palm to push him back harshly. She spins on her heel, continuing her trek past Eddie’s spot by the pool and out toward the open gate to the driveway. “As long as he’s here, we’re not going to be!”

“Don’t be like that Nance,” Harrington placates, following in her wake. “Tommy’s just drunk.”

“I don’t care about Tommy!” Nancy snaps. “I care that you’re friends with such a despicable person.”

“Nance–”

“I thought you were better than this, Steve Harrington,” she says. 

Then they’re both through the gate and gone. Harrington doesn’t follow. He stands there, staring where the girls had been, back to Eddie. He’s still as a statue for a long, endless minute before growling, low and angry, pulling his fist back and punching the side of his house. 

The hit makes a meaty squelching sound of breakable skin striking an immovable object and parting under its pressure. It almost echoes through the yard in the silence between songs, the whispering from all the onlookers starting up just before the next top forty song begins blaring.

Harrington spins, glaring out at the clustered people on the porch, hands on his hips, blood dripping down onto the green of his sweater, the light blue of his jeans. It’s a little thrilling to see the King bloody, even at his own hands. Like a true royal, he snaps, “go inside,” voice demanding obedience. And they do obey, scuttling back into the house in small clusters, shutting the sliding glass door behind the last of them.

Harrington sighs, shoulders drooping as he lifts his injured hand up to look down at it. He still hasn’t noticed Eddie in his spot by the pool.

“Trouble in the kingdom, your majesty?” he asks, jumping up from his cross-legged position on the pavement to saunter up to the other boy. He leans into his space, smiling coyly as Harrington leans back like he carries an airborne disease. “Anything this lowly court jester can do to help?”

He looks shocked at Eddie’s presence, like he never even considered that his decree wouldn’t be obediently followed by everyone in his backyard. 

Eddie smirks, fishing in the pocket of his jean vest for his cigarettes. He taps one out, and holds it out–ever the consummate servant–to Harrington, who curls his lips up in disgust and takes a step back away from him. Eddie shrugs, stuffs the pack back into his pocket and fishes his lighter out of his jeans. 

“Munson?” Harrington asks, squinting like he’s never seen Eddie before, despite living in the same janky town, and going to the same schools for the past five years. “Who invited you?”

Eddie takes his time lighting his cigarette and taking a drag, marveling as the little divot between Harrington’s eyebrows grows deeper with every passing second. He holds the smoke in, feeling it settle his nerves as he stares daringly into Harrington’s eyes. He doesn’t look away as he exhales, smoke blowing into Harringotn’s face. He doesn’t cough, just gestures his hand in front of his face impatiently to clear the smoke, looking one more insolent move away from smacking Eddie in the face.

“Someone has to sell party favors to Hawkins’ elite,” Eddie replies, shaking the lunchbox where it’s resting just below his hip. 

Steve scoffs. “Well, the party’s just about over so why don’t you fuck off, man.”

He gestures behind him to the open gate. Eddie takes another drag, ashing his cigarette on the pristine concrete below him. Harrington balls up his fists before immediately releasing the tension with a wince, shaking out his injured hand.

“Looks like it’s in full swing to me.” Eddie gestures to the sliding glass door back into the dining room. The curtains are closed now, but Eddie can see the darkened silhouettes moving to the beat still pumping through the house.

“I’m kicking them out.”

Harrington crosses his arms, seemingly once again forgetting about the bloody state of his hand. He’s almost pouting now. Eddie has the insane urge to boop him on the nose. He takes another drag.

“Upset your little girlfriend wouldn’t put out?” he asks, jutting his bottom lip out, trailing a fake tear down his own cheek with his free hand. “Poor little rich boy.”

“What the fuck is your problem, man?” 

“Me?” Eddie asks, dropping the burning filter of his cigarette to the ground and using the heel of his boot to smear it into the pavement. “I’m dandy. Who wouldn’t want the undivided attention of the King?”

He smiles then, condescending and bright, planting his feet as Harrington’s gaze darkens further.

“I always knew you were a freak,” Harrington snarls, drawing out the F sound like he’d rather use a different word that begins with the letter F.

“And a startling comeback from the King!” Eddie calls, showboating like he’s DMing for Hellfire in the dingy drama room. “How many F words did your Daddy teach you?”

Eddie didn’t realize that Harrington wasn’t angry before until all the light leaves his eyes. They go blank, soulless, like there’s no real person behind them. He uncrosses his arms, fists once again clenched, not even seeming to realize that it further splits his knuckles as he takes a threatening step forward. It’s a little scary, the way one question seems to have flipped him into an entirely different person.

Note to self, do not mention the absentee Father. Eddie takes a step back on reflex as Harrington uses his bloody finger to jab into his chest, hard enough to sting. Eddie looks down as blood smears, idly grateful that he’s wearing black. 

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Harrington spits.

Eddie, having never learned to bite his tongue, opens his mouth to crow about this new F word in Harrington’s repertoire, when he hears a sound behind him. 

It sounds almost like the foxes that sometimes chitter in the woods surrounding the trailer park. But there’s something wrong with it. It’s high pitched and cutting in and out, like a record skipping again and again. It’s staticy, reverberating behind him like the static of the television between channels but worse. A recording of television static sped up too fast and fed through three long distance phone calls. 

Eddie’s hands tremble, something animalistic coursing through him at the sound–fight or flight kicking in with only one option left. In front of him, Harrington’s gone quiet, eyes wide and unblinking as he looks fixedly past Eddie’s left shoulder. 

Then, abruptly, the sound cuts out, replaced with a guttural growling so deep he can feel it pulsing through his muscles, urging him to run. It unsticks his feet, but before he can dart through the open gate, or maybe to the shut sliding glass door to hunker down with the other party-goers, Harrington shoves him backward. Hard.

He loses his feet, loses his breath, until he’s choking on chlorinated water. He comes out of the water spluttering, coughing up water until it burns, his layers of clothing doing their best to drag him down into the bottom of the pool to drown. 

His eyes are closed against their stinging, ears clogged with water where he’s struggling to tread in the deep end of Harrington’s stupid heated pool that the King himself just shoved him in.

It’s a low enough moment that Eddie can feel his mind covering up the impossibilities of the night, paving over the impossibilities to rewrite the story to make sense: King Steve saw him, set up some speakers to spook him, and then shoved him in the pool. Nothing unexpected there.

But then Eddie opens his eyes. 

Harrington’s on the ground. Harrington’s on the ground fighting against the grip around his wrist, pulling him toward the water Eddie’s struggling to stay afloat in. 

It’s not a person dragging him, not a practical joker wearing a suit. It can’t be. The thing is standing upright, sure, but it’s too tall, too thin, too featureless. Its forearms are uncannily long, fingers twisting and look as if they have too many joints facing the wrong directions where they curl around Harrington’s wrist, claws sharp enough to make him bleed. Its ribs are showing. And there’s no face at all, just creased flesh puckered together where a mouth ought to be.

At least, that’s what Eddie thinks until Harrington struggles harder, fingers of his free hand digging into the crack in the pavement, momentarily stalling their forward momentum. Then, the seams where its head connects open, like a flower toward the sun, if each petal was fleshy and covered in dozens of sharp looking teeth. And it screeches, ear-splitting and horrible, as if reprimanding Harrington for not laying imobile like a good little live meal.

It tosses Harington into the pool. He hits with a splash, immediately flailing out, smacking Eddie on the side of his face. Eddie reaches out on instinct to pull the guy toward him, trying to keep the both of them above the water line while Harrington reorients himself. 

It shouldn’t have taken long. Harrington is the captain of the swim team. He should have been able to kick his feet under him and been off to the other end of the pool within seconds. 

It wasn’t fast enough.

Eddie doesn’t even see it move, it’s so fast. He’s holding onto Harrington, arm slung around the other guy’s waist, clutching tightly at the front of his sweater. Then, Harrington’s being pulled forcefully to the bottom of the pool, Eddie along with him. 

All of his orifices are burning from the chlorine–throat, nose, eyes, ears. He feels blind, deaf, lost, anchorless, except for the feel of Harrington’s skin beneath his hand, so he clutches, hooks his hand through the guy’s belt to keep his hold.

There’s a sensation, like meat parting around him. Then he’s breathing, sucking in oxygen, eyes still closed, head spinning. Harrington’s ribs are rising and falling rapidly. It lasts only a moment, the pair of them breathing and touching and panicking in tandem.

Until there’s that sound. Foxes chittering strangely, but it’s echoing now, weirdly like they’re in a cave forty feet underground. 

Eddie opens his eyes. The sky looks wrong–darker than it should be, and it almost looks like it’s snowing. One of the flakes hits Eddie in the cheek and he rubs at the spot, feeling it flake apart and smear across his face. Not snow. Dust? Ash?

They’re in some sort of pit made of concrete, cracked under the force of the sickly vines crawling across its surface. It’s deep enough that Eddie’s not sure how they’re going to get out. 

It’s not until he sees the ladder at the edge of the hole that he realizes where they are: impossibly, in the bottom of Harrington’s pool, somehow drained of water and decayed and made wrong, in a matter of seconds. 

The chittering turns to a growl. Harrington jumps up. Eddie’s hand, where it’s still tucked into his belt, jerks violently up with him, pinky getting stuck between belt and pants as he hastily tries to extract it. Harrington darts away, and Eddie’s pinky pops. It’s barely audible beyond the growling, but he feels it as a release of pressure and then sharp pain.

Eddie looks down at his now free hand. There’s chaffing on his palms, and his pinky sits at an awkward angle, already swelling around the knuckle where it connects to his hand. 

Nausea rolls through him–shock, maybe–at the sight. More than the pain, it looks like another wrong thing in a long line of wrongness that makes up his night, this time, attached to his own body. He heaves, water spilling out of his mouth, burning with chlorine as Eddie forces his eyes away from his hand.

Harrington’s across the pool, holding some sort of pole with a torn net at one end, thrusting it into the creature’s mouth, farther and farther. But the metal’s warping, almost decaying under the saliva in the thing's face, pole becoming shorter and shorter until It’s almost upon Harrington.

Without thought, Eddie jumps to his feet, stumbling behind the thing and bashing his lunchbox into its head. 

It’s probably the surprise of the hit that makes the thing stumble. Harrington wastes no time, jabbing the rest of his pole, fast and deep into its maw. It wails, the strike fast enough to get through whatever was melting the metal, piercing something deep inside the thing.

Eddie’s not stupid enough to think it’ll stay down. He skirts around the thing, latching onto Harrington’s wrist and pulling him along in his wake. He doesn’t hear the pole clatter to the cement of the bottom of the pool, hoping that means they have a little more time, doesn’t dare turn around to look as Eddie drops Harrington’s wrist to climb, hand over aching hand, up the ladder and out of the pool. 

Nothing looks better once he’s topside. The sky is still wrong, filled with ash and discolored light. There’s vines up here, too. And it’s quiet, so quiet he can hear every sound Harrington makes as he scrambles up the ladder behind him. 

Eddie doesn’t wait for him. He runs, fast as he can to the sliding door to the house, wrenching it open and falling past the curtain into the house. He hopes, hysterically, that no one sees him making such a fool of himself, hopes somewhere deeper that someone does and will put themselves between his fleshy body and whatever comes through the door behind him.

But no one’s there. Harrington’s kitchen is dark, the living room past it dark as well, a disturbing red glowing faintly through closed curtains like he’s landing himself in a scene straight from Evil Dead. There’s no shadows of partygoers moving, no top forty, no drunk teenagers to spill beer on his shoes.

He stands, frozen, something horrific building in his throat, like a scream or a sob as he stares, unmoving, curtains moving against the small of his back until something slams through them, pushing him to the cold linoleum. 

He pictures teeth, swears he hears a growl, but when he twists wildly from his prone position to scoot backwards on his ass, arms preemptively raised, he sees Harrington sliding the door closed and clicking the shitty plastic lock into place. 

It's hilarious, like the thing they’d both seen back there would be stopped by a little piece of plastic, or doors, or the safety of his house. Eddie bites back a laugh that’s fighting its way up his throat like chlorine, burning and not where it’s supposed to be.

Harrington’s back is shaking with the force of his pants as he yanks the curtains closed. He pivots, face devoid of anything as he bends down and yanks Eddie up by his wrist hard enough to sting.

“Harrington, the people–” he starts, but his wrist is yanked harder as he’s led up carpeted stairs and into a bedroom.

Eddie gets only a sense of plaid and emptiness before he’s being shoved into a closet, Harrington stumbling in behind him and closing the doors quietly and squatting down next to where Eddie had fallen. The outside of their thighs are pressed together. Something hysterical bubbles up his throat again at the irony of the moment. He bites his lip against it.

Harrington’s feet are beneath him, ready to jump and fight anything that might follow them up here. Eddie can’t seem to get his ass on the floor, the lethargy of shock making him complacent, the knowledge that he’d never stand a chance if that thing makes it into the house making the effort of vigilance not seem worth it.

Harrington looks fierce, like he really is in a scary movie, an action hero, the final girl, the one who’ll get to the end of the movie by any means necessary. But Eddie can feel his body shaking where their legs are pressed together. Eddie gets the insane urge to hold his hand.

It feels like hours pass like this, Harrington at the ready, Eddie succumbing to his sleepy shock, before Harrington slowly lowers himself to sit on the ground beside Eddie, knee overlapping his as he sits crisscross, still looking at the door.

“Harrington, what–” 

“I don’t know, Munson.” His voice is a sharp whisper, biting in its carelessness. He doesn’t even look away from the closet door.

“Your house is just empty, man.”

That gets him a scoff and a loosening roll of his shoulders as Harrington finally turns his head to the side and meets his eyes. Eddie tries not to notice the way it slides his thigh more firmly atop his own.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Harrington demands, and for a moment, Eddie’s afraid he somehow heard his thoughts, another in a long line of indignities in this new world they’ve found themselves in, but he continues, “–the people? Not the flower monster that tried to eat us, or the red sky, or the shitty vines all over my house?”

“People means help! Who’s going to help us now?” Eddie demands, voice rising higher than it should. He swings his hand wildly, less of a gesture and more of a limb seizing with panic until it hits the closet’s wall with a hollow thwack, sending a bolt of pain from his pinkie finger down his wrist. 

Harrington turns violently, almost climbing in Eddie’s lap in his bid to both cover his mouth and wrench his hand away from the wall and clutch it tightly in the space between their chests. Eddie bites his own lip at the pain of the squeeze. It’s dark, but he can see the way Harrington’s eyes are widened with fear, the whites too visible.

“Shut up,” he hisses, hand squeezing a little tighter around his cheeks. 

They sit in the silence of the moment, staring at each other, ears straining for the sound of anything coming for them.

All is silent. Harrington’s hands ease away and he slowly shuffles out of Eddie’s space. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, almost reflexive. 

Steve doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t turn away either. They’re still both staring at each other. Eddie’s too tense to feel awkward about it.

He sits in the silence. He’s never been good at it—the quiet. It eats at him, picks away at his skin until he’s back in a run-down apartment with a Father in jail and Mom gone from the room even as she rots away on the couch. The silence eats and eats and eats, until he can almost smell the mildew of the always-closed windows, can feel the springs of his old mattress digging uncomfortably into his back.

The springs prod him, and he blinks into the closet, Harrington’s finger jabbing into his side.

“Don’t crack on me now, Munson.” He’s not smiling.

“Aww,” he replies, trying to make his tone its usual cloying flirtation, “didn’t think you cared, your highness.”

He twists his mouth up at the side. It doesn’t quite land on a smirk—he can feel the way it wobbles. If Harrington notices, he doesn’t call him on it.

With a roll of his eyes, Harrington responds, “like you said, no people means no help, means you’re all I’ve got.”

“Don’t sound too happy about it,” Eddie mutters, but the house is too quiet and they’re sitting too close together.

Harrington scoffs, but he leans back further, settling fully on his ass for the first time since he’d dragged Eddie into the closet with him, like all he needs to feel at ease is Eddie being a dick to him. He’s not sure whether or not that’s infuriating or charming, but the knot in his throat that feels suspiciously like tears breaks loose when Harrington leans back on the heels of his hands.

There’s something to the ease of Harrington in this moment that makes Eddie wonder if he’s ever actually seen him at ease before. When Eddie had watched him across the lunch room, eyes unwillingly drawn to the jocks table, his shoulders were always relaxed, mouth always turn up at the corners, but there was still something so stiff about him. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen him lean back like this.

It's almost like, without eyes on him—or with only Eddie’s—his body has gone ragamuffin. A marionette with all it’s strings cut. It’s like. Like—

It’s like hiding from a horrific Lovecraftian monster in the alternative dimension version of his own closet with Eddie Fucking Munson is the first time Steve Harrington has felt comfortable in his own skin. Either that, or Eddie’s spiraling.

“Stop staring at me, man,” Harrington says, draping a hand over his eyes to block out the nonexistent light.

It’s only then that Eddie realizes he has been staring. He snaps his gaze to the floor, running his fingers through the soft shag of Harrington’s fancy carpet. It’s things like this that got him marked as queer within weeks of moving here.

“What’re we gonna do, man?” Eddie asks, like a broken record.

Harrington sighs, drooping further into the carpet. “I vote we go to sleep and hope this was all a bad dream.”

And as if his word had been decreed, Harrington stretches out as much as he can in the confined space, using a pile of dirty clothes as a pillow, and closes his eyes. The side of his leg ended up pressed across the entire side of Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie stares, struck dumb by the audacity of Harrington checking out in a moment like this. When his silence gets no reaction, he slumps down, dragging his cheek into the soft carpet as Harrington slumbers beside him. It feels like hours until he falls asleep.

Part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #st fic #steddie upsidedown au #my fic

[palms-upturned]

YEAH AND ITS LIKE KIM IS THIS WISH FULFILLMENT FANTASY FOR SUICIDAL PEOPLE RIGHT, LIKE HE MEETS YOU AT THE EXACT MOMENT THAT YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO REBOOT YOUR WHOLE LIFE, HE DOESN’T KNOW YOUR PAST OR HAVE ANY PRIOR OPINION OF YOU, HE ONLY GETS TO KNOW THE VERSION OF HARRY THAT YOU’RE TRYING TO RESHAPE AS THE PLAYER. AND HE HOLDS YOU ACCOUNTABLE WITHOUT BEING JUDGMENTAL, AND HE’S KIND AND PATIENT AND EVEN GENUINELY LIKES YOU AND YOUR COMPANY! HE’S LIKE A PILLAR OF STRENGTH AND THE MOMENT YOU LAY EYES ON HIM YOU JUST KNOW THAT HE WOULD LITERALLY DIE TO PROTECT YOU. HE’S JUST SOMEONE WHO YOU FEEL SUPER SAFE WITH IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD, YOU KNOW? SO PART OF THAT HALO IMAGERY IS A REFLECTION OF THAT, LIKE YEAH HARRY HAS A HABIT OF IDEALIZING PEOPLE AND ITS BAD BUT ALSO KIM DOES REPRESENT AN IDEAL TO THE PLAYER. WHAT’S HOLY ABOUT HIM IS THAT IDEAL OF UNCONDITIONAL LOVE AND SUPPORT. AND ON TOP OF THAT KIM’S HALO HAS THAT SORT OF DOUBLE MEANING OF A SUNRISE. HARRY IS FIXATED ON THE IDEA OF A SUNSET AND HIS LIFE COMING TO AN END BUT KIM TURNS HIS ATTENTION TO THE SUNRISE INSTEAD. THATS WHAT THAT HALO BEHIND KIM REALLY IS. THE SOUND OF THE KINEEMA AND KIM’S ARRIVAL IN HIS LIFE IS WHAT WAKES HARRY FROM HIS BLACKOUT BUT THE INFERNAL ENGINE ISN’T THE KINEEMA, IT’S HARRY! WAKING UP EVERY DAY JUST TO DO IT ALL AGAIN! AGAIN! GETTING WORSE EVERY DAY BUT STILL HANGING ON IN THE HOPES OF SOMEDAY GETTING BETTER. SUNRISE PARABELLUM, TIME TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY. BUT HARRY DOESN’T HAVE TO FIGHT ALONE! IF YOU TREAT KIM RIGHT HE’LL STICK BY YOU. AND THAT’S THE ONLY WAY TO GET THROUGH IT, YOU KNOW? WITH SUPPORT. BUT THE PROBLEM IS THAT KIM IS STILL A COP, RIGHT? AND HE ONLY GIVES YOU THAT SUPPORT BECAUSE YOU’RE ALSO A COP. THE SAD TRUTH OF THE WHOLE GAME IS THAT THERE’S NO ENDING WHERE EITHER OF YOU STOP BEING COPS. YOU PROBABLY NEVER WILL. WHEN THE GUYS FROM THE UNSOLVEABLE CASE GET DRUNK AND CAUSE TROUBLE, THEY GET BRUTALIZED BY HARRY AND NOBODY CARES BECAUSE THEY WERE DRUNKS. WHEN HARRY GETS DRUNK AND BRUTALIZES CIVILIANS, HE GETS OFFERED A PROMOTION BECAUSE HE’S A COP. AND KIM ISN’T ABOVE ABUSING HIS POWER IN PETTY WAYS EITHER. THE TRUTH IS THAT IF YOU WEREN’T A COP HE WOULD TREAT YOU THE SAME AS ANY OTHER ADDICT ON THE STREET. HE WOULDN’T BE YOUR FRIEND. ISN’T THAT FUCKING SAD? THE BEAUTIFUL HOLY MIRACLE OF DISCO ELYSIUM THAT HARRY AND KIM COME SO CLOSE TO GLIMPSING IS JUST LOVE. GENUINE LOVE AND CARE FOR PEOPLE AROUND YOU AND LETTING IT MOVE YOU TO BE KIND IN MATERIAL WAYS. THAT’S WHAT KEEPS THE INFERNAL ENGINE GOING. THAT’S WHAT SHIVERS MEANS WHEN IT SAYS “I LOVE YOU.” THE CITY LOVES YOU BECAUSE COMMUNITIES ARE NOTHING WITHOUT LOVE. AND ALL OF THIS IS COMPLETELY ANTITHETICAL TO THE POLICE STATE. THATS WHY YOU GET A GLIMPSE OF IT IN MARTINAISE, A TOWN ABANDONED BY THE POLICE. EVERYONE THERE KNOWS WHAT IT MEANS TO BE POWERLESS. EVERYWHERE THEY LOOK THEY SEE THE SCARS OF BOMBINGS AND FAILED ATTEMPTS TO GENTRIFY THEM. HELL, EVEN THE PALE IS CREEPING INTO THE CITY. BUT THE PEOPLE KEEP GOING. YOU KEEP GOING. AND YOU ALMOST REALIZE WHY. BUT YOU NEVER QUITE GET THERE BECAUSE A COP WILL ALWAYS BE A COP FIRST AND A HUMAN SECOND, INCLUDING KIM. HE’LL KEEP DRESSING LIKE A REVOLUTIONARY AND THERE WILL PROBABLY ALWAYS BE THAT LITTLE SEED OF SHAME IN HIM BECAUSE HE KNOWS HE’S LYING TO HIMSELF BUT HE’LL NEVER DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT BECAUSE HE’S RESIGNED HIMSELF TO BEING UNABLE TO CONCEPTUALIZE A FUTURE BEYOND THE FAILURES OF THE PAST OR THE PRESENT STATUS QUO. BUT THE TRUTH IS THAT THERE IS NO FUTURE FOR A POLICE STATE. AND HE KNOWS IT BUT HE WON’T FACE IT ANY MORE THAN HE’LL FACE THE DIFFERENCES IN HOW HE TREATS YOU VS CUNO OR THE KIDS ON THE ICE. HARRY IS THE ONLY ONE WHO WOULD EVER BE ABLE TO SEE KIM AS A SAINT BECAUSE HE’S A COP. AND IN THE END YOU AND KIM LEAVE THE REALITIES OF MARTINAISE BEHIND THE SAME WAY THAT DORA LEAVES THE REALITIES OF DISABILITY AND POVERTY BEHIND WHEN SHE LEAVES HARRY. THE LOVE WAS ALWAYS CONDITIONAL AND ALWAYS WILL BE IF THEY CAN’T STOP BEING COPS. ANYWAY HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF TEHO TEARDO AND BLIXA BARGELD—

Image description: two people at a party or concert of some kind. One person is leaning into the other’s ear and shouting with an arm around their shoulder, the other is standing stiffly and looks exasperated. End description

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #all caps #SORRY. I SWEAR IM DONE NOW. #MARTINAISE i meant they leave the realities of martinaise behind not revachol. but i mean. that too in a way

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

Chapter 5 [IKYLHT]

~2.4k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter

-

“Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark…”

“-I still don’t think that was the best they could’ve come up with.”

“Shh, Johnny, I’m trying to hear them.” You mumble with a light slap to the man’s thigh, nodding over to Price and Laswell as they clink glasses.

Simon chuckles from the other side of you as you peer around Soap’s form in an attempt to convince Gaz to relay the conversation word for word. He doesn’t, and part of you regrets not swapping seats with the man beforehand.

Not that you would’ve been able to, what with Simon and Johnny essentially herding you into the bar stool between them. 

Sheepdogs, I swear. 

“Y’know, I think you owe me, Bun.”

Johnny’s voice has a playful edge to it, something you so desperately need after the torture endured in that building. 

Bloody hands trying to find grip on the cables- anything that’d soften your fall down the elevator shaft and allow you to follow him into that half constructed floor full of soldiers and Hassan. 

Bloody hands that found themselves back on their original place, wrapping gauze around Price’s shoulder and pestering Gaz for updates every other minute.

He didn’t have any. You’d opted to try yourself. 

“Soap, please.” 

You can’t help the desperation in your tone. 

He hasn’t answered comms in four minutes. 

Something is wrong. 

“What is your status? Click the transmitter. Something. Anything. Please, Johnny.”

You hear nothing but the soft Chicago wind in return, shaking hand reaching for comms once more.

“Ghost, do you have a visual?”

It takes him a moment to answer, and you can just barely hear his boots ascending the stairwell in steps of two.

“Negative. Adjusting position now.”

You hate it. 

Hate that your view of Ghost is completely blocked from this floor, hate that Johnny isn’t responding to comms, hate that he’s in there alone.

Had this scene not already played out? Had Johnny not already been forced to fend for himself with shivs and rat traps in the streets of Las Almas? 

Why couldn’t they get someone in there with him? Where are the Marines? Where is Gaz? Where is Johnny?

I should’ve been there.

I was there. It still didn’t matter. 

I still couldn’t save him. 

“Fuck this.” You mumble, shuffling back onto your feet, eyes already scanning for the emergency staircase. 

I’ll scale the building myself.

Your gun is gone, lost somewhere to the explosion and subsequent shootout. You slide your hand over a spare knife resting on your hip. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

“Price, I’m movi-”

“Ghost…” Soap’s voice carries through your earpiece and renders your legs damn near immovable. 

You don’t notice the way your knife slices open the top layer of skin on your palm, instinctually bolting up and towards the stairs as you hear Ghost reply.

Going down two, three, four at a time- shoulder slamming into the wall as you turn each corner and stumble down the staircase- you’re still unable to see any of what’s happening- eyes unblinking and ears straining to hear Johnny’s next words.

“Watch the window-“

“-Bun, c’mon. I remember hearin’ you make a bet with Simon.”

Blinking, you find yourself back in the bar.

Right. That’s right. It’s over. 

It’s all over.

Nodding, more to yourself than to him, you scan the bar and blink the image of it back into the front of your brain. 

You don’t miss the way Simon watches the entire thing. 

You let a semi-genuine smile grace your lips and nudge him back. 

“Which you were not a part of, Sargeant. Direct orders from the captain, in case you forgot. Plus, Si didn’t even agree to put any money on it. No point in betting if there isn’t a cash incentive.”

Glancing around him again, you’re just able to meet Gaz’s eyes as he finally divulges you by mouthing a single word before he’s turning back to Price.

Russians.

“I just think-”

“-Johnny.”

Your tone is what gets him to look up, to pop the bubble he’d created just for you, Simon, and himself. To raise his guard and compartmentalize like he always does. 

You can’t blame the man for wanting normalcy for just a little longer. The chance to sit in a dimly lit pub with his partners, nursing a drink and laughing at how awful the men across the bar are at playing pool.

He doesn’t want another assignment. Not now. Not after all they’d been through. He needed a break, desperately, and he needed to get his mind off of work before it consumed him completely. 

But you can’t. You just can’t slip into that headspace right now. You can’t let your guard down. 

Maybe it was the mission, maybe it was the close-calls, but this inability to just think straight is one you’d only experienced once before. 

You can’t remember when they start- the flashbacks, the shifting from present reality to memory. You only remember the looks of your comrades as they steer you back to the current moment.

Price’s voice cuts into the space, deep and low.

“He’s not new.”

He slides the picture over to Gaz, Soap bracing a hand over your leg as it bounces repeatedly.

You’re nervous.

You can’t tell why. 

You force yourself to stop, to allow Gaz to study the photo without interruption. You hear him shift, pass the photo over to Soap who holds it up for the two of you.

He nods once, reaching past you to hand it to Ghost.

Shaking your head, you whisper to both men beside you.

“I don’t recognize him.”

Their eyes meet past your shoulder, an unspoken conversation.

“Guys?” You whisper again, eyes darting between the pair. 

Still no answer, you look between Price and Kate, the latter looking just as confused as you did.

“Who is he?”

You feel Johnny’s grip on your thigh tighten, hear Simon’s deep inhale as Price turns to answer Kate.

“Makarov.”

-

“Well, this is me. You can just… knock, I guess. If you need anything, I mean.”

The door clicks behind Simon as you shift to stand awkwardly in the corner of your small accommodation. 

His eyes shift over your room, the tiny storage shelf topped with boxes and folders of paperwork you’d need to drop off before the night’s end.

It’s hardly decorated past the beige curtains and yellow lighting that adorned each private room in the barracks. 

You distantly wonder if Simon’s room is any nicer. Probably not, since it’s just a temporary until the flight home.

Better than a motel. 

He nods once, lets out a little hum of acknowledgment before locking eyes with yours.

“You okay, Tapeti?”

“Me? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just need a nap, I think. Maybe some real sleep once the paperwork is done.”

He hums again. 

“Okay. Not what I meant though, love.”

You give a sheepish semi-shrug, a half answer he lets slide with a small sigh. 

“Alright then. Gonna go check on Johnny. You comin’?”

You want to, to go and kick your feet up on Johnny’s lap while he doom-scrolls through social media, but your eyes fall back on the box of papers.

“Oh, uh. No, that’s alright. I’ll swing by later. Really gotta desk-jockey it tonight. Text me if he needs anything?”

“Of course, darling.” He says softly, kissing the top of your head through the mask before sparing you one last glance and slipping out the door.

You sigh out, shuffling over to the storage shelf and grabbing the box before plopping onto the chair with a huff. 

Casualty Report 

Contact Report

Frequency Interference Report

Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Report

Report

Report

Report

Digging your palms into your eyes, you groan out.

It's been hours, according to both the clock and the ache in your lower back.

“They offered me retirement, why the hell didn’t I take retirement?” Exhaling a deep breath, you whisper to yourself as you neatly pile the paperwork. “I love my job, I love my job, I love my job."

Sliding it off the desk and into the crook of your arm, you make your way through the foreign base, dropping off the paperwork to some higher-up's secretary with a content smile.

Not my problem anymore.

A little more pep in your step, you start making your way back to the barracks, giving Johnny’s door a light knock.

There’s no answer.

You knock again.

Still no answer.

With a small roll of the eyes, you dig for the spare key he slipped into your pocket with a wink, unlocking the door.

You crack it open, knock again and whisper as it quietly creaks.

“I swear Johnny, you’re such a liar- ‘oh I never fall asleep first’. I could practically hear you snoring through the- oh.”

His silhouette is dim but unmistakable. His snores are soft, as they usually are. 

So are Simon’s. 

You turn your head, scan the empty hall once more before really taking in the sight before you.

They’re cute. Snuggled up, cozy under the blanket Johnny will soon kick off, Simon’s head resting over his heart.

It’d be a lot sweeter of a moment if, well… if there was any space for you.

They really are cute together and you know it shouldn’t bother you, but, that was your spot. 

It’d always been that way.

Johnny on his back, you on his left side. 

Closing the door with a soft click, you lock the deadbolt as quiet as you can before making the trek back to your room.

It’s dark, curtains blocking any pale moonlight and the room is still just as fucking beige as before only now it’s a problem. 

The bed is too cold. Too big, too empty, too overwhelming without his body splayed over half of it. 

You don’t bother changing into anything comfier, kicking your boots towards the door and burrowing under the covers.

You look to the pillow on your right.

You shut your eyes.

It’ll be better in the morning.

-

Your descent down the stairwell is rushed, boots clipping the safety grips multiple times and hands flailing to grab the railing beside you.

You find a rifle on the way down, still slightly sticky with the blood of the masked soldier it belonged to. 

You could never be too sure.

It clatters against your tac vest uncomfortably, hitting the back of your legs and threatening to launch you down the stairs completely.

You don’t bare it much mind though, hopping off the last few steps and throwing yourself against the heavy metal door with a grunt.

Side stepping and nearly knocking over the surrounding Chicago police, you weave your way through EMT’s and rescued hostages before your path is abruptly cut short by a dark mass with outstretched arms.

“Slow down, Tapeti, he’s making his way out.”

You allow yourself to remain in the man’s arms but don’t halt your hurried steps.

“Then we can meet him in the stairwell, Simon.” You huff out, only partially regretting the way your words tinge with aggression.

He unhooks the back of the strap, grabbing the rifle with one hand and letting it clatter against the sidewalk, not once breaking stride or faltering in pace. 

You get one hand on the doorknob of the side entrance, readying yourself to slam bone against metal once more.  

You don’t get the chance to though, head on a swivel when you hear a nearby glass door shatter in on itself.

And finally, you see Johnny, tired face holding back a pained smile as he holds the door handle in midair.

“Rabbit-“

“-Johnny.”

You waste no time rushing to him, the impact of your body colliding with his almost knocking you both to the ground. 

You feel his shadow guarding the pair of you from onlookers, offering about ten seconds of privacy before Simon is damn near scruffing the back of your neck as he pulls the pair of you into his chest. 

“Jesus Christ, Johnny. Don’t ever do that again.” You mumble into Simon’s shirt, pawing at Johnny’s tac vest and trying to find a patch of skin that isn’t covered by work.

It’s a difficult task, what with Ghost barely allowing you ample space to expand your ribs as you breathe, but you manage to slip off a glove and warm Johnny’s hands yourself.

You feel him shift to lay his head on Simon’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist as he speaks quietly.

“You okay, Bun?”

“Are you okay, Johnny? We couldn’t get ahold of you, not a single thing through comms, not even static.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Johnny?”

You move to pat his hand but it isn’t there.

“John?”

You look up but he’s gone entirely.

You spin around, cover your arms over your thin shirt no longer protected by two sets of arms.

“Ghost?”

You spin again but you’re entirely alone on the street.

The cops’ red and blue lights still flash, doors wide open.

The back ambulance doors reveal the inside, the space that held the empty gurney that now sits mere feet away from you.

“Simon?”

The wind howls but doesn’t shake the trees.

“Gaz?”

Your ears ring above the silence.

“Price?”

You feel the hairs on your arms stand.

“Santiago?”

You hear a knock.

“Bunny? You in there, hen?”

Shifting your arms, you feel the stickiness of the sheets beneath you.

He knocks again.

Scrambling out of bed, you kick your shoes out of the way of the door and open it hastily.

“Good mornin’, sunshine. We were knockin’ quite a while. Must’ve been pretty knocked out.”

Your shoulders loosen seeing his smile, no longer feeling the urge to curl in on yourself.

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess so. Had kind of a weird dream.”

You feel Simon’s eyes on you, send him a smile as Johnny brushes past you and into the room.

“Anything in particular?”

You turn back to Simon, motion for him to make his way out of the doorway and into the room as you answer his question.

“Not really, mostly just replaying yesterday. Just cataloging, you know the drill.”

Well, except for the part where everyone vanished and left me stranded in the middle of Chicago searching for Santiago.

Guess I was calling out for two ghosts.

“Eh, as long as it wasn’t the weird armadillo one again. God knows what that one’s about. Anyways, you showering before brek, Bun? You stink.” Johnny smooths the duvet over the damp sheets, laying down with a groan and stretching his side.

“Yeah, I’ll make it a quick one. You waiting here?”

You don’t miss the way it comes out, the tinge of vulnerability towards the end of your words.

Neither does Simon.

Johnny lets out a hum, arms above his head and moving to stretch out his other side.

Simon steps forward, untucks the string of your hoodie.

“Shower, Tapeti.”

He sits on the edge of the bed.

“We’ll be here.”

-

<3

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[ronearoundblindly]

Sneak Peek 💜💚💜

frat boy! Ari Levinson x college student!Reader

At a party with your boyfriend when things aren't going well between you, your old classmate--the notorious jock and man-whore, Ari--catches you in a weak moment...

Warnings for drinking/partying but not much else in this bit. (That might be a terrible summary for this excerpt but I made there too much going on to explain succinctly. My bad.) WC 720

The compulsion to be kind and quiet continues as you follow him out, tucking your hands under your arms so Billy won’t try to hold your hand, but it doesn’t matter. He walks ahead of you a few feet to keep up with his friends on the walk down the road to the Kappa house.

The two-story, plantation-style home is packed to the gills, making it hard to maneuver farther in than the front door, and of course, the first person you recognize is a brother of the fraternity living there.

Ari Levinson stands halfway up the staircase overlooking the crowd like a king surveying his domain, hair grown long and a beard worthy of his fifth-year undergrad status. He’s wearing a button-up linen shirt as if he just walked in from the beach, perpetually sun-kissed skin glowing, the carefree blue fabric matching his eyes.

Asshole.

He probably showed up to his own damn house, cocked his head, and smirked.

“Y’all having a party?” he probably asked, chill as fuck.

Idiot…probably. You don’t know what happened to him after Women’s Studies two years ago, but you can’t imagine he got better. Nothing changes.

His queen-for-the-day leans into his ear, her top half covered only by a red bandana and not much below that hidden by a miniskirt.

What sluts. Both of them. They deserve each other.

He’s so sexy though.

His smile is bright while he doesn’t spill the contents of his red Solo cup on anyone below him on the stairs. Seems his drunk coordination has improved since your freshman year at the very least.

“Babe,” you hear yelled close to your ear, “take it!”

Billy shoves one of two cups he’s carrying into your hands and shouts for you to follow him. He wants to play beer pong in one of back rooms downstairs with no room to stand and watch. There are no chairs, but Billy asks if want to play with him. In no reality would he think you’d answer ‘yes’ in this chaos, but then again, he hasn’t noticed you won’t take a sip of the drink you didn’t see poured either.

You yell back that you’re going to find a seat somewhere. Billy gets pulled off for the next partnered game.

The only open spot that isn’t a squeeze beside couples going at it in public is a bench underneath the cutout of the staircase. You took a detour to dump your cup in crowded kitchen’s sink and sit alone for a while, people-watching, wondering vaguely about the king and queen above you on the steps.

Parties…are not all that fun when you don’t feel safe.

You’re not sure how much time passes before a light blue linen shirt invades your view.

“Thirsty?” Ari asks casually, offering the only cup he carries.

You wave it off with a ‘no, thank you’ even though that should be sketchier than your boyfriend getting you a drink.

Ari takes a huge gulp and shuffles his broad body onto the too-short edge of the bench beside you. He seems careful not to touch you or invade your space, the barest graze of a short-sleeve cuff brushing the skin of your upper arm.

Again, Ari tilts the cup toward you. “Jack and coke,” he shrugs, lifting his eyebrows, “mostly coke though. I’ve been here a while. You’re basically late.”

He wouldn’t drug himself with anything, you imagine, and worst case, Ari’s already much drunker than you.

You pluck the half-full Solo from his hand and take a small sip. He’s right about one thing; you can’t smell or taste any alcohol.

Ari smiles softly.

“Where’s what’s-his-face?” He scans the hall. “Probably getting you something better, huh?”

You can’t help but frown and sigh as Ari takes another swig of soda, his pink lips nearly hidden beneath the hair of his beard, but you remember they are quite plump.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you throw back, and keep your guess silent. Perhaps knuckle deep in the toilet?

Ari contemplates for a moment. “Flying with the pigs,” he settles on.

“What?”

He repeats himself, and then, seeing your confusion, he leans closer to clarify, “she doesn’t exist. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Poor bandana girl. That’s a little harsh to be fobbed off so soon.

“So—”Ari elbows you gently “—how you been, smartie-pants?”

A/N: I cannot express to you the sheer amount of internal screaming I have done while writing this. He's...he's too...uhhhh my gawdddddd. He's too beautiful.

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro updates #ari levinson x reader #teaser #upcoming fic #sneak peak #frat boy!ari #fuckboi!ari #really belated valentine's fic #Ari April #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson one shot

[bossidiotart]

Part 2 of this. @endlesslogo tagging you in case you wanna read part 2 of the story inspired by your art

Donnie stared down at his chiming phone. A number he didn’t recognise lit up the top. After the third ring, he turned off his phone and pocketed it. If it’s anything truly important, the caller could just leave a message. He turned back to his project and continued soldering.

The clock on his vambrace screen reads nearly 3am. He wonders if Leo had managed to go to sleep. He hasn’t come in to pester him all night long. Good. It’s always a good sign when Leo finally gets to sleep. Hopefully he’s getting a restful sleep and peaceful dreams.

Yet..something in the back of his mind is nagging at him.

The notification for a voicemail sounded in his pocket. Guess whoever was calling had something important to say. Likelihoods of what it could be played in his mind as he set down the solder and pulled out his phone again. He opened it and went into his voicemail. He tapped on the transcript.

Donnie. Donnie, please, come get me.

..huh?

I don’t know where I am or how I got here, but…

Donnie tapped the play button and put it on speaker. There was silence and some sort of static at first.

“Donnie.”

The soft shell’s blood ran cold. Leo? Donnie listened to the message that was transcribed, still as a statue. Leo sounded terrified. His voice shook and was hushed as though he were hiding from something.

“-or-or how I got here, but-“

A deep rumble that almost sounded like thunder emitted, pulling a gasp out of his brother. A pause that felt like an hour long stretched out. Then, a horrific scream. It chilled Donnie to the bone and made him want to hide deep inside a hole. Another scream joined in; Donnie realised with horror that it’s Leo screaming. A loud crash, and the voicemail cut out.

Ear-splitting silence settled. Donnie sat paralysed. He jolted and swiped at his vambrace. The trackers blipped on screen, and he immediately searched for Leo’s.

…wait, what?

His tracker is in his room. That’s not possible. Unless…

Donnie dashed out of his lab, leaping down stairs and hurdling over unpacked boxes. Leo’s room soon came into sight; he slid in front of the door and threw it open.

“Leo?!”

He quickly scanned the room. His eyes landed on the sleeping form of his twin. Confusion settled in his mind like sticky, melted marshmallow. What the fuck? Leo’s here? But the voicemail…

Annoyance bubbled. He stomped into Leo’s room.

“Nardo, if this is some kind of sick prank, I’m really not in the mood.” Donnie shook his allegedly sleeping brother. “Come on, dum-dum, I know you’re not actually asleep. What the hell was that voicemail?” He shook him harder. Annoyance built. “Nardo! Leo, wake up!” He still doesn’t stir. Donnie scoffed and pulled Leo onto his back. The slider’s eyes remain closed, his face slack. The elder pulled the younger’s eyelids apart. Donnie’s eyes widened. That’s…not normal.

The pupil in Leo’s eye had blown so wide he could hardly see the reddish iris. Donnie let go of the eyelids and opened the other eye. Same thing. This.. this cannot be good. He pulled out his phone, turned on the flashlight and shone it in Leo’s eye. It didn’t react. Oh, this is definitely not good. Donnie chewed on his lip as he tested Leo’s other eye, getting the same result. What to do, what to do.

Leo is alive, thankfully. He’ll have to check his vitals to be sure he’s truly alright, however. Donnie glanced at the time on his phone screen. Nearly 3:30am. Raph won’t be up for another 3 to 4 hours. Donnie took in a breath, cornered a resolve, and scooped Leo up from his bed. The soft shell trotted down to the med bay, his stomach twisting at how limp his brother is. He shouldered his way into the med bay and set Leo down on the bed. His heart pounded as he tested Leo’s vitals. With each one that passes, he feels a little better but at the same time worse.

Donnie slapped a wrist monitor on him and fell into a nearby chair. His vision zeroed in on the monitor until it was all he could see. Resting heart rate is normal. Rhythm is normal. He instinctively slipped his hand into his sweater pocket and pulled out his phone. He reopened the phone app; he stared at the number Leo called from. He tapped on it and brought it up to his ear.

“The number you have reached-“

It didn’t even ring.

Donnie hung up. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and stared hard at the wrist monitor. Leo’s stupid heart mockingly beat at its normal rhythm. Donnie’s pocket buzzed and burst out into song.

The soft shell yanked his phone out and stared at the unknown number on the screen. His heart pounded. His hands trembled. He hit the green button and held it to his ear.

“…hello?”

“Ohmigosh thank the spirits you picked up!” Leo’s unmistakable voice came through the speaker. “You got my voicemail, right??”

Donnie swallowed against the confusion and fear as he stared at his comatose twin in front of him.

“I did.”

“Great! So you guys are on your way, right?”

Donnie stared at his brother’s still form.

“Don? You guys are coming to get me, right?”

“Uh…”

“Donnie?” Panic edged Leo’s voice. Donnie took a breath.

“We…can’t find you.”

“…what?”

Donnie gnawed on the inside of his cheek.

“I mean, something’s up with your tracker. I can’t pinpoint your location.” Donnie’s leg bounced a hundred times a second. “Can you see any landmarks where you are?”

“Uhhhh.” Leo’s voice faded some as Donnie imagined him moving away from the phone to look. “Not really. It’s mostly trees, streetlights, and an empty road.”

“That’s not much to go off on...” Donnie muttered. His eyes flicked up, and his heart seized at the sight of his unconscious brother. Right, his actual brother is in front of him. But what about the one on the phone..?

He could try to trace the call, but what if it only points to the Leo in the med bed? Only one way to find out…

“Stay on the line, Leo, I’m going to try and trace this call.” Donnie pressed his phone between his head and shoulder as he typed on his vambrace.

“I ain’t going any-“ A distant rumbling sound cut him off. “Shit. On second thought, I gotta run. I’ll try to find another phone.” Click.

Donnie sat in silence. His fingers hovered over the vambrace screen. It blinked at him. His eyes stayed glued to the screen. His mind spun every which way in baffled attempts to explain. This…it’s not possible. He looked once more at his comatose brother. What have you gotten yourself into, Leo? On his vambrace, the screen continued blinking as a dot pinged over the med bay.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #leonardo #rise leo #rottmnt donnie #donatello #rise donnie #fanfic #my fanfiction

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Just curious - Have you played the new event, Stage in Playful Land, and what do you think about it? I think the concept is ridiculously hilarious: A suspicious fox man convinces half the cast (and even some of the smarter ones like Trey, Leona, and Vil) to skip school and go to an amusement park where they get kidnapped and sold off. And how is he not worried about the consequences??? I mean a lot of them are pretty famous/have high status, so I don't believe that Fellow can get away that easy.

In case you missed it, I gave my general thoughts on the event here. To summarize, interesting ideas but middle-of-the-road execution (especially in the middle part).

I did find it odd at first that Fellow doesn’t seem to recognize important and influential figures, but the more I read of the event story, the more it started to make sense. Right off the bat, the only one he knows is Vil. This is reasonable, as Vil’s face is plastered everywhere—TV, social media, etc.—and doesn’t require anything special to recognize.

Most of the others Fellow probably doesn’t know due to a lack of education or high status himself. How is he supposed to know Ortho’s the son of a secret blot research organization, that Lilia is a famous war general, or that the twins are from a (fan speculated) mob family? These require very specific insider knowledge. For Lilia, you’d need to crack open a magic history textbook—and even then, he may be wearing his general’s mask, which completely obscures his face.

Leona may be a prince and a lion beastman (which Fellow remarks are rare), but 1) Leona is not firstborn (and therefore isn’t the “face” of a country unlike his brother is) and 2) Leona isn’t highly involved in politics himself, so he may not be well-known outside of the the Sunset Savanna. This means it wouldn’t be all too far-fetched if Fellow didn’t clock him as a prince.

Kalim isn’t identified as being associated with the Asim family right away (which is fine; how many rich heirs’ faces do you know of off the top of your head??). However, Fellow does piece together through their interactions that Kalim’s family is extremely wealthy. He then tries to use that against Kalim and lure him into a false sense of security by offering an escape route at the cost of betraying his NRC friends.

Even if Fellow doesn’t automatically understand who he is dealing with, he still does assume they are significantly more privileged than he is just because they attend Night Raven College. He doesn’t have to know who they are specifically, because he already understands they have a foot up in life and are good marks regardless. There’s also a built-in reason for why he doesn’t fear whisking away such high-profile people: his sponsors.

Recall that Fellow is NOT working alone in this whole operation. He has stated that his boss and their associates are very wealthy, not to mention that Playful Land itself has terrifying magic that was constructed by high-level mages. Those connections will likely come in handy for covering up the disappearances, so Fellow, who does the grunt work of luring new “product” in will have their protection.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Fellow Honest #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #notes from the writing raven #question #Ferro Honest #Leona Kingscholar #Vil Schoenheit #Kalim Al-Asim #Ortho Shroud #Tweels #Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #Lilia Vanrouge

[chaoticace2005]

I’ve seen a lot of people talking about how the exorcists look like demons, and while I do understand where the complaint is coming from I also wanted to talk about how them looking like that kind of supports the narrative.

I’m going to start this off by staying this is from a perspective looking at the narrative presented to us in the Hellaverse, not any specific religion because 1) I am an atheist who doesn’t have the knowledge or background for making any calls on that and 2) the canon hasn’t confirmed this adheres to a specific belief system. There’s Adam and Eve and Hell and Heaven and yes, but this show arguably works as a parody of all of that.

Now that that’s established, I want to bring up one of the main points in the show: the idea that those in Heaven and Hell aren’t that different. In Helluva we’re shown the experiences of hell-born, and we even see cherubs later on who seem to fulfill the parallel role of them in Heaven (with the IMP vs CHERUB fight.) We also know that Lucifer was an angel in this canon. So some of the characters with the most authority in those domains are from the same stock.

The main difference seems to be punishment. Lucifer was punished for his actions and was given those who were deemed “Sinners.” The Hell born seem to be just natives living there and many seem to be products of their environment. So while Sinners may be “bad” and Winners “good”, all those born in Heaven or Hell have no reason for being there.

Whether exorcists are brought to heaven or made there, there is still that view of superiority. The way Lute talks makes it clear she’d be willing to kill the hellborn if she could, despite them not having done anything to be there like the Sinners. It’s similar to how some people born into high economic status view those born into lower. It’s just luck of the draw but now you have access to different opportunities and that influences the way you view others. Those born in Heaven probably look at those born in Hell and argue that if hellborn aren’t bad, then why does Hell suck? Ignoring the fact that Hell is established for the purpose of containing Sinners, who often end up being more powerful that the majority of hellborn.

Even some of the Sinners likely fall into that issue where people who gave to endure harsher environments may have to resort to more extreme measures to get by, and then punishment for it just causes them to need to do even more because their conditions worsened. As seen with the rate of people who keep returning to prison. With Hell some may have fallen down this path (think of Angel, who was born into a crime family, it’s likely a lot easier to fall into drug addiction then when you have access and more things you’d like to forget, but drug addiction can be a slippery slope and the other stuff he needed to do to survive basically condemned him.) Obviously not all Sinners fall into this category and are just monstrous pieces of shit, but they likely isn’t the case for everyone.

Then, once you get to Hell it’s essentially a larger prison, except you aren’t separated and are given powers, causing some of the more malicious individuals to rise up and acquire power, making it even more of a nightmare for everyone else. This continues that cycle of having to do certain things to survive. Similar to have in jail that fear of getting hurt by some violent people make you align yourself with slightly less violent people. Except now in Hell there’s that added issue: there’s no escape.

(Also, Hell is a prison but you STILL have to pay rent and work to survive, so you really get the added stress of both worlds.)

Anyway, this whole cycle causes a similar effect to the growing class disparity we see in many countries. Those on top (Heaven) continue to have power while those lower have to deal with most of the burden. Reinforcing that belief in exorcists that Heaven is “good” and Hell is “bad” because they are unable to see the full picture. They just see it as “they blew their shot” without thinking of why that may be or considering the people who didn’t even have a choice being there— like how some people blame others in poverty for being that way because “they are lazy.” That’s not even remotely the full picture. But because certain things come easy for you it’s hard to understand why it can’t come easy for others.

Exorcists are then given the excuse and opportunity to kill others, people who they believe are lesser than them. And some take genuine joy out of it, yet they continue to see themselves as the “good guys” because that’s what they are and the others “deserve it.” And this shows how when some people are given the opportunity and reason to be assholes they’ll take it- millionaires don’t HAVE to exploit their employees, but they view it as being to their benefit and helping the bottom line.

So now, both exorcists and those in hell have reason and excuse to be violent, albeit for very different reasons. Yet because of this exorcists are still “good” and those in hell are “bad.” And this is largely because of the lack of consequences for their actions. Heaven reinforces their behavior, before episode 8 there was no push back from Hell, so they could continue to use their reasoning as an excuse to kill others.

They’re blind and don’t see it though. They only see the world from one perspective, which is ironic given the exorcist mask is missing an eye. They can put masks on and hurt others and then take them off without dealing with the consequences. They “go down” to the level of the very people they despise and then write it all off, because they have the comfort of taking their masks off at the end. Of having a choice.

It’s also interesting how their masks don’t resemble sinners but Hellborn. Which almost reminds me of mocking another’s culture while actively hurting them. They may not be able to physically hurt hellborn, but they’re still viewed through the same lens as Sinners. They’re still “bad.” So exorcists can don caricatures of their appearances, go around “pretending” to be them by committing violent acts, and when they’re done they can take it off. As I’m writing this I’m now thinking about how in the past black-face has been used to reinforce racist stereotypes, making racist caricatures.

This also camouflage in a way, maybe they were previously asked to “fit in” before things got all crazy, and when told to look for “demon disguises” they all fall back onto the stereotype and dressed up like that.

The usage of exorcists wearing demon-looking masks could be them both “playing bad” while also clearly showing the fact that at the core people aren’t so different. For as much as they hate those in hell, they’re just as likely to fall into the same traps and patterns as them.

Having written this all now, I wanted to bring up Vaggie. Vaggie who took her exorcist mask off to show sympathy for someone only to be punished and marked with an “X” that mirrors her mask. Vaggie who previously was part of the “elite”, where she could forgo consequences until she couldn’t for not following them and was cast out, being permanently marked. Vaggie, who was previously allowed given the gift to “play bad” due to being in Heaven, but when she was cast out “playing bad” wasn’t an option anymore. Taking off her mask can’t get rid of mistakes anymore, and now she has to display them for the world to see.

I don’t know if the “X” was intentional on her part or irony, but if she did choose it it could also be her recognizing her role in the system. Her realizing she can’t go back and using the “X” to remind her of what she’s done. Because she doesn’t have the luxury of pretending she’s a good person anymore— she doesn’t want to forget.

#if anyone wants out more knowledge on social issues wants to add anything feel free #I’m just using what I know from sociology classes as well as other classes discussing social inequalities #long rant but I got thinking and then thinking and thinking #and I was taking a bath cause sick and this got longer and longer #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel meta #class disparity #inequality #exorcists hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #racism #social inequality #sociology #hazbin analysis #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin meta #hazbin theory

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

If it’s not too much of a bother could I request a Yan! Vincent, undertaker, Sebastian, Claude, (and maybe Joker) with a Neytiri! Reader from Avatar (2009) if you have not watched the first or second movie then you can decline this request if you wish.

Neytiri Reader | Yandere Black Butler

Well if being 3 meters tall wasn’t enough to make you an oddity it’d be the blue skin and carrying a respirator around. You’re either the attraction of some side circus show or living as an outcast struggling to grasp the English language and bizarre culture: 

Vincent Phantomhive 

“Oh, oh my–you’re a vision of beauty.”

He doesn’t fall immediately 

Its a matter of interest 

Of course, a blue sentient creature walking around is something The Queen most certainly has a problem with

And he most certainly can’t leave you to the whim of ill-fitted criminals

“How about you stay with me…you understand me, don’t you? I’ll give you a home.”

Eventually, fascination will turn into obsession as you continue to amaze him with every passing day

It kills him when he can no longer keep your existence a secret 

But he’s going to try his hardest

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you? Even if it means burning with me, right?”

Undertaker 

“My my! Never ‘ve i seen a bean like you before. It be a feat to fit you for a coffin!”

You’re his latest case study

Even when threatened by your makeshift arrows he laughs 

“My my! The rose has thorns!”

He does so enjoy seeing how you do things 

Your inclination to nature and just all the nuances unfamiliar to him

But he finds the most enjoyment when you begin to be pursued 

Either by avid mobs or determined showmen

He finds a newfound pleasure in eliminating them

“You all must be interested in coffins for yerselves. Its a shame I’m using all my wood for someone else.”

Sebastian Michaelis

“Well young Master, you’ve already invited a giant demon hound into your home I doubt whatever they are will be that much of a stretch.” 

Your anomaly status garners his interest as it does anyone 

But he relishes in the knowledge he has of you

Especially beyond your basic respiratory needs

Your habits, the English words you understand, your inclination to nature

“I for one quite enjoy their presence. They're almost better behaved than you, young Master.”

It just the cherry on top that you happen to attract the perfect dredge to defeat feast upon

“Come on then, we must be done by dinner.”

Claude Faustus

“Oh dear, must I care for another than your highness.”

It’ll be Alois’ interest rather than his own

Set to watch you learn the world as Alois presents it 

Not on his watch

“Here when you drink, hold it like this…saying this now I realize that you’re hands dwarf the silverware. My apologies.”

You become an outlet 

A blank slate he can enjoy be in the company of

When his plans are set in motion he’ll be sure to put you in a role he appreciates 

“Now all you have to is stand still and play your part. The one I want for you”

Joker

“...Don’t I know just the place for you!”

He’s thrilled to add you to his circus

Only realizing that you're not as animalistic when threatened

“H-hey! Don’t get cross with me, this is just a precaution!”

When you two find a rhythm he discovers his hatred

His hatred of others wonder

He wanted to be the only one to give you that

So as long as you’re still oblivious he’ll begin restricting you

Locking you away as soon as the curtains close

“Come now Sapphire, we need your rest. Most of all.”

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere joker #yandere sebastian #yandere sebastian michaelis x reader #yandere sebastian x reader #yandere sebastian michaelis #yandere undertaker #yandere adrian crevan #yandere vincent phantomhive #yandere vincent #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere claude faustus #yandere claude x reader

[currentfandomkick]

Plasticman vs Adoption Trials pt 1

Thanks for waiting, and more to be posted in the future when i have time to work out a proper battle.

Start here

Previous here

Next (not up yet)

Plasticman took a deep breath as the… ghost guardians (gaurdian goons?) of his son moved about somehow less organized than a JL and affiliated allies barbecue.

“As the leader—” the blue armed woman began.

“Only due to a technicality,” Clockwork interrupted. “We all know I’m his favorite.”

Plasticman was just glad his son was safely not present to be pressured into answering that loaded question.

“We have been over this,” Nocturne groaned, rubbing his face. “Just because he agreed to be ‘your problem’ so he wasn’t Ended, doesn’t mean you get to claim favorite status.”

“I find myself agreeing with Nocturne,” blue lady continued. “Especially as we all know we Elipis enjoys the name and role my kin have granted him for his achievements outside of the realms as a mortal.”

“And I’ve known him longest,” Nocturne forced his head up. “Frankly, i’m the most knowledgeable on the living and how they tick in this council, pun intended.”

Clockwork lifted his staff with narrow eye as a geezer. Then pointed it as a toddler.

Plasticman flung himself between them, looping around the staff a few times.

He hates being the sensible one in a room of Ancients and adjecents.

“Hey, I’m pretty sure you guys are supposed to be working out my tests. Like, how many am I taking? Do I get a snack break? Is it open or closed book?”

Clockwork gave him a look that Plas knew would bite him in the butt.

“There are five tests,” Frostbite began while taking the staff of time and Plas safely away from the Infinite’s most over the top time trickster.

“Because Amity already gave me her seal approval,” Plas twisted his head upside down, “so you couldnt up it to six or seven, right?”

“And the children are waiting for you as my liege’s deathday nears,” Fright Knight added with his special brand of ‘too courtly to side eye the Ancients but debating it’ abundantly clear. “So your tests have the potential to happen simultaneously.”

“Great,” Plasticman unwound from the staff and returned to his prior spot. “But do i have an answer ok snacks and if medical comes up, am I allowed to phone a friend,” Plas shifted into a phone and shook his phone hand in Frighty s face. “

Or is that trip to the slammer?” Plas asked behind his finger-made jail bars as he rattled a cup against them.

He delighted in Frighty’s huffing and Nocturn’s slight smile.

“The Great One will need my help and will always have it,” Frostbite began. “There is no reason why asking for help should result in consequences.”

“But if he lacks knowledge it could End Dani,” Clockwork stated with that grin Plas knew was going to bite him in the ass.

“And we are not in the business of leaving our children’s safety negotiable,” Pandora intoned.

“So, is there a class for that? Because if I’m not mistaken, none of you are quite sure how to stabilize her if old Frostbite isnt around,” Plas continued, tying himself in knots openly.

“That’s different,” Pandora began.

“Not quite, my lady,” Fright Knight interrupted. “First aide skills are a requirement, but continued stability for one born coreless is a constantly balance they must maintain themselves.”

“Only until they form a proper core for themselves.” Frost bite began. “The extensive care required is not something any one of us can provide, and halfas are always unique in each case given their nature.”

Pandora pinched her brow. “You are not helping.”

“Sorry,” Frostbite shrunk in on himself for a moment. “If possible, i would like to issue my trial first.”

“Lay it on me iced Yeti!”

Nocturne gave him a look. Plas ignored it.

“You are to escort a blob ghost to the far frozen alone. You’ve always traveled the Infinite with The Great One beside you, but if he or Dani are injured their enemies and any number of the Infinite’s predators might give chase.”

Plas gave him a few foam finger sized thumbs up.

Pandora sat taller before addressing him. “And for my trial, we shall see how you hold up against me in combat while escorting the blob to the Far frozen.”

Plas wondered if he could just turn into freshly printed paper, or if that would be inappropriate in the bad way given this is his co-parenting council.

“Okay, when do we start?”

Clockwork grinned with far too much teeth and banged his reclaimed time staff.

“Now.”

Plas huffed as he realized he was dropped into some part of IR—thankfully close to earth if the green sky was any indication… and he has a blob.

The blob—Blobby?— floated up to him and smacked into his face.

“Okay, Frostbite said Far Frozen escort mission—you got any idea which way that is blobby, can i call you blobby?”

The blob twisted in the air and splat against the ground.

“Not a fan of blobby… how about—”

Something shot him in the back.

The blob cowered on the ground.

“Hold on to that thought little buddy.”

Plas twisted his torso around the thing—squishy thing, hot, and oddly light for something that hit that hard…

Wait this is the ghost zone, made of ectoplasm. Which is as multipurpose as carbon.

Ectoplasm. He was wrapped around ectoplasm.

Well, ecto projectile then—oh this was going to be a real blast now!

“Hey little guy, i will be right back, try eating some of this,” plas unraveled himself. “It’s not the best, but my kids eat ectoblasts all the time, might feel a bit grumpy and jumpy after.”

The smushed blob inched to the failed ectoblast while plas looked around. Based on how he was hit, the enemy was in the sky.

Could be Young Blood again, or it could be a real enemy or Worse.

He’s hoping an overeager Young Blood and not Pandora with guns. He does not want to k ow what an ancient of protection, master of battle and keeper (or jailer) of hope.

One eye ran around to see what all the fuss was.

He saw blue flaming hair, Johnny’s infamous motorcycle and a bit of metal and green flames…

What were his chances of catching a ride with one of them once they find out this is a test?

Low.

Skulker likes testing weapons on his son in particular—something about it being important for his development… he does fear Ellie. Especially since Ellie is a menace of the highest degree and was raised in a lab as Vlad’s assistant before everything went down. She knows what not to do and will do it for revenge. He also knows his kids are never far behind him.

Kitty and Johnny won’t want to get on another ancient’s bad side. He’s not sure why Nocturne hates Johnny, but he’s pretty sure it has to do with Jazz—sleep guy has a favorite liminal and holds a nasty grudge whenever it involves Jazz. (And is probably why Vlad has so many night terrors now, if the baby ghost busters’ bugs are a good indicator.)

Ember hates ancients and doesnt like Plas for being “too ghost” for a mortal with no net liminality. He’s an uncanny valley to both sides of the veil, and still isn’t sure if that’s perfect or a shame.

Stealing Johnny’s bike is always ethical. He did vandalize his favorite part of his city and refuse to clean up. Cleaning ecto in any form just sucks—and not in the ‘safe consumption as a living vacuum’ sucks.

Plas walked one finger over to the bike and got ready to reel it in while another set off skulker’s guns in Kitty’s direction. Prompting Johnny and Shadow to go on the offensive and abandon their ride.

He snagged the bike while the four argued.

“Hey Goop?” The blob chimed with a twirl. “Goop it is. We gotta get going, and i grabbed a ride.”

Plas showed off johnny’s bike, and was relieved to see Goop plop down in the side car and snuggle in.

Plas flung the motorcycle into the air and let the GZP map kick in.

He’s just glad its in 2D this time and not 5D that was hard to keep track of the time part.

Then he heard a certain angry warrior yell and kicked it into high gear.

“Hold on Goop! We have an angry spear mom on our tail!”

Goop made a bubbling sound, sinking deeper into the passenger seat.

“You and me both buddy. Think the TimeLocked isles’ markets will be enough to slow her down?”

Goop made a low gurgling sound.

“Well not for a long time, but like an hour or so.

She isn’t one for poofy dresses and Goop do they have a lot of those there.”

Thanks to @stealingyourbones and @bonebrokebuddy for their info on Plasticman

Taglist below

@alinmenttreasure @sophistryandsophisms @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @im-totally-not-an-alien @akikoyuii @idek618 @satanicritualspecialist @thefanficcup @ekat @secretdestinywerewolf @dannyphantomphan @forgottenac3 @avery-isastupid-name @jadedragon1903 @naluforever3 @akikkobara @the-church-grimm @pheonixqueen @fisticuffsatapplebees @thewondersoflebanon @dontfightmecauseillcry @please-dont-see-me @onyxlightdragon @kyrianclawraith @treepainting @allulily @andsatisfactionbroughtmeback @depuffstuff @shorterthanadverage @notmuchtopost @ghostly-pal @vellichor615 @dulceringo @09shell-sea09 @halfblackwolfdemon @thecatchat @maribatshipper @legallyspawned

#dpxdc #dp x dc #mentor plastic man #plastic man #plastic man adoption trials #mentee danny #plasticman adopts danny #my writing #long post

[miss-allsundays]

stolitz rant/analysis because i keep seeing people mischaracterize them and i’m sick of it and need to let it out :)

every time someone mischaracterizes either blitzø or stolas an angel dies</3

“blitzø is toxic and doesn't care about stolas” “stolas should not have hid himself at ozzie’s he made blitz feel bad” just say you don’t understand nuance and gray characters!

yes, they are flawed and yes, they have both made mistakes, but neither is more at fault than the other in this situation. they are two deeply hurt people, who try to cope and avoid pain in different ways.

blitzø has been left by the people he loves plenty of times (some in which he was at fault) so he doesn’t want to get attached to someone in case that happens again.

mix that with the circumstances of his relationship with stolas, which started as a transactional one with his company’s longevity on the line, and the difference in status between them, of course he will translate stolas’ affections as him just wanting to get fucked by ‘the lower class’ (as blitz puts it in s02ep6).

and in spite of all this, somewhere in his heart blitz already know that the prince is, after all, just a person; and to some extent he is aware that stolas cares for him beyond their deal.

stolas instead has been lonely his entire life, with parents that don’t care about him and a wife he (despite being gay!) was forced to marry- one that has also abused him the entirety of their marriage.

the only solace he gets for the longest time is his daughter, who he adores with entire being, no matter the circumstances in which she was conceived (he was a kid himself when she was born- he was 19! nineteen!! he gave up his life and freedom because his family wanted a heir!)

so when blitzø re-enters his life after 20+ years, he jumps at the chance of a distraction, a little pocket of happiness after a life of neglect. he doesn’t need to be prince stolas of the ars goetia with the imp, he can just be stolas.

a stolas who can be finally true to himself with his sexuality, his personality, his hobbies and so much more because blitz doesn’t care for royalty bs!

admittedly, the way stolas behaved in the beginning wasn’t ideal, and it was partially why blitz feels used, but he understands that later on and tries to do better. he finds another way for blitzø to get to the human world, one that doesn’t put stolas at an unfair advantage.

ozzie’s is just the cherry in top, the climax of an entire season worth of miscommunication and bottled up feelings!! yes, it was fucked up of blitzø to invite stolas just as an excuse to spy on moxxie and millie, and yes, stolas covering himself definitely didn’t leave a good impression (for lack of better wording) on blitzø, but they were both hurt in the end and there’s no definite/sole wrongdoer here.

blitz isn’t a terrible motherfucker that hurts everything that touches and stolas isn’t a ruthless pos that only cares about getting off (as some might consider them to be apparently).

they are two people who desperately need to talk to each other and then work on themselves so that their relationship can flourish- because despite their flaws and their fuck-ups, there is care and there can be so much good, even if it is currently covered by the hurt.

#helluva boss #stolitz #stolas goetia #blitzø #i blacked out and wrote this #if the full moon episode ISN’T them talking it out for 30 minutes…….. #this isnt a black and white situation PLEASE #i need to hide them in a box #if you hate either of them OR their ship DNI !!!!

[astroyongie]

Riize December Reading 2023

Note: take it lightly

Shotaro

Love: without a doubt I can say that this man is dating someone and they are definitely another idol in the industry. The relationship seems fresh but it also feels like the person he is seeing have been around more since they advice him a lot about the industry. It is for now a healthy relationship

Career: when it comes to his career, Shotaro is rather well. His investments are going well and he is providing the company enough money to get his debts dealt with (the debts idols pay the company when they debut). He is fine and his career is bound to have success

Self: he has been rather solo lately, other than people he loves he haven’t been going out much and he prefers to spend time with himself. He has been enjoying more and more staying home instead of going out like he did last year

Eunseok

Love: no he isn’t dating,if anything this dude probably comes out of a very complicated relationship with someone while he was trainee and now his sponsorship doesn’t allow him to have any time of love relationship

Career: things are going well for him. Eunseok has a good relationship with his teammates but also with the staff in SM and he is overall happy with his situation. The Seunghan issue doesn’t seem to have had any impact on him

Self: he still has a lot of debts to pay and to work for but he is also in a stable place mentally and physically. Eunseok is the type to take care a lot of his health and putting himself on a priority check

Sungchan

Love: he is recovering from a break up (I remember he dated when he was still in Nct). At the moment he is single and focus on his own recovery of hearts

Career: like the other two, his career also seems to be going well. Sungchan seem to be enjoying the group and their activities. He is also a lot more relaxed compared to when he was in Nct

Self: he works on his self confidence a lot, on his approach and appearance. He wants to be top notch and want people to like him so he puts a lot of effort on his idol image

Wonbin

Love: I do feel like Wonbin is dating someone at the moment, someone who has a stronger energy than him, who’s very independent and unbiased. I don’t know if they work in the industry or not

Career: his work has been harsh on him. He still struggles with the schedules, with the sacrifices he has to make and honestly his dark energy comes a lot from his mental health. I don’t think he was expecting this level of exigence

Self: despite everything he is rather okay physically. He focus a lot on developing his skills as an idol, he trains a lot and he manifests for his own success

Sohee

Love: this boy is definitely dating someone as well. I feel like this relationship has been going on for a while, that the person is smaller than hun, brown hair, white skin, very princess and pretty like.

Career: he is self limiting himself a lot. I think in this case, SM has giving him a personal that he doesn’t like since he has to cover a lot of his personality and limit the type of actions he does. That has been frustrating him a lot

Self: other than that, Sohee is a happy person. He is healthy in every way and he Is enjoying his opportunities and his life

Anton

Love: he is single for the moment but he has a huge crush on someone in the industry (idol). He hasn’t had the opportunity to express himself or confess. For now he is just trying to master his courage to talk to them

Career: he doesn’t have any opinion about his current career. His energy is rather neutral. He is still learning about how to deal with his status and what he should or not do.

Self: Anton is a rather happy guy, no health issues at the moment. He is the type to be liked easily by people around him

Seunghan

Love: not dating, Seunghan is single at the moment. However he is trying to get someone but his hasty attitude gave rather ruined his opportunity to date them

Career: as it is known, there’s a lot of work conflit happening behind the scenes. I don’t think SM is taking him back although his sponsorship has been trying to get him going. They think Seunghan isn’t ready to debut or be an idol

Self: he feels conflicted, frustrated and enraged. At the moment Seunghan feels like he is stuck in this life that he has nothing to do. I believe that he is lost and he doesn’t know what he should be focusing on

#riize #riize imagines #riize astrology #riize tarot #riize reading #riize headcanons #riize reactions #riize scenarios

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

There's Beauty in Tragedy: Part Two

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: JJ gets a taste of the rich life when you take her on a dinner date on a yacht.

read part one here: There’s Beauty in Tragedy

Square Filled: jennifer jareau for @badbitchesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

JJ walks into work with a big smile on her face. She is so invested in her phone that she doesn't see who she almost ends up walking into.

“Why are you smiling so much?” Spencer asks.

“Oh, hey, Spence. No reason. I’m just having a good morning.”

“She was on the phone with her girlfriend,” Derek teases as he passes by with coffee in his hands.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” JJ says and slaps Derek’s arm lightly. All he does is laugh and sit at his desk. “She’s just a friend.”

“Then why is your face red?” Spencer asks innocently.

JJ touches her cheeks to find them really warm. That only causes her to blush even deeper.

“When are we gonna meet her?”

“I met her briefly while on her case, but JJ dealt with her the most,” Derek says.

“She’s a busy woman. Maybe later. You guys should really get back to work.”

JJ makes a quick escape while she can, leaving her friends to laugh and speculate about the status of her relationship. She doesn’t even know what you two are. You two flirted while on the case, you took her out for coffee afterward, and nothing happened. You two talk when you can, but you two went out on an official date. You never asked her to be your girlfriend. Still, that doesn’t mean JJ won’t smile every time your name pops up on her phone.

She gets to her office where there are piles of files waiting to be sorted through. Different police departments across the country send in their files for her to look over, and she picks the ones she feels her team needs to be involved with. The ones she rejects go back to their respective departments with a letter explaining why the FBI decided not to take on their case.

Some of the files she sees break her heart, especially ones with children involved. She has two kids with her ex-husband whom she loves dearly. She can’t fathom the idea of her children being in one of these files. She gets through five of them and decides to take a small break. She leans back in her desk and picks up her phone but there is no message from you.

“Agent Jareau?” someone knocks on her open door.

“Yeah, come in.”

“There is a package for you.”

“Thank you,” she smiles and grabs it.

The only thing on the top is her name handwritten in beautiful cursive letters. She opens the box to see a velvet jewelry box and a note inside.

I thought of your eyes when I saw these. I couldn’t resist.

There is a lipstick print of a pair of lips on the corner of the page indicating whoever sent this is romantically linked to JJ. She doesn't have to see a name to know who sent this. She opens the small velvet box to reveal a set of bright blue sapphire earrings that dangle delicately. She gasps and picks one up carefully, scared she might drop it and break it. She’s never seen this kind of design before, so they must be super expensive. 

Or they might be a one-of-a-kind. You do own a multi-billion dollar jewelry business.

JJ doesn't know what to say. She’s never grown up with money. The most expensive thing she can afford is a three-day cruise to New York and back. The most expensive thing she was gifted besides the earrings was a crystal wine glass set she got at her wedding. Being spoiled with such nice things is a bit overwhelming but she knows you’re doing it in a place of love.

She picks up her phone and calls you. You’re in Quantico at a business meeting that has just finished. You look at your phone and grin when you see JJ’s name and face.

“Did you like my present?” you answer.

“They’re beautiful. I wasn’t expecting them.”

“I know. They’re a prototype of something I’m designing. They’re one-of-a-kind. I might just keep it that way. That way you’ll be the only one to have them.”

“If only you could see me now,” JJ blushes.

“Listen, I’m glad you called. I’m going to be in town for the rest of the week. I want to take you out to dinner. I can pick you up tonight. If you’re not busy.”

“Yeah, I don’t have anything planned.”

“Great. Wear something nice. I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Okay, see you then.” As soon as JJ hangs up, she rushes over to Penelope’s office where Pen and Emily are. “I need help.”

“Whoa, where’s the fire?”

“Y/N asked me out to dinner.” Pen and Emily start to squeal like school girls but JJ shuts them down. “No, I don’t have anything to wear. She wants me to wear something nice, and I highly doubt Hotch will let me take some time to go shopping.”

“Okay, don’t worry. I might have something,” Emily says. “The last case needed me to wear something nice but it was a little tight. You’re smaller than me so it might fit you. Come on.”

Emily, Pen, and JJ walk to Emily’s desk where her go bag is. Emily produces a slim, elegant, beautiful dress. It’s mint green that’s backless except for a few spaghetti straps crossing over each other. It’s very simple with no design but elegant and silky. It’s perfect for what you requested… JJ hopes.

“This is perfect. I hope she likes it.”

“Oh, she will,” Penelope grins.

Come the end of the day when everyone is packing up to go home, JJ is nervously waiting for you to pick her up. Everyone stays behind to meet the elusive billionaire, and you pull up to the building at six sharp. You chose six because this is when the sun is going down, and where you’re taking her needs to have a beautiful sunset.

“I’ll be right back,” you say to your driver and exit the sleek SUV. You walk inside the building, and the only thing that sounds is your heels on the glossy floor. You reach the third floor where the BAU is, and you pull open the glass doors. You’re greeted by four people who look eager for your arrival. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Jennifer Jareau?”

“She’s on her way down. I’m Emily. I’m one of her coworkers.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smile and shake her hand. The next hand you shake belongs to Derek, then Penelope, and finally Spencer. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you.”

“I’m a huge fan of your work,” Penelope says. “My mother got me one of your necklaces as a present one year. Princess cut single diamond necklace.”

“Princess cut is always a favorite of my customers.”

“You better treat our girl right,” Derek says as a half-joke.

“Don’t worry, Derek. She’s in good hands. I promise to bring her back in one piece,” you chuckle.

Speaking of the devil, JJ walks down the short staircase from the second story to the first. She looks absolutely breathtaking in the mint green dress with the bright blue sapphire earrings. There’s nothing about her that doesn’t blow you away.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to get even more beautiful,” you grin and kiss her cheek.

“I was about to say the same thing.”

“Okay, you two have fun. I expect a full report tomorrow,” Penelope smiles.

You escort JJ down to the car which catches her by surprise. It shouldn’t considering how wealthy you are, but it does. Once inside the car, the driver takes you to the port where there are loads of boats. The colors of the sunset bounce off the water. All shades of purple, pink, orange, and yellow make the water shimmer beautifully. The driver parks by the docks and gets out to open your doors. Waiting on the water is your private yacht with a personal chef, cleaner, and pilot.

“Wow, I can’t believe this,” JJ gasps.

“I had my yacht sail in when I knew I’d be coming here. We’re having dinner and taking a tour of the coast.”

JJ has no words so she decides not to say anything. You take her on board and that’s when the pilot takes off. The first course goes by quickly but you allow the next course to last as long as you can. The sunset makes JJ’s skin shine and shimmer and her blue eyes pop in the light contrast.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she chuckles.

“Only the best for the best. I can offer you all this and more if you want me to.”

You reach and scoop some food onto the fork and bring it to her lips. She moans when she tastes the delicious food the chef made. You set the fork down, pull her in, and press your lips to hers. This is the first time you’ve kissed her since meeting her but nothing feels out of place. Everything is as it should be at this moment.

“Stay the night with me,” you whisper.

“I think I can make that happen,” she giggles.

She kisses you this time as the boat slowly sails on the open water.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau fanfiction #jennifer jareau fanfic #jennifer jareau fic #jennifer jareau fiction #jennifer jareau fan fiction #jennifer jareau fan fic #jennifer jareau fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #cm #cm fic #cm fiction #cm fanfiction #cm fan fiction #cm fanfic #cm fan fic #cm fluff

[kikker-oma]

LU HEADCANNONS FOR EACH OF THE BOIS

ALPHABETICAL ORDER

Four

Looks at his feet ALL THE TIME while walking, he doesn’t wanna step on a minish. Speaking of which, aside from Legend, is the only one fluent in more than one language because he knows the picori language

His hair looks brushed? Nah, it’s not. He tried brushing it and it always gets tangled, but the knots are just so fine it doesn’t even look like it’s tangled, so he only brushes the top layer of his hair.

Hyrule

Keeps the peace. One of the only reasons that the chain isn’t at each others throats. Part of the reason is that he doesn’t know what half of these debates is about, but is very good at making each side seem like he agrees with them, even though he’s confused.

Memorizes facts about everybody’s Hyrule to be prepared. Is VERY keen on being prepared. Even though he may come off as chaotic, he always has a plan for whatever will go wrong. Very much belives in murphey’s law.

Legend

ANGSTY GUY. Seems talkative but NEVER talks about what he truly thinks just talks because he feels the need to show people that he exists and is strong.

Claims that he hates children. Yet he will hug any baby he sees. Absolutely adores children if we are being honest. He even got Sky to teach him embroidery so he can embroid little blankets for babies 🥹

Sky

Hopeless romantic. He will wax poetry about Sun for 25 hours seven days a week if you let him. He shares literally everything he’s interested in with her.

He sometimes (this is so OOC but idc) sends post cards of him and Fi to LD-301S Scrapper to make him jealous. He absolutely hates that tiny robot.

Time

Cryptic. Will spill traumatizing memories of his past but will make them so cryptic that nobody will understand WHAT he’s saying.

(I think we can all agree) a father at heart. He knows eventually he will have to bid his goodbyes to the other 8 members of the chain but REALLLLY doesn’t wanna.

Twilight

Will eat table scraps

Is either REALLY good at getting women or REALLY bad, depends on where and when. Even though he is he regrets everyone because he’s still sad about Midna.

Family therapist. He knows everybodies problems and never shares them to anybody else, he’s always there for everyone.

Warriors

Even if he flirts with women, he never wants to date anyone. He’s still kinda… traumatized about Cia. He is more of a “take you out on a nice date but remains just friends” guy. He knows it may come off as toxic but he has best intentions.

He actually got his scarf enchanted by a great fairy. It as a defense boost and attack up. There is a reason he wears it, gotta be fashionable and practical.

Wild

LOADED, like 999,999 rupees. Because of this, for each era he goes to, he buys a yard of fabric for his home era. He will find use for it… some day.

As much as he and Flora are… alright together. He is still salty about her. He knows that she was struggling with finding her own destiny, but he still doesn’t like how he was treated.

Wind

Do NOT challenge him to any card game. At all. He will win he will take all your rupees and there is nothing you can do to stop him. And by the rare case that you DO beat him, he will pull the “young innocent baby boy” card which makes you want him to win and end up revoking your winner status.

A mischievous boy. Will poke people with his wind waker and finds it hilarious ever. Single. Time. The amount of times Wars literally had to hide it from him as he kept using the “control” power (idk what to call it) is uncountable. People would think that he taught Aryll all of this, but nope. Aryll was the one that taught him all those tricks. It runs in the family.

Ooohhhh these headcannons are so fun!!!

Fours little fairy knots in his hair is oddly adorable

Hyrule being the peacemaker instead of sky is really refreshing and I feel like more on oar for his character tbh!

Legend embroidering baby blankets has my heart MELLTIIINGGG😭❤️

Sky being a gremlin to Scrapper is also VERY true to his character. Sky is the best little piece of crap 🤣🤣

Time being SO cryptic hahaha and why shouldn't he be? It's so much more fun that way LOL.

Me feeding Twi all my scraps

Poor wars, Cia really is disgusting😠

Wild being rich🤣YES HAHA and they would be so shocked too lolol

Wind will BANKRUPT wild in a game of cards haha that would be a night to remember lol

#sweet blarefordaglare #linkeduniverse #linked universe

[dqzaiie]

i’m still undecided in which agency member i believe will be transferred to the port mafia, but i would like to expand on the possibility of it being dazai, because concerns seem to be growing by the hour.

firstly, i would like to draw attention to these official arts, as i find it very curious that dazai is wearing his port mafia bandages in conjunction with his agency attire.

this isn’t an isolated instance, it seems, so i’m wondering what the reasoning for this is, if not to allude to future events. (apart from referencing his past in the port mafia, but i'm trying to see this from the other perspective.) it feels very intentional on harukawa's part.

there is also the case of potential foreshadowing in the osamu dazai and the dark era light novel.

“…dazai’s capabilities are astounding. i’m sure in four or five years, he’ll have killed me and taken my place.”

these are words spoken by mori to odasaku while he is recruiting him to locate ango, taking place when dazai was eighteen. if this were to be a correct prediction, then it would place him at around twenty-two or twenty-three at time he gained the status of leader.

if provided the opportunity, surely mori would retrieve such a valuable asset?

many dispute this due to mori forcing dazai out of the mafia, but the reasoning for that makes quite a bit of sense when you take into consideration mori’s values.

mori believes that, as leader of an organization, you must devote your very being to maintain stability.

“mori ougai’s belief as the boss is…“the boss stands on top of the organization, and at the same time, be the slave of all.” for the sake of the organization, the boss must always take the “logical optimal solution.” that is the duty of the boss. there is an unspoken additional point to it. therefore, no matter how much your heart aches, you have to ignore your personal feelings.”

asagiri for the bsd exhibition

despite being his protégé, it doesn’t seem that mori felt dazai to be the perfect fit for leader during his time in the port mafia. this is due to dazai being overly emotional.

mori was able to suppress his emotions, whereas dazai let his emotional responses dictate his actions. this is exemplified by him changing course in life after odasaku’s death, done so in the name of keeping a promise to his closest friend.

while mori certainly regrets losing his subordinate, he is able to set aside his own reservations toward the loss, the outcome of which results in him gaining a gifted business permit. this is the “optimal solution” he sought after. dazai, however, could never justify sacrificing oda for the sake of a permit, hence the feelings of betrayal he’s fostered towards mori in the years since. while he understands why mori did what he did, he cannot disregard his own emotional connection to odasaku.

in the present day, however, dazai seems to have developed this ability—to remove the emotional aspects from a situation, and choose the most logical course of action. this is seen throughout the most recent arcs. for example, possibly sacrificing himself in meursault, directing akutagawa to save atsushi at the risk of his own life, etc. weighing the risks and the rewards, and choosing the most viable option.

(even if mori doesn’t choose dazai, there's the possibility that dazai just might volunteer himself for the sake of his coworkers. his self-sacrificial tendencies have been quite prevalent as of late.)

while dazai wouldn’t have been a preferable candidate in the past, he has matured since, and mori has realized this, with him keeping dazai’s executive seat open in the event he wishes to return. actually, i think this was quite intentional on mori’s part—similarly to how dazai manages shin soukoku, mori likely forced this for dazai’s own development.

another detail worth noting is the way in which dazai’s eyes have been drawn in the more recent chapters. as we know, harukawa depicts a character’s progression and alignment through their eyes.

in the recent chapters, dazai has been portrayed with an obscured eye multiple times. this is indicative of his port mafia “demon prodigy” persona being utilized during the chess match against fyodor.

there is also the concern of dazai’s crimes being made public. as it stands, while the agency is sure to be absolved of all charges, dazai’s crimes are separate, which isn’t particularly an easy fix.

ango has done it in the past through the use of mushitaro’s ability, sure, but seeing as dazai has literally staged a prison break from supposedly the world’s most secure ability user detention facility, i’m not too certain that this would be an effective method of clearing his criminal record.

this doesn’t cover all of it, either. there is quite a bit of foreshadowing within the anime to support this theory, but i have reached the photo limit on this post, so i will leave that for others to cover.

if you’ve made it this far, i applaud you. thank you for reading!!!

#dazai osamu #osamu dazai #ougai mori #bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai #bsd theory #armed detective agency #fyodor dostoevsky #oda sakunosuke #akutagawa ryuunosuke #atsushi nakajima #theory #analysis #character analysis #bsd analysis #please note that i don’t actually think it’ll be dazai who is transferred #i just figured it would be fun to expand on the theories that have been going around #also i've seen a few well-intentioned people receiving hate for having this opinion...so i wanted to show that their beliefs aren't baseles