#❅ — a world of four seasons 「dash」

[badkitty3000]

MY MASTER LIST OF NUMBER FIVE FANFICTION

I write exclusively Number Five Hargreeves fanfiction. If you have any requests for one shots featuring Five x reader-insert or my original characters, please let me know! I am always up for new ideas and would love to hear yours! Use the Ask Me Anything button for requests but please read my rules first *Requests Closed*

The only "rules" I have are as follows ( no judgement to anyone, I just have my preferences):

Five will be aged up to at least 17 or 18 (body wise) or older

Five is an old man underneath it all, so no teenage romances or crushes

No rape/non-con, but dub-con is ok

No ABO, hardcore BDSM, Yandere

I will not be writing any Five/Lila ships, sorry!

*Updated September 2024*

POSTED ON TUMBLR:

One Fateful Day

Five x Single Mom Reader-Insert, 5,000 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: Five finds friendship and a blossoming romance where he least expected it

Warnings: None

Don't Stand So Close To Me

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 6,700 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: Five was doing his best to resist you. You were too young for him. Too eager. But when he decided to try and scare you straight, he got a little more than he bargained for. That's when he realized maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought he was.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sex, everyone is an adult

World's Collide

Multiple Fives x Multiple Female OCs/Readers, 6,976 words, one-shot, co-authored with @kaybreezy3000

Summary: A steaming hot and humorous deli Five story, and An Ode To All The Fives We’ve Loved Before.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sex

You Made It Weird. Real Fucking Weird

A platonic!Five x Lila sort of fix it for season four, 2607 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: Five comforts Lila with a mixture of his usual snark, sweetness, and honesty when she has a major breakdown after being away from her family for so long. NO smut! NO romance! Purely friendship. I do not ship these two!

Warnings: None

Five's Audition Tape

Five x Female OC, 4,179 words, one-shot

Summary: Vivian catches Five singing in the shower and secretly records the evidence. When she's caught, she tries to hide from him, which ends in some major rearranging of their kitchen pantry. What she doesn't know, though, is that their little closet bang is not the private moment they intended.

Warnings: Smut, closet sex

A Company Man

Five, The Handler, 2,415 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: A short one-shot about Five and The Handler when he first got to the commission and how she is the master of manipulation and messing with his mind.

Warnings: None

Breaking The Rules

Five x Plus Size Reader, 8,159 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: You and Five work at the Commission and you're shocked to learn that maybe he doesn't always have a thing for thin girls. He likes you just the way you are.

Warnings: Smut, slight Daddy kink

Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

Five x Unnamed Female Character, Five x Dolores, 6,078 words, one-shot, reader request (but also already on AO3 with a couple small changes)

Summary: Five is trying his hardest to be in a real relationship with someone that cares about him. When he comes across a familiar face in a thrift shop window, all of his dreams of normalcy are dashed. And he can't help the decades-old feelings that resurface.

Warnings: Smut, Doll fetishization, Five is not in a good place mentally

Tamed

Five x Unnamed Female Character, 8,141 words, reader request, one-shot

Summary: Five is living his retirement dream, but he's still in his 20-year old body, and he's bored with his unexciting life. All that changes after a chance meeting with an "older" woman that thinks she's going to teach him a few things in the bedroom. But she soon realizes that he already knows what he's doing. And just like everything else Number Five does, he does it very very well.

Warnings: Smut, Edging, Physical age difference (older woman, younger man), everyone is an adult

Coercion

Five x Female Reader, 5,202 words, reader request, one-shot

Summary: You and Five are working as trained assassins and you're not exactly happy with him

Warnings: Smut, Sub Five, oral sex, light bondage, light dom/sub

Daddy's Home

Five x Female Reader, 3,273 words, one-shot

Summary: Taken from a longer fic of mine and turned into a reader-insert. Five wants you naked and waiting for him when he gets home.

Warnings: Explicit sex, Daddy kink

The Contest

Five x Female OC, 5,751 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: Five and Vivian find themselves under the influence of an aphrodisiac. So, naturally, they turn it into a sexy competition.

Warnings: Explicit sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

Your Touch

Five x Female OC, 3318 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: Cute, fluffy drabbles of Five and his wife and their everyday life of being madly in love. No smut!

Warnings: Swearing

Five Hargreeves NSFW Headcanons

Just a list of random smutty headcanons that I have for Five

Warnings: smut

In Sickness And In Health

Five x Female OC, 4437 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: Thank you for the request!! Here's a funny/sweet/smutty one-shot of Five taking care of his sick wife like the sexy softy he is. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: explicit sex, Daddy kink

No Escape

Five x Female OC, 8045 words, one-shot, reader request

Summary: Five is forced into assassin mode when Vivian is put in danger by another Commission agent. He must not be very smart, though, because no one in their right mind would dare lay a hand on Five's girl.

Warnings: blood, violence, smut at the end but can be skipped and won't affect the story

Room For One More

Five x Female Reader-Insert, Klaus x Female Reader-Insert, Five x Klaus x Female Reader-Insert, 7192 words, one-shot

Summary: Five and Klaus head out to the bar to celebrate their birthday. When they catch the eye of the attractive bartender, she decides to give them a very special birthday present. The only catch is they have to share.

Warnings: M/M/F, vaginal sex, anal sex, double penetration

Love In The Time of Cholera and Coffee -Chapters 1-6

Love In The Time of Cholera and Coffee-Chapters 7-9

Five x Female Reader, Klaus x Female Reader, 50,497 words, 9 chapters

Summary: You and Klaus are in a casual relationship. No ties, just sex. When you start spending a lot of time at his apartment, you somehow manage to break through his brother's prickly outer shell. He seems to like you, or at least tolerate you the best that Five can. When you start to realize that maybe there is more than just mutual friendship between the two of you, it opens up a lot of feelings and unanswered questions. And a lot of problems.

Warnings: Explicit sex, Daddy kink

Physical Fitness

Five x Female Reader, 2800 words, one-shot

Summary: Five has been distant lately, but you discover all he needs is a good workout to get his mind back on you again

Warnings: Explicit sex, Daddy kink

Lewd Public Acts

Five x Female OC, 7,412 words, one-shot

Summary: Getting busy in a public space with people around? The idea of someone witnessing everything becomes a turn on for Five's wife, and he is definitely up for the challenge. After all, he can never deny her anything. And, let's face it; there might be something in it for him, too.

Warnings: Explicit sex

Addicted

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 3,199 words, one-shot

Summary: Sometimes our bodies get a taste of something so good that it's nearly impossible to quit. No matter how bad it is for us. And right now that something is Five Hargreeves.

Warnings: Sex, little bit of blood kink

Weak

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 4,891 words, one-shot, continuation of Addicted, from Five's POV.

Summary: Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries to hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Warnings: Explicit sex, rough sex

Strength

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 4,427 words, one-shot, continuation of Addicted and Weak

Summary: Five is finally strong enough to give in to his true feelings and tell you how he feels. You are strong enough to let him.

Warnings: Sex

The Download

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 31, 310 words, 5 chapters

Summary: It's the end of the world and everyone you know is gone. After you find yourself at the Hotel Obsidian, you realize you have something in common with the rest of the remaining population. When Number Five takes a particular interest in you, and your special ability, the evening turns into much more than you expected. The universe may be hours away from imploding, but you and Five are going out with a bang.

Warnings: Explicit sex, praise kink, rough sex, Five is physically 17, reader is 30

Chapters 1 and 2

Chapters 3, 4, 5

All Of My Works On AO3

Halo (Series)

Five x Female OC multi-part series that follows Five and his eventual wife, Vivian, through many stages of their life together. 5 parts total.

All parts in this series rated E for explicit sex.

Halo

First part in series, 25,460 words, 7 chapters

Summary: What starts as a one-night stand eventually turns into a growing romance. Number Five and Vivian are drawn to one another, despite their initial resistance. However, Five's past makes a relationship difficult and she has some issues of her own. Despite an unhealthy codependency, their lives are intertwined. For better or for worse.

Hole In My Soul

Second part in series, 30,903 words, 11 chapters

Summary: Vivian and Five now have an established relationship and are in love. She melds easily into the Hargreeves family as Five finally discloses their relationship to his siblings. But some disturbing behavior from Five makes Viv re-evaluate her choices. Will their love for one another be enough when life throws them a curve ball and they have some tough decisions to make?

Just Like Heaven

Third part in series, 25,362 words, 8 chapters

Summary: Vivian and Five have been actively trying to start a family, but to no avail. The stress is wearing on them both and it's affecting their once solid relationship. With the last few months left on Five's Commission contract, he is looking forward to putting that part of his life in the past. However, Viv is soon confronted with a harsh truth that puts their relationship in jeopardy.

Promise To Kill

Fourth part in series, 86,881 words, 12 chapters

Summary: Five is married to the love of his life, with a young son, and the retirement life he always dreamed. Everything is perfect. Which should have been Five's first clue that something was going to go wrong. A new discovery involving his child leads to a horrible family tragedy. The Umbrella Academy has to step up to save the day and Five's family.

Our Forever

Fifth and final part in series, 32,175 words, 8 chapters

Summary: Five's never been great with healthy coping skills. Even after all this time. When he is faced with a horrible tragedy and he doesn't know how to cope, he blames himself, as usual. But this time, it seems it can't be fixed. Until a sudden vision from beyond makes him realize that maybe he can after all.

Five/Vivian One-Shot Series

Five x OC collection of one-shots that show little glimpses into Five and Vivian's life over the years, in no particular order or timeline. 11 works in total.

All works in this series rated E or M for explicit sex/smut (except for one - rated G)

Damaged 3,210 words

Extra Credit 6,436 words

Piece de Resistance aka The French Lady Incident 7,999 words

The New Neighbor 7,136 words

Sharp Dressed Man 5,514 words, co-authored by KayBreezy

Coming And Going 5,491 words

Let's Hear It For The Boy 7,508 words

You Are My Constant 19,757 words

Summary: This is technically a one-shot, but it's longer because it depicts Five and Vivian's honeymoon and contains more plot and character development

Lewd Public Acts 7,412 words (posted on Tumblr)

When Number Five Steps Out, He's Gonna Do You In 8,730 words, co-authored by KayBreezy

Take Me To Church 6,465 words

No Escape 8,045 words (posted on Tumblr)

Your Touch 3,361 words (posted on Tumblr) RATED G

Five's Audition Tape 4,179 words (posted on Tumblr)

Works separate from my series:

The Sexual Awakenings Of Mr. Number Five Hargreeves

Five x Various Female OCs, 40,516 words, 8 chapters

Summary: Relatively speaking, it wasn’t that long ago that Five was a total moron when it came to sex, and women in general. Having spent his most formative years isolated and alone, once he was thrown back into society, his lack of experience was obvious.... And even though he tried not to let it bother him, he quickly realized that it did. It bothered him a lot.

Rated E for explicit sex

Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

Five x Female OC (unnamed), Five x Dolores, 6,029 words, one-shot

Summary: Five is trying his hardest to be in a real relationship with someone that cares about him. When he comes across a familiar face in a thrift shop window, all of his dreams of normalcy are dashed. And he can't help the decades-old feelings that resurface.

Rated M for smut/sex

The Assassin's Date

Five x Female OC, 59,057 words, 9 chapters

Summary: After saving the world, Five Hargreeves is working as an independent hitman for hire. When a tough and beautiful woman is witness to one of his crimes, the last thing Five wants to do is kill her. Instead, he makes her a deal. If she goes on one date with him, he'll let her live. When she agrees, he can't help but notice that the date might be fake, but his feelings are real.

Rated E for explicit sex

All Apologies

Five, The Hargreeves Siblings, Five x Dolores, 21,892 words, 4 chapters

Summary: All Five had wanted to do was to keep his family safe, and away from their father. As the young Umbrella Academy pull further away from one another, Five desperately tries to make them see that their only chance at a happy life is to get out from under Reginald's rule. His methods of convincing, however, lead to misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and typical Hargreeves drama. Years later, when Five is alone with only Dolores to talk to, he finds himself thinking back on all of his mistakes.

Rated T for teen (language, mentions of masturbation)

The Download

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 31,310 words, 5 chapters (also posted on Tumblr)

Summary: It's the end of the world and everyone you know is gone. After you find yourself at the Hotel Obsidian, you realize you have something in common with the rest of the remaining population. When Number Five takes a particular interest in you, and your special ability, the evening turns into much more than you expected. The universe may be hours away from imploding, but you and Five are going out with a bang.

Rated E for explicit sex

The Text Mess

Five, Klaus, 5,576, one-shot, co-authored by KayBreezy

Summary: With no apocalypse looming, and Reginald gone, left with their powers but not much else, the Hargreeves were finally getting to figure out life on their own terms. Number Five was doing what he always did. He was surviving and doing his best to move on from his traumatic past, though the success of that endeavor was evident in the day-to-day reality of his new self-inflicted dark and lonely existence. And then along came Klaus...

Rated T for teen (sexual references, clothed dick pics)

Full Circle

Five x Female OC, 96,272 words, 14 chapters

Summary: Even without an apocalypse to head off, Five has lived a hard life. Physical and emotional abuse from his father, along with devastating heartbreak; this is all he knows throughout his teenage years. As an adult, he becomes a Mafia Hitman. And not a Hitman with a heart of gold. After years of childhood trauma, Five is willing to kill, no questions asked, for the crime family he works for. When the one person in his life that ever meant anything to him shows up ten years later, he's willing to love and be loved again. But everything comes at a price.

Rated E for explicit sex, threats of rape, violence, child abuse

It's A Wonderful Life, Five Hargreeves

Five x Female OC, 22,594 words, 5 chapters

Summary: Five years after he and his siblings were abandoned by their father, and with no powers, Number Five is visited by his guardian angel. An annoyingly chipper woman that is anything but your typical angel. When he is unable to get rid of her, he finally gives in and she shows him what it means to be grateful for what he has and to stop pushing his family away. Inspired by both A Christmas Carol and It's A Wonderful Life.

Rated E for explicit sex

Addicted

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 3,199 words, one-shot (also posted on Tumblr)

Summary: Sometimes our bodies get a taste of something so good that it's nearly impossible to quit. No matter how bad it is for us. And right now that something is Five Hargreeves.

Rated M for smut/sex

Weak

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 4.901 words, one-shot (also posted on Tumblr)

Summary: Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries so hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Rated E for explicit sex

Strength

Five x Female Reader-Insert, 4.917 words, one-shot (also posted on Tumblr)

Summary: Five is finally strong enough to give in to his true feelings and tell you how he feels. You are strong enough to let him.

Rated M for smut/sex

Love In The Time of Cholera and Coffee

Five x Female Reader-Insert, Klaus x Female Reader-Insert, 50,4979 words, 9 chapters

Summary: You and Klaus are in a casual relationship. No ties, just sex. When you start spending a lot of time at his apartment, you somehow manage to break through his brother's prickly outer shell. He seems to like you, or at least tolerate you the best that Five can. When you start to realize that maybe there is more than just mutual friendship between the two of you, it opens up a lot of feelings and unanswered questions. And a lot of problems.

Rated E for explicit sex

Room For One More

Five x Female Reader-Insert, Klaus x Female Reader-Insert, 7,204 words, one-shot (also on Tumblr)

Summary: Five and Klaus head out to the bar to celebrate their birthday. When they catch the eye of the attractive bartender, she decides to give them a very special birthday present. The only catch is they have to share.

Rated E for explicit sex

Tamed

Five x Female OC (unnamed), basically a reader-insert, 8,183 words, one-shot (also on Tumblr)

Summary: Five is living his retirement dream, but he's still in his 20-year old body, and he's bored with his unexciting life. All that changes after a chance meeting with an "older" woman that thinks she's going to teach him a few things in the bedroom. But she soon realizes that he already knows what he's doing. And just like everything else Number Five does, he does it very very well.

Rated E for explicit sex

You Made It Weird. Real Fucking Weird

Five Hargreeves & Lila Pitts (platonic), 2,632 words, one-shot (also on Tumblr)

Summary: It's been almost seven years since Five and Lila have been stuck in the subway. When Lila has a sudden realization of how much time has passed away from her family, she suffers a major breakdown. Five comforts her in the only way he knows how: a mixture of sweetness, honesty, and his usual snark and attitude.

Five and Lila will always be the greatest of frenemies and nothing more. You cannot convince me otherwise!

Warnings: None! Zero! No Smut Or Romance!

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 (reader version)

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[kajoodles]

Since G5 is on its deathbed I'd like to share my idea for a hypothetical new MLP generation I've had for a long time

Setting: A brand new world entirely separated from the land established in G4. And in this world there is a kingdom separated into four regions, one for each season; Autumn, Winter, Summer, and Spring. It's shaped like a circle and the core is where royalty lives. The Winter region is in the north and the seasons go clockwise around the capital in order. Their technology would be 90s-2000s inspired with a vibe similar to g1's Pony Tales.

The rulers of this kingdom are two princesses that directly compliment each other: one focused on the past, one focused on the future. The inspiration for these two would be G2's Princess Silver Swirl and G3's Princess Rarity, but I haven't drawn them yet.

I have thought about the main cast and have quite a bit of concept art. Here's a few:

Confetti Cannon (insp. G1 Confetti)

Minty (insp. G3 Minty)

Starcatcher (insp. G3 Starcatcher)

Dipper (insp. G1 Galaxy)

Tourmaline (insp. 25th Birthday Rainbow Dash)

Trixie Treat (insp. G4 Trixie Lulamoon)

These are a few years old and I still have no idea what the story would be, but if you'd like to continue the story let me know! What do you think? Worthy of sending to Hasbro or just a fan-made project?

[tsurangaconundrum]

season 7 dash simulator

edlundite

so do we think these latest winchester murder sprees are gonna be in the next books or nah

dickromananti

My Taylor Double Theory

disclaimer: first of all i want to be clear. i would never call for violence against someone, and do not want anyone to act on this information. I also do not believe in stereotyping and I am not trying to "put down" famous women.

gaylors dni!

Read More

biggersons-official

kids these days are all just turslucking and turfucking. whatever happened to turducken you used to love turducken

couldtransitionsaveher

catgirlkeyboard

richard roman enterprises slack simulator

coworker one: whoever is getting rid of my bottles of borax is so fucking annoying i literally need to clean things

coworker two: did anyone see the turducken is back in the cafeteria again

coworker three: who all stoned on that job

coworker four: last night we got a shipment of an animal bone. who locked up the warehouse after we need to have a conversation. this is important please reach out immediately

coworker five: Hi guys! This weekend is my bi-annual LARPing festival. The set up in the park is really awesome and if you want to check it out feel free to ask for the Queen of Moondoor! :DDDD

tiktaalic

peach simulator Mutual 1: why tf are borox stocks plummeting…….. Sorry for job posting again but ive been looking at these numbers for 30 minutes

Mutual 2: Anybodyy been keeping up with the taylor swift double (dswift) theoury. Ithink it might hold a lot of weight to be honest

Mutual 2: Like ive watched a lot of theory videos and i dont believe she’s weird because she’s gay and I dont believe she’s weird because she’s autistic I think she’s weird because she got replaced by a double whodoesnt know how to be human

Mutual 3: the other day when i was processing my mice spleens i read the shipping label and it literally goes to roman enterprises? lol what?

Mutual 4: people complaining about my chemical romance selling out. acting different. um i think i know more about gerard ways sleep habits than you do genius.

Mutual 5: was at knitting night when literally half the group brought up turduckens again? not to have food aversion but what are we talking about

Mutual 6: I love to hear my american friends talk. Turducken. Ford. Dick Roman. You are living in a hollywood movie. thank god you unserious country nothing better than cultural exchange

Mutual 6: Though to be clear Merlin has had a much more impactful effect on the Australian psyche than any of this politics you people have on the news.

Mutual 7: did anybody want to watch that the horrifying documentary about yellow cedar trees going extinct because of the emissions from the poultry farms

Mutual 8 : i love our beautiful world :)

reginamillsofficial I think the worst part of the true crime fandom is the ppl who want to fuck Sam winchester. The sideburns alone

Biggersons-official Everyone come in to try our new Turducken™️ today! It’s a real hoot! Only a .03 percent chance of hyperadrenal cannibalism!

pizza biggersons-official coming for Denny’s crown omg

glowcloudstyle AND NOW THE WEATHER

#wtnv #i ship it #dennys x biggersons

biggersmons when you get paid biweekly. Week one. Turducken. Week two. Ice soup

calamitysong Biggersons again Biggersons again Biggersons again

eduardosaverin7 Eat a vegetable!

calamitysong I keep forgetting :(

[fierce-deity-bgg]

How about legend and four with a reader who is seen by others as a boy because of his haircut? Like they cut it when they were in guard training or whatever from their hyrule, and the boys see the girls trying to flirt, without knowing that it's not a man? Feel free, just a stupid idea

Four and legand x kinda masc F! Reader / gender-fluid 

OMGGGGGG first of all I just wanna say thank you for this request I never thought that I would get a request from one of my fav story makers!! BTW LOV YOUR DARK LINK STUFF :D 

(Reader is going to be mostly like shuri from black panther movies and a bit non cannon reactions from characters😔)

Btw sorry this took so long seasonal depression hit me like a truck over the past few weeks:

~~~

Only just yesterday you finally decided it was time to cut your hair after a while of letting it grow all the way down to your waist. When you finally came out of the inn you and the chain were staying at for a while in gerudo town in wilds world you were almost unrecognizable at first. The only reason they actually knew it was you is because twi sniffed your sent from a mile way.

Wind: “wow I almost didn’t recognize them at first!” 😦

Time: “I don’t think any of us did wind.”

Four: “well he’s got a point- uh… and thei r gone.”

Legand: “great..”

You literally just dashed out of there going to the up draft before taking off the go find riju and hopefully train with her for a while. You eventually found her in north gerudo ruins training on dummies again and you both agreed to battle each other for a bit of training. Little did you know that four and legand were looking for you in gerudo town thinking you’ll be there.. 

(Yeah I’m doing a lot of time skips because I’m getting a mind grain😬)

—————————

After around 3-4 hours of training with ruji (Btw ruji was the only one that recognized you straight away) you both decided to head to the town hoping the see the chain their already and only after the first few minutes of you both walking into town you started getting stairs and people whispering..

“Did ruji let in an another voe already?”

“Most likely but he’s cute in my opinion.”

Once you heard the vais say that you started giving ruji a side eye like your telling her “let’s bounce” but before you could even take another step a group of vai walked up to you and started commenting how you looked or how strong you were (not like they knew) 

While the crowd was just getting larger and ruji was just trying to get you away from there you saw four and legend, and legend looked like he was about to beat the shit out of someone but he somehow kept his composer dragging you out of there in a instant with four watching

“You vai know that’s a female right?”

Four yelled into the crowd making everyone but ruji stunned as they were both pulling you back to the chain

“Never again..”

They both said almost in sync while you just nodded

“Fine fine… bozos-“

“Hey!”

~~~~~

Ye so uh that’s the end I might make a part two after Christmas but ye- 

Requests are still open and I’m posting my ais on here so wait up for that and pokepasta stufffffff 

BTW STILL LOVE UR STORIES AND THANKS FOR THE REQUEST😁

[cjkie22]

A non-exhaustive list of why you should listen to hit dirtbag boyband Bears in Trees:

their music is really amazing. you'll love it.

especially if your Spotify wrapped was on the pov: indie side of things

and even if it wasn't.

songs for every emotion

absolutely beautiful lyrics

sometimes these lyrics make sense. sometimes they don't. that's part of the fun.

songs about platonic love !!!!!

songs for the queers! the aros! the aces! the enbies! the trans community!

my dad likes them. doesn't sound like a lot, but it's an achievement.

(more underneath the break)

iain (bass/vox/lyrics) has "ginger" tattooed on the back of their head. if that isn't iconic I don't know what is.

on the note of iain, they were the first person i was aware of that used they as a pronoun, and that changed my life

they have a discord server! it's a really lovely community. i am not biased in the slightest. (discord.gg/sandbox) (https://discord.com/invite/thesandbox) (i will personally send you an invite i don't actually know what the link is)

they should DEFINITELY be on the heartstopper soundtrack

if I'm remembering correctly in the tiktok where they said they should be on the heartstopper soundtrack, they also said 3 out of 4 of them were in some way queer. seems like a good thing to me.

they opened for you me at six earlier this year. it was my first time seeing them live. and WOW.

I met some of my best friends through this band. I'm not joking; big shout out to the mojo dojo castle house, I'll never forget that weekend.

they're hilarious on the internet

you might cry at several of their songs for a million different reasons

BearBerry records

they have a tumblr blog @/bearsintreesofficial (iirc). I'm not gonna tag them but

BiT gigs are a safe space. I may have almost fainted at my last one (new cross inn, August 2023) but I've never met so many kind strangers and genuinely lovely people

merch is super comfy and really cute.

it gives stardew valley and animal crossing (trust me I'm right)

after the new cross gig (sweatiest gig in the world), despite surely being exhausted, callum (uke/keys/vox) took my bereal and i got my mini lesbian flag signed by them all

I turned out not to be a lesbian, which possibly makes it funnier, but the flag is stuck on my wall still

cryptids would LOVE their band

dash.

there's also a community minecraft server for discord members

BiT postcards !!!!

gosh and the bit stickers

they covered stick season on an Instagram live

they also do the funniest twitch streams

iain and the mountain

the raccoon email address

george (drums/production) is elite. the drum fills in doing this again? iconic. also has a specific really cool shirt I want to steal

wedding. dress. tiktok.

callum doesn't wear shoes on stage. apparently this was common knowledge but it sure surprised me at new cross.

the austrian soft drinks advert

iain make up looks

callum plays the flute. I want to say classically trained flautist but i may be wrong.

none of them have EVER bribed any members of law enforcement

their songs are very tattooable

talking of tattoos, nick (lyrics/guitar/saw him play the uke on stage once) has L + R tattooed on his forearms (iirc). absolute genius and I am stealing it when I get more of my patchwork sleeve done

iain releases solo music to under the name pet yeti. it's ethereal. callum also plays flute on one of them.

trumpet joe

the four of them never look like they are dressed for the same event

someone once edited the bears in trees wiki page to say that Ryan Ross was in their band

silly geese

that time we got singing? poetry? performance art? of THAT harry potter fanfiction

according to tiktok, iain and nick once had to sneak into their own show because they were underage

nurby

I have a video in the depths of my camera roll of them covering Mama by My Chemical Romance on a twitch stream

sonick

all of them give me gender envy at different times

their newest single (bart's bike) features banjo

patreon content

yelling it gets better with a room full of people was a healing experience.

tilly

modern baseball and fall out boy adjacent in my brain

if you like bears in trees you're automatically hot and really cool

they did a song with noahfinnce and its really super good

callum also featured on a myriad song which is also really super good

bit songs feel like coming home. they feel like hot chocolate and a blanket on a cold night. they feel like a warm hug. they feel like surviving and falling in love with life again and overcoming the worst things. they feel like victory, because you didn't think you'd make it to adulthood. but I'm 20 now. and I'm still here. I've almost graduated uni. and that's what bears in trees feels like.

all of their songs!!!! amazing!!!!

please feel free to add to this list. I'm taking suggestions.

[revasserium]

CONGRATS RAIN!!!!!!!!!

also heavy breathing bc before i even opened the "keep reading" i was like. i hope pride and prejudice is on the list T______T and there she is ..... #1

i will kindly ask for osamu x pride and prejudice pls & thank u 🤲

pride and prejudice

osamu miya; 2,952 words; fluff, childhood friends to lovers, volleyball player!reader, fem!reader, general cuteness

summary: osamu has known you for longer than he can remember.

a/n: @starrysamu remmyyy thank u!!! and thank u for sending this prompt omfg i actually loved writing it so much u__u i hope u enjoy and yES ofc i couldn't leave miss p&p off this list!!! though the fic has nothing to do with the actual book LOL i hope you like it regardless <3

one.

you have known each other for longer than he can remember.

longer (osamu is convinced) than the summer days. longer (he is still convinced) than the winter nights. longer than the length of a volleyball court, than the glistening white lines that separate the game from everything else beyond it.

you’ve always been small, but you’d never let that stop you. and perhaps it’s this more than anything that grates at osamu’s consciousness — the sheer stubbornness of you. and he knows a thing or two about being stubborn — have you met his twin brother?

but no — you’d insisted, at the tiny, peculiar age of four, that you’d found volleyball first. as if it were something to discovered, like electricity or the new world. even though osamu knows better, knows that volleyball has always been there, just like he knows that atsumu will always try to steal the last popsicle in the freezer and that the sky will always turn blue again after even an entire week’s worth of rain.

“shorty’s can’t play volleyball, y’know,” he drawls, watching you with his head cocked, casually kicking his feet as they dangle from the edge of a low-rise bridge, the summer having reduced the usually hearty waterway to a trickling stream. you stand on the banks, panting, bruises like badges of honor blooming across your knees as you bounce a large ball along your forearms, over and over and over again.

osamu follows the trajectory with half-lidded eyes, his heartbeat ticking inside him like a time-bomb.

“says who?!” you demand, squeaking as the ball bonks off your head, making your eyes water.

osamu hums, caught between morbid amusement and a true, burgeoning curiosity as you dash off after the worn old volleyball.

“says… everyone, duh. tall people play volleyball… shortys…” he trails off, casting his eyes up at the first flickering stars as they wink into existence along the far horizon, “i dunno… shorty’s probably make ramen or riceballs or something like that.”

“samuuuu! it’s dinner time!” the clank of their old bike alerts osamu to his twin’s appearance, even as atsumu screeches to a halt the foot of the bridge, looking between osamu and you, now cradling the ball in your arms, your eyes bright and sharp as — yes, osamu thinks, bright as the evening stars.

“c’mon,” osamu says, hoisting himself up and jerking his head towards his brother.

“don’t wanna,” you say, stomping a foot as you turn resolutely away from him even as he rolls his tiny, four-year old eyes.

“don’t be stupid. kaa-chan made taimeshi —”

“oh! my favorite!”

osamu smirks as you bound up to meet them, his previous slights apparently long forgotten as you race off down the road, shouting over your shoulder that the last person there has to do the dishes. atsumu shrieks and nearly topples the bike chasing after you, leaving osamu to sigh and jog slowly after the two of you.

he wonders how long it’ll take before you outgrow this weird new obsession with volleyball. but then again, watching you play, it did seem like fun.

maybe, he’ll even give it a try one day.

two.

you’ve got a solid 10 centimeters on him by the time he and atsumu make it to the starting lineup in their middle school team. by then, you’d already been the star for an entire season, what with your boundless energy and your painful determination.

he’s seen you at school games, but of course he has — streaking along the sides of the court, jumping high enough to convince half the stadium that gravity does indeed play favorites.

“anddd… inarizaki middle takes another stunning victory over the girls at shukugawa tech! that number 11 is really someone to watch!”

he meets you after the match with a cold pocari sweat and a bag of caramel candies.

“you’re dropping your elbows on your spikes again,” he says, even as atsumu smacks both his palms into yours in celebration.

you pause, wiping at your face with the towel dangling around your neck.

“shaddap! we won, didn’t we?”

osamu sighs, “guess you did.”

“so, when’s your first game?”

osamu sniffs as he tries to keep the blush from crawling too far up his neck as he looks away.

“tomorrow afternoon.”

atsumu jabs a thumb into his chest with a cheeky grin, “you gonna be there to watch us cream the other team?”

“course i will!” you say as you flash them a smile that has osamu wondering if, just like gravity, perhaps the sun plays favorites too.

three.

the twins grow nearly a head and a half over one summer before high school and you’re inconsolable for weeks.

“it’s not fair!”

osamu sighs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes for the twelfth time that night as you smack another ball across the net and toss another for him to set.

ba-bam! thump thump thump.

“guys and girls grow different… it’s not like it’s a secret or anything —”

ba-bam! thump thump thump.

osamu catches the next ball you toss for him, straightening to shake his sweaty bangs from his eyes.

“you’re dropping your elbows again. and you’re pulling back too hard on your swing — you’re gonna throw out your shoulder if —”

“what’s it matter anyway?!”

your voice is loud enough to echo, even in the giant gymnasium, even with all the doors thrown open to let in the autumn breeze. osamu doesn’t miss your fingers curled into fists at your sides, he doesn’t miss the tremor in your voice like the first rumble of thunder before a summer storm.

“it matters cause if you injure yourself, you’re not gonna be able to play —”

“i — i haven’t grown since i was twelve years old! w-what’s it matter if i get hurt o-or if i can’t keep playing? it’s only a matter of time before i’m too short —”

“fine then. quit.”

your head jerks up, your eyes wide and watery as you stare at him. the ball falls out of your grip and bounces, listless, once, twice, three-four-five times against the waxed wooden floor before rolling to a stop against one of the padded net poles.

osamu shrugs, feeling suddenly too cold and too hot all at once as something he thinks might be anger roils in the depths of his stomach, and then all he wants to do is scream and run laps around the building till this inexplicable fire inside him goes out.

instead, he turns away from your piercing, accusatory gaze and starts picking up volleyballs, casually tossing them up and setting them back into the big blue ball bin.

“osamu… you giant fucking asshole!”

bomph-thwack — something smacks against the back of his head so hard his vision goes blurry. but before he has the strength to whip around and look for you, you’d already gone, racing out of the gym, leaving osamu utterly bewildered as he raises a hand to touch the bump already rising at the back of his head.

“ow… what the fuck was that?!”

later that night, when he recounts the tale to atsumu, who’d spent a solid fifteen minutes laughing at the fact that he’d gotten nailed in the head by a girl, atsumu had pinned him with a flatlined look and said —

“well, ya kinda did deserve it.”

to which osamu had responded by promptly shoving atsumu’s face into a pillow and holding it there.

four.

you don’t quit volleyball, because of course you don’t. and osamu knows you well enough by now to know that you run on a combination of energy drinks and spite. but you don’t talk to him for weeks, and that sucks more than he quite has the words to explain.

so he doesn’t. and he doesn’t.

atsumu is the first one to notice, but then when kita-san finds him in the lockers one day to ask him what’s wrong, osamu thinks that it must be more serious than he’d thought.

he finds you practicing by the river, his footsteps slowing as he pauses to watch the shape of you silhouetted against the setting sun, the ball bouncing up in perfect rhythm as you bend at the knees and bop it back up, again and again and again.

he allows himself a smile as he makes his way over and plops down in the grass.

“your shoulders are getting tense again.”

you don’t answer, don’t even show any sign that you’d heard him, expect for the near imperceptible drop in your shoulders as you force them down the second before the ball makes contact with your outstretched arms.

bomph-bomph-bomph

the ball goes up and up and up again.

you don’t turn to look at him so osamu takes a deep breath and casts his eyes up at the darkening sky.

“it was a shit thing to say. i’m s —”

“we’re playing shiratorizawa this weekend.”

you both speak at the same time.

bomph-bomph-bomph

osamu jerks upright to stare at you.

“shiratorizawa? aren’t they in miyagi? what are they doing here?”

you bump the ball way up and fall a few steps back. he watches as you mark the ball with your eyes, the way your whole body goes fluid as you do your run-up, bending down, your entire being held perfectly still for a single second before you leap up into the air.

like this, he thinks, it really does look like you’re flying.

thwack.

the ball comes straight at him, but this time, he’s ready for it. he jerks the side to avoid it and catches it as it threatens to bounce off towards the open road behind him.

“dunno… some kinda training camp or something,” you say, shrugging as you climb up the short incline to join him on the grass. you drop down next to him as he cradles the ball in his lap, eyes trained on his fingers as they dig into the worn grooves around the old ball.

“hm. their boys team is a pain in the ass to play against.”

you laugh, “their girls are just as bad.”

“hm.”

you turn towards him, “not gonna wish me good luck?”

osamu tosses the ball up to balance it on the tip of a single finger.

“why would i? ‘s not like you’re gonna need it anyway.”

you bump him with your shoulder before snatching the ball from his hand and jumping up to race off towards the road.

“mom’s makin’ gyoza tonight! last one there’s gotta do the dishes!”

osamu groans as he pushes himself up, but jogs after you all the same, wondering just how long of a head start he should give you before he races after you.

he shoves your head forward as he catches up to you, chuckling as you yelp.

“how bout if you win this weekend, i’ll come over and do the dishes for you for a whole week!”

you laugh, chasing after him, “and if we lose?”

osamu turns around, grinning as you narrow your eyes at his easy gait, even as he’s running backwards, still noticeably faster than you, “mah… i haven’t thought that far yet. i mean, ‘s not like you’re gonna lose, right?”

five.

when they lose to karasuno, you’re crying way harder than anyone on their team.

atsumu huffs, scowling to keep his own tears at bay as you bawl into his chest, your other arm wrapped around osamu’s waist. osamu sighs, reaching up to pat you placidly on the back, even as something in his own chest coils tight, and then tighter.

“d-damnit — you guys p-played so well, too! th-that little number t-ten was — was such a freak!”

at this, osamu chuckles, pulling back to take you by the shoulders, “says our own tiny volleyball freak.”

you sniffle and wipe at your eyes, glaring defiantly up at him. and as he watches you hiccup, reaching up to wipe at your red, puffy cheeks, something inside him seems to snap all at once.

he tugs you forward and before he knows it, all he can feel are your rapid, uneven breaths — all he can taste is salt and the faint hint of your mint chapstick.

he hears atsumu make a half-disgusted, half-resigned sort of sound next to him but he doesn’t care. he kisses you till your breaths are no longer choppy, till he can feel your fingers digging into the sore tightness in his biceps. till someone clears their throat and he pulls back, breathless, to find aran staring at him with his arms crossed.

“team meeting in five,” aran says as he pointedly turns back around to usher the rest of the stunned team towards where their stuff is. several people from other schools are staring and whispering behind their hands but at a sharp glare from atsumu, they all scatter.

“feeling better?” osamu asks, unable to keep the lilting edge of a tease out of his voice as he pulls you with him into a deserted corner of the stadium. you blink up at him, your eyes a bit unfocused and still red from crying as you reach up to press your fingers to your lips. and then, you jolt back to life all at once and whack him on the arm.

“ow! w-what was that for?!”

“did you do that just to stop me crying?”

“wha — no! i — i did it cause — i — i don’t really know why — ow! stop hitting me!”

osamu grabs your arms and pins them to your side, pressing you up against the large pillar behind you, currently keeping the two of you hidden from view. he stares down at you, at the way your eyes are bright and sharp even in this relative, borrowed darkness, at the way your chest heaves up and down, up and down, stretching at the fabric of your very well-fitted sports top. he stares at the way your lips are still parted, and he hates the fact that he now knows exactly how they taste, knows just how soft they are, after having wondered for years and years and years.

he wonders how long he’s wanted to kiss you.

longer, he thinks, probably, than the summer days.

longer, he knows, than the winter nights.

“s-samu?”

“hm? oh. sorry…” he shakes his head and lets you go slowly, but he should’ve known you’d never let him off that easy. it’s just not who you are.

you narrow your eyes and he feels caught by your gaze.

“if you didn’t do it to stop me crying… then why’d you do it?”

osamu allows himself a deep sigh, taking half a step back, “ah… can’t a guy just kiss the girl he likes without being interrogated about it?”

you blink, and then, you reach out to whack him again.

“dumbass-samu… you’re gonna be late to your team meeting.”

osamu feels a strange mixture of pride and elation ballooning in his chest as he notices the way you’re blushing, the way you refuse to meet his eyes. he reaches down to ruffle your hair even as you yelp and try to swat him away.

“right, right — wait for me, yeah?”

you roll your eyes but you’re smiling as you say, “of course, idiot… where else would i be?”

six.

“so tell me… why’d you really kiss me that time after the karasuno match?”

it’s winter, two years later, and osamu’s arm is slung casually around your shoulders as the rest of the team chatters and drinks and makes a mess in the corner of the bought-out restaurant for their first annual high school reunion.

osamu hums, nursing a half-finished glass of sake.

“mah… i guess i just wanted to make myself feel better after getting my ass whopped, y’know?”

you laugh and try to dig your elbow into his side but he clamps his arm around you and holds you close. outside, the snow is finally starting to slow.

“have you figured it out yet, then? what you’re gonna study in college?”

at this, osamu turns to cast you a sidelong look.

“you’re not mad that i’m quitting volleyball?”

you shrug, “why would i be mad? it’s not like you’re making me quit with you.”

this time, he shrugs, “well, tsumu was mad for like… a week.”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, and i’m so similar to your brother.”

osamu makes a noncommittal noise that once again prompts you to try and elbow him in the side.

“then you tell me… what do you think a former volleyball star should do after quitting, hm?”

you swirl your own drink around your glass, your cheeks dusted in pink as you consider for a moment. then, you smirk as you look back up at him with a wistful gaze.

“make ramen or riceballs or… something like that, right?”

osamu smiles, leaning down to gaze his lips along your cheek before reaching out to tip your head back to press you lips to his.

“y’know, that actually doesn’t sound like such a terrible idea.”

2k celebration reqs still open! :)

[arthurdrakoni]

Residents of Proserpina Park is a mythology audio drama. It is currently funding season 4 and 5 on Indiegogo. I’m call on all of you to help however you can.

Hello everyone. I’ve got another call to action for all of you. As you might, or might not know, @proserpinapark is currently funding not one, but two new seasons coming out later this year. I’m calling on all of you to do your part to help out.

So, some of you might be wondering what is Residents of Proserpina Park. Why, it is a monster of the week, anime-inspired audio drama. Think like Percy Jackson meets Pokémon meets Scooby-Doo, with a dash of Jackie Chan Adventures thrown in. Throw all that good stuff into the blender, and you’ve got an excellent audio drama.

Residents of Proserpina Park follows a young woman named Alina who discovers a park that is, basically, a nature reserve for mythological creatures. Each episode follows Alina and the gang meeting a new creature from across World Mythology and Folklore. At the same time, they are try to uncover the mysteries of the park itself.

One thing I love about RoPP is shear variety of creatures. We got creatures Filipino Mythology, Māori Mythology, Lenape Folklore, Aztec Mythology, Lithuanian Folklore, and a whole lot more.

Now for a bit about the people who make RoPP possible. Series creator Angela Yih has worked on podcasts for Realm, Pod People, and more. Their credits include shows such as Overleaper, Echo Park, Blood Forest, and Harley Quinn and the Joker: Sound Mind!

The point being, Angela knows their stuff. But not just the technical stuff. They’ve also got quite a few voice acting credits under their belt. Angela has lent their voice to works such as Dreamscape Highway, Mx. Bad Luck, Omega Star 7, and even The Books of Thoth.

And what about the rest of the gang? We are over fifty percent people of color, fifty percent female, and I’m autistic. We have performers from all walks of life, and we’re all very passionate about bringing these mythological stories to life for your listening pleasure.

But okay, what’s in it for you? I’m very glad you asked. You see, you’ve got six different options to choose from. Or you can donate a custom amount with no perks. But if you do what perks, here’s what your options are…

$5 - Tourist

All the shoutouts! Shoutouts on social media, on our website, and in the last episode of season 4 for being an awesome supporter

$15 - Visitor

Early access to ad-free episodes a week in advance as well as all the perks from the Tourist Tier

$30 - Local

A digital copy of the official Residents of Proserpina Park Light Novel, which is a collection of short stories focused on the characters from the show, and all the perks from the previous tiers.

$50 - Member

A physical copy of the official Residents of Proserpina Park Light Novel plus other merchandise and all the perks from the previous tiers.

$100 - Resident

Learn what it’s like to be on the show or work on an audio drama. Work with Angela Yih and be featured in a bonus episode in season 5 as well as all the perks from the previous tiers!

$300 - VIP

Become an executive producer on Residents of Proserpina Park and be credited in season 4 and 5! Determine a creature for season 6 as well as all the perks from the previous tiers.

So far we have raised $696, and I contributed $306 out of that. But you don’t have to contribute as much as I did. Small drops fill the bucket, and every little bit helps. If you aren’t financially able to help, then I would only ask you help spread the word, and encourage others to pitch in. We can all do our part to make season four and season five the best seasons of RoPP yet.

So, you have heard the call the action. Now the ball is in your court. Do your part out to help the Residents of Proserpina Park Indiegogo campaign however you are able.

Link to the Residents of Proserpina Park Indiegogo: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/residents-of-proserpina-park-season-4-and-5-launch/x/29874655#/

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 14

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Sid's house was quiet when Nikita and Papa came back from school. It was missing the happy noise of Marisol and Mike talking and playing. When Papa picked him up, he said that Mike and Marisol had a tough day and might not want to be bothered.

Nikita frowned when told that; he hoped Mike would help him with his math again. This was harder than his last school. Nikita really liked it when he came home from school to them. He hoped that they would continue to hang out after school even after he and Papa moved back into their home. They could hang out, do homework, or maybe play with the mini sticks!

But Papa was clear before they left the car; now was time to be quiet. Mike and Marisol had a bad day.

Nikita liked Sid's house a lot, almost more than his Papa's house. He did miss the basketball court from his Papa's house, though. But Sid's garage was a good place for a football net. Since his Mama returned to Miami, he got his own room with a nice view.

He was a little upset at the constant moving around, though. Mama and Papa had promised him that if he chose a school, he would stay in one place except for vacations, and he only got a few weeks in his room before they had to move again.

It wasn't fair that the house broke. Nikita wanted to stay in one room for a while.

Mike and Marisol were nowhere to be seen when he and Papa entered the house. Sid was at their side in an instant, greeting them in Russian.

One of the other reasons Nikita liked Sid's house is that Sid spoke Russian. So, if Nikita forgot a word or didn't know it in either English or Russian, he could just switch, and Sid could follow – just like his parents! It was nice.

Sid's hair was a mess, and it looked like he had been running his hands through it. Nikita thought it looked fluffy. There was a slump to his shoulders that Niktia usually only saw on his Papa's teammates after long roadies.

Papa paused at the door and glanced around, "Mike and Marisol…?"

"Are in their room," Sid said in Russian. "Marisol needed to be in a bed."

Nikita looked up at his Papa, "Can I go play with them?"

Both adults exchanged a look over Nikita's head. Just because he didn't know what the look meant didn't mean he didn't see it.

"I think you can, buddy," Sid said slowly. "But you have to be quiet."

"And you have to ask," his Papa said, emphasizing the word ask and holding Nikita's gaze until Nikita nodded solemnly, "If they say no or are sleeping, you have to come back, ok?"

Nikita nodded again. "I promise." He said before dashing off, and he would. He would ask! But Mike and Marisol had never said no to him before, and they weren't like the kids from the school; they were nice. He grabbed his iPad from his school bag. There were a few games on there that didn't require sound. Nikita played them while he and his parents were at restaurants.

As he left, his Papa asked Sid, "How was the talk?" Nikita didn't hear Sid's answer, only the low tone of his voice.

Mike and Marisol were in a room across from his. Sid and his Papa's rooms were further into the house. Nikita knocked on the door. Mike opened it up, warily looking around and then seeing Nikita.

"Wanna play?" Nikita asked dutifully in English. Mike didn't speak any Russian, just Spanish. His Papa would be proud. His Mama might say something about proper English; if he had to learn the language, he should speak it right.

Mike scrunched his face unhappily, and Nikita's hopes dropped a little. Maybe he would say no. But Mike glanced back into the room and then back out. "Marisol is still sleeping. We can't wake her up."

Behind him, Nikita saw that Marisol was tucked into Mike's bed. Her bed was on the other side of the room, but Nikita knew they only tended to use one bed often; they both had nightmares they didn't like to discuss.  

"Napping?" Nikita asked before remembering to whisper. "I can be quiet!" He said, hushed.

Mike gave him a slight quirk of a grin before ushering him into the bedroom.

They settled down to play an English game on Nikita's iPad, which helped him learn the rules of the language. It was on mute.

"You're really good at this," Mike said after Nikita rapidly beat several levels before losing while at a spelling game while trying to spell 'believed.' Too many 'e's in the word.

"Thank you!" Nikita beamed. Nikita handed the iPad to Mike so he could play a few levels. He was really good at sharing things; his Mama always said so when they were in Miami with friends.

He should make lots of friends at school. Just because he hadn't yet didn't mean he wouldn't! He liked a few of his classmates. It was just hard to talk to them. It was different from talking to Mike or Marisol. One boy was bigger than the rest of them, and he was in charge. Nikita didn't like that boy, and that boy didn't like Nikita.

Mike and Marisol were easy to talk to, even when Marisol was being fussy or acting like a baby or when Mike couldn't talk at all. It was like they were his actual brother and sister! Something he always wanted – but was never able to get. His parents were always firm that they were not planning another sibling.

Mike played for a few rounds before losing at a level, trying to figure out the endings of words. After that, he handed the iPad back to Nikita. After going back and forth for a while, getting to a higher level than Nikita had ever gotten on his own or with his parent's help, Nikita set the iPad aside. "Can we play mini sticks?" he asked.

He missed having his own playroom. Both of his homes, his Papa's Pittsburgh house and his momma's Miami condo, had rooms just for his toys. (The Russian apartments didn't have a separate room, but Nikita never minded.) Sid didn't have that in his home. Instead, they could play with mini sticks in his room, or their room, or…

But Mike shook his head negatively, "No, Nikita. I don't want to."

"Ok," Nikita frowned; who didn't want to play mini sticks? But he accepted Mike's answer because that's what being a brother means, right? Mike had chosen to play on the iPad with Nikita despite being tired; he might not be ready to play something so rowdy.

Nikita wanted to be Mike and Marisol's brother. That way, his family and theirs can stay together. He doesn't understand much but knows his parents aren't getting back together, so his family is smaller than it was. He misses his mom – she left a few days ago to work back in Miami – but it was better with Mike and Marisol there.

"How about we work on your homework?" Mike asked, "You have more math today, right?"

Nikita nodded slowly. "Yeah." The math was hard and wasn't much fun. But his Papa was firm that math was necessary, even for professional athletes. The school used a website for homework, and Nikita logged in to the program online from the tablet. He opened the assignment, and very quietly, he and Mike worked through the numbers.

There were some kids in his class, classmates of sorts who were good at math, and they were mean to Nikita for not being as good as them.

Nikita was so much better than them in English, as they had only moved from Moscow a few years ago, but Nikita never brought it up.

He hopes they will be on a different football team. He knows they won't be on the same hockey team – he's better than most of them at hockey, even if he likes soccer better.

As they got close to the end of the assignment, Mike started to look really sleepy.

"Nap time?" Nikita asked. Most of his classmates weren't taking many naps anymore, but when his Papa, Sidney, and most of the men he knew took them regularly, Nikita didn't see it as childish as they did. He knew a Hockey player's secret: Naps.

Mike nodded. If they all ended up in Mike's bed and crashed out, Nikita was told that nap piles happened while on roadies.

[bangtanloverboys]

four seasons, for love // kth

summary - the monks had taught taehyung to detach himself from the world so his spirit could be free. he would keep no worldly possessions, only what he truly needed, and never form any true romantic attachment. he was a monk after all. yet as taehyung made his way across the world once again, he found you in his path

pairing - air nomad!taehyung x earth kingdom male!reader

genre - fluff, minor minor angst; avatar the last airbender au

word count - 5.4k

warnings - pov swaps, minor injuries, BALD TAEHYUNG RIGHTS GODDAMMIT, some inaccurate air nomad culture i did the best i could, sky bison!yeontan, they don’t say they’re in love but they are, kissing, kinda bitter sweet ending but its cute, this takes place i wanna say end of kyoshi era-beginning of roku

author’s note - DEADASS TOOK ME TWO YEARS TO WRITE THIS. I REWATCHED ATLA MANY TIMES, SCOURED THE ATLA WIKI PAGES, AND MANY MANY YOUTUBE VIDEO ESSAYS ONTHIS SHOW AND ITS RESEARCH. was it all necessary? no. am i autistic? yes

collection masterlist

Traveling was one of Taehyung's favorite and least favorite things to do. He found the wind blowing in his face and whistling past his ears as he flew through the air was a wonderful way to calm his nerves. But he hated traveling alone though, despite having his bison Yeontan with him as company, he did miss other people. Which granted he would soon see again within a few days. 

He was returning from a visit to the Eastern Air Temple and was on his way back to the Northern Air Temple. While Air Nomads were, as the name suggested, nomadic; Taehyung always felt a strong pull to the Northern Temple. It was where he grew up, it was where he went though most of his training, it was where he even earned his mastery tattoos, all in all, the Northern Temple was home to him. It was a sentiment he would never say aloud though. Air Nomads were supposed to let go of their ties to the world, freeing their spirit. Taehyung wouldn’t be a monk if he called a place his home. Yet something deep in his soul told him that that’s what he wanted, to have an attachment. 

Having just flown over the great city of Ba Sing Se, Taehyung figured there were only a few days left in his journey back. Over the wind, he could hear - and feel - Yeontan groan, signaling to Taehyung that he was tired after traveling for so long. “Okay buddy, we’ll land soon.” He said as he patted the head of his companion. If he recalled correctly, there was a river not far from where they flew in the skies, so Taehyung started flying in that general direction.

As he got closer and closer to the river, he noticed a few figures making their way towards the river. Once Yeontan got close enough to the ground, he noticed the figures were Earth Kingdom soldiers and they were chasing after you. He debated quickly as to whether or not to jump in and separate the fight, but upon watching further, he saw you jump into the river and began to swim frantically away. The soldiers halted as you struggled to swim across the wide river, maybe you weren’t gonna make it?

All hopes of you making it seemed to be dashed when a soldier pulled out a bola, and started swinging it in the direction of you. “No-” Taehyung started to call out to try and stop them but it was too late, the soldier swung the weights and with the lucky shot the bola wrapped around your leg, slowly but surely you were sinking.

“Yeontan, get closer to the river!” He called out to his bison as he jumped from his spot on his head to dive into the water. As he got closer to you, he saw as you struggled to stay afloat. 

“Help!” You gargled out before you sank beneath the water. Behind Taehyung, he could hear the soldiers yelling at him, telling him to mind his business but he paid no mind to them. Taehyung submerged himself beneath the waves and looked around until he could see your figure a few feet behind him still struggling. 

Quickly, Taehyung swam closer to you and watched as you slowly stopped struggling. He needed to work fast, he wrapped his arms around your torso and started kicking towards the surface again. Once he broke the surface of the river, he looked around and spotted Yeontan, who was floating not far from where he and you were. 

Although it took a bit of struggling, Taehyung managed to pull your dead weight over to the tail of his bison. Once the two of you were on, he called for Yeontan to lift his tail, to which he followed and he was able to pull you on to the saddle. “Yip yip!” Taehyung belted out and his bison started to rise from the water and back towards the skies. All while the soldiers were yelling at them to come back. 

Once they were up in the air, Taehyung focused his attention on you, currently laying unconscious in the saddle. He brought his head to your chest and could hear your heartbeat, as well as feel your chest rise and fall. You were still alive, to which that was a relief. He then saw your left leg, which was still entangled with the bola. Carefully as he could, he undid the tangle, but he could see there was still a lot of damage done to the limb. While he wasn’t very skilled in healing, he knew the basics to help. Now if only he could remember what Monk Ruen taught him. . .

A dull aching pain seared from your left leg woke you. You tried your best to ignore it as every other muscle in your body begged to continue sleeping, but the pain only grew and grew until you were groaning loudly. Within an instant, a cool hand was placed over your forehead in an attempt to soothe you. You tried to push away from the stranger’s grasp, but they held you down. “Hey hey hey, it’s alright. You nearly drowned, you’re gonna be okay.” A deep voice echoed in your mind, consoling you.

“My leg-” You cried out as you opened your eyes to see the stranger. Your vision was blurry, either from sleep or the tears you were holding back, but there was no mistaking who your savior was. Above you was the figure of an air nomad, the signature blue arrow rested over his forehead and ran over the top of his clean shaven head. You blinked up at him, your vision clearing up and you could see his grey eyes were laced with concern as you squirmed in pain.

“Your leg was injured by a bola. A healer will be able to help more, but I did the best I could.” The monk chuckled nervously as he gestured to your splinted shin.  

Following his hand, you took notice of your poorly splinted leg. Judging from spots of blood that was seeping through the cloth, the wound was still fresh and open. You let out a huff as you let your head fall back to the soft ground. . . impossibly soft ground. The pain of your leg distracted you from realizing that you were not even on the dirt. Instead you were splayed out on a large saddle of sorts. Even above you, the skyline and the trees looked different from the village you once called home. Where were you?

“We’re several miles away from the river, those soldiers won’t be able to find you here.” The nomad explained. “I’m Taehyung, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You slowly lifted yourself to a sitting position, trying your best not to move your leg too much. 

Taehyung was silent for a few seconds, eying you carefully. You felt unnerved under his grey eyed stare, like he was looking into your very soul. “If you don’t mind me asking, why were those soldiers after you?”

Suddenly you remembered how you got into this situation. You were caught stealing food from some soldiers. But only because you had too! You had no money and the food looked so good. . . food you didn’t even have any more considering you dropped it somewhere in between the village and the river. You avoided eye contact with the nomad for a split second, should you lie? Was it morally okay to lie to an air nomad? You remembered hearing something about how the air nomads were good fortune. . . Not willing to risk it, you huffed out your confession. 

“I was caught stealing food.” Gnawing on your lip nervously as you gaged his reaction. “I wasn’t just stealing it because I could! The mayor has this massive tax, we don’t have any money and I was starving!” You didn’t realize you were shouting at him until your words echoed into the forest. Gulping, you kept your eyes trained on the nomad before you, praying to whatever spirits could hear that he would spare a spit of kindness your way.

His eyes softened. Taehyung placed his hand on your shoulder. “Are you still hungry?”

Opening your mouth to respond, but your stomach growled loudly, answering for you.

With a chuckle, he pulled himself away from you digging into his bag that was secured off to the edge of the giant saddle. With his back turned to you, you shifted in your place. “Thank you, for saving me by the way.”

Turning back with some circular yellow cookies, handing them to you.“Nonsense! I couldn’t stand back and watch you drown!” Taehyung looked at you, as if the concept of not helping you was outrageous. “All life is precious, that includes yours. It was the right thing to do.” You felt your cheeks burn at his statement; you’ve heard that air nomads did hold that philosophy but coming from Taehyung, it had butterflies stirring in your stomach. “Now eat and get some more rest. It’s getting late. There’s a town nearby with a healer I know of. I’ll fly us over-”

“I’m sorry, fly?” You cut him off as Taehyung stood up in the saddle, a big boxy grin on his face. 

“Watch this!” In the blink of an eye, he jumped up, propelling himself into the air. You watched in awe as he landed not too far from where you sat, his bald head only peeking out from the end of the saddle. “Yeontan, yip yip!” He shouted and suddenly the entire saddle groaned and rumbled. Then with a loud thump coming from behind, slowly you noticed how you were getting higher and higher, until you broke through the branches of the tree tops and into the open air of the sky. You were flying!

“Woah!” You exclaimed as you looked over the ends of the saddle and noticed you were on the back of a sky bison! How could you have forgotten that airbenders almost always travel with a bison? You heard Taehyung laugh at you over the wind as you watched with wide eyes over the height you were growing to.

“Rest! The town’s not too far from here! We’ll be there soon!” The air nomad called out to you. You were exhausted, you’re unsure if you’re going to be able to sleep completely. You lean back against the end of the saddle again and keep your eyes trained to the sky, watching the clouds as they float alongside you. 

He doesn’t know how long it was since he started flying, but the next time Taehyung looked over his shoulder, he saw you resting peacefully. He smiled to himself, happy that you were at least safe and he was taking you away from a bad situation. He knew the town nearby was good and if you accepted his help, maybe he could help you get a job? He was unsure though, he just wanted to make sure you were more or less okay before continuing his journey back home, to which his fellow monks would definitely be concerned with how late he’d return, but he supposes they’re used to some people going off track and being late by now. 

Taehyung hummed to himself as he kept his eyes trained on the horizon, watching as the sun started to dip below it. It wasn’t too long before he saw the smoke trail of the village appear in his line of sight. Turning his head over his shoulder, he called out to you, “Y/N! Wake up! We’re here!” 

He heard the low groan of your voice as you began to wake up. “Hmm wha- what the monkey feathers!” Taehyung heard you shout, getting a good chuckle out of him as you became more lucid.

“We’re about to land in Naizong Village,” he explained as he heard you shuffle closer to look over the side of the saddle. “It’s an easy landing, but I do suggest you hold on!” He smiled at you over his shoulder, only to see you enthralled with the sight of the world coming closer and closer. As Yeontan neared the ground, Taehyung saw a handful of people gathering just outside the village. “Gently, Tannie!” He instructed his bison as he landed on the dirt.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite nomad!” A voice shouted from the small crowd. Squinting his eyes, he managed to spot the owner of the familiar voice.

“Leni!” Taehyung beamed as he hopped off Yeontan’s head. Leni was the Naizong healer and a friend of his guardian, thus making her his friend too. He grew up visiting her often whenever they made their way back towards the Northern Air Temple. “It’s so good to see you!” He wrapped his arms around the elderly woman.

“It’s good to see you too, Tae! How’s my boy doing? And how’s Ruen?” She questioned as she raised a hand to his face, pinching one of his cheeks.

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he got a word out, your voice from above called out. “Sorry to interrupt, but a little help here?”

“Oh, sorry!” Taehyung pushed himself up into the air, landing softly next to you in the saddle. Ever so carefully, he got you standing before wrapping an arm around your waist. You in return placed your arm over his shoulder. Gently, he propelled the two of you up in the air. Your grip on him tightened as you began to hover midair, eliciting a small smile from him, “I got you,” he said as he started the descent back to solid ground. “There you go,” he kept his arm loose around your waist, letting you use him as a crutch. 

“Oh, child! What happened to you?” Leni questioned as Taehyung continued to keep you upright. 

“This is Y/N, I rescued him from uh. . .” turning his head to you, he saw a flash of fear in your eyes. He knew then he couldn’t tell Leni the outright truth, as thief was a brand worn forever, no matter what they were stealing. Not wanting to ruin your chances of a second chance, he made up an excuse for your injury. “From a platypus bear trap. Pesky things. I tried to fix him up as best I could, but I’m no healer.” He laughed nervously to himself as Leni looked at you with a sorrowful face. 

“I’m sorry dear, let's get you fixed up.” She gestured over to her home over her shoulder and started to head in that direction. 

“No, I don’t want to intrude-” You began to protest before Leni shushed you.

“It’s no problem, at all. Any friend of Taehyung is a friend of mine. I can fix up your leg and get you some supper. Come on now.” She assured you as she led the both of your towards her cottage. “Taehyung, Yeontan can help himself to the barn.” 

He chuckled at her comment, “She must’ve restocked on hay. Normally she tells him to stay away from the barn.” He remarked to you as you hobbled along next to him. Taehyung stopped walking, moving his arms to pick you up. “Here let me-”

“I’m fine,” you insisted as you attempted to stop him from lifting you up.

“Leni’s house is a bit of a walk and dare I say it, she’s getting ahead.” He chortled at you. “Let me, it’s no problem really.”

Silently, you agreed, moving your hands to wrap around his neck as his arm went beneath your legs. Taehyung was able to catch up fairly quickly to Leni. He was able to catch a few glances down at you while you all made the walk to Leni’s house. Taehyung was quick to notice how you kept your eyes away from his face, focused on the trees or other passing villagers. There was a light blush across your cheeks whenever you seemed to catch him looking at you, but you never said anything. 

Upon arriving at Leni’s place, he placed you down seated at the table while your hostess went to fetch her first aid kit. The two of you sat in an awkward silence as you waited for her to return. 

“Thank you, by the way.” You said as Taehyung sat himself next to you, he gave you a puzzled look before you continued. “For not telling her about. . . you know.”

“It’s no problem at all,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck. “Do you uh, think this is a good place for you? To start over?” He questioned, curious as to your thoughts and getting away from your old village. 

“I think it’ll work just fine,” you smiled at him, “it’s a good place for a fresh start.”

Taehyung moved to speak again when Leni returned with her kit, “Now, let’s see how badly Tae-Tae messed up your leg.”

The air nomad stepped back, standing in the doorway as he watched Leni carefully re-wrapped your leg, which looked a lot better than his poor attempt at it. All set in place, Leni told you to sit tight as she went to grab you some food to eat. Despite your protests of being fine, it wasn’t hard to hear your stomach grumbling, leaving you no choice but to sit and wait until the elderly woman returned. 

“She’s nice,” you muttered, giving him a small smile.

“Yeah, she’s really sweet.” He agreed, nodding. A silence fell over you both yet again, unsure of what to say. “Leni can help you get everything in order for you, I uh, I should get going-“

“Taehyung, you will do no such thing.” Leni scolded as she returned to the table, a few bowls of soup in hand. “It’s late, have supper. You can leave at first light.”

“You’re leaving?” He couldn’t help but detect a sense of hurt in your voice.

“It’s just- I mean- I said I’d arrive at the Northern Air Temple in a few days time, I’m so close.” He mumbled, feeling torn between his word and the sense of responsibility he harbored for you. 

“Well I’m sure Ruen will understand if you arrive a day late.” Leni said, pushing the bowl towards him. “Now eat. You’re so scrawny.”

Not wanting to argue anymore, he reached for the chopsticks, ready to eat. The meal was eaten in a comfortable silence. When the three of you had finished, bellies full, Taehyung stood up, ready to help Leni clear the table, but the old woman slapped his hand away.

“I can handle the dishes, Taehyung. You can help our guest towards the guest room.” And without saying another word, took the bowls and headed away, leaving Taehyung with no choice other than to help you. Taehyung looked at you sheepishly as you covered your mouth, stifling a laugh. 

“Come on, best we listen to her,” he sighed playfully as he stood up. Extending an arm out to you, he helped you rise to your feet, once again offering himself as a crutch. Graciously, you accepted this time, allowing him to lead you further into the house and towards one of the spare rooms. 

“Who is Ruen? Is he like your father or something” You asked offhandedly.

Taehyung winced at the question, “Uh, no, he’s my guardian.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You furrowed your brows

“No, air nomads aren’t raised by those who gave birth to them,” Taehyung responded cordially as he approached a door, pushing it open. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Your face fell as he helped you into the room.

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“I mean, I know what it feels like to not know your parents,” you said, your voice lowering to a softer tone.

Taehyung frowned as he got you seated down on the bed. “I knew who my parents were, they just weren’t who raised me.” Granted, he rarely ever saw the people who conceived him, all Taehyung ever truly knew was Monk Ruen. He taught him everything he knew; how to cook, clean, and play pai sho. If that was what a father would teach his son, then Ruen would be the closest to that. 

Your eyes grew wide in embarrassment. “I-I okay- rats, I’m-”

Taehyung stopped you before you could start to tumble over your words even further. “It’s okay.” With that assurance, your shoulders dropped in relief. An agreed upon silence falling over the two of you. With you under Leni’s roof, he knew you were set for a fresh start. You were going to be okay. Unsure what else to say, Taehyung backed away from the bed. “I’ll let you rest now. Good night.”

“See you in the morning?” You asked out. 

Taehyung knew he shouldn’t leave any later than sunrise, but perhaps he could stay a bit longer. He sees Ruen more often than Leni, and now there’s you as well. He should say goodbye to his new friend. “See you in the morning.”

True to his word, Taehyung did see you in the morning to say goodbye, albeit it was only for a few moments, he did have to reach the Northern Air Temple before the end of the day. Your hair was tousled from sleep, and your eyes were bleary. He felt oddly endeared by the sight as you, with the help of Leni, tiredly made your way over toward Yeontan.

“Good morning!” He smiled at the pair of you. Leni was obviously more awake than you, as you grumbled out a response. 

“Good morning, Taehyung,” the elderly woman responded. “I have something for you and Ruen,” she said, a ceramic pot in a netted bag. Taehyung didn’t even have to open it to know what was inside, egg custard tart. Bowing in thanks, he carefully took the bag, securing it amongst his other things. 

Leni helped set you down near a hay bale beside the sky bison, leaving you to watch as Taehyung finished making sure everything was secured and ready for take off (as well as watch Yeontan nibble on some hay that was set aside for him). Once he had finished, he hopped down to Lenoi, hugging her goodbye. 

“Take care of yourself,” she said as she pulled away from him. “And give my love to Ruen.”

“I will, Leni.” Free of Leni’s grasp, he turned to you. You’d risen from your spot on the hay bale, carefully keeping your weight off of your bad foot. “It was wonderful to meet you, Y/N.”

“Likewise,” you smiled, standing there awkwardly. 

Taehyung hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether or not to hug you, before ultimately deciding he would. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You stiffened for a moment, but relaxed into his touch, returning the hug. After a few moments, it was you that broke away from the embrace.

“You should probably go. I’ve already made you late enough,” you said, chuckling nervously.

With a small laugh, Taehyung propelled himself up into the air, gently landing on Yeontan’s head. “Take care!” Grabbing the reins in his hands, he gave them a soft snap, “Yeontan, yip-yip!” With that, his sky bison flew off into the air. Looking over, Taehyung watched as you and Leni shrunk down into the size of ants, before completely disappearing from his sight. Yeontan groaned beneath him. “I know, buddy, I like him too.”

After returning to the Northern Air Temple, Taehyung’s mind could not be rid of you. Despite your quick meeting, you had left quite an impact. He thought of you as he cooked fruit pies, between matches of air ball, he couldn’t even meditate as all his mind would center on was of you. Your reactions to his jokes, his food, what you might even think of the temple (although it was forbidden to bring outsiders). If any of the other air nomads had noticed his sudden attachment, they said nothing, and he could only hope they wouldn’t find out.

As the seasons changed; summer into fall, and fall into winter, Taehyung found himself once again, ready to leave the temple for the next. However, he was certain he was going to make a stop to see you again.

After Taehyung’s departure, Leni gave you ample time to heal. But your ankle was permanently damaged, the thick wire of the bola dug deep into your muscle, leaving you with a slight limp. Leni had given you a staff to assist you with walking, helping you adjust. 

She’d even let you stay with her, so long as you helped her with her herbalist shop in town. You’d learned a great deal from helping her, with all the sick and injured villagers that would come to her, seeking remedies. 

Every morning before breakfast, you’d wake up just around sunrise. You’d make your way out of the house, and sit beside the barn, eyes facing the north. It was obvious that you were anxious to see Taehyung again, yet with each passing day, you grew less and less hopeful to see the sky bison flying in the horizon. He never did say if or when he’d return, but you’d hoped it would’ve been sooner rather than later.

“He won’t be back for a while, you know that right?” Leni’s voice pulled you from deep thought, having followed you out one morning. “I’ve been friends with Ruen since we were both young, and I've only seen him no more than ten times in my life. The air nomads are detached from the world, so a friendship with them is a great honor and blessing. But they never come more than once every few years.” You deflated upon hearing that, but it didn’t stop you from waiting. Something in you knew that Taehyung would return.

However, Leni had begun to tell stories of her time with Ruen and Taehyung: how she’d first met him, some of the many pranks they pulled together as kids, and when Ruen became Taheyung’s appointed guardian. With that came special stories about the air nomad you’d found yourself fond of; hearing tales of him as a child, his own troublemaker years. What was especially heart warming was apparently after Taehyung had earned his mastery tattoos, he’d made a beeline for the Naizong Village, wanting Leni to be the first person he told as he made his rounds across the world again. You could only hope that he would hold you in the same regard one day. 

The days grew colder and nights grew longer, signaling the changing of the seasons. You’d grown up in an arid town, close to the Serpent's Pass, miles away from the walls of Ba Sing Se. Being farther north than you’d ever lived before, you were in awe of the thin layer of snow that had covered the village. You’d begun to slightly stand out amongst the other villagers now, bundling up in layers, unused to the cold. While the others weren’t wearing as many layers as you, perhaps only wearing longer sleeves instead. 

Per your routine, you woke up at sunrise, making yourself a pot of tea to keep you warm as you stared off into the northern skies. The brisk morning air nipped at your cheeks, slowly waking you more as you sipped on your tea. You blew out a puff of air, your hot breath visible in the chilly morning air. You’d found yourself doing that a lot lately, imagining yourself an airbender, how far your breath would go if you could send it farther than possible. Taehyung had also come to mind, would he find your musing entertaining?

Taking another sip of your tea, a loud yet familiar roar was heard in the distance. Your head shot up, sloshing the tea over your fingers. You hissed, but pushed away the pain, focusing on the fact that a sky bison was heading your way! The beast landed near the barn, and its owner jumped up from their place. While it had been months since you’d last seen his face, you recognized him instantly. Taehyung had returned!

“You’re here! You’re actually here!” You shouted happily as you practically ran over to the nomad, throwing your arms over his shoulders. 

“Woah, did you miss me or something?” He laughed as he returned your hug, wrapping his arms around your torso. He was still wearing the same robes from when you’d met him, with no additional covering to keep out the cold. But despite coming down from great heights, his body was warm to the touch, you almost didn’t want to let him go. 

“Somewhat,” you muttered. With the sound of the door opening, you’d finally released him, allowing for Leni to make her move to hug him.

“Two visits in one year? Well, I must be dreaming.”

“You aren’t, Leni.” Your heart softened at the sight of them. Even though you’d seen them reunite before, knowing what you know now of them, made your heart squeeze. 

With Taehyung back, and unsure how long he was going to stay, you attached yourself to his side. In the back of your mind, you feared he would push you away, wanting his space. But he didn’t, in fact, he welcomed your presence. Every morning, he’d brew you a cup of tea for you to drink whilst he fed Yeontan. During the day, with nothing growing in the cold it left you and Taehyung free to roam the woods. He’d show you some airbending moves, which would knock down the snow that was gathering on the branches. One time the snow landed on you, falling down the back of your shirt, ice cold wetness sliding down your spine. You yelped, but all Taehyung could do was laugh at you.

But the most favorite thing the two of you would do was as just before sunset, Taehyung would help you up onto Yeontan, and he’d take you for a ride. You were asleep that first time you rode the sky bison, not able to fully enjoy the experience that was flying over the world. With the sun slowly falling below the horizon, it turned the sky a magnificent orange. Painting the clouds in red, yellows, and purples. It was a sight to behold, and one you certainly never wanted to forget. 

Above the clouds, it was as if it was only you two in the entire world (well, the two of you plus Yeontan). Taehyung sat so close to you, and suddenly the cold winter air no longer disturbed you. Tentatively, you rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him stiffen, and you almost pulled your head back up to apologize, but he relaxed, feeling his chin rest on the top of your head. 

“I really like you, Tae,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the winds. But Taehyung had heard you, his hand finding yours and lacing his fingers with yours. 

“I really like you too.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you lifted your head up to look at him, eyes occasionally flickering down to his lips. His brows furrowed at your sudden decision to stare, but before he could question you, you pressed your mouth to his. Taehyung made a small noise of surprise, but he melted into the kiss, hand still tightly grasped in yours. Meanwhile, your free hand crawled up to the nape of his neck. The skin of your palm was met by the smallest of fuzz, barely even grown in.

You pulled away momentarily, his breath fanned across your face, the sensation similar to a fresh spring breeze. “You need to shave,” you murmured against his lips. 

“What if. . . what if I didn’t?” His words left you frowning. “I’ve never felt this way before, but I know I shouldn’t. Ijust. . . I can’t be without you.”

“You’re. . . suggesting you leave the Air Nomads?” The words had your heart fluttering and your stomach drop. The realization of the consequences had you reeling. “No, those are your people-”

“I love my people,” Tae cut you off. “But I know that forming an attachment like this? They wouldn’t- I would be exiled either way. This is my choice.” His other hand came up to grapes your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, waves of comfort and reassurance flowed through him.

Smiling at him, your hand that has rested on his neck moved, dragging over the tattooed skin of his head. Barely you saw him shiver at the sensation. “You’d look nice with long hair.”

[merrock]

HAPPY SEPTEMBER !

Can you believe that we've made it to the 'ber months already?! September is coming in strong, with a ton of little mini events, our Grill-Off, and Creek Fest! Under the cut, you will find a list of everything going on in town (feel free to interact with any of the events any way that you see fit!), plus some rule reminders and a few mod notes that are important to read. xx

ON THE CALENDAR !

SEPTEMBER 1 -- WORLD LETTER WRITING DAY: a fun day to write a letter to anyone you'd like... except we're letting you do it all month long, as a part of this recycled task.

SEPTEMBER 2 -- LABOR DAY: with schools and some businesses closed, it's the perfect opportunity to get out and enjoy a picnic with your family, or a fun day with your friends.

SEPTEMBER 3 -- FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL: the kids in elementary, junior and high school head back to school, as well as the professors and students at Merrock Community College!

SEPTEMBER 4 -- WILDLIFE DAY: come to the state park and jump in on a flora and fauna walk to get to know all of the wonderful wildlife around Merrock.

SEPTEMBER 6 -- FOOTBALL GAME: home!

SEPTEMBER 7 -- THE GREAT MERROCK GRILL-OFF: info here!

SEPTEMBER 12 -- VIDEO GAMES DAY: the Community Center has arranged for a fun day where everyone is invited to come out and play video games! Bring your own consoles & games.

SEPTEMBER 13 -- FOOTBALL GAME: away!

SEPTEMBER 17 -- COUNTRY MUSIC DAY: starting at 5PM at Tumbleweed, live country music will be taking the stage, perfect for you to bring your honey out for some boot, scoot 'n boogie.

SEPTEMBER 20 -- FOOTBALL GAME: away!

SEPTEMBER 21-28 -- CREEK FEST: info here!

SEPTEMBER 22 -- FIRST DAY OF FALL: get out and enjoy the fall air! or at least, hopefully, we're not still dealing with summer's heat, and can relish in the best season.

SEPTEMBER 25 -- LOBSTER DAY: head on down to Sandcastles to enjoy some delicious lobster dishes at a discount, or make your way over to the fish market to pick some up to cook at home!

SEPTEMBER 26 -- BINGO NIGHT: stop by the fire hall to play a couple of rounds of bingo, with all money raised going directly to the volunteer fire department.

SEPTEMBER 27 -- FOOTBALL GAME: home!

SEPTEMBER 29 -- COFFEE DAY: buy one, get one free on any and all coffee drinks that you could possibly one at Cobblestone! one day only, so don't miss out!

IMPORTANT STUFF !

I have updated our rules for the season! Please take a little time to read them over when you have the chance. Most everything has stayed the same, but there are a few little things that I wanted to talk about, to make sure we clarify expectations:

the waiting period between muses has been moved to two weeks. 99% of pick-ups were waiting this long anyway, and we think it makes sense as far as settling in first!

every other FC you pick up must be diverse. however, once you reach 3, you are no longer allowed to play more cis white muses than diverse muses. that means that if you play 2 white and 2 diverse, to pick up a 5th, they must be diverse. the goal is that half or more of your characters must be diverse.

for activity checks, I will be looking for bubbling every week instead of every other -- however, you are only interacting with one writer that week, we will give you a warning, instead of an automatic strike. this way, you have a chance to fix it for a whole week before you will be given a strike!

AREAS OF IMPROVEMENT !

Genuinely, from the bottom of our hearts: we love this group. But of course, there is always room for improvement, things that we can all do to keep dash a more fun, productive space for everyone. This month, we're asking everyone to be mindful about maintaining interactions / threads with everyone in the group. Avoid dropping threads that people might be relying on for activity -- for example, if you want to let something from the carnival go, hey, no one's going to mind that, it's older! But if you're dropping beach bash threads on day four of the beach bash, that's not so great. Be sure that you're keeping up with all of the threads you have. It's okay if you have heavy muse for something, as long as you are still working on other threads and not letting them fall behind. With the start of a new month, it's always a good time to get into new practices! Maybe make yourself a thread tracker, so you can keep track of what you owe, and things aren't left by the wayside, or just get into the habit of double, triple checking that you're replying to everything, and not just the most recent things that come up (older stuff gets buried). Whatever works for you. And it's also a good time to start new things! To reach out to writers that you haven't gotten the chance to write with yet, or maybe to reach out to those you are writing with and say hey, let's start something fresh! xx

A WORD FROM THE MOD !

for the time being, I will be leaving anonymous off. but our ask box is always open, and we hope that you trust us enough to speak to us off of anon if there are any issues or questions!

we have decided to move forward with the week of fun Halloween related things to do (Hallo-week, if you will), thanks to your feedback! it's going to be easier for us and also provide more things for you guys to do, but Vibrations will be open for partying, too. the Benefactor will be asking for ideas soon!

please don't forget about our interest check! you must like it before September 6th to keep your role(s) in the group!

aaand, we have new, shiny things! graphics! a new task! an old task! creek fest's announcement went up. enjoy it!

HAVE A GREAT SEPTEMBER !

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 4 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, OMC Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), alcohol as a coping mechanism, season 1 Lydia behavior (her comments on addiction are wrong and insensitive and she's knows it) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: Your life somehow becomes further entangled with Stiles and Scott's strange secret world, and Lydia is concerned in her own aggressive way. 

A/N: this is in fact a scott mccall stan account. i love that boy like he's my own. you can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

The drive home was ultimately uneventful. No need for tasers, silver bullets, or wolfsbane goop. You would need to get gas before you left for school in the morning, but you supposed that was a relatively minor inconvenience when the other end of the scale was being torn apart by a fanged monster. 

Your jaw cracked with an aggressive yawn as you slowly stumbled through the garage door, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You flicked on the light and paused, shivering a little as the cold air from the vent above your head skimmed over your bare arms. After a moment of hesitation, when that little persistent wriggling in your ear wouldn’t go away, you ducked back down the concrete steps to poke around the garbage can. Underneath a few Styrofoam take-out boxes, there were four empty beer bottles. The glass bottles clinked against each other as you nudged them out of the way, unearthing the real object of your paranoia. A drained bottle of 100-proof rye whiskey was cradled between two sacks of trash from the night before. You just stared at the bottles, heart and lungs wound tight, and then you dropped the lid back on top of the can.  

When you reentered the house, you were careful to keep the noise to a minimum. It wasn’t that late, only a little past nine, but you didn’t want to disrupt your dad’s slumber. Usually, he was a night owl—which, of course, was really just a pretty way of saying chronic insomniac, another thing you’d inherited from him—but it’d been a hard liquor night. Your dad always went to bed early on hard liquor nights. You didn’t know if he actually slept or if he stared at the ceiling, watching memories play on spackle until dawn streamed through the cracks in the blinds. Probably the first. You hadn’t ever heard him cry through the thin walls, not even once. You, however, couldn’t ever stop crying, not on the nights you trembled for something potent enough to mask the scent of the coconut oil your mom used to remove her makeup. The echoes of your mother had seeped into the walls, saturated the insulation with the faint sounds of the 70s pop rock vinyls she put on when she was in a good mood. They faded sometimes, but they always came back. You desperately hoped, and you hopelessly feared, that they always would. 

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hands aggressively and slipped under the covers, still in your plaid skirt and black t-shirt. Mascara smeared against your silk pillowcase, blurred your vision as it melted into your waterline. You stared at the wall until the silver swirls in the teal wallpaper started to sway. The teal was so dark it almost looked velvet with the lights off, and you had a heavy-eyed impulse to stroke it, but your hand was too leadened to lift. 

Your lids slipped shut, and in the haze between consciousness and slumber you felt the vague sensation of something solid against the back of your head. You murmured something incomprehensible and pulled your arms closer to your chest, taking in a breath of sharp whisky and a familiar woody cologne. You kept your eyes closed, and the warm weight cupped your skull for a moment. There was a brief kiss pressed against the top of your head and then the warmth was gone. Something large caught in your throat, and you squeezed your eyelids until your forehead wrinkled, forcing yourself to fall into a restless sleep filled with dreams of pancakes swimming in bourbon and howling beasts. 

Stiles was waiting for you by your locker when you arrived at school the next day. His friend—Scott, you reminded herself—was leaning against the locker next to him. Scott’s eyelids were heavy, and there was a coolness underneath them that stained his tan skin with a swathe of puce. Puce: From the French term ‘couleur puce,’ meaning ‘flea color.’  You dug your incisor into your tongue once you recognized that the intrusive internal narration was in Stiles’s voice. You didn’t even know if he spoke French, but it seemed like the kind of weird detail he’d know. You ran your tongue over your teeth and shoved your fists into your jacket pockets, thumb poking through the hole in the lining from previous twiddling—when the hell did you start thinking about the kinds of things Stiles would and wouldn’t know?  

You pivoted sharply, and your traitorous leather boots ruined your attempted exit when they squeaked against the freshly waxed floor. Stiles’s head popped up from his hushed conversation with Scott, and he waved vigorously when he made eye contact with you, “Hey! C’mere!”

You tipped your gaze towards the tiled ceiling and sighed. It was inevitable, really; you had to get your English binder before homeroom—homeroom, yet another reason to hate Wednesdays. It was one of your few classes with Lydia, and there wasn’t ever any actual teaching to distract you from the disgusting goo-goo eyes she gave her boyfriend. Studying was your only respite.

“Patience,” you nudged Stiles out of the way and spun your combination into the padlock, “work on it. It’s an essential skill.”

Stiles scoffed and leaned his shoulder against the locker next to yours, arms folded over his chest, “Essential. There’s nothing essential about wasting time. It’s actually unvirtuous if you think about it.” 

You swung her locker door open, blocking out Stiles’s frown, and rested your backpack on your knee so that you could unzip it. “Was there a point in there somewhere, or are you stalking me again?”

Stiles ducked around the locker door and placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders, shoving him a little closer to you, “Scott had a question for you.”

Scott’s eyes didn’t look so tired when he reared his head back to stare at Stiles. They had an intense conversation for a moment. There weren’t any words exchanged, but you got the gist: Scott was pissed, and Stiles was relentless. In the end, Scott lost the battle and swallowed thickly, “So, uh, you know a lot about supernatural stuff. That’s cool.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Scott’s head. Scott glared at him before mumbling, “Do you have any more of that wolfsbane…potion?” towards his muddy Converse. 

You directed your annoyance over Scott’s shoulder, more than confident that the real culprit of this request was the idiot avoiding your eye-line. “What? You already burned through your goo sample? Are the streets finally free from the demon beast of Beacon Hills?”

Stiles held up his hands and shook his head, “This is all Scott. See, me, I’m a fan of not being a greedy little bastard, but Scott—” This time Scott smacked Stiles with a resounding thwack. Stiles rubbed his shoulder, mouth agawk with indignation. 

“He…dropped it.” Scott glowered at the side of Stiles’s face, “‘Doing something stupid.” 

You smirked, “Sounds about right.” You shoved your binder into your backpack and brushed your hairs out of your eyes, “I’d give it all away for free, but it’s not up to me. Sorry.” Zipping your backpack shut, you slung one of the straps over your shoulder and shrugged, “You could always buy some more, but I’d strongly advise against such a dumb financial investment.”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and gave you a smile. It was small but riddled with warmth—like he just couldn’t help it, like sunshine leaked through every one of his pores, and you were filled with the sudden urge to buy the stupid wolfsbane gunk for him. “That’s what I figured,” Scott looked at Stiles pointedly. His voice dropped a few octaves and a growl slipped into the end of his sentence, “But someone thought we should ask anyway.” 

The bell rang, and Scott flinched, smashing one of his ears into his shoulder. He turned around, a little dazed, and Stiles trailed after him after giving her a distracted wave. As you watched them leave, a parasitic impulse wrangled through your throat, prying the hinge of your jaw open as you shouted, “Hey!” The hallway was abuzz with various conversations and clomping feet, but your voice was still a bit too loud for the short distance between you and definitely too urgent for 7:45 in the morning. 

Stiles turned around first, almost tripping over his sneakers, and then he yanked on the scarlet hood of Scott’s jacket until he stopped too. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and licked your bottom lip, suddenly realizing how dry it was. “I, uh,” you sighed and took a few steps forward so that you didn’t have to raise your voice, “I could talk to Maggie. I bet she’d cut you a deal if I asked.” You let out a little laugh and raked your fingers through your hair, accidentally dislodging the satin bow tying your hair out of your face. “I know, actually. I know she’d give you some for free. She’s a terrible business woman.” 

Scott’s smile put the moon to shame, and Stiles looked like he’d been waiting for you to change your mind since the moment you told them no—when the hell did he start thinking about what you would and wouldn’t do? 

“That would be awesome,” Scott ducked down to grab your black ribbon and held it out to you with an open palm, “thank you. I’d owe you big time.”

Stiles looped his arm around Scott’s shoulders and smirked, “We’d. We’d owe you. I’ll stop by the store and bless you with my scintillating conversation sometime.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled softly at Scott, taking your ribbon from his hand. You attempted to tie your hair back in a neat bow, but it was difficult without a mirror. You assumed it was halfway decent because Stiles didn’t take the opportunity to tease you—you, on the other hand, had no such qualms about mocking him. You smiled at Stiles, far too sweetly to be considered congenial, and sneered, “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” 

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, face curved around a smirk that screamed trouble, and Scott slapped his hand over Stiles’s mouth before he could say something to make you reconsider, “Thanks again. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to pay you back. Name it, and we’re there.” Stiles winked at you with a glint in his eye that was as vexing as it was bright, and Scott rolled his eyes as he hauled him away by the nylon material of his backpack, “C’mon, dude. My mom’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.”

You watched Stiles’s buzzed head bob amidst the congested crowd of students, all shoving each other in their rush to get to class on time, until you couldn’t hear his surly complaints anymore. You rubbed your hand over your chapped lips, swallowing hollowly, like you could erase every impulsive word that’d spilt from your stupid mouth.

You were still thinking about what you’d gotten yourself into when you walked into Mrs. Farias’s classroom—and that must be why you forgot your copy of Metamorphosis in your locker. You groaned internally and dropped your forehead against your desk, bumping it against the cool laminate finish a few times, before ducking out the door with a hall pass. 

The halls were empty—silent too. You could hear your own footsteps and the tick of the large clock above the main office as you walked around the corner, and then, just as you approached the hallway your locker was in, you heard something else. Voices. Angry voices. One familiar—your face scrunched as the recognition wriggled through your ears to your brain—and one not. You cautiously glanced around the corner and frowned. Jackson, Lydia’s arrogant prick of a boyfriend, was talking to a hulking, leather-clad stranger—or rather infuriating him based on the murderous look in the man’s dark eyes. 

The stranger looked a good five years too old to be in a high school hallway, but the grown-out stubble and over-defined muscles weren’t of immediate concern. You were more focused on the color of his face. His skin was pale, clammy, and quite honestly a little corpse-like thanks to the purply-blue tinge carving out the hollows of his face. You assumed that he was too strung-out to care if anyone noticed their altercation because you could hear him from halfway across the hall. 

“Where’s Scott McCall?” His voice was deep and gravelly, as expected, but there was a desperate undertone you hadn’t anticipated.

You could only see the back of Jackson’s head, but you knew exactly what his face was doing when he puffed out his chest and folded his arms—no one else could make a smirk look quite so punchable. It was a gift, truly. “And why should I tell you?” “Because I asked you politely,” the man leaned forward, bared his canines, and you couldn’t believe that Jackson didn’t even flinch, “and I only do that once.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Jackson sneered, meeting the man’s challenge with another step forward and a shrug that reeked of false-superiority, “how ‘bout I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him. What is it? Dianabol? HGH?”

“Steroids,” the man’s voice was dry, and if he didn’t look like he was about to double over and puke all over the floor, you’d say the menacing glimmer in his eyes was a little amused. 

“No, Girl Scout cookies. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?” Jackson tutted, maddeningly haughty, and shook his head, “By the way, whatever it is you’re selling, I’d stop sampling the merchandise.” He let out a low patronizing whistle, and you kind of hoped that the stranger would suckerpunch him in the throat for it. “You look wrecked.”

The man didn’t punch him. Instead, he pushed himself off of the locker he was slumped against and started staggering stiffly down the hall, “I’ll find him myself.”

Jackson grabbed onto his broad shoulder and yanked. The veins in his bicep bulged with the strength of grasp, “We’re not done here.”

Your limbs suddenly remembered how to function. You ducked back behind the brick wall and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable sounds of bone colliding into flesh. Your right eye cracked open a sliver when the noise never came. Instead, there was a loud thud and the echo of clanging metal. You peeked around the corner again and froze, eyes wide and throat dry. Jackson was pinned against a locker by his neck. You’d already noticed that the stranger was tall, but you didn’t truly realize just how large he was until now. Jackson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t small. He was captain of the lacrosse team—everyone within a ten-mile radius knew that thanks to his constant reminders—and if anyone on campus was taking steroids, he would’ve been your first guess. But next to this sickly beast of a man, Jackson looked meek and mousey, and you didn’t even get to savor it. After a brief moment, no more than a second, Jackson’s assailant sniffed the air and slowly turned his head in your direction. It wasn’t an accident; he wasn’t surveying his surroundings. His eyes landed on yours, and he didn’t look the least bit surprised. 

The man’s irises were dark, nearly black, and they didn’t stray from your face. You forgot how to breathe, feeling distinctly like a rabbit trapped in a fox den as your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. He spared you after a few seconds of paralyzing eye-contact and turned his petrifying gaze back to Jackson’s neck. You recoiled, slipping back to your spot around the wall, and pressed your back against the bricks until the sound of your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears. 

When you found the courage to look down the hall again, the man was gone, and Jackson was bleeding from the back of his neck. There were four distinct punctures along his cervical spine, trickling crimson droplets onto the stark white collar of his polo. The gouges were small, almost like…nail marks. Baffling. This town was fuckin’ baffling.

You poured over the incident all day, barely conscious enough to take down notes and roll your eyes at Stiles’s badgering and bad jokes. You’d never been more ready for the final bell to ring, not even during sex education with the extraordinarily sweaty Mr. Peterson. 

You twisted your pendant around its onyx chain as you walked out of your last period, winding and unwinding the charm over and over again as you mulled over your thoughts. Scott didn’t seem like he was on drugs. You didn’t exactly know him, but he was the least aggressive person you’d ever met, and he had to be eternally patient if Stiles was his best friend. You spun the medallion again and shouldered your way through the cramped halls to the parking lot, scolding yourself. What Scott McCall did or did not inject into his bloodstream wasn’t any of your business…even if his alleged dealer looked like he was on death’s door and had a habit of throwing teenage boys around when he got mad. 

You’d just convinced yourself that you didn’t care what happened to Stiles’s best friend when a discord of honking stopped you in your tracks. You flitted your gaze around the parking lot, searching for the cause of obnoxiously loud cacophony; your shoulders wilted along with your resolve when you spotted the guilty party. The man from the hallway was sprawled on the asphalt, and Scott and Stiles were scrambling to help him off of the ground. 

Your feet reluctantly trudged towards the peculiar trio, arms tightly folded over your cropped sweater. You would’ve laughed at how wide Stiles’s eye stretched when he finally noticed your presence, but you were a little preoccupied with the fact that he was currently trying to stuff a ghoulish grown man into his front seat. You watched him struggle to hold up approximately 200 pounds of solid muscle with his spindly arms, absentmindedly lamenting that you couldn’t truly appreciate the humor of the situation. “Hey,” you slanted your head and searched Stiles’s face for any sign of an SOS signal, “you good?”

“Ayup,” Stiles nodded emphatically, and Scott shot you a weak thumbs-up from his squat next to his tipped-over bike. 

You looked between the two of them, waiting for the truth to crack through the awkward pretense, and narrowed your eyes, “You sure?” 

“We’re good,” the man barked from inside the jeep, teeth bared. It was a little less intimidating now that he was slumped over and at the mercy of a sixteen-year-old with a dork complex, but you still flinched. You couldn’t help it. It was a small twitch, but Scott still managed to track the minute movement from his low perch. He glared at the man, shockingly firm for such a sweet-faced boy, until the stranger stopped scowling at you. Mr. Sour Face turned his head towards the window and stared intensely at the hazy tree line over the hill. Your fingers relaxed. You hadn’t even realized that you’d dug your nails in your palms until the stinging stopped. 

Scott jumped to his feet and pulled his bike up by the handles, rushing through his weak explanation, “Stiles is just…doing me a favor. Derek needs a ride, and all I’ve got is my bike.”

Letting out a flimsy snort, your brow pinched, “So…he walked here?”

“Uh,” Scott squinted, and Stiles nodded behind him, “yeah?” 

You pursed your lips, ignoring all the students who’d started shouting over the beeping horns, and watched Derek grit his teeth and clench his fists through the dashboard window. You looked back at Stiles and chewed on your lip. Stiles was taller than you, but he was on the scrawnier side of lean and wouldn’t stand a chance against a man of Derek’s size—even if he was barely clinging to the rapidly fraying threads of consciousness. “I could use a ride to work,” you pulled the backseat door open before you could talk yourself out of it. 

Stiles lurched towards you and slammed the door shut, narrowly avoiding your fingers, “Normally, I would seize any opportunity to have you further indebted to me, but—that’s Lydia Martin.” His eyes bulged out of his head, and he leaned against his jeep, slipping down the blue frame as his legs went boneless, “Walking towards me. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

The prospect of riding in the same car with Mr. Resting Bitchface was being more appealing by the second. Lydia didn’t even look in Stiles’s direction. Her cutting green eyes were fixed on you and you alone. “Are you an idiot?” Lydia snatched your wrist, mauve manicure digging into the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and yanked you back to the sidewalk.

“What?” you went brainless for a moment, taking in all the glory of an enraged Lydia Martin. 

Lydia’s cheeks were flushed pink from anger and adrenaline, “Or just suicidal?”

The shock had worn off. Now, you were thoroughly pissed, “What?”

Lydia’s eyebrows, perfectly tapered and freshly threaded, knitted together until she was in danger of developing a unibrow, “Do you have any idea who you were about to get in a car with?”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and it took gargantuan strength not to roll them too. “Stiles?”

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Lydia’s riptide of fury gave way to confusion, but her soft features sharpened abruptly when she returned her attention to your scowl, “I meant Derek Hale. Obviously.”

Your hip cocked to the side as you crossed your arms, “And?”

“And he’s a murder suspect,” Lydia’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. It was so strange to finally see it first-hand. Lydia had such a sweet face, cherub cheeks and doe eyes—a clever smile. She hadn’t quite mastered disdain when you were friends; the ice queen routine wasn’t performance ready until you’d drifted apart. It was an awful face, you decided; it completely erased the last few pieces of the Lydia you knew.

“In an animal attack,” you muttered under your breath. 

Evidently, it had been a long time since someone dared to disagree with the Lydia Martin because she was struck speechless. It didn’t last for long, but it was still satisfying. “He’s dangerous,” Lydia hissed. “He went completely off the deep end after his family died. Seriously, his life is like a textbook precursor to violent behavior; he’s a profiler’s wet dream.”

“Because his family died,” you repeated. The numbness eroded some of the snark in your voice. 

Lydia either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glaze creeping over your eyes. She continued, barbarous and unashamed, “Because he watched them turn into charcoal, and his sister was just ripped in half. At best, he’s unstable—but his little hobby of trolling for minors is a bit of a red flag, don’t you think?”

“Charcoal,” you spoke—more of an echo really with its resonating hollowness. Your eyes were on Lydia’s face, but your mind was somewhere far away. A lifetime ago, with the ashes of everything you once knew. 

Lydia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped into a perfect little ‘o.’ Her dainty fingers twitched by her sides, and then she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her flouncy mini-skirt. “Most of his family died in a fire,” her voice was much softer this time, a bit of tenderness accidentally rooting through the cracks in her veneer. Lydia looked away and gripped the thin strap of her handbag, “Accidental house fire. It was all over the news like five years ago.”

You stared at Lydia, and for the first time in the last four years, you didn’t miss her. For the first time in such a mind-numbingly long time, your anger strangled your heartache with a wrought-iron grip that felt a whole lot like hate. It was always going to be like this, you realized. You would just have to walk around with all these what-ifs, if-onlys, and what-really-happeneds needling your heart with every thud—always. You had to learn to live with this: knowing that Lydia was never going to apologize and that there would be no closure. Ever. 

“Right.” You laughed, shark-like, with your canines on display. You hoped it would make all your constants sharper. “So he’s gotta be a lunatic now.”

“Y/N…” It was surreal to hear your name out of Lydia’s mouth after so long. You didn’t know if you liked it, and, currently, you didn’t even know if you cared. Lydia chewed off what was left of her nude lipstick and then squared her shoulders, “So we’re just going to pretend that he wasn’t completely strung-out and totally embracing the heroin-chic aesthetic?”

You slanted your head a bit and then let out another serrated laugh. There wasn’t any point in having it out, you decided, because Lydia didn’t care. She got to move on and erase your entire existence—live her perfect, popular girl life without all this suffocating quicksand binding her to the past. Must be nice, you thought venomously, souring your tongue, stinging your eyes. Showers were probably just showers for Lydia. She didn’t singe her skin until the water went cold, imagining what she’d do, what she’d say—how she’d hurt her back. Must be so fucking nice.

“Lydia, I really don’t think you really want to get into all the things we’re pretending,” your voice was tight, strangled at the ends. You would not cry. You could not cry. Lydia sensed weakness like blood in the water, and you refused to give her the satisfaction. 

“Fine,” Lydia’s curls spilled down her back like strawberry wine as she pivoted in her designer heels, “ride off into the sunset with a 'roid-raging creep. Don’t act surprised when you turn up dead in a crack den.” 

Truthfully, Lydia had a point, but at this moment being contrary seemed far more important than being right. “It’s kind of difficult to act like anything when you’re dead,” you called, eyes zeroed-in on the back of her head as she slid into Jackson’s Porsche with a sensual grace you would never possess. Lydia was too far away to hear your retort, but you felt a little less like punching something after you said it. 

You didn’t notice that Stiles and Scott were gone until the threat of bitter tears stopped burning your sinuses. The last thing you needed was to cry like this upset you, even if the only nearby witness left on the vacant sidewalk was yourself. You scoured the parking lot for even a flash of powder blue, but the jeep was nowhere to be seen. Probably long gone by now—your spat with Lydia must have taken longer than you thought. It was certainly louder than you meant it to be. Little clusters of ambling students were looking at you a little too long to be casual, and the indiscreet whispering once they turned back to their friends forced your legs forward. 

You didn’t know where you were going when you started your car, but far, far away sounded pretty damn good.

[brian-in-finance]

Video 📹 from YouTube photo shoot BTS forJuly 2018 Irish Tatler

Instagram cover and contents video 📹

Facebook Watch fun Q&A video 📹

Outlander-Online Instagram Story screenshot 📸

Screenshots: Caitríona Balfe Fan

time for more

Caitríona Balfe talks to Shauna O'Halloran about time-travel, wedding plans and why women have had enough of Hollywood's shitty behaviour (her words, not ours).

A pair of stonewashed Levi's 501s, flat white converse and a little white T-shirt are all that Caitríona Balfe needs to rock up to a day's shooting in North London, and still have a full crew comment on how beautiful she is in real life. It's never something I like to lead with in interviews - we're here to discover the person, after all - but I do feel that to not mention it would be a shame, because she is quite stunning, even when off-duty. It's not that much of a surprise of course. The Monaghan native was once one of the most sought after runway models in the world, having been spotted by a Ford Models scout in Dublin. At 18, she was opening and closing shows in Paris for Chanel, Moschino, Givenchy and Louis Vuitton, to name a few. And this humble glossy is just one of many she's graced the cover of - with Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and Elle magazines all having starred Caitriona over the years. So no wonder there was literally not one bad shot to be found in the photographer's edit.

Today however, Caitríona Balfe is known best to most of the world as Claire Beauchamp Randall - Outlander's time travelling 1950s nurse who falls for a dashing highland warrior by the name of Jamie Fraser, played by her costar Sam Heughan. The show, now on series four, is based on a series of novels by Diana Gabaldon and to say it has mega fandom is an understatement. Having taken up acting after her modelling career, Outlander was Caitriona's first major role and has propelled her into a stratosphere with over five million viewers per episode. How, I wonder, is that?

"It's been such a wild ride!" She tells me as we sit down to interview. She's back filming in Scotland for her fourth season and we already know that seasons five and six are a go, so Claire is going to be part of Caitriona's life for some time to come. "I was cast late into the proceedings. I got cast on the 11th of September and I was in Scotland [for fittings and filming] on the 15th of September 2013. I guess I knew about two days before they announced it!" She says of the whirlwind entry into Outlander. It didn't take long, however, for Caitríona to realise the scope her new role was going to have.

"After we filmed about four episodes Sam and I were taken to LA and we did a fan event. Nobody had seen anything and there was over two thousand people at this fan event...having not seen one minute of footage. We came out on stage and everyone was just screaming!"

The core fan base has stuck with them as the seasons have gone on and Outlander has won multiple awards. Caitríona, too, has been widely recognised for her role with 20 plus nominations and a host of Best Actress wins from institutions like the People's Choice Awards, the Golden Globes, the Saturn Awards, IFTA and BAFTA.

One of the notable points of the drama series is the sparky on-screen chemistry between her and Heughan during their many steamy scenes together. So much so that people have had a hard time believing that they're not a couple in real life. No matter how much the actors insist.

"It's nice that people kind of see something in that, but you know, we've always just been friends. And I said it from the beginning but people didn't want to hear it!"

Even so, it must be hard after four years of filming sexy scenes with someone to not get embroiled in a romance of some description.

"We went for a walk," Caitríona explains on how the deal was cut early on. "Both of us had to go to London right before we had to start filming, I was getting my second perm of the week and he was getting his hair dyed, probably for the 15th time that month and we met down in Kensington and went on a big long walk in the park. I was there with my poodle perm and he was there with some kind of terrible ginger-red version of his hair and we were like, You know what, who knows what this is going to be but we're going to be in this together and we gotta have each other's backs.' And from that time on we always have." A sweet moment that has led to a lasting friendship and has probably been key to Outlander's success.

"The shows that have been successful - I think you always see that they stick together. The minute you let ego or your pride or all of that kind of stuff get in the way, I think that it can really sour things," she says with honesty. It has to be said, there is no ego about Caitríona Balfe and as the lead role in the show, it's easy to imagine that she sets the tone for all involved.

The atmosphere on set, she says is supportive and tight, although she's painfully aware that not all hit shows and Hollywood sets are so lucky.

"Our work is really tough and we're in tough conditions, like when you're out in the pissing rain or sideways snow, which happens! To have people be supportive of each other and care about each other, that makes such a huge difference.

"I know somebody who worked on a show as the lead male and he and the lead female never spoke, literally didn't speak to each other unless they were in a scene. I can't imagine ever wanting to be in a situation like that, I can't imagine waking up in the morning and feeling like I have to go to work with someone who won't even speak to me. That's horrible."

But the stories are rife; even before #MeToo broke, celebrities and bad behaviour on set seemed to go hand in hand. And it makes for great, salacious tabloid fodder. And women, notoriously, seem to get the raw end of the deal, in everything from respect standards to salaries.

"I think everybody's waking up to the fact that they can't get away with that stuff," Caitríona chips in. "I obviously came to this point of my life a bit later so I've always felt very comfortable about standing up for myself or speaking up for myself but there can be a bit of a double standard. But I don't think, I mean I will stress this, it's not always men enforcing that. We've had male directors or male producers who are so much more sensitive and supportive than sometimes the females can be. I don't necessarily think that it's a split line down the middle about sex; it's not all women supporting women because that's not my experience. I think it's really about people." And does it hurt more, when it's a woman being the unsupportive one?

"Yeah, I think you expect better. And I think sometimes they think because they're women they don't think they're being discriminatory, but if what you're asking is completely out of line..."

In the hierarchical worlds of modelling and acting, people entering the careers at the bottom rungs are more vulnerable to mistreatment.

Caitríona notes that she did experience it in particular as a young model and her first career left her with some healing to do.

"I remember one of my first ever photoshoots in Dublin. I was so young and I remember coming back from it and my sister was like 'Where have you been all day?' I was just being sent off with a strange photographer who was older and with no kind of knowledge about where I was going, what was expected, just sort of thrown out to the wolves at 18."

It was that age that she first began travelling too, to Paris and Milan, and with little to no support structure. "It's just incredible when I look back now at how I navigated all of that because you literally are just sent off on your own, traipsing around strange cities where you don't know the language. You are just expected to fend for yourself.

"It was the wild west and you were lucky if you had a job. There was a discrepancy of power - the agency was really supposed to be there protecting you, but it was almost like you needed to please them to get the jobs.

"I think that's why so many girls who have gone through that experience are as tough as nails," she adds, also referring to herself, although that toughness hasn't come without cost.

"When I left the business, I moved to LA and I am so grateful that I was able to take a year...a lot of that was just dismantling a lot of the mental issues I had taken from the business because your confidence and your self-esteem is in the toilet after you've been in that business for so long. Most models I know have terrible self-esteem which is the most crazy thing."

Thankfully, in both modelling and acting, the industries are changing.

As someone who is in the Hollywood stratosphere and has been in the company of the likes of Weinstein and more, Caitríona has first-hand experience of being with the people at the very centre of the #MeToo storm.

"A lot of my year in LA was just dismantling a lot of the mental issues I had taken from the business"

"A lot of the names that have come forward, it's strange because you kind of go 'Oh yeah, that's not surprising.' With someone like Morgan Freeman; I grew up watching him and he's been that voice that calms everyone. But I had previously heard rumours. Nobody is above the law and what I do hope is that all of these things go through a process because I think the worst thing is that we get into this situation where there is like a mob mentality and we start being judge, jury and executioner on social media because that's never the right way of doing things.

"But I think there has been a real shift and I think people aren't going to put up with shitty behaviour anymore. And they shouldn't."

The one thing that high profile and influence does afford people is the ability to shine a light on situations that deserve more attention. It's something that Caitríona’s very aware of and since her Outlander fans have always asked 'who can we support on your behalf', she went out of her way to discover a charity that she could be an ambassador for. As a result, she is now a patron of Wold Child Cancer and travelled to Ghana last year to see two of the hospitals the charity works at. "It's very humbling when you see the different kinds of care you can expect if anything ever goes wrong in your life just because of where you are born," she says of the experience but is equally quick to downplay her role as a patron versus that of the people working on the ground, despite using her own time and profile to raise awareness and funds for the charity. "I feel so grateful that I can, the people in the trenches are the people who do work day-to-day and it's super impressive because they don't get a lot of credit for it."

Check Caitríona’s Twitter and you'll see how impassioned she is about this, as well as being a big supporter of other issues: she was vocal on repeal, supports ethical fashion choices and promotes a meat and dairy-free lifestyle.

"I believe that no matter what you do you should be a responsible citizen of the world," she says, "I think a lot of my social media is promoting issues I believe in and causes that I believe in.

“As for my more private life, frankly I'm not interesting so I don't like doing selfies, my partner is super private so he isn't on any social media and doesn't want to be so nothing is said about him. So yeah, that's naturally how I am!"

It's clear as the conversation goes on how grounded Caitríona is. She's fiercely proud of her Irishness and uses it as a conversation starter worldwide (*We command goodwill - people genuinely like us!") and while she laments how badly her name gets 'butchered' she misses the fada which she dropped for ease some years ago. "I'm devastated about it!" she says, before also confessing that technology had some part to play in its demise.

"In the early days of computers I didn't know how to put it on! I just learnt a couple of months ago, like ohhh it's that button there. So I might bring the fada back."

And she hasn't ruled out an upcoming wedding in Ireland - the actress is recently engaged to intensely private music producer Tony McGill, but plans for the nuptials are still undecided. Would she consider coming back to Ireland to tie the knot?

"If you put a sun lamp over it, yeah I'd love to!" She laughs. Wedding planning is not really her thing however, and doesn't garner giddy chats and wishlists.

"I would just love to have all of my friends and family and have a great party," she clarifies when coming across as less than enthusiastic about planning her perfect day. "I think the production side of it is just too much like work!"

And finding time that suits both their schedules is also proving challenging, with Caitríona lined up to film in LA with Matt Damon and Christian Bale. It's a biopic of mechanic and driver Ken Miles (Bale) and the conflict between Ford and Ferrari during the 1960s. "I play Christian Bale's wife and James Mangold [Walk the Line, Logan, The Wolverine) is directing. It's set in the sixties, it's all about Le Mans, the 24-hour race so it's a lot of fast cars, hot men and me!" She laughs. "I've been watching loads of documentaries on Le Mans which is really cool."

And this is Caitríona: totally unfazed, seemingly, by the prospect of working with some of Hollywood's most famous actors and directors and yet, nerdily researching so she can be prepared on the day. Oh, and consciously enjoying it too. With more projects in the pipeline, that demand is only going to get higher, but of one thing I can be sure: to her own self, Caitríona Balfe will always be true.

Remember… we command goodwill - people genuinely like us! ☘️ — Caitríona Balfe

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 99: In the Company of Angels

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: major character death ❧ Word Count: 3.5k

❧ In This Chapter: The Commonwealth is saved in one last effort to defeat the herd. When the panic dies down, there is happiness, but not everyone will live to see another day.

❧ A/N: Second-to-last chapter! So this one is pretty short, but I wanted to write the time jump in the next chapter (aka the last chapter ahhh). I tried to add in some stuff to tie in Reader's father and some of the characters she was closest to. You might also notice that I purposefully made Reader kind of uncomfortable with the celebration (because I was uncomfortable with the celebration lmao). I just felt like it was kind of random and unrealistic (yes I am aware that there are zombies walking around, but within the context of the show, it's nice to have the way people behave be a little realistic). Idk the whole dinner scene didn't sit right with me, so I tried to convey that a little bit lol.

Date: April 18, 2021

Time: Midnight

Our arrival to the Commonwealth was fraught with some… trouble. A herd had somehow gotten through the walls. Governor Milton’s orders were to direct the swarm to the lower wards, where the poor live. She’d also caught onto Mercer’s betrayal, imprisoning him. By the time we arrived, the walkers were flooding into the streets. We took the sewers through to Union Station, where a shootout ensued. Myself and many others were shot, and at this point my recollection fails me, but I’m told that at some point, Princess led a group to release Mercer from his prison. From there, Mercer and his guards snuck us into a safehouse in the Estates, where Pamela and the other elites were hoarding the last of the medicine. We lost Luke and Jules to the walkers. Lydia and Aaron had lost track of Jerry and Elijah in the herd, but they joined with us again by some miracle. Rosita found her daughter, Coco. She is safe, and so is Eugene, Yumiko, and Maxine. 

The estates have the luxury of walls to keep the walkers out, but it kept the Commonwealth citizens out, too. Pamela refused to open the gates, signing a death sentence for the unlucky ones who were locked outside. They were screaming, crying, and begging to be let inside, spared from the dead.

Father Gabriel Stokes took a stand, ignoring the guns pointed at him as he made his way to the gate, preparing to shoot the lock and let the people in to save their lives from the impending herd. Governor Milton commanded her guards to shoot him down, but a resounding voice stopped them. It was Alexandria’s own Daryl Dixon, bravely approaching the governor herself, no weapons drawn. His words were simple, but louder than any gunshot, and stronger, too. 

“Stop,” he said. “We all deserve better than this. You built this place to be like the old world, that was the problem. We’ve got one enemy. We’re not the walking dead.”

You paused for a moment, thinking of what to write next. It was most important that you wrote down exactly what Daryl had said, you figured. You supposed the rest now was living history, and you’d have to write more later, when you could collect your thoughts.

Daryl himself made his way over to you, looking just as dashing and brave as he did just a few hours ago now. As you sat up in your bed, he eyed you suspiciously. Hadn’t he just told you to rest? And yet there you were, etching hundreds of words into your journal, frantically writing down every thought that had come to you the past twenty-four hours. Everything that happened here tonight was important, and so much more was about to be underway. 

When you felt his gaze on you, you lifted your head from your journal. The letters were starting to make you dizzy anyway. “Yes?” you asked. 

A few men dressed head to toe in Commonwealth armor pushed past Daryl, carrying various boxes of explosives. It made you nervous, to say the least, but it was all part of the plan. Mercer’s plan. 

Daryl crossed his arms with a huff, coming forward to sit himself down beside your bed. He’d left a chair there for himself, marked rather obviously by his vest. “Thought you were gonna be restin’.”

“I am resting.”

“No, you’re writing.”

“Well, I can write and rest at the same time, can’t I?”

He narrowed his eyes at your left arm, still wrapped tight in its sling. “How you feel?”

“My arm hurts,” you sighed. “But I’ll be fine.”

Out of curiosity, Daryl leaned back in his chair, his neck craning to get a look at what you were writing. “I see my name,” he said, focusing on your familiar cursive writing. “What’re ya sayin’ about me?”

“Oh,” you sighed dramatically, “just about how… noble, and brave, and heroic my husband is.”

You swore his eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Stop.”

“Why? It’s true. Besides, Robin and Westley will need to know how great their father is. It’s important, you know. And maybe someday they’ll have children of their own, and they’ll tell them about their… grandpa.”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, no way. I’m not gonna be a grandpa.”

“Maybe you will,” you said with a shrug, and a mischievous grin. Sometimes, you got far too much enjoyment out of teasing him, but he was just so serious, and it was so fun to make that serious demeanor crumble, as it only really could for you. “It’s important to think about the future, about the consequences of all this.”

“All’s I know is what’s goin’ on right now. And right now it’s time to go, so get your journal.”

Indeed, the plan was ready. Aaron and some of the others had already diverted the herd, clearing a path for a truck to leave the estates and bring back the fuel. The plan was to light up the sewers, soak them in gasoline and lead the flame to the center of the estates, where the walkers would be corralled. 

You could hear it now, the music just starting. “Cult of Personality” by Living Colour. Fitting, you supposed. The lyrics didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that the music was loud enough to bring the walkers to the estates. When those mansions were going to blow up, you didn’t want to be anywhere near it. 

Everyone was loaded onto a truck, packed like a can of sardines and taken to the rendezvous point—one of the houses on the other side of town. By the time everyone had cleared the estates, the gates were left open, purposefully. The walkers poured in, death and decay taking over this once prosperous neighborhood. 

Everyone was far away when the music stopped, time suspended for what seemed like years, but it was only a few moments. Finally, a huge burst of flames, followed by waves upon waves of explosions dotting the estates, each triggering another until the whole district was bubbling with bright orange. 

Beneath the ground, the sewers were opening up, splitting the dirt to suck in hundreds of burning walkers, like Hell was opening up and taking back its creatures. When the first bursts of the explosions died down, the charred remains of the estates were filled with burning trees and the last of the walkers that could still walk as their rotten flesh burnt off their bones. 

From what you could see, the herd was eradicated. Still, you weren’t sure it was cause for celebration. The estates were destroyed, along with dozens of homes that could’ve housed the poor and the sick. Whatever food and resources those buildings had were reduced to smithereens before your very eyes. Not only that, but who knows how many people had died during the swarm? 

You didn’t share that sentiment with most of the others, though. 

Yumiko invited everyone from Alexandria to her house in the wee hours of the morning. For your part, you fell asleep on her couch, not knowing when you awoke that a grand feast was waiting for you in the afternoon.

It was Daryl’s hand that gently rocked your shoulder. “Come get somethin’ to eat,” he said, and you swore you were in a dream. 

The dining room was immaculate, with a meal of epic proportions splayed over the table, with more to spare on the kitchen counters, where so many familiar faces gathered around to serve themselves. You blinked hard, shaking your head as you looked towards your husband. “Am I awake?”

“Yeah,” he said, and you knew it must’ve been real—you could feel his hand pressed upon your lower back, then his lips grazing your cheek. “I’ll make ya a plate. Sit down.”

Despite its clear reality, you couldn’t escape the strange warm glow all around you. It felt like you were dead. Well, in Heaven, maybe. But you weren’t, you knew you weren’t. You were alive, but something felt too good to be true. Something was off. 

Across the dining room table, you felt Rosita’s eyes on you. She leaned closer, pointing her finger at your sling. “You all right?”

“Mhm.” Tentatively, you took a sip of red wine. It was the first you’d tasted of it in ages. Nine months pregnant, plus several more in which wine was the least important thing you could consume, so you didn’t. It felt strange to drink it now, but why not? Everything else felt so strange, anyway. “Are you?”

She rocked uncomfortably in her chair, but flashed a smile regardless. “Of course.”

Something was wrong. 

“Rosita—”

Maggie’s hand startled you as she touched your shoulder. Her green eyes widened as she let out a laugh. Were you the only one not happy?

As she sat beside you, she eagerly unfolded her napkin, then helped herself to a serving of mashed potatoes. How did anyone have the energy to prepare this meal? Nothing seemed right. 

“You were asleep for so long,” remarked Maggie. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Feels like I didn’t.” You were caught between reality and a dream. 

Daryl’s heavy presence loomed over you. He placed your plate in front of you—it was overflowing with ham and gravy and biscuits and salad and grapes… He’d given you far too much food for one person to eat. Still, you knew you would eat all of it with how hungry you were. 

“Thank you.” He shocked you for a moment, bending over to kiss the corner of your mouth. You looked at him suspiciously. “Am I in the Twilight Zone?”

“Eat your food,” he scoffed playfully. “‘Fore it gets cold.”

With a belly full of food, soon it became clear to you that there was no harm in celebrating what merriment there was for the time being. Pamela was imprisoned, the walkers were slain, the people were free. 

It was a beautiful dinner, the warm glow of the candles spread all over the table illuminating so many smiling faces. The world had changed so much since last night—darkness had given into light, and with the new day came a new era. It was on everyone’s breath. The cleansing fire had come again, as it had come so many times before. 

It was nothing new, you’d seen it before, so many, many times. 

Atlanta, the quarry, the CDC, the farm, the prison, the Kingdom, the Hilltop… As worlds ended, new ones were born. Even those worlds hadn’t really ever ended, you figured. It wasn’t even really a matter of things ending or beginning when it came down to it, it was a matter of continuing on, keeping those memories alive for as long as you could. That was the trick.

That was the celebration. A new beginning, once again. As many times as you’d felt it, you’d never get tired of that feeling. Hope, that’s exactly what it was. Hope for the future, for the world to become whole again.

The mission wasn’t over, you all knew that. The world was still broken, crumbling all around you, but there were pockets of wholeness, moments wherein everything became so perfect that it was hard to believe it was real. But it was real, and they were real. Your family was real. 

And yet, you couldn’t shake this feeling, as though the vibrant images that projected all around you were just figments of your imagination, like any second now you’d wake up and it would all have been some strange, long dream.

Maybe you’d awaken, having never met a man named Daryl, having never had his children. That was the worst thing you could imagine, so you willed it away from your mind as quickly as it came.

Instead, you dozed off for a while, thinking of all the voices you couldn’t hear amidst the celebrations. Strangely, you found yourself picturing a world in which your father could see all this. You hadn’t thought of him in so long, but a sudden wave of memory lost to time came flooding in.

The memory wasn’t one that had ever existed, at least, not in this lifetime. It was an image of a dinner much like this, but with everyone you’d come to know and love.

Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Beverly, Dale, Tara, Andrea, Tyreese, Beth… All the ones you lost were surrounded by some glowing aura, like they were angels. They were so bright and beautiful that you nearly squinted just to make our their features.

Your father, though, you saw particularly clearly. In your vision, he’d sit right across the table from Daryl. He’d know the happiness you had found with him, the true and innocent love he gave you. You knew above all else that he would’ve loved Daryl, too. He would’ve seen him as another son, and a great man.

In his lap would sit baby Westley, watching in fascination as his grandfather played peek-a-boo with the child, much to his wonder.

Robin would sit near him, too, laughing at one of Dale’s silly jokes. He’d impart some important lesson to her, and she’d listen closely, eager to learn from the wise man.

Aaron would pour a glass of wine for Eric, his one true love. You were sure your father would look on proudly, happy to know that Aaron was living the life he wanted with the man he loved.

Perhaps Rick would raise a toast, it seemed like the kind of thing he would’ve done. “To family,” he might say. “To hope, and to the future.”

Glenn and Maggie would laugh together like they used to. They’d have a hard time letting go of each other’s hands. You recalled they used to hold on until the last possible second.

Sophia and Carl would be so much bigger now. You’d hardly be able to recognize Sophia, but what a beautiful young woman she would’ve become. You’d reminisce with them about the times at the quarry, and how little they seemed in such a big, scary world.

As much as you hated to invite him to your perfect little tableau, you turned to look at Daryl, and you saw an inkling of Merle in that smirk he gave you. It had Daryl’s gentleness, but Merle was in him, too. You liked to think that, if he had lived to see this day, he’d have changed. Maybe he’d see the ignorance of his ways, and maybe, by some miracle, he’d be a good uncle to your children. Well, thank goodness it was just in your imagination.

“Hon?” Daryl’s raspy whisper made those faces disappear, but their essence still lingered. His warm hand laid tentatively over yours, until he gently squeezed it to get your attention. “You all right?”

“Yes,” you said with a smile. He felt some relief wash over him. For a second there, he worried you had already gotten tipsy from the wine. You were always a lightweight, but then again, you were terribly amusing when you were drunk. He would know. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

His lips eased into a small smile. As his cheeks lifted, you admired his face, how beautifully sculpted it had been. Every detail, from the bags under his eyes to the slight slope of his nose, was your favorite—you couldn’t decide on just one. And his skin was so clear, so soft. The wine must’ve been getting to him a little, as you could see a glowing rosiness in his warm cheeks.

Though his black eye had only darkened, you still swooped his hair back, allowing you to see every perfect inch of him.

The fact that you were admiring him through hazy bedroom eyes did not go unnoticed.

“What’re ya thinkin’ about?”

Naughty things, mister Dixon.

“How happy I am,” you replied, opting for an innocent conversation instead.

His hand squeezed yours a little tighter. In this lighting, with the gold-tinted hue of the candles playing off your features, he couldn’t take his eyes off you if his life depended on it, and thank goodness it didn’t.

“Are you happy, Daryl?”

For the last eleven years, he’d been able to say yes. Why would that change today?

“Yeah. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, since you came along.”

He wished he had the more complex words to describe the way you made him feel, but simple platitudes spoken by many lovers before and many lovers after would have to do.

“I’d like it to stay like this forever,” you said. “Just frozen in time. I don’t ever want to forget this feeling.”

“You don’t have to… We keep it alive, you and me. Long as we live, and after.”

“And the people,” you added. “The people we lost, they’re still alive, right? We keep the fire burning for them.”

“That’s right, angel.”

Despite the euphoria you felt come over you, there was still that inkling of looming devastation floating around the room. It didn’t show itself immediately, but gradually, as the heady afternoon blended into the clarifying evening, your suspicions of impending tragedy proved to be correct.

Rosita shared the news, that horrible news you’d been dreading since she looked at you that way. You didn’t process it at first, it just sort of… sat there. She’d hid it so well all this time. The bite on her back was completely covered by her shirt and her hair, but nothing could hide the fact that the fever was coming, worsening and becoming stronger with each passing moment. Time was running out for her, and it felt so wrong.

In the bedroom where she laid, each and every one of you was given the unspoken opportunity to say goodbye. It was a beautiful room, perfect for Rosita. The walls were a pale blush color, with lovely pink roses in a vase by the door. Roses for Rosita, you thought, smiling through your tears as you sat upon the chair by her bed. 

She reached for your hand, and you took it with a gentle shake. Beside her was Coco, napping upon a bed of pillows. She was older than Wes, of course, but you couldn’t help but see her and wonder if one day the two of them would be friends. You hoped so. 

“Hey,” she said, her eyes struggling to keep open. She looked paler than usual, and you could tell by the redness under her eyes that the illness was taking its effect. It felt so cruel, so unfair. She had so much life left in her, and for it to be cut short so suddenly was nothing short of a tragedy. 

“Hi.” Even a single syllable word was not immune to your tears. Your voice cracked and faltered as you wiped your nose with your free hand. What were you supposed to say? There was so much to say to her. She was your friend. “I—I, um…” You shook your head, trying to compose yourself. “Rosita, nothing’s going to be the same without you.”

She smiled. “You’re going to be fine. You’re brave.”

You laughed at that. It seemed like just yesterday Rosita had called you weak. Now, it was just a humorous memory. “You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever known.”

It was evident in the way it happened. She’d been bit saving Coco, her child. That, indeed, was the greatest act of bravery. “Will you… watch over Coco for me?”

You were choked up at this point, hardly able to speak without bursting. “I will,” you said with a fervent nod. “Of course. Always.”

“And, if you can,” she faltered a little, her eyes becoming hazy. You could tell she was on her way out, her voice having trouble coming through. “Tell Robin… about how badass we were, you and me.”

Your eyes widened a little. Of course, Rosita was “badass,” but you weren’t so sure that you were. “I sure will,” you snorted. “I’ll tell her all those stories.”

“I wish I could see her grow up…. Her and Coco, and Wes, too… All of them.”

“Hey,” you said, leaning forward to hug her. She was burning hot, so hot she was cold. “I’ll be your eyes and ears, okay? Everything I see, you’re gonna see it, too.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

It was so hard to say goodbye. 

That night, you closed your eyes to sleep, held tight by the same pair of strong arms that were made for you. They kept you safe, sheltered, but your mind still wandered.

You found yourself at that dinner table again, surrounded by all those you loved, and those you lost. Rosita was shining bright now. She held her baby in her arms. She looked like the Virgin Mary.

Her soothing face didn’t haunt you, it lulled you to a peaceful sleep. The death she’d been given was beautiful. You could only hope that someday, you’d die with your greatest loves beside you, and you’d see them again in some crazy woman’s vision.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

[chocolateteapotsvis]

Can I ask for Bachelorette and Crane husband?

So Bachelorette is basically doing as season of the Bachelor TV show, except as an alternate universe version of the Justice League getting together.  For anyone lucky enough to be unfamiliar with the show, it’s a reality dating show where 30ish contestants arrive to date and marry the lead, the titular Bachelor/Bachelorette.  Theoretically.  These days it’s known more for scandals, cringe, and former contestants going on to sell diet tea on Instagram.

Anyway, the story:  After the last disastrous season of the Bachelor which ended with several contestants, including the lead, going missing, Lex Luthor is trying to shake up the Bachelorette formula by bringing in Diana Prince, the franchise's first openly bisexual lead.  Are the contestants here to find love, fame, or, the ultimate right reason, saving the world?

The idea was for it to be a mix of character POVs going through the challenges, discovering the superpowers people are hiding, and falling in love, and not necessarily with the Diana.  I absolutely bit off more than I could chew with this, since when I started it I had written exactly nothing else with multiple POVs and this one had 4+, with at least two major ships and a bunch of side ships.

I also wanted to mix what was actually happening with some of the more reality TV things, like the confession cam segments where they sit in an empty room talking to the producers.  This scene is a couple weeks into the show, when Hal and Barry have really connected on a personal level, but before anyone’s really figured out any of the superhero stuff.

Hal: Barry?  Yeah, he’s my best friend in the house.  He’s one of those people you don’t think exist outside of, like, fairy tales and shit.  Like, real people don’t care that much, especially not about people like—  Don’t tell him this, because I’ll deny saying any of it, but he makes me believe in all that stuff, and it makes me feel better about myself knowing he calls me a friend too.

Barry: Hal’s someone I never would have met in real life, and I’m grateful for the show for that.  And yes, in this process, spending twenty four hours a day in a house full of strangers in this strange bubble, and the heightened emotionality of everything here… I guess what I’m saying is that you connect with people more quickly, go through months of relationship development in a much shorter amount of time.  I’m sorry, I’m not used to talking about this sort of thing.  *laughs*  You’d think I would be after doing so many of these interviews. He’s so many of the things I wish I could be.  Does he rub some people the wrong way?  Of course.  Do I personally agree with everything he’s said or done here?  No.  But he’s unabashedly who he is, and that’s something to admire.  … I do hope we can stay friends after the show, yes.  I hope my life isn’t too boring for him after the glitz and glamour of being on The Bachelorette has worn off.  *laughs*  But for now, I’m privileged to be his friend, and I’m going to try to focus on that. Producer: That’s great.  Now could you do that again except use the word “journey” instead of “process”?

You can find the inspiration for Crane Husband here, and another snippet here!  The basic premise is that Barry helps Hal, magical crane person, getting to know each other, and helping each other through misguided attempts to pay back past kindnesses.

Barry’s latching the final storm shutter when something white tumble out of the sky. He secures the warm glow inside the how behind the shutters, then turns, and dashes after it. The winds whips around him, stinging at his eyes and tugging at his coat to pull him off his feet.  He stumbles against the already soft ground, his hands doubly chilled. The world darkens again, late evening imposed by the clouds.  Barry can just make out the dark shapes of the trees ahead; his cabin is, thankfully, more visible, the dark splotch distinguished by the line of light sneaking through the shutters.   It can’t be much farther.  I can make it. The rain starts as he enters the tree line, a few fat drops soaking straight through his coat before he reaches the relative protection of the trees.  It’s even darker here, but then lightning flashes and he sees the patch of white. He’s shrugging out of his coat before the thunder hits, approaching as cautiously as he can while half running, half stumbling towards the poor creature. It’s so small, white feathers dull and muddy, and wing bent at a sickening angle.  It doesn’t move when Barry holds out a tentative hand, not quite touching it.  It’s still warm.  He carefully gathers it up in his coat, clutching the light bundle as securely but gently as he can. As he rushes into the downpour, huddled over his charge to protect it as best he could, he realizes why the crane struck him as so vulnerable.  He’s never seen one alone before.

Thanks for the ask!

WIP Ask Game

[malekthecat]

Well this is my design for the first book of my story/Au

(Rise of Snakes and Night Princess)

Well here are some things about My Au:

OKAY OKAY, In fact I had a lot of ideas for Au's ‼️

But I decided to make them all in one story

Like: Season 11 and 4 are happening at the same time

Because at the end of Season 3, Zane, Overlord, Cryptor, and Min will not die, but somehow they will go to Never-realm, and Zane will lose his memory, and Overlord will take advantage of an opportunity and make Zane evil, Also Zane's father will be alive so he will go with Ninja and Garmadon to Nevar-Realm and they will find a way to make Zane good again, Also at the end of Season 4, Garmadon will still be alive, but in exchange, someone else will sacrifice himself...

And Akita goes to Ninjago and becomes a ninja

Also, Morro will not die at the end of season 5, and he will find a way to become human again, and DOTD will be much better, and in it, villains like the original will return, but also other people will return, like elemental masters and more to the series...

There will also be cooperation between MLP and Ninjago for my story

Also in Season 7, when Garmadon, Kai and Nya, as well as Lloyd and Twilight, confront the Time Brothers. Kai and Nya will return to save Ray, and Garmadon and the Time Brothers will be lost in time

But Lloyd and Twilight will go to a distant past, specifically to the time of FSM and the original Elemental Masters, and of course a lot will happen because of this...Of course, I have more ideas for the series and I will tell you about them later...

Ok The first book in a series will be titled:

Rise of Snakes and Night Princess

And the story of this part:

"In a city called Ninjago, Master Wu gathers four ninjas, each of whom possesses one of the elemental powers, Kai the Master of Fire, Zen, the Master of Ice, Cole, the Master of Earth, and Jay, the Master of Lightning, come together to protect their city From the evil Lord Garmadon and Serpentine, and also to know which one of them is the legendary green ninja A prophecy, the boy who will save Ninjago from Lord Garmadon and the Overlord...At the same time and in another world, the residents of Equestria are preparing for the Summer Sun Festival, which occurs once a year. A girl named Twilight discovers that there is a prophecy that says that the Princess of the Night and the Princess of Darkness, called Luna, or currently known as Nightmare Moon, will return to spread eternal night in Equestria... so it is decided that She tells the Princess of Equestria and her dear teacher, Princess Celestia. Celestia tells her that she must go to a small village called Ponyville to supervise a summer sun celebration and to find friends. There she meets five girls: Pinkie Pie, who represents the element of laughter, Applejack, who represents the element of honesty, Fluttershy, who represents the element of kindness, and Rainbow. Dash represents loyalty, Rarity represents generosity, and Twilight represents magic. Together, they will search for the elements of harmony to save their city from Nightmare Moon...

With all these differences between these two worlds, the heroes of our story did not know that there were many similarities between them and that they would meet soon and work together to defeat the Villains..."

The story will be on Wattpad and Ao3 <3