#// comes back to drop this thought which has been bouncing in my brain

[lemuttu]

........ what if..... Menmire .... was once Marbas?

edit:

it works but at what cost to the lore?

[wheeboo]

06:43pm | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which you ask your sleepy husband the *most* important question in the world. PAIRING. husband!kim mingyu x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, tiny bit suggestive at the end, established relationship WARNINGS. kissing, terms of endearment, implied that he’s um shirtless WORD COUNT. 916

"Gyu?"

Mingyu stirs slightly right next to you, and you would think he would open his eyes up to his name, but he doesn't. You see the way he falls back into his napping state, and it makes you chuckle softly. Reaching a careful finger out, you faintly trace the line of his cheekbone, mapping out to the mole to his cheek, while relishing the soft warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

You notice a faint smile quivering of his lips from your feather-light touch. It's a heartwarming sight, knowing that even in his dreams, he seems content, peaceful. However, your gentle touch eventually awakens him from his slumber, and he shifts once more, this time more noticeably.

With a soft groan, his eyes slowly flutter open, gaze meeting yours, and he manages a tired, yet affectionate smile, hands coming to grab at the sheets to cover over his bare upper body. Your finger is still tracing down his jawline, and he shivers with a pleasant shudder at your touch.

"Hi," You greet him softly.

"Hey," he mumbles with half-lidded eyes, voice still husky from the long nap.

"I have a question for you," You tell him, keeping your tone serious. "It's very important, and I want you to be fully, one-hundred percent honest with me right now."

He yawns, letting his arms stretch as he lets out a deep breath, before encircling back around you and pulling you closer to him. You watch the way his sleepy grin transforms into a contented smile as he holds you close, feeling the way his chest rises and falls with each breath that left those pretty lips of his.

"M’kay," he responds quietly.

There's a playful glint in your eyes that he swears he sees, but he's too tired to fully register it and way too comfortable to say anything more, so he just watches you in anticipation.

You lean in closer, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Mingyu's drowsy gaze meets yours, and he blinks slowly and furrows his brows together, as if he's processing the question like he's hearing it for the first time, or like a puzzle he has to put together in his sleepy mind. You swear you could see the way the question bounces around in his half-awake thoughts, playing in his brain like a delightful riddle.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs. "we're married."

He's right, of course. His words hang in the air for a moment, and then a knowing smile spreads across your face, realising how absurd it may seem to ask such a question after all this time together, but you know you just asked for his reaction. You can't help but burst into a fit of giggles at his groggy yet utterly adorable state. Mingyu only blinks at your laughter, looking momentarily puzzled before a small smile crosses his lips.

"Oops," You quip teasingly. "I guess I forgot."

He pouts exaggeratingly at this, and not just a pout, but a pout pout. "How could you forget that?"

His sulky expression tugs endearingly at your heartstrings. You reach out to gently cup his cheek apologetically, your thumb brushing over his lower lip.

"Aw, my sweet baby," You coo amusingly. "I didn't forget, I promise. I'm just teasing, and I love hearing it from you."

Even if you've been married for years now, the way his cheeks flush a soft pink at your words, and the way his eyes light up with adoration, makes your heart flutter just as it did when you were just young, dumb, and in love. There's something about hearing those reminders that yes, you are married𑁋you married the love of your life, the same man who you've been pining for since the moment you laid eyes on him and who still makes your heart skip a beat after all these years.

The journey from strangers to friends, to dating, to finally saying "I do" had been filled with ups and downs, but it was a journey you wouldn't trade a single second of it for anything in the world, all because it led you to this exact moment.

"Hmm, you better not forget ever," he warns, letting out a faux grumble, but you notice the corners of his lips are fighting back a smile. You know he can never stay mad for long, especially when you tease him like this. "or I'd have to remind you every day."

I wouldn't mind that, You think, chuckling softly before leaning in to plant a loving kiss on his pouty lips, which seems to melt away any lingering sleepiness surrounding him instantly. I wouldn't mind that at all.

When you press another kiss to his lips, he responds by deepening it almost naturally, his strong arms coming to wrap around you more tightly. You feel the way he smiles under the kiss, the warmth of his body enveloping you completely. And when you feel his fingers start to dance along your back, you let out let out a soft, breathy sigh against his lips, and there's a smirk that forms at his mouth from the response he elicits from you.

His lips part from yours, and he trails a line of soft kisses along your jawline, each one causing your heartbeat to quicken. He nuzzles his face against your neck, peppering it with affectionate kisses that make you lightly giggle, before coming to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"And you're not just pretty, honey," he whispers between kisses, warm breath caressing against your skin, and you tilt your head back slightly to grant him more access. "You're goddamn breathtaking."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo

[rottingcorps3s]

Could I get another older man! neighbor!price thing? (maybe some Headcanons or oneshot of them becoming official) I beg of thee!

(Brain went to the one tiktok audio going : KENDRICK!!!! DROP ANOTHER DISS TRACK! AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!)

YES!!! I GOT YOU BBY!! I already had some other ideas brewing, thank you for the ask and hope you like it! \(@^0^@)/

this is angsty at first, but has a happy ending!

continuation of this post…

-

my personal opinion, i feel that John wouldn’t jump straight into the relationship following your…recent activities…i feel like he’d have doubts, not because of you! not at all! but because of himself. he’d pull away from you, which only lead to things being complicated. it got to a point of him avoiding you where you took it into your own hands and cornered him in his own home.

“why’re you avoiding me?” you asked sternly, your brows furrowed with frustration; hands balled up into fists by your sides. “you come to my home and-and use me and nothing comes out of it?” you were serious, stern, straight to the point.

“i mean-come on john, we talked for hours that night!” you were getting upset now, your lip quivering as you looked off into space, a sad look in your eye as you remembered the conversations.

you had both expressed wanting more than a one-night stand. wanting more than just to ‘mess around’. you had shared similar feelings in wanting to find someone to build the rest of their life with.

john wasn’t sure what to say, too scared that he’ll say the wrong thing. he didn’t want fuck this up. it was too good to be true, and a part of him thought he was being punked. or it was some sort of sick and twisted karma the universe was repaying him with.

“say something!” you spoke again, this time louder than before, but not yelling.

he inhaled deeply before he finally spoke.

“i do want it.” he confessed, his tone sincere, but it wasn’t enough yet. you stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “i just wanna do it right.”

“court you, date you, wine and dine you, however you wanna put it.”

you stood silent for a moment, your frustration seeming to dissipate as you absorbed his words. you simply nodded.

“a heads-up would’ve been great…” you mumbled.

john approached you, slowly, timidly. as if he were trying to tame a cat. you let him, watching him as he reached out for you and held your face in his big hands.

“you sure you wanna be with an ol’man like me?” he asked, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. you rolled your eyes at his question, pursing your lips.

“well not that you mention it…” you pretended to contemplate, resting your finger on your chin. “i wouldn’t of cornered you for an answer if i didn’t!”

he chuckled, a large grin on his face as you smiled sheepishly at him. “let me make it up to you…i’ll do it right this time…”

you agreed.

-

john showed up at your front door later that night, a small vase of fresh flowers in hand. you tried to hide your smile as you took them from him, running excitedly to put them on your kitchen table for display.

you returned back to where he stood, he looked delicious. he had cleaned up his facial hair, giving it a well needed trim. his hair was freshly washed and styled. he was in something casual, as were you. something cute but still comfy.

john held his hand out to you, which you took. you had opted for an at home date. both of you slightly disgusted at the thought of going to a busy restaurant downtown on a weekend. we’ve got all the time in the world to go to fancy places. you’d said, he agreed. he couldn’t help the feeling of his heart swelling in his chest at your comment.

all the time in the world…

john walked to over to his home, kicking the door closed as you both entered. he was quick to lead you over to the kitchen, where you were met with a dimly lit room and a beautifully set table.

you both immediately dove into the meal, bouncing silly conversations off each other the rest of the time. there was a small break in conversation, john was cleaning up the rest of the meal when you decided to finally ask.

“who was your company the other night?”

john smiled to himself at the mention of them.

“uh-“ he chuckled, “some old coworkers.” he said simply. you listened along.

“from when you were enlisted?” he simply nodded. it was silent again, he looked up to see you staring off into space, clearly thinking something through.

“captain…” he heard you mumble, followed by a small giggle.

“you got that right.” he said, his tone thick with humor, “the boys-“ he stopped, thinking, “they’re jealous.” you looked at him, your face full of question.

“jealous of me.” he continued to elaborate. he was done with cleaning up, sitting down on one of the chairs right next to you.

“jealous that, i got a pretty little bird makin’ me homemade meals…” he continued, you smiled. your cheeks flushing bright red. “comin’ over, wearing a cute li’l sundress…”

the energy in the room seemed to shift as he kept talking, it was powerful. he was powerful. each time he spoke, it demanded attention. he was able to make an entire room of people listen to him.

he was staring at you, more than just your face. his eyes roaming over your entire body.

“they tried your cookies.” he smirked, his hand reaching out to grab your own, gently running his fingers up and down your arm.

“never heard those boys make so many promises to a single person.” it made you laugh.

“i’ll remember to make more next time.” you said. he hummed in response. it was quiet again. comfortable. he was looking at your face again, eyes locked on you.

“you-“ “can-“

you both started to speak at once. stopping to let the other person talk. john’s mouth hung slightly agape, anticipating, waiting for you to say your part first.

the moment was tense. the only thing you could hear was the sound of your breathing.

“john…” you said quietly, gently digging your nails into his forearm as you pulled him towards you.

“i want you so badly…”

-

YESSSSSS i love using dialog from the first part to mesh it with the second part 😩

[bugboybuck]

i dont have time to write something proper for day one of @bucktommypositivityweek but i wanted to share a lil drabble/ramble anyway in the spirit of things, so: what tommy loves about buck

tommy grew up in a stiflingly oppressive environment, a household full of anger and coldness. he lived in fear about who he was, what he wanted. he was threatened by his father, his army COs, gerrard, and his survival response was to hide himself away, lock up parts of himself, bury the things he could get hurt for.

his first thought upon getting to know evan wasn't 'wow, here's a perfectly adjusted guy who hasn't had any struggles.' frankly, between his adorably awkward jokes, casually mentioning getting struck by lightning, and trying to kill his best friend with mind lasers over tommys attention, evan seemed like a bit of a hot mess.

but what drew tommy to him so strongly was seeing someone who'd clearly had a lot of weird, difficult life experiences still be like - that. bouncing around on his feet with energy when tommy showed him around the hangar, making dumb jokes, throwing himself headfirst into a basketball game he didn't even like. bringing a brand new date to his sisters wedding. folding tommy into his family nearly immediately, every one of his actions screaming I'm serious about this; no reservations, no holding back.

it only got worse - better - as they got to know each other. it felt like every date they went on, evan dropped some insane piece of lore from his life. his injuries on the job, his disastrous track record with romance, the wild travels he'd been on while finding himself. not too long into knowing each other, the whole thing about his brother, and his parents, and his sister - which explained a lot of the abandonment issues tommy could have seen from space.

and whenever he says something like that, tommys first thought usually isn't marvelling at how ridiculously unlucky Evans life has been. it's how amazing he finds it that evan is still open and happy and throws himself into everything he does head-first, like he's trying to trust the universe to, this time, not let him down.

tommy knows evan isn't all sunshine and roses. he gets downright snippy when he has a to-do list, is more than a bit neurotic, over-anxious about pointless things when tommy's more a 'go with the flow' kind of guy (a 'sure I'll fly into a hurricane for an old friend' kind of guy, a 'I've come out the other side of the shittiest time of my life already, so what have I got to lose?' kind of guy). but evan is - so open. even when he's being annoying, he doesn't try to reign it in. his brain is like a steel trap for facts, he's far from dumb, but when he doesn't know something, he openly and instantly admits it. he's free with hugs and affection but also with a bitchy comment if someone deserves it. he over-shares with no shame. he over-everythings, really. he's so much. and tommy has spent most of his life with not-enough. depriving himself; being deprived. he wants to gorge himself on evans too-much-ness

tommy feels like evan lives his life wide open. and he knows evan has been hurt a lot, for it. but for tommy, who spent thirty years stuffed into a cramped closet space - who felt claustrophobic, trapped, like he couldn't see the sky - Evans openness gives him the same feeling as flying. awe.

so that's what tommy loves most about him. the fact that he's a badass and a blowjob savant who cooks and is built like a sexy brick wall are all just bonuses.

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 10

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: very likely typos, fluffy stuff, cursing i think.

Words: 3157

The One I Want Masterlist

The words ‘I’ll be fine’ are still ringing in your ear, drilled into your brain from the excessive number of times they’d been said or texted in the last ten hours. From the moment you stepped out of your bedroom door this morning, Jake began insisting on picking you up from the shop following your shift. He insisted before you even had a chance to suggest an alternative plan for your day. As soon as you opened your mouth, he had his hand up and head shaking to stop you.

“Don’t even say it,” he said, “I’ll be there to get you, same as always,” to which you responded with what might as well be your new catchphrase: “I’ll be fine.”

His attempts to put his foot down on the matter were unsuccessful as you pointed out every reason why finding your own means of transportation after work is the best solution. He rolled his eyes at “It’s your birthday, Jake,” and snorted at “Your party at the bar starts an hour and a half before my shift ends,” but finally surrendered to “If you’re late, your friends will be disappointed. They mean too much to you for that.” Then he sighed and nodded and continued about his morning routine as you did yours before you headed to the shop. Though you thought you’d won, you received multiple “Are you sure?” texts that were also answered with “I’ll be fine.” And you are fine. Your shift was dull, uneventful, and you had no issue securing a quick ride to The Hard Deck. 

Hopping out of the back of the driver’s car is a struggle with the number of bags hanging off your arms. Between your purse, Jake’s present, and the clothes you wore to work shoved into a grocery bag—which were switched with the casual, green knee-length dress you’re wearing—you’re weighed down. 

“Need some help there, Sweetness?” Javy is one of few lingering outside the bar, and the only person you know within sight. He smiles and the arms crossed over his chest bounce with his chuckle. Before you answer, he walks over to snatch both your purse and the grocery bag in his hands. “I’m gonna toss these in Jake’s truck. No one will bother them,” he says.

In his brief absence, you stand a little straighter and brush the stray hairs back behind your ear. A low whistle coming from behind you causes you to flinch until you realize it’s from your friend as he makes his way back over to you.

“You're definitely lookin’ lovely,” he teases, and you snort.

“Quit it.”

“No can-do, sweetness. Too pretty to ignore.”

Heat floods your cheeks and you look down at the ivy-green material flowing around your body. It’s about as simple a dress you could find—well, that Millie could help you find after insisting on leaving behind the jeans—but it’s much more than anything you’ve worn in the past. Social events have never been your cup of tea. Not being invited out has left you slim on practice, and that includes every aspect down to your choice of clothing. While Millie did help you pick it out, it doesn’t necessarily mean she is an expert either, but you have no way of knowing for sure. “Is it too much?”

“Not a chance,” Javy replies. “You look amazing. And you happen to be the very reason I am out here instead of in there.”

“Meaning…”

“As Jake’s top-tier friend, I want to be the one to personally deliver his favorite present. Now that you’re here, I can do that,” he says with a wink before holding out his elbow for you to take. 

—

Jake’s eyes are already on the door when you walk in, finding you instantly, and his entire body perks up like a man just shot with a bolt of life. Shoulders lose the little bit of slump there was from forearms resting on the high-top table and eyebrows drop their pinch as he watches your every step toward him. Through the mass of bodies Javy assists in weaving you through, Jake’s stare is impressive. It’s steady and he doesn’t lose you, not for a second. 

When you reach him, Javy loudly declares “The contest is over! I just won best present.” He then releases you to round the group and pops open a bottle of beer with the edge of the table. By the multiple marks on the wood surface, you imagine—hope, anyway—that Penny doesn’t mind. However, if anyone were to follow her rules and respect the property she requests be respected, it would be this group. 

As you stand there greeting the rest of the crew, you can still feel those green eyes. A few other pairs dart back and forth between you and Jake. Tension bubbles around the back corner of the room where the modest party is set up, but it’s not an aggressive tension from distress or concern of discomfort; it’s a tension buzzing wildly with excitement. And from the smiles on faces and the little redhead you’ve bonded with bouncing on her toes, you can begin to guess where this buzzing, humming, zapping energy is coming from. 

They know. You’re not sure why a flash of surprise moves through you. Of course, they know. Of course, Jake told them. They’re his best friends. They’re the family he made after the devastation of having his own taken from him. His sharing of what’s happened between you over the last week is normal, so normal that it’s unfamiliar. One more thing you’ll have to get used to if Jake continues to pull you out of the existence you’ve known for so long.

“Hi,” he says. It rides on a heavy exhale that you can barely hear through the cacophony of voices filling the bar. 

Jake’s friends appear to go back to their conversations, but they’re no good at disguising their true intentions. Their ears are alert as eyes rely on the strength of their peripheral vision to catch either your or Jake’s next move. A tight squeeze with roaming hands, a deep kiss, an arm wrapping possessively around a shoulder or waist—they’re clearly eager to witness it all, but the anticipation hanging in the air is snuffed out by Jake leaning in and innocently brushing his lips over your cheek. To your side, there is a collective murmuring of disappointment that is, again, poorly disguised.

“You get here ok? I mean, you know, without complication?” Jake asks. A nod joins your budding grin. 

“Easy-peasy.” He stares more, his fingers traveling from your elbow to your wrist, and you suddenly remember what’s clutched in your hands. “Oh, I got you this,” you say, holding up the bag. It’s made of a thin, golden paper that’s priced way too high for its quality with clashing orange tissue sticking out of it, and it’s about four sizes too big for the gift you got him, but it was all the shop had last minute. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s your birthday. That’s what people do,” you counter, because even though you’ve never received a present on your birthday, Jake is the type of guy who always should. You hold the bag higher, forcing him to take it.

“Thank you,” he says before turning to set the bag on the table. It’s then that you see the remnants of paper and bows scattered across the wooden surface. Piled on a couple of stools behind Bob are the gifts he has already opened. Jake’s hand starts to dig through the bright orange tissue paper. 

“You’re going to open it right now?” you ask, having previously imagined there would be at least a sliver less of attention on the two of you when he does. Your fingers of one hand begin to fiddle with the fingers of the other. 

“Sure, why not?” His hand pauses and he looks at you a little harder. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“N-No, it’s fine.” A blond brow raises. “Really, it is.”

He waits a second longer before resuming his discarding of the paper. When he looks inside, his hand retreats, and he watches your gift at the bottom of the bag as if it might start moving on its own. Then his head shakes and he grins ear to ear and he reaches back in to pull it out. The brows of the other aviators pinch in confusion at the globe sitting in the palm of Jake’s hand. In all of its cheap glory, it contains a beach scene with plenty of unnatural sparkly snow settled at the bottom of the liquid which is quickly disturbed by Jake’s light shaking. He chuckles. Then chuckles some more. Crinkles deepen at the corners of his eyes.

“I don’t get it,” Rooster mutters, only to have Millie elbow him in the side. 

“You don’t have to,” she scolds. “Now hush.”

Despite Jake’s laughter, when he places the snow globe back in the bag you fear you’ve somehow fucked up. That it’s not as cute as you imagined he would think. That he’d rather you have gotten him nothing over something so silly. But then he faces you, takes your hand, and as he starts to walk away from the table, whispers, “Come with me.”

As you’re led away you glance over your shoulder to see that your friends are all in different states. Nat and Bob are exchanging glances and snickering at the birthday boy’s rapid departure, Millie is smacking her boyfriend’s hand as he reaches for the golden bag, and Javy smirks along with the statement “That certainly didn't take long.” 

You look ahead, but before you can fully catch up with your surroundings, you’re yanked through a door and pushed up against the other side of it as a mouth firmly presses to yours. Jake’s palm smacks the surface next to you, blindly feeling around for the deadbolt, and the thud from its turn echoes in the empty bathroom. Then his hands cup your cheeks and you melt as he pulls you in closer. 

At a different time, with a different man, unmanageable thoughts would be taking control of your senses right now. Your fingers would be stiffening and your eyes would be snapping open, darting around to take in every square inch of the room in search of signs of other people. You would be listening for any and every sound with such intensity that you’d have a decent count on the number of footsteps passing by the other side of the door. You wouldn’t be letting yourself go or forget your troubles or feel for a single moment because you know what this behavior looks like. You know how others often perceive it. In the midst of past frenzied kisses, your brain would deteriorate into a fractured mess. Ten percent of your mind would struggle to focus on the wandering hands and lips attached to yours; fifteen percent would go to wondering if anyone saw you sneak into the bathroom with a man; twenty would be spent worrying you’ll receive looks of judgment and pity once you rejoin the bar; twenty-five would be questioning why you’re choosing to be in the position you’re in when you know it won’t end well; and the remaining thirty percent would be trying to prematurely push away the shame to come when the somewhat intoxicated man kissing you in the bar bathroom decides he is done. 

It’s not a different time, though. You’re not with a different man. You’re exactly where you are, with the man you are with, and you don’t care about anything but him. 

Jake is pulled in with hands fisted in the material of his shirt. He’s your only source of stability and direction as he turns your bodies and walks you backward. When your lower back meets the edge of the sink, you separate the kiss and instinctually jump up. Of course you jump. You always jump in these situations. But this time when your bottom lands on top of the counter, you don’t second guess the man whose hips are settling between your spread thighs, whose eyes gaze at you like you’re the most incredible thing they've ever seen, whose hands are threading into your hair, whose lips are once again claiming yours. 

His tongue teases the seam of your lips and when you part them so it can slip inside to brush along yours, muffled moans merge. The fingers hidden within the strands of your hair tighten into fists. They stay there until your own hands begin to explore. One index finger curls through a belt loop, tugging inward to remove what little distance remains between you. The other is the first on that hand to dip under the hem of his shirt and stroke over a patch of tanned skin just above the button of his jeans. You love how he feels there—hard with thick muscle but soft from the trail of hair that disappears under a band of denim. Jake shudders against you, and it seems to serve as a reminder that there is more of you for him to touch as well. 

With your hair freed, a hand grasps your outer thigh where your dress has ridden up. Fingertips knead flesh as an arm snakes around your waist. A squeak of surprise gets stuck in your throat when that arm jerks forward, unexpectedly managing to inch your bottom closer to the edge of the counter. 

There is so much happening, so much to absorb, and you don’t have a chance to mentally address the tick of uncertainty that never showed itself. Instead, you are simply full of the feeling that none of this scares you. Not a bit of it. Not the strength of his arm around you. Not the hand that has begun to slide up your thigh and under the hem of your dress to the swell of your ass. Not the pressing of his hips into the space between your legs. Not the heat he gives off that fights the chill of the room. Not his teeth nibbling your bottom lip, or the whimpers it draws forth that with anyone else would have you shrinking in embarrassment. You’re so far from afraid that you've crossed into happily addicted territory.

His mouth vanishes from yours to latch onto your neck. The sound you make at the new sensation has Jake’s hold on you tightening. 

“All because of a—” you gasp from a teasing lick under your ear, “a snow globe?”

You’ve learned that Jake likes to leave trails of his kisses; mark after mark to show the places he’s been. It is between the kisses of this trail from your ear to your shoulder that you hear “Partly the snow globe,” after one kiss, “partly this dress,” after another, and then “mostly just because it’s you.”

Jake chuckles when you sigh and wrap your arms around his neck. You could let him continue on for hours—would, too—but a banging on the door snaps you out of your blissful haze. 

Cursing, your spine straightens like a rod. “J-Just a second!” you yell, patting Jake’s shoulder. He hums into your sensitive skin, sending vibrations over your pulse. “Jake, I know you heard that. People want in.” There’s another knock, and another. Leaning back and placing your hands on his cheeks, you force Jake to look at you. “Time for you to leave.”

He holds his finger up. “One condition.”

“No conditions,” you say as you nudge him aside and hop off the counter. “There are women out there who have to pee.”

It’s a boom this time, leaving no question as to the person’s impatience. Twisting around, you glance over yourself in the mirror. Your lips are stolen, hair wild, and as you go about fixing it back into place, Jake’s arms wrap around your waist. 

“Promise me we can continue this at home,” he says. “I don't want to stop.” 

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. “Maybe…if you go.”

“Deal.” One more kiss lands on your shoulder before Jake is unbolting the door and jerking it open for whoever is on the other side. He peeks his head out, glances left and right, then looks back at you. “No one’s here.”

“You still have to go.” His face falls into a pout. “Don’t look at me like that. All of your friends are waiting for you, anyway.”

“They're waiting for you, too.”

“It's not my birthday. And I need to fix myself up a bit.”

Jake grins. Watching his reflection in the mirror, you see his eyes linger on your face and chest, enjoying the flush he caused that is more prominent under the fluorescents. They then make a slow line down your body, taking the time to appreciate your ass along the way. “That really is a great dress.”

Your flush deepens. “Go,” you demand, “I’ll be there in a minute.” He winks and then he’s gone. 

A squeeze traps the air in your lungs. It caves in your chest, making the thumping of your heart all the more demanding of your attention, and you roll your eyes when it becomes clear that your body is reacting to you missing him. Two seconds apart and you already want him back, and now you feel like a giddy fool; a horny teenager around the first boy to ever truly want her. 

Blowing out that trapped breath, you run your fingers through your hair to tame it. It doesn’t manage to return to its previous state, but there is nothing you can do about it. Neither can you remove that pink shade from your cheeks and chest despite the damp paper towel you blot over your skin. You look half-sexed, and it’s comically obvious. But maybe if you channel Jake Seresin energy and walk back to your friends’ table without looking guilty, they won’t look at you like you have something to be guilty of. Not guilty in a demeaning sense, of course, but guilty in a way that will have them shooting teasing looks at you right before Nat and Millie pull you away from the men for details of your actions.

That will have to be your plan, because there is no chance they won’t notice your altered appearance, especially when they immediately knew why you and Jake were disappearing to begin with. 

Shaking your head, you tug at the bottom of your dress to make sure all of its seams line up with where they are supposed to be on your body. When you decide it’s about as good as it’s going to get, you head for the door and pull it open, but your path is blocked. 

“Good thing he finally left,” Brit says. She steps forward and to avoid a collision you have to take a step back into the bathroom. “Now we have a chance to talk.”

---

Tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things

[tealeavesandtrash]

Wolfstar Micro Fic - @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: Amnesia - 750 Words

Remus sits on the sofa, staring at the bookshelf in front of him, wonders how many of those books are his, which ones he’s read or was excited to read. This is his life now. When he isn’t at doctors appointments, he’s staring at photos or objects pondering what history he has attached to them. This is his house, he knows logically it is - he’s in photos on the walls, his name is on the mail - but it feels like he’s living in a stranger's body. There are days he’d rather stay in hospital just to escape the relentless notion that he's an imposter in someone else life.

He can feel Sirius’ eyes on him, watching in anticipation, like any moment things will snap back into place. “Lily found some more photos,” Sirius says, “we could go through them today?” Remus nods, although he doesn’t feel like he has much choice in the matter. “Is she coming round?” “Yeah, but she won’t stay.” He likes Lily. He suspects they used to be very close, but it feels juvenile to ask outright if they’re best friends. Despite that, he slips back into the bedroom shortly after she arrives, feigning tiredness. It’s not a complete lie - he’s tired a lot which is supposedly a good sign that his brain is trying to fix itself. But he’s also tired of all the visitors - friends of theirs trying to help who don’t how to act around him and Remus is constantly running through a mental rolodex trying to find names for faces. 

“The Potters send their love,” Sirius says while laying the photos from Lily across the living room floor. Remus scans them, trying to identify them. It’s one of the memory exercises they keep pushing in therapy that feels more like a child’s game. He picks up a photo of a couple and a baby and Sirius gives him a hopeful smile. Remus doesn’t explain that he picked it because it’s the only picture of a redhead. When he first picked out a photo of his parents Sirius had been so excited, only to be crumble a moment later when Remus explained it was a simple process of elimination - they just shared the most resemblance with him. Remus stopped explaining his logic after that, save people the disappointment. 

Nights are the worst. When he’d first come home, he refused to share a bed so Sirius insisted on taking the guest room. Not that it made a difference to Remus, he feels just as much a guest in the master bedroom as he would the guestroom. Sirius loiters outside his room when they say goodnight, the same way he does every night, like he’s half expecting Remus to invite him in. “Why are you being so patient with me?” Sirius looks at him with soft, sad eyes. “Because you’re my Moony,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The nickname feels foreign. Sirius says it with such revance but it means nothing to Remus. “I’m not though, I might never be him again.” “You will-” “-You don’t know that,” Remus cuts him off. “People keep saying that, like everything will suddenly fix itself, but you have no idea. No one does.” Sirius swallows, dropping in gaze. Remus might feel bad for snapping if he wasn’t so sick of everyone’s blind optimism. Sirius takes Remus’ hands, gently runs his thumb over his knuckles. “It doesn’t matter,” he says quietly. “You’ll always be my Moony, even if you don’t see it. Even if you never see it.” 

Remus curls up in the middle of an empty bed, a thousand thoughts bouncing around his head as he replays Sirius’ words. He thinks about how alone he is, open and exposed in a room that feels too hollow. He thinks about how his therapist told him to embrace the unknown, push through the fear.

The floor is cold under his bare feet as he pads across the landing and slips into the guest room. The curtains are wide open, illuminating the room with moonlight which he's immensely grateful for. It doesn’t feel as claustrophobic. Sirius has his back to him, chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Remus doesn’t slip under the covers, this alone is a big enough step, but he does lie down next Sirius, close enough that they’re almost touching. Remus takes a deep breath to steady himself, lets himself adjust to the moment. Tentatively, he lets his eyes slip closed.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Lance, buddy.” Hunk nudges his best friend gently, who is currently dead to the world, somehow using his own shoulder as a headrest. “We’re here. Up you get.” Lance makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a mix of muffled yelling and sobbing, then testily uncurls himself, opening bleary brown eyes just to glare through the windshield.

“You’ll be fine, you drama queen,” Hunk admonishes. “You’re always fine once your brain kicks in.”

Lance only grunts, shifting his gaze to the door and opening it.

Well, trying to. It takes him four tries before Hunk takes pity on him, turning off the car before getting out of his own seat and walking to the other side to open Lance’s door for him. He sighs slightly to himself — he’d been planning on dropping Lance off at work and then jetting, but he should’ve known that wasn’t happening.

“C’mon, out you get,” he says, opening the door. He has to stop Lance from faceplanting on the pavement when he trips over nothing.

“Yeesh,” comes a voice from behind them, “what alien came down in the night and sucked out his brains? Or whatever’s left of them, anyways.”

Pidge stands by the rear door of the cafe holding three bags of coffee beans in her arms, glasses gleaming in the moonlight and smirk making her look impish. Her poofy dandelion hair is more of a mess than usual, as if a brush was a distant thought.

“He’s on low power mode,” Hunk explains. He slips an arm around Lance’s shoulders, patting him delicately and perhaps a bit patronizingly on the cheek. Lance responds only by groaning again and flopping his head back to rest on Hunk. “Lance is very big on beauty sleep, you see. So this is kind of a nightmare for him.”

Pidge’s smirk only gets wider. “I do see.”

Somehow, she makes a simple phrase of acknowledgment sound like she has just formed several evil plans in her head and is about to commence Lance’s downfall. She makes no attempt to hide this, which speaks to her power.

“Pidge? Everything okay out there?” calls a voice from inside the cafe.

“All good, Shiro! Just harassing Lance!”

“Oh, okay then.”

This makes Lance pull away from Hunk in pure indignation, jaw dropped and eyes furrowed on betrayal.

Hunk bursts out laughing.

“I think you’re good now, dude,” he says, patting Lance’s back one last time before waving goodbye and heading back to his car. Lance watches him go, then stomps into the cafe, putting his apron on as aggressively as he can possibly manage and scowling at a gleeful Pidge.

“Hello, Zombie Lance,” greets an amused Shiro. He looks impossibly normal for a man who has to be awake and working at Three In The Goddamn Morning. “Thanks for coming in, kiddo. I appreciate it.”

Lance shoots him a tired thumbs up and then heads to the kitchen.

“Never in my life have I seen him like this,” Pidge remarks. She is practically bouncing off the walls.

Shiro raises an eyebrow at her. “He’s the only one here who can bake. You’re not allowed to make him quit.”

“Can I make him consider it?”

“No.”

Pidge pouts. “Aw, Shiro, come on! You’re not here on the afternoon shifts! He and Allura gang up on me, Shiro. I am a victim. They do that weirdo thing where they communicate with eyebrow wiggles and Looks Of Judgement and then suddenly they know every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Shiro snorts, but shakes his head again. “Still no, Pidge. You’re all an asset to this team. Besides, Lance is the only one who doesn’t hate interacting with customers during rush. Do you want to start doing that? Because that’s what you’ll be doing if you annoy him into quitting.”

“Fine,” Pidge grouches. “I’ll only torment him a little. Until he gets his voice back. Fair’s fair.”

She sprints off before Shiro can stop her.

Chuckling to himself, Shiro continues unpacking the supply shipment, stacking sacks of flour in the store room and bringing boxes of teabags up front. They’ll probably be fine. They’ve worked here for years and managed to not kill each other. Sure, Shiro has never had three of his early-morning bakers and stockers quit at the same time, nor has he ever had to panic-text his best employees to get them to work outside their usual shift in the dead of night, but he’ll…manage. Hopefully.

“I’m here! I’m here! I’m not late, I’m —” Allura stumbles into the storeroom, frantically trying to tie her thick, kinky hair out of her face and shove it into her visor. She gives up very quickly, tossing the visor on a random surface and smiling sheepishly at her boss. “I’m a little late. But in my defense, Uncle Coran is trying to build a flux capacitor again so all the clocks were behind.”

“Grab a sack of flour, you walking mess,” Shiro says fondly. Smiling back at him, Allura does, picking up three sacks with complete ease and stacking them neatly.

“What do we have to do to open?” she asks. “I’ve done it a couple times, I think, but never this early, and —”

She’s interrupted by screeching, followed by cackling, and then the sound of several things clanging together as they fall to the floor.

She purses her lips, clearly fighting back a giggle. “Pidge and Lance in the kitchen?”

Shiro sighs. “Unfortunately.”

They follow the sounds of destruction, pulling the two fools away from each other, Allura dragging Pidge to go help her with the unloading and Shiro staying to help Lance. Between the four of them they manage to get the cafe stocked and prepped for the day, supplies out where they belong and enough goodies baked for the morning rush.

“Thanks again,” Shiro tells them, when six rolls around and they get ready to open.

Lance grins at him, having woken up fully sometimes around four. “All good! Opening shift is kinda nice, actually. You get to see the sunrise.”

Shiro smiles back, somewhat nervously. “It’s great that you feel that way, buddy.”

“Oh no,” Pidge says, sensing his tone.

Shiro pushes on. “—because Stephanie, Tyler, and Lou all quit. So. I am completely out of an opening shift.”

All three of them blink.

“Have you been opening on your own every morning?” Allura asks, concerned.

“No, this just happened,” Shiro assures. “That’s why I called you guys in. I know it’s frustrating, but I was hoping you guys would be willing to take this shift for a while, at least until I can get new hires. You guys like working together, so I pulled all three of you, but you don’t all have to say yes. I can definitely ask the late afternoon or evening shifts.”

“I never said anything about liking to work with the gremlin,” Lance grumbles, but he’s resting his elbow on Pidge’s head and his tone is nothing but fond.

“Yeah, and who says I want to work with two beanstalks?” Pidge complains. “If you move these two knuckleheads to this shift then maybe I can go back to my regular shift and work with appropriately sized people!”

“Oh, darling, I don’t believe any of our coworkers are preschoolers.” Allura bends down to Pidge’s height, face exaggeratedly sympathetic. “Child labour is illegal, you see.”

Pidge scowls as Allura and Lance burst into cackles, high-fiving each other. “You see?” she demands, gesturing between them and Shiro. “They gang up on me! Workplace harassment! I can’t believe you’re making me take the morning shift with these two doodooheads!”

“This is the best gift you could have possibly given me, Shiro,” Lance says, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m eternally grateful for this opportunity.”

Allura sniggers. “As am I.”

“Alright, alright,” Shiro says, rolling his eyes. He shrugs on his jacket, tossing the keys to Allura — the most trustworthy of the bunch (Pidge will most definitely make copies for nefarious purposes and the one and only time Lance was trusted with the keys, they ended up accidentally baked into a banana loaf). “I’m gonna sort some things out and see what I can do to get some newbies hired. No killing each other while I’m out, and no making each other quit either. Play nice, children.”

The three of them call out some derivative of “will do, father!” and wave him goodbye, watching him unchain his bike from the side of the building and pedal off.

The second he’s out of eyesight, Lance turns towards the other two, hand flying to his nose. “Dibs on first pick of breakfast! And on not unlocking the doors!”

“Hey! No way!”

“You only get to dibs one, you cheater!”

———

Usually, Lance works from ten to five, so he gets the second wave of breakfast rush and both waves of lunch rush. Early dinner rush too, but only if he’s working on weekends.

Early morning rush, though, is a whole different ballpark. There are way more people, somehow, and a lot of them are ruder. Possibly the lack of coffee, but still. Pidge intentionally makes decaf after notices several people be much meaner than Lance than usual.

Not that she thinks Lance notices she does this. But she’s not very subtle, and every time she does it makes Lance smile.

“Whew,” Allura huffs, slumping over the counter. “That was rough.”

“Was it ever,” Lance grumbles. The cafe has been quiet for five whole minutes, signalling an end to the dreaded mass of customers who’ve yet to caffeinate themselves.

Pidge is very scowly. “That one guy was such a prick. He was so mean to Lance for no reason, and then he called you hotcheeks, Allura! Ugh. He’s going to be so miserable when he gets caffeine withdrawals. I hope they’re particularly bad for him.”

“Careful there, Pidgey,” Allura says, sharing a grin with Lance. “It almost sounds like you care about us.”

“That has nothing — I do not! I’m just —” She flounders, ears going red. There’s no bleeding heart like Pidge, but God forbid she ever admit it. “I’m going on break! Fuck you guys!”

She stomps off to the back, throwing her apron at Lance’s head as she turns the corner. Allura and Lance look at each other, and last approximately four seconds before cracking up.

“Payback,” Lance says between giggles. “She was a total shit this morning. I considered throwing eggs at her.”

“You didn’t consider shit. You did throw an egg at her.”

“Yeah, but she dodged, so it doesn’t count.”

Allura rolls her eyes. “If I put you in a chokehold but you don’t die, it still —”

She cuts herself off at the sound of the windchimes hanging from the door, looking over to see a guy walk in, their age, wearing a cropped leather jacket, fingerless gloves, big emo boots, and —

“Is that a mullet?” Lance mutters, aghast. “In this day and age? Unironically?”

Allura bites her lip, hurriedly turning towards the espresso machine. “I’ll get started on a coffee as black as his soul,” she teases under her breath.

Lance has the bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and even then he can’t stop his smile. He turns to the guy. “Welcome to Starbrews. What can I get for you?” he asks, voice shaking with mirth. He glances at the man’s gloves, and then back at his face. “A pink drink?”

Is he being a little mean? Yeah, probably. Can he kiss any tip goodbye? Most definitely.

Oh, well.

The man scoffs. “Is that your idea of being funny?”

Lance shrugs, very much amused even if the beloved customer isn’t. “What’re you gonna get, then?”

The man hesitates for a beat, still glaring at Lance, then mutters, “A pink drink.”

Lance does his absolute best to keep his smirk at a reasonable level. He sees Allura’s shoulders shaking out of the corner of his eye.

“What size?” he asks pleasantly, tapping the register.

“A medium,” the man says, with no small amount of attitude.

Without waiting for the man to finish, Lance shakes his head.

Oh, he is delighting in this.

“Sorry,” he hums. “I don’t know what that is.”

The man looks a hair’s breadth away from reaching over to strangle Lance, which is excellent. Instead he places his hands on the counter very gently, in a way that tells you he is physically holding himself back from slamming them, and leans in close. He hums, mocking the way Lance did earlier, condescending smirk on his face. “It’s, like, in between a small and a lar—”

“Shh,” Lance interrupts, matching the man’s position, leaning so close he can see the freckles that dot his nose, and the faint scar on his cheek. “We go by tall, grande, and venti here? Most people know that.”

Most people don’t know that, actually. This is a privately owned cafe. This isn’t a Starbucks. Shiro just has an all-encompassing loathing for Starbucks and anything associated with it, and expresses this loathing with as much copyright as he can get away with, which is a lot. (Aside from the sizing, they even have two menus, labelled ‘Our Menu’ and ‘The Starbucks Menu’. How Shiro has not yet received a cease and desist, Lance does not know, but the pettiness as a whole brings him great joy.)

But for whatever reason, Lance appears to be set on being as annoying as possible to this random man today. Perhaps it’s because he is personally offended by the mullet. Perhaps it’s because Lance is neurotic and the man is objectively very attractive. No one will ever know exactly how Lance’s mind works, least of all himself.

The man’s eyebrows narrow, and something shifts in his expression. He smirks widely, tilting his head at Lance and putting his hand to his heart in a false show of genuineness.

“Aw,” he coos, as patronizing as Lance was seconds ago. “Do I look like most people, sweetheart?”

The mocking pet name only emboldens Lance further. He straightens, punching in the order — not that he needs to, there’s no way Allura isn’t paying full and complete attention, but still — and grinning.

“Absolutely not,” he chirps, as preppily as he can.

The man huffs, straightening up as well. “Hm. That was a little condescending, don’t you think?”

“Was it?” Lance drawls.

“Yeah,” the man says flatly.

“Interesting,” Lance dismisses. “Can I get a name for the order? Or does Billy Ray Cyrus work for you?”

Allura can’t tamp down her laugh at that one, clamping her hand over her mouth as soon as the sound escapes and hurriedly reaching for the coconut milk.

“Keith is fine,” Keith grouches.

“Sure thing,” Lance assures, writing Billy Ray Cyrus on the cup, and then a heart just to be annoying. He slides the cup over to Allura, who fills it up and walks it over to the counter.

“Pink drink for Billy Ray Cyrus?” she calls, because she may pretend to be more mature than Lance but deep down she is just as much of a shit disturber.

Keith scowls. “Not my name.” He takes the offered drink and then — to Lance and Allura’s great surprise — drops some money into the tip jar, before leaving the cafe in a huff.

“You are going to get your dumb ass fired,” Allura says once he’s gone.

“Nah,” Lance dismisses, grinning cheekily at her. “Shiro likes me too much. Plus, how would he ever find out?”

Allura grabs a rag and stars wiping the machines down, shaking her head. “You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, come on. What’s Mr. Emo gonna do? Tell Shiro? It’s not like they know each other. That would be romcom levels of ridiculous plot hangering. Not happening.”

“Whatever you say, Lance. When this comes back to bite you in the ass, I am going to point and laugh.”

———

scene from this video

[mooodyblue]

hi i’ve never sent a request before but i thought of one/ just a thought depending on what you’re feeling 🫶 but basically my anxiety has been really bad lately and today i had a breakdown in a restaurant bc i was convinced the waiter was mad at me LMAO and i was just thinking abt how elvis would handle a situation like that where his little really doesn’t want to go down but he can tell their anxiety is spiking / they’re starting to panic and he doesn’t wanna push them, but then something pushes them over the edge in public and he just comforts them and helps them drop and gets them away from the situation asap just very fluffy and comforting and yeah 🫶 that’s all 🫶

ugh i feel this 100%!!!!! loved this request vvv much i know this all too well. hope u enjoy! <3

wc: 1.3k

there was something off about you today, elvis couldn’t put his finger on it.

elvis knew you like the back of his hand. he knew your quirks, what set you off, what made you uncomfortable, and how bad your brain could treat you sometimes. 

you woke up with a weird feeling in your chest. maybe it was the way elvis sighed when he woke up or how his usual morning kiss didn't linger as long as it usually did. how did something so small cause you so much worry?

it almost worried elvis how quiet you were at breakfast. all you did was poke at your eggs. there was a slight tremble to your hand, heavy sighs leaving your chest as you refused to make eye contact with him. 

“you alright, baby?” 

you didn't look up at him, shrugging and not replying to him. 

he sighed, drinking his coffee and putting his mug down before asking the question that you absolutely dreaded.

“you feelin’ little?” 

honestly, there was nothing more you wanted than to finally drop. but it was his day off, he wanted to spend the day with you and his friends and he had plans, you couldn’t just ruin them so suddenly. not on the day of. he was already annoyed with you, at least in your head he was. 

“no.” was all you said, poking at your eggs again.

“well—i got the guys to come with us to the memphian tonight. got a good lineup of movies, you wanna go down and get that pretty lil' dress you saw a couple weeks ago?” he asked, trying to get your mind off of things. 

“sure, sure.” she nodded. 

damage control 

“whatever you wanna do.” she mumbled, pushing her plate away. 

he did buy the dress for you, amongst other things. he loved spoiling you. with how you’d been feeling, he thought you deserved a nice pick me up at the very least. 

it wasn’t until you both settled into the rented out memphian theater that you started feeling bad again. the guys were in a few rows behind the two of you, being loud and talking amongst themselves before the movie started. elvis had to tell them to tone it down a bit as if he noticed it was bothering you slightly. 

elvis wrapped an arm around your shoulders, whispering sweet nothings in your ear to try and calm you down. your leg was bouncing up and down quickly, trying to ease yourself of your running thoughts. “they don’t like me, elvis.” you mumbled. 

“sure they do, baby. you know how they get sometimes.” he sighed. 

they were just….so loud. and it was clearly affecting you and elvis was well aware of it so chances are; elvis was annoyed that you were frustrated and ruining his night with the guys. 

obviously, that wasn't even close to the truth. but your brain told you otherwise. 

you felt your chest start to hurt, just trying to keep everything bottled in and to yourself as your thoughts became worse and worse. 

“you gon’ start the movie or keep coddlin’ that baby of yours, ep?” billy yelled from the back. 

you sunk further in your seat, crossing your arms. 

elvis rolled his eyes, “it ain’t me man, be patient. they’ll start it soon. it ain't my fault we’re early.” 

there was an audible groan from the back, along with mumbles which you assumed were about you.

“it's my fault.” you muttered. 

his eyes widened as he turned to you, taking ahold of your hand. “not your fault at all, baby. you know that.” 

“i didn’t wanna go out for lunch ‘n now we’re early.” she grumbled.

“baby, we didn’t go out for lunch cause the guys were eager ‘bout comin' out here. you not wantin’ to eat didn’t play into that at all—you know how i am about you skippin’ your meals.” he frowned, squeezing your hand. “you hungry? i can go get you a lil’ snack, i’ll be real fast.” 

you looked at him panicked, “you’re gonna leave me with them?” 

“i’ll be super super fast, baby. i’ll bring you some candy, okay? you just wait.” he kissed the top of your head as he got up from his seat to leave the theater, leaving you alone a few rows ahead of the guys. 

you kept your eyes forward, refusing to look behind you. 

there was a small thump to the back of your head, followed by another and then another. that’s when you turned around, your cheek being hit with a piece of popcorn thrown from his cousin as he snickered to himself. you turned back around, your chest getting tighter as you felt your body begin to shake. why was elvis taking so long?

“quit it, man! that ain’t funny!” and “you’re bein’ a real jerk, man.” were mumbled behind you and god, you just wanted to go home.

elvis returned to the room, his eyes automatically shifting to you as you stood there visibly not okay. he rushed over to you, rubbing your back. “what happened? what’s goin’ on, baby?” 

“my chest hurts.” you whimpered, your breathing suddenly getting heavier. 

he glared at the guys behind her, “what the hell did you say to them?” 

“man, i was just kiddin’ around!” billy defended, sitting up in his chair. “they’re just bein’ dramatic!”

“watch your mouth, boy.” elvis snapped. 

you felt tears begin to trickle down your cheeks, shaking your head as you covered your ears. 

elvis helped you up from your seat, looking back at the men, “enjoy the movie.” he spat before quickly ushering you out into the quiet lobby. 

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” you began to cry, trying to control your breathing. 

“hey, baby. look at me, c’mere.” he crouched down and took her hands, holding them both securely in his as he looked up at you. “don’t apologize, this ain’t your fault. i got a group of fools as friends, don’t i?” 

you sniffled softly, shaking under his touch. 

elvis knew you weren’t having a good day and he wished you had brought it up, but you had such a bad habit of overthinking and bottling it all up. he wanted to take away your pain so badly, but all he could do was comfort you. 

“baby? you wanna go down a bit? maybe try ‘n forget about all of this?” he finally asked in a softer tone. 

you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, nodding as he brought you back to his car—immediately taking you home. 

elvis was good at taking care of you, always knowing what to do in situations like these. he gave you a nice bath, wrapped you up in a cozy blanket and put cartoons on for you in the living room until he returned with a plate of nuggets and a sippy cup with your favorite juice. he frowned upon eating in the living room in fear of you spilling something onto the carpet but at this moment he didn’t care. 

he rubbed your back softly as you drank from your sippy cup. “you okay, baby?” 

“mhm.” you hummed against your sippy cup. “thank you, daddy.” 

he gave you a soft smile, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you were so strong today, daddy’s real proud of you.” 

you turned and looked at him, your cheeks growing warm at the sudden praise. 

he smiled at your reaction, giving your cheek a small pinch as you erupted in tiny giggles, nuzzling into his neck with the sippy cup still in your hand. “my cute baby, you’re just so cute. y’know that? i ain’t ever lettin’ anyone be mean to you again. swear.” 

the puppy dog eyes got him, the look of love and adoration in your eyes as you looked up at him from his shoulder. he kissed the top of your head and brushed your hair back. “i could just eat you right up, baby. that’s how cute you are.” 

“daddy no!” you giggled, hiding your face in his shoulder. 

“alright, alright. not today.”

[yourstrulyaiko]

o𓆩♡𓆪; MY HAPPY ENDING PT.5 | HEADCANON 𓆩♡𓆪  

╰┈➤ featuring; boku no hero academia! drummer! bakugou katsuki! x lead singer! fem! reader  

જ about; Heartbreaks. Aches. Dreams shattered. You feel like there was no bridging between you and your goal as an artist. Especially since the bridge that connected you that was your ex-boyfriend, Shindo, who you met at club. Now, that you’re separated. You thought, that was it. No more. Well, you thought wrong.

જ contents and warning; profanity cause bakugou is on it, asshole bakugou, cigarettes, smoking, angst, drummer bakugou, band au, fluff, romance, drama, paparazzi, cheating, break ups, toxic relationships, getting physical (the bad kind) and many more that I have definitely missed.

જ author's note; I actually have a lots and lots of chapter about band au which needs to be revised and re-written. unedited.

First therapy sessions are nerve-wracking.

You were really fucking anxious ironic ngl ahaha.

And you have to go there regularly at this therapy office cause you know

mental health. mental health is free unfortunately.

Apparently tho you have to go to the same damn therapist office as Bakugou.

Imagine your shock when you see him there. Bakugou at the therapist office.

“Oi!” He barks, “The fuck do you think are you doing here?”

The audacity of this man.

“Well, what the fuck do you think I’m here for? A tea party?” You scoff.

You don't want to entertain this man so you just ignore his angered 'HUH?!' Frankly, you're already stressed and you don't want to pile onto it.

Bakugou grumbled and stamps his way to the seat opposite yours.

Thank fuck.

You don't him sitting next to you.

As the time clicks away. Both you and Bakugou are both beginning to feel anxious.

You're drumming your fingers on the plastic chairs you're sitting on and his leg bouncing up and down.

The shaking is making a jiggling noise of his keys from his pocket.

It's making you feel even more nervous.

"Stop that." You hiss.

"You fucking cut it off. That shit is annoying." Bakugou barks back.

"Like you're not the loud one, dip shit."

You're defo making it worse. You could just stay quiet but your mother has said you were born without a zip on your mouth.

Thankfully, your therapist comes out.

"Well, you two are getting along well." Nemura laughs, "Sorry, to cut the sexual tension short, Bakugou. I'm going to need (Last name) with me now."

Angry. You get up and take your ass into her office and sit yourself on the a chair.

Not gonna lie, it feels so uncomfortable the thought of sharing your problems with a stranger for them to pick apart.

You didn't even hear ask how you are. You just stared at your hands on your lap,

Then, Nemura ask again.

"(Last name)." She finally gets your attention, "How are you?"

"Wel... I mean... I'm here so, I'm not okay."

Nemura laughs.

"Darling. People don't just come to therapy just cause they have a problem. They come here for a good mental health in general."

You stay quiet for a while. You're appreciative that she's patient with your answer.

You tell her, you're not because you can't get over your boyfriend.

There's still nights that you would still sob yourself to sleep. It's been reoccurring.

You left out the part where he's choked you out before.

She doesn't have to know that, right?

After all, Shindo didn't mean it. He just wants the best for both you.

He's always pushing you to the best of your abilities.

Nemura drops a question that makes you uncomfortable

"Do you still call him?"

You clench your jaw.

Don't lie. Your brain screams

"No."

She can sense that you're lying. But she doesn't press things on,

You'll open up eventually.

"Why do you think you still cling onto him?"

You reach your neck and scratching it.

A sign of a soothing behaviour

"I don't know... Maybe cause he loves me and I love him."

Now, she turns the table back to you, "How so?"

Nemura wants you to clarify. Especially when she caught the word 'maybe'

A sign of uncertainty.

It makes you stop on your tracks.

How so?

How does Shindo show he loves you?

You're sure he loves but how does he show it?

"He... He says sorry after he..."

What?

Hurts you.

Nemura looks you encouraging to say it. Admit it.

But, you're so ashamed.

So humiliated.

"After we argue."

"After an argument, you and your romantic partner are supposed to sit down, communicate and comprimise. That is what a partner is supposed to do."

Supposed to.

You're speechless. You can't form words together.

What are you supposed to say?

This is what you thought love was? This is the impression you have.

You chew the inside of your cheek trying to dissociate yourself from the conversation.

Wiping your hands from the fabric of your sweatpants.

You swallow the ball forming in your throat trying to hold back your tears.

"Not all forms of love is great. Not all is healthy. Some will tell you this is the right way. It happens. Sometimes walking away is the best form of love." Nemura says.

"What if you give it your all? You're happy. Everything is great. They have everything they want at home. Why do people still walk away?"

You're crying at this point.

You don't understand anything at all.

"Because temptation is everywhere and selfishness is still human. But, that is up to the person to fall for it and stray from the path or keep going the path home."

It hurts your chest. It's hard to breath.

It feels like someone is keeping your head underwater and won't let you up

You still don't understand. More like you refuse to understand.

Selfishness is not human.

How can it be?

You slowly emerge out the door and shutting it behind you.

You forgot that Bakugou was sat there.

You're a whole ass mess. You have tears still streaming down your face.

You're staring off blankly before making your way out of the place.

You don't acknowledge the blonde at all.

He's looking at you. He doesn't say anything.

You leave.

Slowly, more tears began to drip.

You use the sleeves of your hoodie to wipe away the tears but more began to flow.

Then you began to break down and rack in hysterical sobs.

It's painful.

Nemura's words echoed in your head, "Sometimes, we're taught to receive the love we think we deserve."

TAGS

@nonomesupposedto @dumb-cxm-slxt @xviternity @bluebreadenthusiast @chuugarettes @somebodyfuture3

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @drchenquill!

Favorite Line Tag

Let's get some HO book 2 action up in here!

Suddenly paranoid, the halawemavar scoured her mind for any subtle influence. Which desires were hers? Did she want this, any of this, or did End? Sweet spirits, where did her mind stop and its influence begin? There was no way to tell, no way to separate her bloodlust from the starry horror’s.

This is wrong…. This is all wrong!

For just an instant, reality came into full focus. Izjik could see Djek, stripped of all his false confidence and reassuring smiles. The young man looked terrified, like he was trying to back someone away from the edge of a cliff, but determined. So determined. He’d come a long way, hadn’t he?

“She has good in her, we both saw it!” her friend pleaded. “The Izjik I know would never ignore that, would never kill someone who has a chance at a better path.”

Memories of a dozen crossbows pointed at her heart whirled through the chaos of Izjik’s thoughts like smoke on the wind. For an instant, she smelled the tang of fear, heard the sweet call of a siren platoon’s chorus, felt herself grab onto the back of an enemy’s shirt.

“Do for her what you did for me,” Djek said, his voice a raspy whisper. “Don’t give in to that thing in your head.”

Spare her….

Izjik looked and for the first time, saw. Behind Djek, Daedryn was lying in a pool of her own blood, trying desperately to put pressure on the wound that would never heal by any godly magic. No, this wasn’t what she wanted! None of this!

Suddenly, the cold tendrils of End’s influence became cadaverous invaders in Izjik’s brain, wrapped like snakes around her desire for recompense. Damn, it was so obvious! It’d learned her defenses and tricked her. Used her own emotions against her. And she’d never stood a chance. Stupid, all of it!

Get the fuck out of my head! Izjik screamed at the eldritch being. Terror, disgust, rage; all of these ricocheted through her mind. And all bounced off of the cold tendrils pushed like pins through her consciousness.

Not possible, End replied in a voice inseparable from Izjik’s own. You belong to us, we are one. Now, kill the Chosen or we will make you. Turning you into a full avatar is a risky process, but we will resort to it if that is what it takes.

I won’t! I won’t let you have her or me!

Murderous desire pulsed through Izjik’s veins, setting her mind aflame with silver light. Consume her!

Izjik raised her sword, body filled with a rage from beyond the stars. Yes, she wanted to consume! She wanted to rip away the divine usurpers!

It’s using you!

I want to!

Killing her will strengthen its hold on you! You’ll never escape!

It… Shit, not again!

Sword already in motion, Izjik twisted with all her strength. Spirits of the silt, Djek had been in front of her and she hadn’t even noticed! The blade smashed into the floor, sending up a spray of gravel. All at once, there was a sudden absence in Izjik’s mind; a separation of intent. Using that weakness like a farmer with a scythe, she tore the tendrils of End out of her mind, pulling the influence up from the roots.

Fool! End screamed, dropping Izjik to her knees. Traitor!

I’m stronger than you! the halawemavar screamed back. I refuse to have this woman’s blood on my hands! You can’t make me, and you’ll never be able to!

“Because I…,” she choked out, in a voice that finally didn’t feel like razor blades being forced up her throat. “I’m nobody’s bitch.”

I'll tag @sergeantnarwhalwrites @kaelie-quill @frostedlemonwriter @mundanemoongirl and anyone else who wants to play :)

[faebriel]

and you caused it: chapter 1

(click for more detail!)

In which Niki has a terrible secret, Puffy just wants to move on, Tommy sneaks into casino parties and Wilbur learns to deal with anger being justified. Or - the one thing they don't warn you of, when dropping nuclear warheads on old friends, is fallout.

in chapter one: wilbur does his very best to be a good friend. niki continues to have issues with making apologies. a casino opening party is attended, and a few well-kept secrets find their way into the light.

wc: 9.8k (this part's the longest! you can tell i start writing out fics from their opening scenes lol)

so before getting into things, i'd like to lay out a few warnings and additional comments.

cws include: implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced self-destructive behaviour, implied/referenced child abuse, and discussed food restriction. this is very much a fic about trying to deal with the fact that you haven't done great things and having trouble coming to terms with your mistakes and wrongdoings, and not always approaching that in a healthy way. do i still need to clarify all my fics are extremely entrenched in unreliable narrators? the viewpoint(s) of this fic most definitely are.

this fic should be considered canon-divergent from early season 3, as a direct sequel to cause most of us are bitter over someone.

apologies for some of the broken up snippet boxes. did you know tumblr has a character limit per text block? i didn't, until today.

and yes, this fic is also named after youth by daughter. i mean, come on.

with that in mind, onto the story proper.

prologue

The crater is so, so much bigger than she thought it would be. Crumbling rock stretches onward, a chasm fields larger than the pit that once was L’Manberg - easily bigger than L’Manberg ever was. Even now it yawns itself larger, stone crumbling at the edges and tumbling downward, ever downward. The crashing is muffled, the ground under her feet unsteady and yet floating, frozen, caught and crystallised in the stray second that Niki is trapped in. Every stone a diamond, the hulking and twisted mass of metal below glittering in the late afternoon sun. It sinks into her brain, thick and heavy, as she struggles to wrap her mind around what her eyes tell her she sees. This isn’t a burning tree, this isn’t dynamite - this shouldn’t even be possible. And yet somehow, somehow, they failed. She edges closer to the lip of the cliff, letting the sound of tumbling rock fade from her earshot, and stares. Just - stares. What else can she do? Bedrock peers up at her, threaded with smoking silver-grey. The air is clear up here, sky a fading blue, but the longer she looks - her eyes burn, and when she takes a breath she coughs on what tastes like gunpowder, but it burns down the rungs of her throat like it’s somehow been lit behind her tongue. Gunpowder is dry, cold - it doesn’t do that. She would know. The burning feeling raking its way into her lungs pulls her back from her vigil, and somewhere behind her she can hear Tubbo pulling Tommy back from the edge. His voice rambles on about - about radiation. Poison leeching its way into her lungs, her skin, every thread of muscle and sinew holding her together, her brain. (She’s either dizzy, or the height is giving her vertigo. She steels herself, clenches her hands into shaking fists, and tries not to drift.) And they’re all standing in the thick of it, air hot and heavy with poison. Because Tommy’s still here. She tears her eyes away from the wreckage, watches - watches him, still here, still alive, still fire-bright and bold enough to start kicking rocks around. When a cliff crumbles he bounces back, has the audacity to laugh. Jack’s eyes bore holes into the side of her head. Her stomach hurts, pulling itself apart, lining loose - oh, fuck, she’s going to be sick. She can - she can’t feel it, she shouldn’t be able to feel it, but she does. That poison seeping into her bones, settling there like silt. It reaches out with sticky hands, tearing open her stomach and burning everything it touches leaving nothing but the wet and wrong feeling of gristle inside and she takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut and clamps a hand over her mouth because she’s all too aware of every toxic shift in her chest. Takes a shaky breath, feels that burn down her throat too. Her gut is twisting like something’s grabbed it, shot it through with shards of ice, but it’s just her, Jack, Tubbo and Tommy. And the pit that stretches out beneath them. There’s a hand on her shoulder, and Tubbo’s words swim past her ears like she’s been held underwater. We need to go, his voice murmurs quietly. It washes over her like rainwater, like what’s left of the stream that weaves its way into the crater and drips down like rain on the edge of a roof. We need to go, or we’ll die. Isn’t that the point? she wants to ask. It all blurs together when she blinks the water out of her eyes - the shitty canopy over their van, a tree that goes up like firewood, smoke in the back of her throat. Dynamite under her hands, dug deep into a podium. Radiation sinking into her bones. She staggers over - Tubbo is wearing something heavy and yellow, encrusted in shimmering black dust, pressing something similar into Tommy’s hands. She’s wearing - Wilbur’s coat, thin and flapping in the breeze, still smudged with ash. She can feel a draft through the tears in the back. Tommy steps away from the cliff’s edge, and her hands twitch. Hasn’t that always been the point?

☢ ☢ ☢

chapter 1

the first two scenes of this fic are actually written out, so they have been linked in their entirety below:

scene 1 - wilbur and niki, hanging out again - comfortable, reunited - as niki brews potions that she (reluctantly) reveals are to treat radiation sickness from a mishap with one of tubbo's nuclear experiments.

scene 2 - niki walks to snowchester to drop off a few potions, a peace offering. unfortunately, tommy and michael are the only ones home. it's a bit awkward. niki struggles to navigate the historically-turbulent relationship between herself and tommy.

---

after snowchester comes the afternoon syndicate meeting - insert the meeting notes, penned by the deeply-experienced ranboo_beloved.

items of note: technoblade's absence, as he is due to return from his hibernation tomorrow. phil advises ranboo and niki that techno seems to have some big ideas in mind for the syndicate upon his return, but there's no time to speculate - wilbur has advised them that las nevadas is throwing an opening party for its casino in a few nights' time, and the syndicate does not trust like that! ranboo will be representing paradise burgers and phil is pulling the "you've all called me old for too long, and i am now using it as an excuse to get out of this party i don't want to go to" card. niki, you would love to go, wouldn't you?

---

well, niki is a bit so-so on las nevadas, but to be honest - a night at a fancy party with a few friends doesn't sound so bad. so niki makes her way to the sparkling city in her glitziest red dress, and wilbur is just a little bit too excited to meet her on its front steps.

The place is bustling, fashioned for pleasure instead of business tonight - strings of lights wrap their way around slender pillars of stone on every corner, each housing sea lanterns that send shifting shades of blue and purple across the obsidian paving. The water flowing from the fountains is bright and blue, the music coming from the casino is booming, and the space needle is lit up like a lighthouse that throws the spotlight onto every partygoer who enters the city. It is sparkling, dazzling, and probably shockingly expensive. In other words, just as tacky as Niki had expected. Although maybe even sparklier. There is something about this place that is stale, artificial. There is a chill to the air despite the sand stuck in her heels, and Niki finds herself shivering as night settles over the desert - and wishing she had a shawl or something. She's wearing the same red dress as she did for the banquet months ago, knife tucked by her back, right in arm’s reach. Though even in her glitziest gown, she feels underdressed. "Wonderful, isn't it?" Wilbur, at least, seems unbothered - he’s still donning his torn trenchcoat and canary-yellow sweater, but moves through the city as if the bright lights and tall buildings fit him like a glove. “Wonderful is one word for it,” Niki murmurs. She’s never visited Las Nevadas, and tonight with its flashing nights and thrumming music seems determined to leave… an impression. A good one, or a bad one, she can’t say - although she’s certainly leaning towards the latter over the former. She thinks she can feel a headache coming on. “Oh, come on, Niki. Try to have a little fun, won’t you?” He grins, a little crooked. “A beautiful night in a beautiful city - a lot of potential, for a night like that..." Wilbur is acting strange. it’s not the locale, because he looks the same as usual and moves through the city in the same way as usual - but he is clearly planning something, and Niki hates to say it but it’s putting her on edge. Bless him, but Wilbur planning things doesn’t end well. Especially when she doesn’t see it coming.

"Alright, get over here," he interrupts her rapidly-derailing train of thought. "Your eyeliner is smudged.” Niki wrinkles her nose as Wilbur licks his thumb, and dodges an attempt to swipe it past her temple. “I’ll decline you rubbing your spit on my face,” she says, taking a step back. Wilbur pouts. “I don’t have anyone to impress here, Wil.” Certainly not. Not in the brightest, most wasteful city in the server. Wilbur presses his lips together, but he doesn’t say anything - just huffs, taking a step back with a roll of his eyes. Niki resists the urge to roll her own. He’s wired, and she’d like to pretend she’s not at least mildly suspicious, but she is. She keeps her mouth shut, though. She trusts Wilbur - despite and because of everything in equal measures. “Don’t blame me later,” is all he says. “This place is so... gaudy. I don't know how much fun you expect me to have,” Niki points out, and reaches out to fix the pins on his collar - glinting gold under the lights, one’s come detached from the point of his collar and dangles helplessly from the chain. He huffs slightly as she winds the pin out from the wool of his sweater, and fiddles with the point of his collar until it stays. “You really are starting to sound like Techno now, you know.” “He’s your brother,” Niki says, flattening out his collar. “i think that should be a compliment.” “Maybe,” Wilbur laughs, and offers her his arm. “Just - try to have fun, yeah? Don’t be stressed. It’s a party.” “It’s a reconnaissance mission.” “It's a reconnaissance mission at a party,” he says flippantly, although there’s something hiding beneath his tone. Niki trusts Wilbur, she reminds herself. “I know you’re putting some plan together again,” she says, despite herself. she just can’t piece together what he’s planning, and that worries her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hums. “You clearly do.” Wilbur drops the act a moment - not long enough to fill her in on whatever scheme's caught his eye, but just enough for him to shoot her an encouraging smile. “You'll have a good time, Niki,” he assures her, confident. "Promise."

but oh, the party seems fine. she runs into a few friends - quackity, tubbo, ranboo (they got a babysitter for tonight), actually meets slime. tommy is there too, and they share a bit of awkward conversation, but even they are getting along finely tonight.

Tommy nods out towards the mostly-empty space in the middle of the room, some glitzy imitation of a ballroom - Ranboo and Tubbo, hand in hand, twirl around the space in a clumsy but cheerful attempt at a waltz. As they pass the bar Ranboo spins Tubbo under his outstretched arm, smiling at Quackity - the man grins back, and lets the vodka glug into his glass for a few seconds too long before tossing it back with a grimace.

niki eventually takes a small breather from the party, lingering on the sidelines to catch her breath between all of this talking - this is where wilbur finds her, the most keyed up he's been all night and insisting that niki follow him. it'll be worth her while, of course (he's done something to make things up with her, to make things properly right between them, to do something just for niki). and so niki follows to the faux-ballroom, eyes cast downward to avoid stepping on anyone's feet as wilbur eagerly ushers her through the crowd, until she almost runs into his back as he steps away and finally -

locks eyes with puffy.

who is not happy to see her.

(oh, it would be so kind of wilbur - who has noticed how lonely the niki-who-is-now is compared to the niki-who-once-was, who once had perhaps not a country but friends and a girlfriend who she could rely on. and someone as sweet and good as niki would never do something to cause a horrible, drawn-out, justified breakup.

the point is, wilbur puts niki on a pedestal. he means well. they don't even notice that he does, half the time - he thinks she is good and clever and rational and deserving of the world, and some of the time, she really is those things. she's just also an attempted murderer. and finally, it is coming back to bite both of them in the ass.)

puffy, who has been led to believe that this is some get-her-back scheme orchestrated by niki, is mildly annoyed at best. we broke up for a reason, she insists, and niki knows that.

"I can’t believe you," Puffy scowls, the expression a brash, red rose across her face. "Really, Niki?” “This wasn’t my idea!” she cries. "Guilty as charged," Wilbur mumbles - suitably abashed, he slinks over to Niki's side. She is still too shell-shocked to shoo him away. Puffy is transfixing, like that. A thousand thoughts tumble through her head, chaos - and yet, she can't bring a single other one stammering to her lips. “Well, god knows what you’re telling everyone, then!" Puffy snaps. "I don't know what kind of dumb get back together plan you're trying to pull - I don't care, Niki. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but - you're a fucking mess." The words land like a blow to the chest - Niki sucks a breath in past her teeth, bracing for the hit, before she thinks better of it. "I told you. I can't fix you, I couldn't - I couldn't just stand around and keep my eyes closed when you hurt people, Niki, I'm done with it. I told you, I'm done."

but niki has been trying. and fuck, trying has been hard. she's not going to beg that puffy takes her back - that ship has sailed - but she's not going to stand there and let herself be slandered, either.

“...I’m getting better," Niki retorts, voice small. Puffy lets go of an angry breath. “Don’t start. Don’t start.” “I have the Syndicate now!" she exclaims. "I have friends - good friends - and I started baking again, I started caring again, I started trying again, and it's - it's none of your business, either way. It's not your business!" “This started being my business when you tried to kill someone under my care - I don't know if you remember that - and then you just, just disappeared off into the wilderness about it! Fuck, have you even apologised to Tommy for all that?” And Niki goes quiet. It's more of an answer than anything she could have said in words. Puffy's glare goes thunderous, voice a loud, rumbling crash in Niki's head. “You haven’t? After exile, after all of that shit - you were in the vault with us, Niki, you heard everything that fucker said, you were there - and you haven't even fucking apologised to him?” A cold rush of - of shame, it sweeps over her, making her painfully aware of the scuffs on her dress and the acne on her chin and the abject, open anger on Puffy’s face. Puffy is no angel but she is righteous, powered by something burning bright and so scathingly good at her core, nigh-divine in her knightly fury - and despite her namesake, Niki is so very far from godhood. “It’s difficult," Niki tries. "It’s - it’s complicated.” “No, it’s fucking not!" Puffy shouts, incredulous. "You tried to kill the kid!” “Niki," Wilbur cuts in, voice quiet. Niki freezes, ice fanning down the length of her spine - she had forgotten, she had somehow forgotten, that the world existed outside of the small bubble encasing herself and Puffy. It all comes rushing back to her now, an assault on the senses - the coloured lights, the fabric of her dress settling across her neck, the uncanny sensation of a person standing at her back, the low sound of Wilbur's voice over her shoulder. "You, did you - you tried to hurt Tommy?” She is experiencing that sense of paralysis again, she dimly notices, silent - voicebox giving up the ghost. Oh, there's nothing she can say to fix this one. So the cords of her throat make no noise at all. “Yeah, go on, brag about it." Puffy waves a half-hearted hand in her direction, dismissive. "You seemed real proud of yourself this time last January.” “She’s - she’s lying, right. What the fuck." She can't see his face. She can't see him, and for some delirious moment her mind parrots if you can't see him then he can't see you, then it's not real then this never happened, he never came back you never tried to kill anyone you never he never - "Niki - Niki, she’s lying, isn’t she?” She turns, strangling the delirium silent. Niki has seen Wilbur heartbroken, desperate, dead - and yet there is another expression in his face that Niki simply cannot recognise, can't put a name to, an expression she has never seen turned onto her. “...I told you," she says weakly. "I said - I said I’d done things I wasn’t proud of - “ "Yeah, what - property damage or something, some shitty fights, I don't - I don't know," he exclaims, voice climbing in volume and incredulity. “You tried to kill him?” “I - I..." “...can you even admit it?” "Let me finish," she snaps, and he falls silent. “I - I did, I did.” Ah, there's the name for that expression. Horrified.

a crowd is forming. and it is listening.

from the crowd bursts tommy and ranboo, both in a state of panic - and as soon as tommy enters the scene, all eyes land on him.

did niki try to kill you, wilbur demands.

and tommy, he backpedals - no, we're over it, we're getting over it - it's none of your fucking business, wilbur, we sorted it out! and the lack of denial amidst it all is damning.

the argument could continue between the four of them for days, but tommy is already frantic - he cuts wilbur off, tells him ranboo is in a state of panic and can barely speak, and was using his few words to beg tommy to take him to wilbur. wilbur's not keen to drop this line of conversation at all, until ranboo babbles out the words casino, and TNT, and wilbur goes white.

you didn't, tommy says. no way you did, no fucking way -

you promised, niki chokes out, and wilbur snaps that now is not the time for her of all people to be rattling on about lies -

and the horrible story forces its way out of ranboo: yes, wilbur asked him to place a bit of TNT in the casino. a small amount! small enough that wilbur had practically forgotten. but ranboo, anxiety-ridden, felt strangely something was out of place - and discovered that somehow, they don't know how, they don't (they do know: it's the same reason excess TNT seems to appear around ranboo and prisons in droves) a few stray pieces of TNT have become an entire network, hundreds of pieces as far as they could see when they checked just now. enough to blow the casino sky-high, and easily kill every player inside.

all hell breaks loose.

tommy is furious with wilbur. wilbur is demanding why tommy didn't tell him about niki. niki is panicking. the crowd has given up on staring for now, instead focused on their escapade stampde. quackity is furious with everyone, barely keeping control of the crowd as they flood outside, as far from the building as they can get.

“Where is Tubbo?” Quackity shouts. “Tommy said he left earlier,” Niki offers quietly, and the man whips around to face her - his gaze settles on Niki, and Niki is not afraid of Quackity by any means (not in Manberg, not now), but the fire in his glare makes her stand a little straighter. “You’d better fucking hope you heard him right, Niki,” he snarls, and turns back to the crowd. “I need - “ And then, the bombs go off. It feels as if someone has taken a sword to the night that falls over Las Nevadas, splitting it open - day spills over them, a bright light that burns its way into her eyes even as she hides her face in the crook of her elbow. The ground shakes…

they make it out, but las nevadas is a wreck. fire falls from the sky, the sands glowing alight with flame, slick with melting glass. niki falls into step with the flood of evacuees, surrounded by whispers, by stares, by a crowd of nosiness and judgement that shifts awkwardly away from her when she walks beside them, pulled into puffy's tumultuous wake.

as the blast settles, the truth dawns on niki - wilbur has heard what she's done. everyone has heard what she's done. puffy has (yet again) rejected her, her peers have rejected her, even wilbur, whose friendship she fought so fucking hard to get back, has rejected her. all her work to heal - all her work, dragging her feet as she just couldn't quite spit out an apology to tommy, not a proper one - has gone up in fire and smoke. it's over.

With her arms wrapped tightly around herself, curled-up and pitiful, Niki walks away from the flaming crater that was once the city of Las Nevadas.

[i-simp-4-psychopaths]

IT’S THEORY TIME CHILDREN!!!!!

so first off, Dark Sun (Or Solstice as I’ve been calling him for the past week) hates Moons. He says that. We even see his Moon destroyed. Near the beginning of Solstice’s appearance when New Moon went to his dimension, he had said that his Moon was still trapped in his head still. However, in this episode, we can see that he is very much not in Solstice’s head and instead is absolutely broken in the parts and service room. So, even before this, we knew that he lies, a lot. It’s also easy to tell that he is very manipulative. All I’m trying to say is that he is always many steps in front of everyone else, including the fans. Usually, we can see or guess what the villain is planing, but similarly to the Ruin situation, we probably won’t know what he’s doing until it’s too late.

However, there is something that many people (almost everyone), including myself, have noticed. Solstice is manipulating Nexus into working with him. It was almost confirmed in the episode when Nexus changed his name. But when looking back to this episode, we can see that Solstice hates Moons. So, why is he working with Nexus instead of taking whatever brain juice he has? I don’t know. What I think is that the chip that Solstice took out has something to do with the duo working together.

Solstice sees everyone as a tool. Just pawns in chess as he is the queen. However I think Sun seeing the shards of the wither storm is going to help them beat evil him. Yes, even though Solstice and Nexus have a storm themselves, it is but a baby. I thing the shards that Sun is collecting would make a fully grown wither storm.

With the creator harassing the family, mostly Lunar, I have two theories for him, one of which ties into the Solstice problem. I think the Creator is trying to get power, Ex: Lunar and the universe destroyer that Ruin had, to try and stop Solstice. That would be a way they could stop him. If they use the huge destroyer, they could destroy his universe, killing Solstice with it. The Creator and the celestial family could team up against Solstice and Nexus. If they killed the former, that would leave Nexus. I think by that time, Solar would have been rebuilt by then and could talk some sense into him. The whole reason why Nexus became evil is because he went insane after Solar died.

However, the Creator had stated that he had much work to do because of the death of the Creator counsel. So the more plausible theory is that the Creator stays a villain on TEALS, not TSAMS. After the whole Taurus/Leo/Astrals in general thing going on.

Going back to the Creator and TSAMS/TEALS team up, that would probably happen after October takeover. My prediction is that Solstice and Nexus would take over on TSAMS, and Evil Lunar and Evil Earth (I haven’t thought of names for them yet) would take over on TEALS. Speaking of dimensions, Lord Eclipse might also come into play here. We’ve seen him twice already, one of which was kind of important. We know that him and his world is still alive due to the Creator either being dead or just not a problem there. Eclipse has the Star, he reset the world, so it’s also likely that the Creator hadn’t even been born at this very moment.

Dropping October takeover, I want to talk about Nexus and Solar.

I feel like when Solar comes back, he wouldn’t have the same kind of bond with the Old Moon as he did with New Moon. We’ve seen that the two Moon’s act differently compared to the other. New Moon/Nexus is less sassy, slight dummer, in general, likes different things compared to Old Moon, and he might not be Aro/Ace. When we look at Old Moon, he is one sassy bitch, he is very smart, goes by They/Them (or he/they) but is Aro/Ace. Now, I get the fact that Old Moon is 6-ish years old and Nexus is about 1, but they still have their differences. One of the main ways that Solar and New Moon bonded was when they were working together. They would bounce ideas back and forth between each other. They had around the same intelligence, maybe more so for Solar, but they were in different skill sets. Solar and Old Moon might not bond as much due to Moon just being way smarter than Solar. Solar comes back and Nexus finds out, I think he would start doubting what he’s doing. This all started when Solar died and Nexus trying to get him back from the dead. It could lead into Nexus having his redemption ark.

Anyway, sorry for the random dump here. My thoughts are scattered. Please ignore this

[jmrothwell]

"I can't be a dad, I don't know how to braid hair." "That was not what I expected you to panic about, but okay we can fix that." / writer's choice

Also for @invisibleraven who asked for the same prompt for rulie. A sort of spiritual successor to this prompt fill

Six months. 

Reggie’s not sure if he’s ever had any relationship last this long. Technically, he’s not even sure if this relationship has lasted this long. It all depended on where he wanted to start counting. 

If he started from the night he and Julie first got together. The night that was meant to be a one time thing. Then they’ve definitely hit that six month mark. 

If, instead, he counted from when they sat down and actually talked about what they were. The day they openly acknowledged that maybe this wasn’t as much of a casual thing as they were both pretending it was. Then well, it’s still the longest he’s ever been with anyone but not by much. 

Which was great, more than great, it was awesome. Reggie never knew any relationship could be like this. And he really wanted it to keep going. Which is why he wanted to talk to Julie about finally letting everyone know they were dating. 

They’d agreed to keep everything secret, first because well they weren’t exactly dating. Then because, well, after the media circus their last relationships had turned into, it was nice having something be just theirs. Plus, though he didn’t tell Julie, he didn’t want to jinx it. It was an entirely irrational chain of thinking but after so many of his past relationships had gone down the drain after he told his friends and family, he’d sort of started keeping most of his relationships secret in the early stages. 

He thought he wouldn’t have to worry about that with Julie but he didn’t want to risk it. Not at first.

Except now, he’s wondering if he was right to worry. In the few days since he’s decided to bring up the subject with her, Julie she’s been acting…off. Withdrawn, distant, avoiding being alone around him. Every quickly averted guilty gaze and hasty excuse rending another piece of his heart.

By the time Julie finally asks if they can talk, he’s worried himself to the point where he’s resigned himself to the idea that she’s about to end things with him. Unsure of what it is he’s done wrong. Maybe they should have just been more open about the whole thing from the very beginning.

He sits stiffly on the edge of her bed, fingers fidgeting with the edges of his flannel. She’s just as stiff beside him, staring at her shoes, clearly chewing the inside of her bottom lip. He can’t recall there ever being this much awkward tension between the two of them, his mind races trying to think of anything to fix whatever it is he’s broken. He can’t come up with anything but his mind runs away from him regardless.

“Julie, I’m sorry.” 

Her curls bounce around her, nearly hitting her in the face, she turns so fast to finally, finally look at him. Her eyes glittering under her plethora of fairy lights, heavy with that guilty look again under her confused brows. Definitely not helping know what to do. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s continued to ramble, more apologies if he had to guess. He honestly doesn’t know, and he pretty much forgets entirely when Julie’s hands cradle his face, gently forcing him to keep and maintain eye contact with her. 

“No, no Reggie. I’m sorry. I know I should have said something sooner but I wasn’t sure how, and I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Slowly her hands drop from his face and now she’s back to averting her gaze. “It’s not something we’ve talked about. We’ve been so careful I didn’t think we’d need to talk about it.”

Any theory and worst case scenario he’s had continues to run through his brain but not one of them fit quite right with what she’s saying. “I don’t….what’s going on?”

She sighs deeply, “I’m late.”

“Late?”

“My period, Reggie.” She says through a groan. “It’s late.”

His mind goes silent as her words sink in, realization slowly dawning on him. “You’re pregnant?” He barely manages to whisper out. “I-I can’t, Julie, I can't be a dad, I don't know how to braid hair." 

"That was not what I expected you to panic about, but okay we can fix that." She says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, her other hand grabbing hold of his. “Besides, I don’t know if I’m pregnant yet.”

“You don’t?”

“I haven’t taken a test yet,” She guiltily laughs “Not really sure, if I’m ready. For any of it.”

He pulls his hand out of hers but only so he can wrap her tighter in a hug. “We’ll figure it out, Jules, I promise.”

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Study Buddy

Summary: Peter 3 helps a stressed Peter 1 to study.

(For @babyparker11: I know life has been a bit tough right now but keep up the amazing work you do each and every day ❤️)

Peter 1 groaned in frustration. "I don't get it!"

The youngest's head bounced off of the desk in front of him. For the past few hours, he had been trying to study for a Spanish quiz he had coming up. However, no matter which way he studied, the words just would not stick in his brain.

One's tension was even more high because he needed good grades to get the scholarship he wanted for college. If he couldn't get these terms, he could get a bad quiz grade and that could ruin his chances of getting a scholarship.

Tears of frustration threatened to overflow. "I'll never get it."

A knock came from the partially opened door of his room.

One turned to find Peter 3 standing at the door.

"Hey Pete. What's wrong?" Three asked as he stepped closer to the youngest.

"I---I can't get it."

"Can't get what Bug?" Three squatted so he was closer to One's level.

"This stupid Spanish stuff. And if I can't get it, I won't do well on my quiz tomorrow and if I don't do well on my quiz, I won't do well in the class and if I don't do well in the class, I can't get my scholarship and if I can't get my scholarship, I can't afford to go to college and if I can't afford to go to college, I'm letting Mr. Stark and Aunt May down and it's just---."

The youngest dropped his face into his hands. He was panicking and couldn't stop.

"Hey Bug, look at my face please." Two hands cupped either side of One's face and a pair of calm brown eyes locked with his as the youngest lowered his hands. "Just like we practiced. One deep breath in 1, 2, 3, 4."

Peter 1 pulled in a shaky breath in time with Three's counting.

"Hold it 1, 2, 3, 4. And now one deep breath out 1, 2, 3, 4."

Peter 1 felt his anxiety subside just a little, but after Three had him repeat the process a few more times, his anxiety was more tolerable. He felt Peter 3 stand and lead him away from the desk.

The middle brother plopped onto One's bed and gently pulled the youngest into his lap. The older brother wrapped his arms around One and ran his fingers through his hair. The youngest's anxiety slowly dissipated away.

"There we go." Peter 1 listened to the words rumble in Three's chest. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better."

"I'm sorry you're so stressed Bug. Is there anything I can do to help?"

One sniffled. "Not unless you can force those Spanish words to make sense by tomorrow."

Peter 3 shuffled around and reached over to grab the Spanish notebook. One watched him scan the words he had written in an effort to study. "I remember these."

"You do?"

"Yeah I do." Three gently squeezed One's arm. "And I'm going to help you study."

The youngest's shoulders dropped. "Nothing works Three. I've tried everything."

"I know, and I'm proud of you for trying." Peter 3 readjusted the youngest in his lap. "But you're so stressed out that your brain can't retain anything. You have to relax a little to study better."

"How do I do that?"

"Simple." Three looked at the list of words. "What does Hola mean?"

One huffed. "It's Hello and it's the only word I knoHOHOW!"

Peter 1 felt Three's hand scribble across his stomach.

"Good job, now what does 'Necesito un abrazo' mean?"

"Wihill yohou tihicklehel mehe agahain?"

"Only if you get it right."

"Whahat?"

"Think of it like a tickle reward. Each word or sentence you get right is another tickle."

The youngest's eye widened comically. This was new, but it just might work. But now he was slowly turning into a blushy mess at the attention.

Three chuckled. "Come on, if you get it right, I'll give you more tickles."

One squeaked. "Buhut Ihi hohonestlyhy dohon't knohow."

"That's okay, let's try to break it down. Necesito un abrazo."

"W-well . . ."

"What is a necessity?"

One thought for a second, then his eyes lit up. "A need!"

"Yes! Good job!" Two arms wrapped back around One before two hands quickly squeezed his sides. "And now abrazo?"

The youngest looked down at Three's arms. Something clicked. "Aha huhug?"

One squeeze to his sides. "More confidence!"

The youngest squeaked. "Aha huhug!"

"There it is! Now, put them together and what have you got?"

"Ihi neheed aha huhug?"

"That's it!" The hands at his sides started squeezing again. "Yohou got it!"

Peter 1 was laughing from the tickles, but beaming at the fact he got it right. His older brother was a genius. A tickle genius but still a genius.

For the rest of the night, Three used tickles to help his younger brother study and they worked. By the end of their session, Peter 1 knew all the words and how to use them.

He hugged his older brother. "Thahak yohou."

"That was all you Bug. You knew the answers, you were just so stressed you couldn't see that." Peter 3 stroked his hair. "And hey, show me your quiz grade tomorrow. I have an extra surprise for you when I see it."

Peter 1 was a blushy mess after that statement, but he went to bed with a smile on his face. The next day, he felt ready for his Spanish quiz. However, when he got his grade back, it wasn't what he was expecting.

One felt his shoulders droop. It was enough to keep his grade up for the scholarship he needed, but he didn't think Three would be happy.

When Peter 1 got home, he immediately hurried upstairs to avoid his older brother. But Three found him a little later anyway.

"Hey Bug, how did your quiz go?" Peter 3 asked.

One didn't reply. He took out the quiz and reluctantly handed it over to his brother.

Peter 3 read the grade at the top. "91?"

One's shoulders drooped. He had failed.

The next instant, Two arms wrapped around him. "I'm so proud of you Bug!"

Peter 1 started. "Wh---what?"

"You did your best and your best was a 91."

"You're not mad . . . It's not a 100."

"Bug, you do not have to get perfect grades to make me proud of you. You did your best and that's all that matters."

A smile crept it's way on to Peter 1's face. He really did have the most awesome older brothers.

"And now, about that surprise I promised you."

One squealed as he was scooped up and gently dropped on the bed. "Whahat ahare yohou dohoing?"

Three tugged up his shirt. "Where's that tummy?"

One's eyes went wide. The next few sounds to leave the youngest's mouth were squeals as Peter 3 attacked his stomach with raspberries. He didn't stop until Peter 1 had his fill.

When Three looked up from giving One his berries, he smiled down at his brother. "I love you so much baby bro. You make me so proud."

Peter 1 beamed. He hugged Peter 3 as tight as he could. "I love you too Giraffe. Thank you."

The hug lasted a good long minute. Peter 1 didn't realize how much he needed it. That's when another thought crossed his mind.

"Three?"

"Yes Bug?"

"Are you . . . busy this Friday?"

"Not in particular. Why do you ask?"

"Could---could you hehelp me . . . study? For my Chem test?"

Now it was Three's turn to beam. "I'd love too Bug."

[nukenai]

(eventually) pet death mention stuff.

It's been a rough couple days for Striker. Not particularly worse than any of his usual "bad days", but the "bad days" are more frequent. He really just never bounced entirely back from getting sick a little over a year ago. He still can get up fine on carpet and outside if he happens to tumblr, which is occasional, but... Things are hard for him. Getting outside on time is pretty much impossible for him now. He gets up a lot for no reason like he's restless. His heart murmur isn't affecting his respiratory rate or anything, but his paws are staying awfully cold. He's still eating, he loves treats especially, but he's been so weird about water (literally only drinks from the cat fountain he has to walk across the house to get to).

He just seems very tired and sort of done. My brain keeps trying to convince itself he can still hang in there, because he moves pretty quick and well outside when he goes out. But he never liked spending time outside, and especially with winter coming... I just don't love the idea of a frail dog with a weak hind end having to go out in the freezing cold for months on end. I hate the idea of losing ANOTHER pet this year, but I think it's what's right for him. I don't want to make him hold on until the new year because of arbitrary shit humans made up. And maybe it'll be nice to start a year "fresh" y'know. My sister even made the pretty blunt (but correct) point of "the last thing I want is for him to drop dead on Christmas or something". Which, GOD. Like I need that. We're not doing holiday stuff this year but still. Just... no thanks.

Striker has been an ordeal for 14 years, but 14 is a very good run for a border collie. It sucks, it sucks so much and it'll always suck, and I'm like "ugh the timing" but like. When will there be GOOD timing? Closer to Christmas I'll just say "omg it's close to Christmas". Then the new year and. Well, we're taking another trip at the end of February. And I don't think I want to have to put him through boarding again! It's just so stressful for the both of us.

And honestly, it makes me feel so terrible because I ALWAYS put my animals first, but I have to think of me. I have to think of what an extreme burden Striker's issues have been for 14 straight years. But I can give myself some credit, because I always DEALT with them and never gave up on him. A lot of people would have but I didn't, and I should be proud of that. I've taken care of Striker pretty much exclusively by myself since he was 2. No one COULD help me with him because of his issues.

I think the best time to try to do something like this is when I'm okay. And sorry this is corny but it's a post by me. But it's like-- I have the SMRPG remake right now. I have Sammie right now and all my other pets. I also have concerns about my cat Lucas, because he's SIXTEEN. And he's gotten skinny too, but he doesn't have any kind of daily issues I have to help him with at all. If I wait too long with Striker, god forbid something happen to Lucas soon after that, you know?

Again it fucking sucks. It's going to suck SO HARD no matter what and there's no "good" time to put down a dog you've had since you were in fucking high school. And there's that added baggage of like, "Striker and Lucas are the only pets I have now that I've had since before my mom died", but like. I can't put that burden on them. I honestly don't think about it a ton but it's for sure a thought.

I know I'm rambling but it's just helpful to get all the thoughts out and get my head in line. It's a weekend so it's hard to get ahold of anyone, but I emailed my vet to see if they do at-home euthanasia. I'm not sure if they do. If they don't, there is a mobile vet that does it that I've heard wonderful things about. So I definitely have options.

God if you read all this sorry for ruining your fucking day. sfjghsjkdfgh.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

hanging by a threat

prompt: reluctant caretaker

whumpee: sakari nurmi

fandom: karppi/deadwind

hi!! this is my first sickfic for this fandom, i've been bouncing the idea around in my brain for a while (the first thing i ever wrote for these characters was the start to a never-completed sickfic lmao) and i finally wrote it! i'm pretty happy with how it turned out and i hope you enjoy it!

Sofia has had a long week. Emil had had the flu over the weekend. Henna had gotten into trouble at school on Monday. The fire alarm had gone off in the middle of the night on Tuesday (just a false alarm, the fire department had said, after everyone had stood outside in the rain for close to an hour). On Wednesday Emil had gotten into trouble at school. Thursday had brought a new case that she and Nurmi had spent all day on with nothing to show for it. She faces this morning, Friday, with grim resignation. What else could go wrong?

For starters, her partner arrives late. Not by a horribly large amount, to be sure, but late nonetheless. She’d scold him, but he’s brought her coffee, so she forgives him quickly. 

“Since we hit a dead end yesterday, I thought today we could drive to Maria’s hometown and see if people know anything.”

Maria is their murder victim. She’d been in Helsinki for the week on a business trip and had turned up dead three days before she’d been due to return home. Yesterday, they’d spent the day investigating Maria’s activities and connections in the city and had come up with very little. Today, Sofia is hoping for something more. 

“Okay,” Nurmi agrees. “Will you drive?”

“Sure.” She’s slightly taken aback - he almost always wants to drive - but she doesn’t protest. “We’ll take your car.”

He hands her the keys silently. His hand is sweaty, though it’s below freezing and there’s snow on the ground. She pays it no mind - the heating in the building has been turned up rather high this morning - and they walk outside to his car. 

--

An hour earlier

Sakari wakes up after a full night of sleep feeling like he hadn’t slept very much at all. To combat this, he decides to stop at one of his favorite coffee shops on the drive to work. Inside, the line is abnormally long. He realizes when he’s almost at the counter that he is definitely going to be late for work. He decides to order a coffee for Karppi, too, as an apology.

He places his order and then stands to the side to wait for the drinks to be ready. Rather abruptly, he goes from feeling just slightly run down to feeling just slightly run over. His whole body starts to ache, all the way down through his bones. When he grabs the coffees, they feel like lead weights in his hands. The walk back to the car feels like walking for a hundred miles. 

Once he’s in the car, he sits behind the wheel for several minutes, trying to focus enough to be able to drive. He’s freezing. Granted, it’s freezing outside, but he has the car turned on and he just repaired the heating system, which is on at full blast. But still, he’s shivering. He grips the wheel until his hands don’t shake, then starts his drive, grateful he’d chosen a coffee place not too far from work. 

Once he arrives at work, he parks the car, turns the engine off, and realizes that he’s started sweating. At the same time, though, he’s still cold. He gets out of the car slowly (his head spins anyway) and grabs the coffees, wrapping his hands tightly around them, both to absorb as much warmth as possible and to make sure he doesn’t drop them. 

He walks inside and finds Karppi. She looks irritated, but he doesn’t even have to apologize for being late. He just holds out the coffee and she accepts it. 

“Since we hit a dead end yesterday, I thought today we could drive to Maria’s hometown and see if people know anything.”

“Okay,” he agrees. Just so long as it isn’t him who drives. He doesn’t think it would be at all safe. “Will you drive?”

“Sure. We’ll take your car.”

He hands over his keys and they walk back out to his car. 

--

The drive out of the city is quiet. Nurmi’s radio doesn’t work. Nurmi himself is just as silent, resting his head against the window. He coughs a few times, the only sound he makes. Sofia knows he isn’t doing it to annoy her, but the sound grates on her nerves nonetheless. She pushes her irritation downwards and drives on. 

They arrive in Maria’s hometown just as a light snow begins to fall. The buildings are close together and the paths between them aren’t too crowded, but not deserted either. Everything looks inviting. Sofia wonders whether news of Maria’s death has spread yet. 

Their first stop is Maria’s employer, a small law firm nestled between a restaurant and a hotel. Sofia takes the lead in questioning Maria’s boss and coworkers. Nurmi says nothing the whole time. She appreciates him not interfering, but they are supposed to be partners, and she could have used his help. She’d run out of steam on one line of questioning and had waited an awkwardly long amount of time for him to jump in before having to make up a new question herself. 

Still, she’d learned a little bit about how the firm operates and what Maria’s role within it had been. After she’s done with her questions, they head outside into the snow, which is still falling lightly on the streets. She turns to Nurmi. “Hey, you’re supposed to ask questions too, you know.”

He blinks at her. “I know. Sorry.” He coughs again. 

“And get some water, for god’s sake.”

He looks a little hurt by this. “Please,” she tacks on. God, she’s tired. It’s not his fault she’s annoyed, she tries to remind herself. Still. She is annoyed. 

Their next stop is to see Maria’s parents. Nurmi asks them for a glass of water, which the mother seems only too glad to get. Sofia supposes she’s desperate for something, anything, to do. 

She’s gentle with her questioning, but firm. The parents don’t know much. Maria had gone on a work trip, just as she’d often done in the past. She’d called them on Tuesday to tell them about a restaurant she’d been to that she thought they’d like. She hadn’t had any enemies that they’d known about. She’d been an only child. She'd had a boyfriend, who had been abroad in Spain when she’d died and who is arriving back today to help with the funeral - everyone had thought they were going to get married. 

Nothing helpful, Sofia concludes. Just a grieving family that will never be the same again. She leaves them with her number in case they think of anything more. She doubts they will. 

They have, at least, gotten the names of some of Maria’s closest friends in town. Sofia hopes they’ll have a bit more information on some of the less pleasant details of Maria’s life. 

The first friend lives only a short walk away. The cold air and exercise will do her some good, she figures. Nurmi trails along behind her, despite his longer legs. 

“Hey, come on,” she calls to him, turning around when they’re about halfway to the friend’s house. 

She waits for him to catch up. “Can we stop?” he asks. 

She looks at him. He can’t be serious. “The house is right there,” she says, and points. “Come on.”

They keep walking. It takes twice as long as it should to cover the short distance. 

“What, did you break your leg or something?” she asks Nurmi as they stand on the doorstep. 

He looks away from her and sniffs. She rubs a hand under her own nose. The chill is nice, she thinks, but it hasn’t done much to improve her disposition. 

Maria’s friend invites them in. Her house is small but cozy, and she invites them to sit on a couple of chairs in front of a blazing fire. They talk for perhaps ten minutes - her and Sofia - but it soon becomes clear that Maria hadn’t told her any important details of her life recently. 

“We kind of drifted apart when she started working at the law firm. Long hours, you know. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s alright. Thanks anyway,” Sofia says. She hands over her card just in case. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

“Thanks, I will.”

They go back outside. “Are you planning on saying anything today?” Sofia asks, once the door has shut behind them. “I might be the lead on this case, but we’re partners. You have to do something.”

“Sorry.”

He looks kind of miserable. She wonders what’s going on with him today. Maybe he’s had a rough week, too. She hasn’t been in much of a position to notice, considering the chaos of her own life lately. Anyway, he can tell her, she figures, if something’s the matter. He can’t expect her to be able to read his mind. 

He doesn’t say anything else. 

“You’ll do the next interview, okay?”

“Okay.”

They drive to the next friend’s house. As soon as they start driving, Nurmi starts coughing. She takes a deep breath and again forces down her irritation. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose. Anyway, the air in the car is a lot drier than the air outside. She herself feels it tickling the back of her throat. 

Maria’s second friend lives in a short, small block of apartments. Nurmi rings the doorbell. No one answers. He knocks. “Police!”

There’s still no answer. A door behind them opens and an old man pokes his head out. 

“If you’re looking for Mathias, he’s at work.”

“Where?” Sofia asks.

“On a ship. He leaves for weeks at a time.”

“When will he be back?”

“Maybe not for another month. He only left last week.”

“Thanks.”

They leave and head to the home of the third and final friend. She lives near the edge of the town and is a music teacher. She is finishing a lesson when they arrive but promises to speak to them as soon as the lesson is over. In the meantime, she invites them to wait in the living room. 

They sink down onto a couch. Nurmi looks at her but doesn’t make eye contact. 

“Could you ask the questions?” His voice is so quiet she almost doesn’t hear him at first. Then she does. 

“Why?”

“I’m not feeling that great.”

“It’s been a difficult week for me, too. You’ll be fine.”

He nods. She settles back into the cushions, relieved to have a break in speaking for a little while. 

The break is considerably shorter than she’d expected. Nurmi makes it through all of three questions before interrupting himself to ask if he can use the bathroom. Their host points the way, and then Sofia’s left to speak with her. 

The woman proves to be their most valuable source yet: she had heard Maria speaking about a threatening email a few weeks ago, but had been assured everything was fine when she’d tried to bring it up. She had also been in regular, close contact with her, and had felt that Maria’s communication had become a bit more terse lately. 

“Of course, I thought she was just stressed out because of her job, you know, but now - if only I’d asked more questions, maybe -”

“Hey, you couldn’t have known this would happen,” Sofia interrupts. “What’s important is that you help us now, so we can find Maria’s killer.”

They go through several more questions in Nurmi’s absence. By the time he at last returns, Sofia has gotten all the helpful information that the woman remembers. She stands up just as Nurmi moves to sit down. 

“Thanks so much for your time. Please call me if you think of anything else.”

“Of course.”

There is no longer anything to do in town. With the information she’s just gathered, Sofia has an idea of where to go next: back to Helsinki. Apparently, Maria had been having difficulties with an employee at another law firm based in the city - the same law firm which she’d been working with at the time of her murder. 

But her satisfaction at having learned this information is largely overshadowed by her irritation with Nurmi. He could have handled this interview just as well as she had, and instead he’d gone off the second he’d moved past the introductory stage of questions. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, point blank, as they climb back into the car. “Do you just not want to work or something?”

Nurmi shrugs. “Are we done here?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we go home?”

“Sure. And then you’re gonna do some actual work, or else I’m going to make you come over and clean my whole house.” 

“Okay.”

She starts driving back towards Helsinki. Nurmi again leans his head against the window. She wonders what he’s thinking about, but is too irritated with him to ask. 

--

Sakari wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel worse than he had earlier. But as they’re driving back to Helsinki, he’s so exhausted that he can barely keep his eyes open. His head is pounding and his whole body aches somehow worse than before. He’s still cold and shivering but he can feel sweat starting to soak through his clothes. 

At least for now, the coughing has stopped, which means Karppi can’t get more annoyed at him. It has, however, been replaced by nausea, which he isn’t sure is really any better. The nausea had come over him very suddenly, just as he’d been starting his interview with the last of Maria’s friends. He’d hurried off to the bathroom but hadn’t been sick. Instead, he’d simply sat on the floor for several minutes, forcing himself not to cry though it had been all he’d wanted to do. 

He doesn’t cry often. Doesn’t like to. But he’d felt so miserable and so isolated, and he knows Karppi is having a rough week but he’s having a rough day and he just wants to go home and curl up in his bed and sleep forever but instead he’s here, with his face pressed against the window, breathing slowly and trying to focus on anything besides the nausea sitting on his chest. 

The tactic of ignorance works for a while. And then it doesn’t. 

“Pull over.”

“What? Why?”

“Please.” He doesn’t look at her, though he knows she’s looking at him. His face is burning, the first time he’s felt hot all day. He hates this. He wishes he was alone. He wishes he wasn’t. 

Karppi pulls the car to the side of the road, putting the right tires into the snow and leaving the left ones on the asphalt. 

Sakari sort of steps, sort of falls out of the car. He lands on his hands and knees in several inches of snow. The cold is a shock to his system. He feels himself start to shiver harder, but can’t focus on that for very long before he starts throwing up. 

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. His lungs and throat burn on every ragged inhale of the frigid air. He’s crying now, half from exertion and half from the general miserableness of everything. For a while he can’t really focus on anything at all, and then the vomiting stops and he’s just crouched there shaking and he realizes there’s a hand rubbing up and down on his back. 

“You’re sick,” is the first thing Karppi says, or at any rate, it’s the first thing she says that he hears. She sighs. She sounds resigned. Guilt rises up in him. He knows she doesn’t want to deal with this. Probably not ever, but certainly not now. He shifts to his knees, sniffs, rubs a hand under his eyes. 

“Sorry.” The word grates against his throat. He coughs, which only makes his throat hurt worse. He wishes he had some water. 

“It’s okay. Here, I found it rolling around in the trunk.” Karppi hands him a half-empty bottle of water, like she can read his mind. He takes it gratefully. 

“Don’t drink it too fast,” she warns. 

He drinks some of the water, which definitely tastes like it’s been rolling around in the trunk for quite a while. Nevertheless, it’s wonderful, cold and soothing on his aching throat. He drinks about half of it, and would drink more, but Karppi grabs the bottle from his hand. 

“I said slowly. How do you feel?”

“Bad.”

“Will you be okay for the rest of the drive?”

He nods. The nausea has ebbed away, at least for now. 

“Let’s go, then.”

She gives him a hand up and then puts an arm around his waist as he stands and promptly stumbles. He blinks the dizziness away and gets back into the car. 

--

The rest of the drive back to Helsinki is tense, at least on Sofia’s end of things. She keeps glancing at Nurmi every few seconds. Now that she’s really noticed how bad he looks, she can’t stop noticing. 

He’s shaking and his eyes are dull and there’s an unnatural pallor to his skin. She feels horrible for not having noticed sooner, though she is still irritated with him for not telling her. And, admittedly, she’s also a little irritated at his being sick in general, having already dealt with Emil’s illness earlier in the week. Which, now that she thinks about it, is probably the source of Nurmi’s current illness. The symptoms are much the same. 

It would seem that she has created this problem for herself - she’d brought Emil’s illness into work with her, and while she had been unaffected, Nurmi had not been so lucky. She feels responsible for this, for making him so absolutely miserable. Despite her own exhaustion and irritation, she decides she should probably do something for him. 

She takes him home. He’s fallen asleep against the window by the time they arrive. She shakes him awake. His shoulder is hot underneath her hand. 

“Hey, wake up.”

He opens his eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi. We’re at your place.”

He looks out the window. “Not back at work?”

“No. You’re sick.”

“Am I gonna have to clean your apartment?”

She shakes her head, surprised that he remembers that comment. “Not today, anyway.”

They get out of the car. Sofia puts an arm around his waist again to stop him from falling, and together they make it up the stairs and to his apartment. She unlocks the door and they step inside.

At first, she’s just planning on dropping him in his bed and leaving, but as they walk he sort of grabs onto her and she can feel him shaking and she knows him, knows how much he must hate this. She also gets the feeling, though he’s never really told her for sure, that he’s quite used to being alone. She doesn’t want him to have to be. 

She stays. She still drops him onto his bed - though he does actually sit down instead of just collapsing - and then she goes rummaging through his poorly-stocked cabinets to find medicine and tea and spare blankets. 

She finds exactly none of these things. 

“Do you even live here?” she asks, going back into the bedroom, where Nurmi has managed to get one of his shoes off and is currently working very diligently to remove the other. 

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have any medicine at all.”

He shrugs. “I don’t usually get sick.”

“You don’t have tea.”

“I prefer coffee.”

“Blankets?”

He grabs hold of the one beneath him as evidence. She sighs, though she’s not particularly irritated with him for this. To be honest, the poor state of his cabinets had been pretty much exactly what she’d expected. 

“I’m going to go get some stuff. You stay here and maybe…put on some pajamas, or something.”

He stops untying his shoe and looks at her. “You’re coming back?”

“Don’t act so surprised.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but whatever he’d been planning on saying is cut off with a series of coughs. When it stops, all he says is, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be back soon.”

“And then?”

She makes up her mind on the spot. “I’ll stay, if you want.”

He looks conflicted and doesn’t answer for a while. Eventually, he simply says, “okay.”

“Okay.”

thanks for reading! the ending is kind of wonky but i really didn't know how to end it lmao. endings are forever my worst enemy. also i tried to clearly show when i was switching pov's but if it didn't work and you got confused pls lmk and i will make it more obvious! anyway i hope you enjoyed this fic!!!