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[iwasntstable]

n.s. | if i'm there

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➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

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I didn't want to believe how much you needed help / And I just left you to be all by yourself / And now I wish I had seen that you weren't doing well / But I just came back to see how hard you fell Well, if I'm there to catch you when you fall / You'll have a friend down in Hell after all 　　— If I'm There - Bad Omens

summary: when things start getting bad, you withdraw. ignoring calls and texts, and descending into bad habits as you self-isolate. but noah knows what you're like and he loves you too much to let you suffer alone.

content tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, poor mental health, mentions of disordered eating, discussions of food, self-destructive behaviour, fluff.

word count: 3.8k.

note: having a rough time recently so enjoy the self-indulgent product of my stressing. 　　PS: please tell me if the layout of this post is fucked up so I can fix it for you.

Things are getting bad again. You find your sleep schedule sliding later and later, falling asleep in the early hours of the morning and waking in the afternoon, bypassing the day altogether. Meals are becoming infrequent and poor in quality. Appetite dwindling and opting to eat half a bag of microwave rice at 3am rather than dedicating time to creating a nutritious and satisfying meal. Truth be told, you didn’t have the energy to cook anything more, and the malnutrition itself likely played a part in that lack of energy. The trash was left to build up, and the laundry hadn’t been done in weeks.

The progression of all of this was gradual. So gradual, that by the time you recognised what was happening, it was all but too late to stop the rapid descent into your depression. And as the days go by, you start to withdraw into yourself. Messages from friends begin to go unanswered. You tell yourself you’ll reply later, when you have the mental bandwidth to engage in conversation. But later ends up being not at all. Too many days have passed, and you feel like it’s too late to reply now; you don’t know how. That includes your boyfriend.

　　　　　　　　　　　[Noah 💘]

　　　　　　 　　　　　Tuesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　10:45AM

— Morning! Do you wanna call later?    Miss your voice 

          morning! I have a headache —             right now and I feel like it's             not gonna go away :( I'll let                you know though.                 I miss you too ❤️ —

— Aw I'm sorry :( — I hope you feel better soon — Text me later and let me know    how you are ❤️

　　　　　　　　　 　　02:27PM

— Hey babe how are you feeling?

             my head still hurts :( —

— Want me to come over and look    after you? — Have you eaten yet?

       you don't have to do that, I'd be —            shitty company anyway                   just wanna sleep —

— Okay :( — I'll text you later tonight so    you can sleep

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:09PM

— How are you feeling? — Are you sleeping? — Hope you’re resting well. Text    me when you wake up so I know    you’re okay — I love you ❤️ — Goodnight ❤️

　　　　　　 　　　　Wednesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Morning, how’re you feeling?

　　　　　　　　　 　　09:13AM

— Are you awake? — Babe, are you okay?

      hey! sorry I was still asleep. I feel a —       little better but my head still hurts :(

— I’m gonna cancel today and come    over — I don’t want you to be alone when    you’re not well 

       no don’t do that, i’m okay really —              you know this happens          sometimes. I just wanna rest,            you don’t have to cancel for        me. not when work is important

— You’re important too — Please let me look after you

          I love you and I love that —           you want to be here for me,         but all I want to do right now                   is sleep

          I don’t want you to cancel —           important schedules just           to watch me sleep all day                I’ll feel better soon.             just need to give it time. —

— I’d cancel to sit and watch you sleep    in a heartbeat — I love you, I just want you to be okay — I have to go, I’ll text you later okay?

         I’ll text you back when I can, —            if I don’t reply I’m probably          asleep so don’t worry have a                good day I love you —

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:26PM

— Hey babe sorry I didn’t text all day I    was so fucking busy — How’re you doing now? — Are you sleeping again?

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 10:31PM]

— Text or call me when you wake up,    even if it’s the middle of the night I’ll    leave my sound on — I love you ❤️

　　　　　　 　　   　　Thursday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Hey, are you awake?

　　　　　　　　　 　　08:55AM

— Hello??

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 08:59AM]

— Message me when you wake up

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:20PM

— Babe?? — I’m worried — Even if you don’t wanna talk can     you please let me know you’re okay?

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:46PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 12:48PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　01:20PM

     hey, sorry I missed your messages —         I’m okay sorry for worrying you —

— I was just about to come over — I still might — I’m worried about you

           please don’t I just don’t —          wanna see anyone right now

— Even me?

                  I’m sorry —             I’ll text you tomorrow — — If that’s what you want — I love you

　　　　　　　 　   　　　Friday 　　　　　　　　　 　　03:47PM

— I don’t want to bother you, I’m     trying to give you space if that’s    what you need — But I’m worried about you — You haven’t messaged me all day — Did I do something wrong?

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:10PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:12PM]

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:15PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:18PM

�� Your friends said they haven’t heard    from you in days — What’s going on? You can talk to me. — You don’t have to talk to me if you    don’t want to but text someone back,    please — I just wanna know that you’re okay

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:23PM]

And that’s how Noah ended up outside your door. Banging incessantly and shouting your name through the wood. You could hear him from where you were wrapped up in bed, but you were half hoping he would just drop it and go away. Realising quickly, however, the futility of that hope when you heard another voice join the sound of his. That of your neighbour, the nosy one from the house on the right.

You groan and throw the blanket off yourself, flinching a little when your feet touch the cold floor. You have no choice but to go downstairs, and no time to change your appearance. Hoping to whatever God will listen that Noah doesn’t make a comment on the clothes you’d been wearing for the past week before you can get in the shower and change.

“I’m just really worried about her,” you can hear the unmistakable tone of Noah’s voice through the door before you even open it.

Hesitating for a moment with your hand on the door handle, you decide to eavesdrop on the conversation. “I haven’t seen her for, ohhh let me think... has to be about a week now,” despite the man���s voice wavering with age, it came loud and clear through the door. An unfortunate side effect of his hearing loss.

“A week?!” Noah exclaimed. Having enough of the old man sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, you unlock the door quickly, wrenching it open and taking a surprised Noah by the arm.

“Oh! Nice to see you, dear. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The old man sneers.

“Yeah, nice seeing you, Trevor,” you barely extend him a glance as you drag Noah in through your doorway, slamming the door closed and turning the key. You let out a deep sigh, your palms and forehead resting against the cool wood.

Noah calls your name softly. You squeeze your eyes tight and take in a breath before you turn to face him. Putting on the best phoney smile you can muster.

“Sorry about him, he’s always in everyone’s business. What are you-”

“He said he hasn’t seen you in a week,” he says matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of a smile on his face. “Your friends said they haven’t heard from you in days either, and you’ve been ignoring my texts. And calls.”

Your heart seizes at the sadness in his eyes. He stands there in your front room, his usual sweatpants and hoodie, but he just looks so defeated. You always tell him he looks like an upset puppy when he’s sad, and the puppy-dog eyes are working overtime on you right now. “I told you, I’ve just been busy, and I-”

“And you had a headache, and you missed my texts, and you didn’t want to talk,” his voice was as stern as his expression. You knew he wasn’t an idiot. That there’s no way he’d believe your—at best—flimsy excuses. You stand frozen to the spot, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. Picking at the stitches, trying to distract yourself from the lump forming in your throat. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Noah questions.

You swallow roughly, “I don’t know what you... I don’t-”

He says your name firmly and takes a step towards you, “I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

Feeling your heart begin to race in your chest, you swallow again, but it does nothing to get rid of the tightness in your throat. Or the dizziness creeping up on you.

“Are you doing bad again?” He sounds softer this time, and you almost wish he would just scream at you because when he’s kind and attentive like this, you can’t help but crumble and shut down.

You clench your jaw as your breathing gets quicker, shallower, and you feel the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out cracked and weak, not at all the sound of someone who's fine. 

“Don’t pretend you’re okay. Please don’t lie to me, because I know you’re not okay!” Noah crosses the room to meet you, holding his hands outstretched towards you, “what can I do for you? Please, I want to help.”

You cover your mouth as you choke back a sob, wrapping your other arm around your middle; you can’t hold it in anymore, and the floodgates open. Gasping for breath that seems to never come, you grip the front of your shirt tight in your fist, the clothing suddenly feeling suffocating and stiflingly hot.

“Oh, baby. Come here,” Noah takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into his chest, where you fall into him and cling onto him like he’s your only lifeline. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? Slowly, in and out,” he strokes soothing circles against your back as he demonstrates to you how to breathe. “Come and sit down here, yeah? The couch is right here.”

You barely register your legs moving for the numbness extending across your entire body, from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. Your tears are hot on your face, and every time you try to wipe them away, they’re just replaced by more in a never-ending stream. The room feels like it’s spinning around you as you move, only worsening the feeling of nausea rising in your throat. The plush cushions of the couch are a welcome relief.

“You’re holding your breath, I need you to breathe. Just how I am, that’s it,” he cradles your head to his chest through your shaky attempts to take in a breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Your breath hitches uncontrollably with every inhale, taking in tiny bursts of air at a time. Noah, though, has nothing but praise on his lips: “That’s it. You’re doing so well, just listen to my voice.”

You missed his voice. As you worsened and withdrew, you found any excuse to avoid going out to see him, and you had been ignoring his calls for days. You knew you were doing it, and you missed him desperately, but with every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to reach out. It was hard for you to reach out for help in the first place, hard for you to admit to anyone that you needed help. Hard to admit it to yourself. Opting instead to suffer in silence and just push through it until you finally broke. You didn’t know any other way.

The familiar presence of him by your side eases the pace of your racing heart, allowing each breath to come a little easier. A little calmer. “I hate to see you hurting like this,” he whispers into your hair, his hand stroking through it gently, working to soothe the seemingly unquenchable anxiety. “I want to help you, please let me help you.”

It broke your heart to hear the pain in his voice. You never wanted to hurt him, but that’s all you seem to do. That cold hand of dread tightens its grip on your chest again, panic filling your lungs and replacing all the air. “I’m sorry,” you barely choke out, gripping onto Noah tighter. Warring with yourself, wanting to hold him close, but feeling like you need to push him away.

“You don’t need to apologise, ever. I’m here, I’m right here,” he runs his hand up and down your back, cradling you close. He can’t help but notice that through the fabric of your shirt, the bones of your spine are ever so slightly more prominent than before. He keeps his mouth shut. Focussing instead on quelling your distress and holding you tight in his arms. 

“I just- I fuck everything up. I can’t do anything right, I don’t deserve your love, I don’t deserve you-” Once you start talking, you can’t stop, finally letting it all out until Noah cuts you off, incapable of hearing you degrade yourself anymore.

“No. No, that’s not even remotely true. Don’t say that about yourself,” he says firmly, holding you just a little tighter. 

You shake your head against him, “all I do is hurt people and push you away, and I don’t know how to stop. You don’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have to put up with me.”

“I don’t ‘put up with you’. I love you, and I want to be here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

“You shouldn’t have to drop everything to come deal with me when you’re so busy. You deserve someone that isn’t so fucking hard to love.”

With that, Noah pushes you backwards by the shoulders, holding you there so he can look into your eyes when he speaks. “You are not hard to love. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had the privilege of doing. You just…” He takes a deep breath, cupping your cheek and brushing away the tears from under your eyes. “You just need to let me in, and let me show you you’re just as worthy of love as anyone else is.”

The image of him blurs when the tears overflow from your eyes again, your face crumpling as you bow your head. “You’ll leave me," your voice shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Why would you ever think I'd leave you?" he asks, dismayed by your fear.

"Everyone always leaves," you tell him, voice brittle and quiet, shaking your head. "It's only a matter of time before you leave too."

"I love you," Noah feels tears prick at his own eyes. "I love you so, so much. And I'm not going anywhere." He lifts your head, once again brushing away your tears so he can look into your eyes, "please trust me to help you."

"I'm just so tired," you confess, and he pulls you into his arms again. 

“I can't promise to fix all your problems, but I can promise you won't have to face them alone. There’s nothing you could do that would drive me away. And the things that would, I know you’d never do,” he runs a comforting hand through your hair as you cry, his other arm secure around your waist. Your tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. He wants you to give it all to him—all your sorrows, all your grief—so that he can bear it with you.

You desperately want to believe his words. To lean on him when you need him the most, but that insecure piece inside of you won’t let you yield. You don’t know how to open up to anyone without feeling like a burden.

Noah stays right there with you until the tears subside and your breathing evens out. Your head resting in his lap as he reassuringly strokes your hair, you feel the beginnings of a dull ache in your head that makes you drowsy. He rubs soothing circles into your back with his other hand, shifting slightly to get a better look at your face. “Have you eaten yet today?” He asks tentatively. Feeling your throat constrict under the pressure of guilt, you know you can’t lie to him. You know he sees right through you, so you decide to try being honest by shaking your head. “Want me to cook something for you? Or we can order something? My treat.”

You know he means well, but you don’t know how to say you don’t have an appetite without worrying him. He won’t let you go the entire day without eating, but all you want to do is sleep.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.”

On a shaky breath, you settle for a half truth. “I don’t think there’s anything to cook.”

“That’s fine, we can order food then. What do you want?”

Chewing on your lip, you freeze. The silence stretches on far too long for you to be deciding what restaurant to order from, it’s clear you’re unable to answer.

Noah sighs your name, “you have to eat something.” 

“I know. I just… I just don’t want to,” he remains quiet, waiting for you to continue. “I don’t feel hungry. Thinking about it is overwhelming. I just want to sleep so I don’t have to think about it.”

“What have you been eating these past few days?” He asks cautiously, his tone light. Conscious to not sound accusatory.

You sigh, knowing there’s no way of escaping this. “Microwave stuff, mostly,” you play with the fabric of his sweatpants, feeling his leg underneath, fidgeting your anxiety away. “Rice, oats, ramen. Stuff I don’t have to wash up after.”

“Have you been eating every day?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, the tension only thickening when you answer "no,” barely above a whisper.

You feel him nod. Quiet for a moment until he too speaks so quietly, you almost didn’t hear it. “You can’t go on like this.”

“I know,” you confess.

“Please let me help you.”

The desperation in his voice is what does it—the final straw. You sit up straight, turning to face him. Wiping the residual tears from your cheeks and looking him in the eye. You know it’s time to really be honest. 

“It’s hard for me-” Your voice catches in your throat as the threat of crying again creeps up on you, not quite realising how much your body would resist. Taking a second to compose yourself—a deep breath in, eyes closed, releasing it slowly—your resolve strengthens and you continue. “It’s hard for me to open up to people. To admit when I’m struggling. I’m so used to feeling like I’m burdening everyone with my problems, so I just keep it all to myself. And by the time I realise I’m going down that road again, it’s too late to stop it.”

“It’s never too late,” Noah says reassuringly, tucking both sides of your hair behind your ears—the left first, then the right. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you don’t get to decide whether you’re a burden. You don’t get to take that choice away from me. The choice to help you. Your problems will never be a burden to me, no matter how big or small. You will never be a burden to me. I love you. I choose you. And I’ll never think poorly of you for needing help, ever.”

You don’t know what to say. Your eyes fixed on his. One of your favourite things about him is his big brown eyes. Always so full of comfort. So full of love that even you, with all of your self-doubt, can’t deny it. “I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologise, but I think I need to. I’m sorry for making you worry and for pushing you away. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Noah takes your hands in his. Large palms enveloping your own entirely. “Seeing you hurting is what hurts me the most. I love you so much, all I want is for you to be happy and healthy.”

You squeeze his hands in yours, “I love you, Noah. I’ll try harder, I promise. Feeling so unwanted for so long before I met you, I think I didn’t realise just how lucky I am to have you until now.” Noah raises one of your hands, kissing the back firmly and holding it there, savouring the feel of your skin against his lips. Timidly, you ask, “can we get pizza?”

He breaks out into a smile, “of course we can! But you have to text your friends back first," he bargains, "even if it’s just something short.”

“Deal,” you can’t help but return his smile. “My phone is upstairs, I’m just gonna go get it.”

“Wait!” he calls as you stand, pulling you back to the sofa and into him with a hand on the back of your head, “can I kiss you first?”

Without a word, you lean into him, closing the gap between you and feeling his lips on yours for the first time in weeks. That familiar burn of tears threatening to escape your eyes returns, and when you pull away, those beautiful brown eyes are full of concern.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, laughing awkwardly, “happy tears. I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” his smile taking on a more solemn appearance this time. “But I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, please don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t forget that I love you too. No matter what happens. No matter how stupidly self-destructive I act.”

Noah pulls you in for one final embrace before letting you retrieve your phone. You spend time texting back each of your friends, apologising for your absence and telling them you were okay, that Noah is here, and you’d explain more later. Noah, sitting at your right, creates your pizza order, periodically asking what else you’d like adding.

The two of you spend the night watching trash TV, settling into your usual comfort and hurling insults at the characters for making stupid decisions while you eat your food. Only realising after it arrived just how hungry you really were. And when you’re finished eating, Noah and you head upstairs.

You feel like a new person after you shower, coming out of the bathroom to find Noah relaxed against your headboard. The sheets on your bed changed, and a fresh set of clothes lay waiting for you to change into for bed.

Accepting finally how much lighter everything feels when someone is around to help you. You slide under the clean sheets, comforted by the warmth of Noah’s body beside you for the first time in too long. And just as you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of his hand stroking your back, you’re determined to never let things get this bad again. Knowing you need to trust him, because trust is the foundation of love, and you love Noah with every fibre of your being. And despite how hard it is sometimes, you need to let him love you back.

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[acrosstheujiverse]

Your Choice

【📂】 summary: wonwoo’s life is upended when his ex, jiyeon, reappears and demands answers to their unresolved past. struggling between his feelings for jiyeon and his commitment to you, he must decide if he can truly move on or if his history with jiyeon will tear apart his future. 【🖇️】 pairing: chef!wonwoo x gn!chef!reader. 【💿】 genre: romance, angst, fluff, based on movie. 【🧺】 tags: established relationship; ex-girlfriend coming back; implied cheating; unconditional love; forgiveness. 【📦】 w/c: 4.3k+

📬 — author’s note！this story is based on the filipino movie “starting over again.” (some lines are taken directly from the movie--so go watch it to have a better understanding). i admired patty’s mature view on love. she is the embodiment of unconditional love.

(p.s. when i have time, i'll edit this story (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`) i've gotten some constructive criticism, so i'll try to keep those in mind^^)

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wonwoo had never expected it to be this way—heartbroken and alone after his five-year relationship ended so suddenly. his ex-girlfriend, jiyeon, left him without any explanation. no closure, no reasons. just an empty space where their future once seemed so certain. the pain of that loss had been suffocating, leaving him unsure about love for years. but then, you came into his life.

it wasn’t immediate. you started as friends—no expectations, no pressure. but over time, as you cooked together in the kitchen, spent late nights talking about food and life, and shared a small but steady bond, something deeper bloomed between you. slowly, he let his guard down, and before he knew it, he fell for you. six years later, you had built something solid.

during that time, wonwoo knew he was ready to take the next step. he was planning to propose to you. he had no doubts.

but life, as it often does, threw a curveball when jiyeon suddenly returned. seven years had passed since their breakup, but jiyeon was back in his life, and this time, she wanted something. as an architect, she had started working on the renovation of the shared restaurant that you and wonwoo owned, which brought her back into wonwoo's life. what seemed like an innocent project became a difficult reminder of a past that wonwoo thought he had long buried.

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jiyeon couldn’t let go of the past. she couldn’t accept that what they once had was over. every attempt to reach out to wonwoo, every pleading question—“do we still have a chance?” and “do you think our love story deserves a better ending?”—pushed him further into himself. the constant pressure, the relentless pursuit of answers he didn’t have, wore him down. 

one night, she cornered him in the restaurant’s quiet, her eyes filled with desperation and yearning. the weight of her words was too much for him to carry anymore. he had tried to move on, but she wouldn’t let him. when jiyeon kissed him, her lips demanding what she refused to give up, something inside him snapped. 

“is this what you wanted?” he muttered harshly, his breath ragged, before his hands gripped her and he kissed her back forcefully, the line between love and frustration blurring. 

in that charged moment, all the unresolved emotions—love, regret, anger, and longing—took over. what followed was a blur of need and bitterness, both searching for something neither could give: closure. the aftermath was a painful reminder of how far they had fallen.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

the bathroom was eerily quiet, save for the constant hiss of the bathtub faucet, water steadily rising in the porcelain tub. steam filled the air, curling in delicate wisps as it mingled with the coldness of wonwoo’s racing thoughts. he sat on the edge of the tub, hands clasped tightly in front of him, eyes fixed on the running water as if it could cleanse him and wash away the weight of what had just happened.

the sound of his breathing was loud in his ears, the air thick with regret and self-loathing. he could still feel jiyeon’s presence lingering in the space between them—how her touch, and desperation had burned him in ways he wasn’t ready to confront. he knew that things had gone too far. he’d given into something he shouldn’t have, and now everything felt broken beyond repair.

but he couldn't bring himself to face it.

outside the bathroom, the room was quiet. the faint light from the hallway filtered through the crack under the door, casting a soft glow on the darkened bedroom. wonwoo’s phone rested on the nightstand beside the bed, illuminated suddenly by an incoming call.

the screen flashed in the dim room. a contact photo appeared, glowing in the night, but the name—just out of reach, too far for wonwoo to see from the bathroom—flashed in and out of view, its meaning lost on him in his haze.

on the other side of the door, jiyeon stood motionless for a moment. she had heard the phone ring, seen the name. she knew exactly whose photo lit up the screen.

her chest tightened, a slow wave of confusion and sadness washing over her. her eyes lingered on the phone one last time before she turned, her movements slow and deliberate. her footsteps echoed softly in the hallway, the sound growing faint as she left the room.

the air in the bathroom felt heavier as wonwoo remained unaware, lost in his thoughts, the sound of the water still running, the steam fogging the mirrors, as he continued to sit in the quiet. the phone’s glow faded, the call unanswered, as jiyeon quietly slipped out of his life again.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

you and wonwoo were in the kitchen at your friend's grand opening event, cooking for the occasion.

the kitchen was filled with the usual chaos of preparation—pans sizzling, knives chopping, the soft hum of staff moving around in organized frenzy. but amidst it all, there was a quiet, undeniable shift. 

wonwoo had been standing by the counter, his hands working absentmindedly, but his gaze constantly drifted to you, who were busy organizing ingredients. it had been like this for years—your connection, always strong, never needing words. but today, there was an added softness in the air, a shared understanding between you that made everything else disappear.

you glanced up, catching his gaze for a fleeting moment, your lips curving into a small, tender smile. something unspoken passed between you, and in that moment, the entire world seemed to still. without thinking, wonwoo moved toward you, stepping closer until he was standing right in front of you, his presence a calm contrast to the busyness of the kitchen.

without a word, he reached for you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. you looked up at him, your eyes reflecting the years you had shared—the struggles, the victories, and the deep, quiet love that had blossomed in your time together. and just like that, he leaned down and kissed you without hesitation. 

the kiss was slow, tender, like the comfort of returning home after a long journey. it was a kiss that said everything you’ve never needed to say, anchoring you to the present, to the certainty of your love. 

unbeknownst to you, from the corner of the room, through an open door, jiyeon watched. her breath caught in her throat as she stood frozen, her gaze fixed on you two. the warmth of the kitchen, the busy voices of the staff—it all seemed distant now. she could only focus the sight of you and wonwoo sharing such a quiet, intimate moment. her heart twisted, the sharp pang of jealousy gnawing at her chest. 

she had thought—no, she had hoped—that seeing wonwoo move on would be easier, and wouldn’t hurt this much. but the reality was crushing. she had walked away from him years ago, without an explanation, without giving him the chance to fight for their relationship. and now, seeing him so utterly content with you—seeing that love between you two—brought back memories she wasn’t ready to confront. she had been the one to walk away from wonwoo, after all. she had been the one who left without giving him any closure. now, seeing him with someone else, it was as though that pain was fresh again.

when the kiss ended, wonwoo pulled away, his face soft with affection. he didn’t notice jiyeon’s presence, nor did he care at that moment. but jiyeon couldn’t bear to watch any longer, so she turned and walked away, her footsteps firm and resolute as she stepped outside, seeking a moment of calm. 

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

the evening passed, and wonwoo soon returned to your shared restaurant to check on things, leaving you alone in the kitchen to finish the last preparations. you focused on the task at hand—decorating a cake, carefully placing each delicate detail.

jiyeon walked in, her eyes locking onto you with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. she wasn’t here for the event or the food. no, she was here for one thing only—to confront the person who now shared a life with the man she had once loved.

you didn’t look up immediately when jiyeon entered the kitchen. you continued to work as if nothing had changed. but you had known, deep down, that this confrontation was inevitable. jiyeon had been watching you, and she would come for answers.

"i... i loved him first, (y/n)," jiyeon said, her voice barely above a whisper. there was no anger, no confrontation in her words. just the sound of someone holding on to something for too long. "i loved him when he didn’t know what love was. i loved him when he needed someone, and i gave him everything. everything."

you stopped for a moment, looking at her. your expression was steady, but your heart twisted. you felt sympathetic towards her. however, you didn’t respond. instead, you returned to the cake, placing the last finishing touches.

"how sure are you about him, (y/n)? i mean... really," jiyeon’s voice had changed, no longer just soft, but filled with a bitter kind of urgency. "if there’s any doubt in your heart, you need to ask yourself—why hold on? let him go. let him be with the one he truly wants."

you didn’t look at her again, just focused on your task. "are you okay, jiyeon?"

she laughed, but it was hollow. "do you even get it, (y/n)? it’s not about us anymore. it’s about him. if you're not certain about this, don’t make him stay. don't let him settle for something less."

she walked closer, her steps echoing in the silence. "you don’t even realize it, do you? if you let him go now, you could save the both of you from a future of regret. a life of ‘what ifs.’"

you couldn’t stop the pang that shot through you. you turned, your eyes narrowing. "are you sick, jiyeon?"

"come on," she snapped, shaking her head, "stop pretending like we can be nice about this. we both know better than that."

you stared at her, your voice steady but sharp, "and why’s that?"

"because i’m his past," jiyeon said, the words cutting like a knife. "i loved him first. i’ll always own a piece of him that you’ll never have. no matter what."

you pulled back slightly, retreating to the other side of the counter, trying to focus on anything else. but jiyeon wasn’t done. she wasn’t backing down.

"so what, (y/n)? you’re just going to act like it doesn’t matter?" her voice was louder now, more frantic. "don’t tell me you’ve never felt threatened by me. don’t tell me you’ve never wondered if i could still take him back."

her words hit hard, but you stood your ground, meeting her gaze steadily.

jiyeon took a step closer, desperation rising in her voice. "what if you’re just a rebound, huh? what if he’s just settling for you because he couldn’t have me anymore? you don’t think that’s a possibility?"

you met her challenge without flinching, your voice low but firm. "you let go of your chance, jiyeon."

tears welled in her eyes, and she spoke again, voice cracking with emotion. "but i still love him. and he still loves me. please, (y/n). let him go. just set him free."

the words burned. you stared at her, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. you spoke slowly, the quiet pain in your words evident. "shouldn't he be the one telling me this?"

jiyeon’s eyes blazed now, her voice sharp and fierce. "you know him better than that. he’s not the type to hurt anyone on purpose."

your heart ached, but you held firm, shaking your head slightly. "so how sure are you that he loves you more?"

her voice softened, a tinge of sadness in her words. "because i saw it in his eyes. i felt it when he touched me... when he held me... when he kissed me... that kiss... slowly, passionately. a kiss that tells you everything. a kiss that tells you that he feels the same."

your world stopped. for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. "do you mean…?"

"yes, (y/n)," jiyeon whispered, her words like daggers. "more than you think."

a sharp pain shot through you as her words hit. you froze, the air in your lungs thick and suffocating. you blinked quickly, trying to hold back the sting of tears. hearing it from her, so bluntly, felt like a blow to the chest. you tried to push past it, but you couldn’t ignore the tremble in your hands as you set the knife down. "you must have a really lonely life.”

you grabbed a tissue from the counter, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. "you know, jiyeon... wonwoo and i... we don’t have that kind of grand, epic love story. ours started quietly. as friends. our love may not be exciting, but it’s sure. it’s steady."

jiyeon’s lips trembled, but she wiped at her face quickly, trying to regain composure.

"you see," you continued, your voice growing steadier, "with the right amount of trust, respect, and room for mistakes... that’s what makes our love what it is."

you took a breath, letting the weight of your words settle for a second, before finally speaking again. "i love him, jiyeon," you said, your voice quieter but unwavering. "and in love, there is no fear. i hope one day you’ll find that, too."

with that, you opened the door and left the kitchen, stepping into the hallway, where the cool air felt like a stark contrast to the tension you’d just left behind. you leaned against the wall momentarily, trying to calm your racing heart, and only then did the tears come. you let them fall freely, the weight of everything finally hitting you.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

as you walked outside, still processing the weight of your conversation with jiyeon, you couldn’t shake the feeling of exhaustion that had settled deep in your bones. the confrontation had taken everything from you. you had never been one to lash out or let yourself be consumed by anger, but the weight of jiyeon’s desperation, her need for something that wasn’t hers anymore, left you defeated.

jiyeon, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to let go.

jiyeon couldn't bear the feeling of the weight of her actions pressed on her chest like a suffocating vice.

in a sudden, frantic moment of regret, jiyeon ran after you, her heart racing. "y/n, wait! please!" she called out, grabbing your arm with force, her fingers digging into your skin. "i’m sorry. i never meant to hurt you. i just... i just wanted him back. i was wrong."

your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face jiyeon again. your heart was heavy with compassion for this woman who had been broken by her choices. yet, as much as you wanted to ease her pain, you couldn’t lose sight of your peace. 

"you’re not alone, jiyeon," you said, your voice quieter now. "but you can’t drag me down with you. let go."

jiyeon didn’t want to hear it. in a desperate attempt to make you listen, she held on harder, her grip tightening as she clung to you with all her might. the scaffolding above them, already unstable from the ongoing construction, groaned ominously under the weight of their struggle. neither one of you noticed the danger until it was too late.

the next moment, everything collapsed.

the scaffolding gave way with a deafening crash. metal and wood splintered, falling violently around them. the deafening sound of the collapse filled the air, and you and jiyeon were caught in the wreckage. 

you screamed as the debris hit you, and pain shot through her body like a wave of fire. jiyeon cried out too, but the chaos drowned her voice. the world spun into a blur of pain and confusion. both of you were pinned beneath the fallen structure, but you had taken the brunt of the impact. blood trickled from your forehead, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

wonwoo had barely processed the call when he was rushing through the hospital halls, panic rising with every step. you and jiyeon had been rushed in after an accident during the renovation, but the details were vague. his only concern was you, the person he had loved for six years.

when he arrived at the er (emergency room), his heart stopped. multiple nurses hurriedly pushed two stretchers, one carrying you and the other jiyeon.

jiyeon was closest to him, her face pale, her body bruised. 

she stirred slightly, but her eyes fluttered open only for a moment. "i’m sorry," she whispered, her voice weak. "i didn’t mean for this to happen."

wonwoo felt a stab of guilt, but there was no time for lingering. he stood up quickly, turning toward your stretcher. his heart broke when he saw you lying unconscious, your body battered and bruised from the fall. his world narrowed down to you—his thoughts centered on nothing but your safety. 

he moved to your side, his hand taking yours tightly. "(y/n)," he whispered, his voice desperate. "please, stay with me."

but you didn’t respond.

as time seemed to stretch, wonwoo stayed by your side, unable to leave. his heart ached with every passing second, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily on him. he hadn’t realized how much you had come to mean to him, how much you had become the center of his world.

and now, seeing you like this, so fragile, so vulnerable, he couldn’t imagine a life without you. the thought of losing you was more terrifying than any pain he had ever known.

"please," he whispered, tears threatening to fall. "i can’t lose you."

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

you woke in a sterile, quiet hospital room, the sound of beeping machines surrounding you. the sharp pain in your side made you wince, and you could feel the weight of the bandages wrapped around you. but when you opened my eyes, you saw him.

wonwoo was sitting beside you, holding my hand. his face was pale, his eyes wide with concern.

you winced faintly, though the pain still lingered. "wonwoo," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he squeezed your hand tighter, the tears finally spilling over. "you’re here. you’re safe."

"why didn't you tell me?"

"i’m sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "i'm sorry. i didn't know how to—"

"my love is greater than your failures, wonwoo, but don’t play with my feelings," you interrupted, your voice hoarse. "be fair. tell me your honest feelings because i can accept whatever your choice may be. if it’s me, then it’s me. if it’s her, then it’s her. but you have to make a choice."

wonwoo’s face contorted with guilt, but before he could say anything, you held up a hand. "i’m not asking for an answer now, wonwoo. i just need you to be honest with me, because i deserve that."

he looked at you, his eyes filled with pain, but you could see something else there, too. a recognition. a quiet realization of how far you've come together, and how much you've built.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

the next day, wonwoo held the flowers carefully in his hands, his steps slow as he approached the door.

wonwoo sat quietly beside jiyeon’s hospital bed, the room dimly lit. the soft beeping of the machines was the only sound that filled the silence between them. he held the bouquet in his hands, almost as if unsure of what to do with them.

jiyeon’s gaze flickered up, her eyes searching for reassurance. "how are they?"

"they're okay... it's just going to take time for them to heal."

her expression softened, a mix of regret and sorrow clouding her features. "i'm really sorry."

his eyes lingered on jiyeon for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with something deeper—something raw.

"i know this might be difficult for you to hear," he said, choosing his words carefully, "but every time i think about everything that happened... i always end up thinking about them. about (y/n)."

jiyeon’s eyes flickered to him, her gaze sharpening slightly, almost as if she was testing his sincerity.

he took a deep breath, his eyes drifting to the floor for a moment. "back then, i thought i had everything with you. i thought we were going to be together forever. but when you left... you left without a word, jiyeon. without any explanation. no reason. it just... happened. and i was left behind, questioning everything. i wanted to hold on, to fight for us, but you just... you walked away."

his voice caught briefly, a painful silence filling the space between them. he swallowed hard, gathering himself before continuing.

"i don’t think i’ve ever told you this before, but when you left, it felt like a part of me died, jiyeon. i was empty. i didn’t know how to move forward. you were the person i thought i’d spend my life with, and you just... vanished. i couldn’t understand it. and for a long time, i carried that weight—wondering if i could have done something differently. wondering if i missed something. but you never gave me the chance to know, and that’s something i’ve had to live with."

wonwoo’s grip tightened around the bouquet, his knuckles whitening.

"but then i met (y/n)," he continued, his voice growing steadier, the weight of his words anchoring him in truth. "and for the first time in a long time, i felt like i wasn’t broken anymore. (y/n) was there when i was at my lowest. they didn’t walk away. they didn’t leave me to figure things out on my own. they helped me rebuild myself—not by telling me everything would be okay, but by showing me how to heal."

he let out a breath, his eyes locked with jiyeon’s now, a fierce, unwavering resolve behind them. "that’s why i’m here now, jiyeon. not because i need closure from you, but because i need you to understand that what we had is gone. when i look at (y/n), i don’t just see a person i’m in love with. i see my future. they're the one i want to grow old with. they're the one who taught me what real love looks like. and now... when i think about losing them? i can’t even begin to imagine it. the thought of losing them—it would feel like dying a second time. i wouldn’t survive that, jiyeon. not after everything we’ve been through together. not after everything they've done for me."

his voice softened, but there was no mistaking the conviction in it.

"(y/n) has become my everything. they're the person who makes me feel like i’m enough, even on my worst days. and i realized something—true love isn’t about clinging to something that’s already fallen apart. it’s about being willing to let go of what doesn’t serve you anymore, and choosing the person who brings out the best in you, who builds with you, who loves you even when you’re at your worst. that person is (y/n)."

he took another deep breath before continuing, his tone quieter now, but resolute. "for that reason, jiyeon, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for how things ended between us, but i’m not going back. i’m not going to turn away from the life i’ve built with them. i’ve made my choice. and that choice is (y/n)."

for a long moment, jiyeon remained silent. the faintest flicker of something—perhaps a trace of regret—passed over her face, but she didn’t say anything. she only looked away, her eyes welling up with tears that she quickly blinked away. maybe she had expected this. maybe part of her had known all along that this day would come.

wonwoo stood up, his legs stiff from sitting so long, and carefully placed the bouquet on the side table. he didn’t look back at jiyeon as he turned to leave the room. 

before he reached the door, jiyeon’s voice broke through the quiet, barely audible but filled with emotion. "wonwoo..." she said, trembling slightly. "i... i hope you’re happy with them."

wonwoo paused for a moment, his hand resting on the doorframe. his heart ached for her, but there was no uncertainty in him. he had decided. 

"i am," he said quietly, his voice resolute, but with a trace of gentleness. "i really am."

for the first time in a long while, wonwoo realized something that brought him a profound sense of peace: healing wasn’t about forgetting; it was about embracing the scars, the memories, and choosing to love despite them. true love, he understood, was never about perfection. it was about fighting for something worth holding onto, day after day. love wasn’t defined by who loved first or who loved more. it was about the daily decision to choose each other. and as long as that choice was made, nothing else mattered.

with his heart at ease, he stepped into a new chapter, ready to continue writing his story—not as a man defined by the past, but as one who had found his way forward, not by looking back, but by moving on.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

"will you marry me?" wonwoo asked, his voice steady, yet his eyes shimmered with an emotion so raw it left you breathless. his hands, slightly trembling, held out the ring to you, as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

your heart skipped a beat, and the world around you seemed to fall away into a serene silence. all that mattered was him—the man who had been your strength, your comfort, your home. the man you had chosen to love, no matter the hurdles life had thrown your way.

"yes." the word came out as a soft whisper, but it carried a weight that filled the room with warmth. overcome with joy, you cupped his face in your hands, searching his eyes for the countless moments of love he'd given you, the depth of everything you'd shared. and then, without hesitation, you kissed him—soft at first, but filled with all the love you had been holding onto. your lips, a promise of forever.

— fin.

[samhainsflesh]

Midnight Hour (Cowboy!Logan x Fem!Reader — Western AU)

Summary: It’s past midnight. The saloon is closed and you’re fixing the mess that’s been left behind.But the night takes a twist when Logan uses the bar to hide from the town’s sheriff.

Tags: western, enemies to lovers, angst, sexual tension, passionate kissing, a bit of fluff.

Words: 2.3 k

A/C: I’ve been watching a bunch of westerns lately so I had to do something with Logan.

AO3 link:

✞﹏𓃗﹏✞

You are cleaning up the broken bottles and beer spills of that night after the saloon closed. The wooden doors are shut. Past midnight, death lingers in the valley; the only sounds are the distant howls of coyotes. Every now and then, you’d hear the crack of gunshots, the frantic pounding of horses’ hooves running from one place to other, or an occational scream cutting through the darkness. But not a single soul dares to interfere in the affairs of those who own the night. 

You take a glance out the window. The wind stirs up the dirt in clouds, carrying it across the streets. The full moon lights up the shape of two horses riding in the distance. It’s the sheriff and his right hand going their rounds, circling like wolves — searching for something, or someone. 

Out of curiosity, you lean out of the window for a better look, but as soon as you stick your head out, a hand covers your mouth. Your heart leaps as you find yourself face-to-face with a man with a cowboy hat, mutton chops and a plaid shirt looking at you dead in the eye.

"Let me in, darlin’. I’ll pay for the beers" he mutters.

You try to speak, but his hand tightens over your mouth as he gets closer to you.

"You don’t wanna get yourself hurt now, do ya?’

You shake your head.

“Atta’ girl. Open the door.”

With your trembling hand, you unlock the door. The man comes in a blink of an eye, asking you to lock the door again. He procedes to bring the window shutters down.

You run towards the counter, your eyes locking on a broken bottle lying on the floor. Grabbing it by the neck, you use the jagged edge like a weapon, pointing it at the stranger.

“What do you want?” you tell him as you step closer.

He grins under the brim of his cowboy hat and leans back in one of the chairs, kicking his boots up onto the table.

“Relax, I don’t carry guns. Don’t like’em.” He says holding his hands up, showing you they’re empty. “You can put that down”

“What about a knife? you got one?”

He chuckles, quite amused, but his smile fades quickly “Look, I don’t have much time, I need you to listen carefully��.

“We don’t have much money if that’s what you’re after.”

“We?” he narrows his eyes “Is someone else here?”

“No” you answer way too quickly.

A noise that comes from the backroom of the saloon draws his attention.

“No?” he stands up towering you “I think you’re lyin’ to me sweetie” 

You try show you’re not afraid by sitting down besides him, holding his gaze. “Just tell me what you want, jackass” you say firmly, though yours hands shake a little. 

The stranger notices this. 

“You got some nerve in you” he leans back in his seat again.

“I deal with men like you every night”

He chuckles, “I don’t think you’ve ever met a man like me” he makes a brief pause “You can call me Logan”

“ I’m not telling you my name”

“That’s fine, the less we now about each other, the better”

“Agreed” You say, placing the broken bottle on the table but keeping it within reach.

“Alright, speak, girl” he says firmly. 

“That’s the owner of the saloon in the backroom. You don’t get to hurt him, you hear me? he’s old, he can barely hear a thing”

Logan’s expression softens just a bit “I won’t do anything to you or him, as long as you behave. Listen, I got into some trouble, alright? The sheriff’s out looking for me. I just need to lay low for a couple of hours, and then I’m gone. I’ve had enough of this damn town already.”

“Are you a bounty hunter?”

He scoffs. “I wish I was one. At least i’d get paid for this crap”. He leans closer to you, dropping his voice “Lock the old man up in the backroom. You’ll stay here and cover for me. And don’t even think about trying anything stupid, sweetheart” He continues “Also, I know everybody around here keeps a shotgun behind the counter, so you’re gonna hand over the one you’ve got ”. 

You narrow your eyes and rise slowly, your movements are delibarte. You head towards the counter, aware of his boots following behind you. The weight of his gaze presses against your back, and every time you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are locked on you, unflinching. 

You grab the shotgun from the counter and lay it down in front of him. “There you have it…Logan”. A smirk draws in his face as he hears his name coming from your lips.

“Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Before you respond, The back door opens. The old man steps in. Panic flashes across his face. Though his hearing is far from perfect, his instincts are still sharp enough to grab the shotgun from the counter.

Instantly, Logan grabs you by the waist and pulls you firmly against him. His arms encircle you, holding you immobile. And then it happens. 

Claws cut from the flesh of his knuckles. The bones extent aiming the sharp ends at you.

The old man stares horrified in desbelief as he loads the gun “What… what are you?”

“Right now, I’m your fucking problem.” He says as the edge of his claws come close to your neck.“Put the gun down, it’s useless”.

Logan notices the genuine fear in your eyes, although you try to take hold of your trembling body. 

He leans closer to you. His warm breath brushing your ear as he whispers “Don’t worry beautiful. I’m not going to use it on ya. Just help me calm him down”. A weird mixture of unease and desire twistes in your insides.

“H-hey, leave the goddamn gun. He’s going to kill us both if you don’t, old man” you gesture the man as you speak to make your point. At first the old man resists. But he loosens his grip when he reads your lips saying : “please”. 

The second the old man lowers his guard, Logan knocks him out. 

As soon as the body hits the floor you run towards the man to check on him. He’s just momentarily passed out.

Anger clouds your thoughts as you stand up and sucker punch Logan straight in the face. 

“Damn. I deserved it, alright” he responds, rubbing his jaw.

You raise your hand to give him another swing but he grabs you by your wrists. His grip is firm enough to stop you but very careful so he doesn’t hurt you.

“Careful, darlin’” he warns in a serious tone

“Bastard” you spit on him.

“He’ll be okay” 

“He better be or-”

“Or what? you’ll kill me?” he interrupts, leaving you speechless.

Your head is a mess. Confusion, anger, attraction, everything at once. 

“I need your help” he speaks softly letting go of your wrists. “Just need to finish this and I’ll never bother you and that old fuck again.” You nod. “And don’t hit me again”.

He releases your wrists. You both stare each other for a second without uttering a single word.

“First, help me carry the old man upstairs. I’m not chaining him in the backroom” you demand.

Logan helps you lay the body of the old man in the bedroom upstairs. Time passes by in that small room as you both sit in silence, looking through the window.

“How can you do that? that thing with your bones” you finally break the ice again.

He shrugs “ I was born like this”. 

“Are there more like you?”

“Hey, I thought you said you didn’t want to know anything ‘bout me”

“That was 5 minutes ago, previous to the… claws” you pause “Do they hurt when they come out?”

“Every time” 

You get closer and closer to him. He’s very still, holding his arms crossed. He analises your movements with his eyes. You extent your hand to touch his knuckles but his first reaction is to pull away, a little scared. You notice there’s a vulnerable side to him, you know he’s scared to hurt you with his claws. His hands show no sign of damage, the skin is completely healed. “Fascinating”

You can sense his eyes locking in you with a soft gaze. “You ain’t scared?”

“Well, a bit” you respond with sincerity “but I’m mainly surprised” pause “Is this why they’re chasing you?”

“Well, it’s a lil complex…”

Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of the pound of the horses’ hooves marching towards the saloon. The sheriff and his right hand nock the front door of the bar.

You grab him by the shirt and shove him into your closet. “Stay quiet” 

Dowstairs, the sheriff saluts you “G’night, girl. You were closing?.”

“Yes”

“I know it’s supposed to be closed by now but may we come in? We’ve been searching for this looney in town for hours and we’re thirsty as hell”

“I don’t know, I should ask the owner. I’m not allowed-”

“Come on, it’ll be just a minute” the right hand insists.

“ Just a minute”.

Both men enter the room as it was theirs. "Where’s that old timer of mine?"

“Sleeping. He was very tired”.

“Poor old man huh, always working. Serve us some beer please ” 

You hand them their drinks. As they finish the beers in a hurry, The sheriff’s wingman noticies a spot of blood on the floor and broken glass, alongside Logan’s hat.

“Tough night?”

“Yeah, some fellas got into a fight. One even forgot his hat. You know how those animals are”

“those pigs” replies the right hand.

As you try to keep the sheriff distracted, a loud creak echoes from upstairs. Your heart stops.

“What was that?”

“Just the old man. He sometimes moves in his sleep”

“Mind if I check upstairs?”

“No problem” you curse under your breath.

In the room, the old man snores. The sheriff scans the room with his eyes. Everything seems in order. He looks back at you. 

“You sure you’re alright, miss? You look a little pale.”

“yeah, it’s just a headache” 

“Alright, we won’t bother you no longer. Thanks for the drinks. If anything happens you let me know. Good night.”

Both men leave the place, riding their horses.

You quickly go upstairs. “Logan? Logan?” you call for him with a hint of despair in your voice.

The closet door creaks open, and Logan steps out, dusting himself off.

“This damn thing wasn’t built for a guy like me,” he mutters, glaring at the splintered wood.

You sit on the floor, overwhelmed by the situation. 

“You were worried about me weren’t ya?” he answers fixing himself up. “You actually helped a convict escape, that’s a federal crime ma´am”

You are still absorbed in your thoughts. 

“You’d make a hell of a sidekick, y’know ”

You glare at him without answering.

“Or a hell of a lover.” adds with a playful smirk

You stand abruptly. 

“I’d never be with someone like you” you reply as you go downstairs, avoiding him.

He follows your steps. “You wouldn’t date a freak?’”

“I wouldn’t date a criminal”

“So you don’t mind me being a freak but you do mind me being a criminal? you’re adorable ma’am”

“I’m not” you tell him while you pick up his hat from the floor trying to return it to him.

“You are” he gently grabs your chin with his fingers. 

You feel the sudden impulse to kiss him. Both your lips close in a gentle kiss that escalates into a more intense one. The rush of adrenaline accumulated from the previous tense situation makes you both desperate for each other. Although he was much stronger than you, he let himself be guided by you against the counter. He raises you like a feather over the bar, placing his body between your legs. His kisses run through your neck, your arms. Every now and then, your tongue reaches his mouth with unspeakable hunger.

You pull him away. 

“Something’s wrong?” he asks trying to catch his breath.

“No. Yes” you struggle to sort out you feelings.

“I’ve got a couple of hours left here, if you wanna… get into it. I don’t mind doing it on the counter.”

“What about him?” You nod toward the room upstairs.

“Well, we’d just have to keep it quiet, wouldn’t we?”

You chuckle at his playful manners, but your smile fades as reality sinks in.

“I think you should go Logan.” You reach up, fixing a strand of his hair that got messed up during your heated moment.

“ That’s what you really want?” he mutters softly, looking straight into your eyes.

“Well… no” you admit after a pause. “But he’s going to wake up anytime soon. I need to fix this mess. Next time you come here, we’ll finish our business”.

“It’s a deal”

You’re still on the counter, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist. You place his hat back on his head. He gives you a small, genuine smile. For a man who seemed so rough and dangerous, there’s a softness to him now that makes your chest tighten.

You place a goodbye kiss on his lips “You’re not that bad for an outlaw with… claws”

“Thank you for everything, sugar. I’m really sorry for all this.”

Before stepping out, he glances back at you. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Not yet boy, You’ll have to wait till next time”

“Can’t wait, ma’am” He tips his hat with a smirk before disappearing into the night.

✞﹏𓃗﹏✞

[nipotazzi]

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. - Chapter 1

"C’mon, Lusk! It's just a little jump!”

“We’ll be here to grab you in case something goes wrong, sweetie!”

The little child looked all the way up there: his mothers were just ahead, he only needed to make a smooth super jump to reach them. He tries to calculate the distance and necessary strength for it, but for some reason, the results are utterly inconclusive.

“No silly math! You just have to do it!”

Silly? Math isn't silly. Still, maybe momma Pearl was right: he just had to try it, if he wanted to succeed.

Lusk takes a deep breath, one of the first behavioral lessons given him by the creator to ease himself to calm… and begins to run, faster and faster with each consecutive step! 

Halfway through, he quickly changes into his very small swim form, then charges the tentacles like a spring… and jumps!

He makes sure to not use his floating abilities in this form to cheat, and while taking this precaution Lusk realizes that he's already far, far high in the air: He's so much faster than gravity! He can do it! He can reach them!! 

He's… slowing down.

He can't do it.

That shouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened if…

No. Take a deep breath.

Smollusk knows that they will just say something along the lines of “better than nothing at all,” and that he’ll “get better at it in no time, you just need to try it more.” 

Disheartened, but resigned to such a result, like always, he begins to float towards them in order to avoid the fall.

But something tugs his tentacles.

He looks down, and sees a chain, as long as his sight can go, attached to his body. 

Lusk immediately tries to slip away from it, but nothing happens. His small size cannot handle the sudden extreme weight brought upon it. He searches upwards, starting to grow scared, but the only thing that exchanges his pleading eyes… are the disappointed and clearly annoyed looks on the faces of his mothers.

“C-creator! CREATOR!! HELP ME!”

“...why?”

“W-what?”

“Yeah, why should we?”

Lusk freezes, terrified of the cold tone of her creator.

“Look, Marina! Little kid can't even make a jump this easy. I'm soooo embarrassed to think that we’ve been taking care of such a monstrous failure.”

“Oh, Pearlie, no need to be so rude. We all know that this… mistake… is just one delusion after the other.”

“N-no! No!! I'm not a mistake! I-I’ll be better, I promise! Please!!”

“Are you crying now? Tsk-tsk… how pathetic. Let's go, Rina, don't even look at it.”

“Make way… I don’t want to stay a millisecond longer than I need to.”

“NO! WAIT! WAAIIIITTT!!!”

Lusk falls down, the chain trapping him tighter. It's a bottomless fall, where his screams could echo for eternity. There is nothing else, but the weight of his failures, bringing him down.

Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/F

Gen

Fandom:

Splatoon (Video Games)

Relationship:

Marina/Pearl (Splatoon)

Characters:

Agent 8 (Splatoon)

Dedf1sh | Acht (Splatoon)

Pearl (Splatoon)

Marina (Splatoon)

Order | Smollusk (Splatoon)

The Heavenly Melody (Splatoon)

Additional Tags:

Christ(squid)mas special

half wholesome half angst with a good ending

self trauma due to personal delusions

Angst with a Happy Ending

Family Feels

Family Bonding

Family Drama

Family Dynamics

first time moms

Post-Splatoon 3: Side Order

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Language: English

Summary: Pearl and Marina are always trying to be the best moms a kid could ever wish for, and if there is something that they really don't want to mess up… is their Lusk's first experience of the most wonderful time of the year! But will the family be able to help him work trough his own fears at the strongest that they have ever been?

Happy New Year everyone! As always, comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated. Have a good day!

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[daz4i]

My fic preference is character focused long fics :D Thank u king ur saving me some of the soul searching work 🙏

ah ofc!!! ^w^ i don't have a lot of those on hand i think 🤔 but lemme link the ones i do, and in the same breath i'll encourage my followers to reblog with their own recommendations for you 🤲

skk + platonic dazai&atsushi, dazai backstory, p lighthearted even tho it handles topics like trauma and other regular dazai related angst!

apologies for the weird link^ i think it's bc it's only available for logged in users (i just hope the link works properly 😭). very sweet t4t skk 👀 warning for heavy topics like self harm and suicidal thoughts. also in case that's a dealbreaker, this one has a lot of smut so heads up for that! 🫡

i'm gonna be so fr with you it's been a year since i read that one so i don't remember much. but i remember it was good 👍 and overall character focused! and i remember liking chuuya's characterization which i assume is what you're looking for rn :P

also idk if this is what you're looking for exactly but:

i can't not rec this one bc it's my favorite. and i looove chuuya there but i'd call this one more plot focused than character focused really 🤔 also please mind the tags!

aaaaand i think that's it 🙏 i hope these suffice at least as a start! and i once again encourage my followers to give you their own recs in the notes c:

[lunarriviera]

heihua prompt: hei xiazi caring for xiao hua in between the final scene in the tomb in mystery of the abyss and the final scene of them together the film, perhaps? i am a glutton for some h/c sprinkled with angst.

OH NO, I...already wrote it? but I could write it again! with more hurt, maybe?

•

only feels this raw right now (7238 words) by lunarriviera fandom: 重启之深渊疑冢 | Reunion: Mystery of the Abyss rating: E relationships: Hei Xiazi/Xie Yuchen tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Fluff and Angst, hei xiazi is unbelievably stubborn, but so is xie yuchen, First Time, no beta we die like Nagas, they're so in love it makes them look stupid series: Part 6 of untitled heihua project summary:

Xie Yuchen is finally well enough to get out of the hospital, but not yet quite well enough to go back to Beijing and renew his search for the cure to Hei Xiazi's incipient blindness. Yes, that would be the same Hei Xiazi who, if he keeps pampering Xie Yuchen like this, is going to get punched in the mouth.

[triangularz]

The list is updated fairly frequently, so reblogged versions may not be most recent; click here to be sure you’re viewing the latest.

Monthly upkeep sweep (active in last 3 months; see also "Inactive w/Content section): 2/4/2025

P-Z

IMPORTANT NOTES + #-G | H-O

List usage: Thoughts welcome- is it being used? This project is my little contribution to our space here on tumblr, having seen comments about difficulties finding black authors and artists. I'm familiar with an incredible number of creators now; I'm so proud of us. I choose to do this unsolicited and unfortunately, this may not be a needed solution. I formatted the list about a year ago and have maintained it, which I think is something important and unique about it (every entry checked about once a month), hoping it might be beneficial. Many of you send thanks for being added to the list. But within the last year, less than five individuals have shared with me that they've actually used it (likes and reblogs aren't necessarily indicative of that) and very, very few have either asked to be added or sent additional writers/artists my way. Those requests have been clear virtually since the beginning. Without feedback I assume the list isn't impactful and that's fine. I'll wait until the end of March to decide whether to continue. Love you all! ❤︎

H-O

IMPORTANT NOTES + #-G

Welcome & Celebrate! Darlings: This is a growing, non exclusive directory of Black individuals who primarily create fanart and fanfiction (different backgrounds, experiences, interests, etc.) and represent a variety of preferences, styles, subgenres, fandoms, and a bit of original art and fiction.✔️

Let's make this thing successful. 1) If you find works you enjoy, reblog of course, but let me know (comment, dm, ask)! I love kudos from creators who are added, but it's critical to know the list is being used- that's its purpose! 2) This is a live resource; add the link to your pinned post ✔️

Want to be added? Click here and read "Growing It"✔️

abbrevs/definitions/listing of genres, styles, etc. here

when you find something you love: reblog comment repeat!

content tags are not all inclusive.

mix of mentions and hyperlinks because of tumblr’s limitations on each.

no masterlist? go to search within the blog for fandom titles, characters, featured tags, etc.

If a creator has not been active within the last 3 months, the entry moves to "Inactive w/Content" section. After 6 mi the, the entry is removed.

P

paperbaghero (original art- you tubers ex. mark plier, tyler

scheid, others) peachiseas (original art)

peachy-dove (op- sfw/nsfw)

@peachyblkdemonslayer- (fanart- jjk, sk8, tokrev, dc)

@pianta (fanart, original art)

pieflavoredartz (jjba fanart-ex. kira yoshikage,

diavolo)

pinkmirth (jjk, tekken, castlevania, mha, aot- mainly smut,

fluff/smut,✒️ )

potofstewie (aot, ds- smut, fluff, angst, horror)

preciousamethyst (black butler, sk8 infinity, mha, op, ty,

jjk, gangsta- smut, fluff, angst)

@prettyfilmz (wwe, spider-man- smut,🔹)

princessphilly (hockey, marvel, top gun maverick, blk

reader, blk oc- smut, kinks, fluff)

prncessrindou (tr- sfw/nsfw) prinnay (original art)

pwncez (jjk, mha- nsfw,✒️ )

R

@rafesfuckdoll (outer banks- smut, fluff, angst)

rahonn (ocs, one piece- killer, eustass kid- plot, angst, dc,

series)

ramonathinks (jjk, aot- smut)

ramp-it-up (daveed diggs, rafael casal, c. evans, s. stan,

hamilfam- series, fluff, smut, series,✒️ )

ranspuppy (tr, bl, hxh, h!!, knb, aot, jjk- plot, smut, dark

content, occasional fluff, black fem!reader)

reijnders (original art) renlo (original art)

@rhodesrider (wwe- key and jimmy uso, cody rhodes, roman

reigns, more- sfw/nsfw themes, plot, ocs)

rockybloo (original art)

roeroe-world (method man, devante swing, ryan destiny,

tupac shakur, nasir jones)

@ryomens-vixen (jjk- smut, dc)

S

@s-sugustar (aot, bleach, atsv/spiderman, naruto, one

piece, jjk, tr- dc, fluff, angst)

sageispunk (the bear, they cloned tyrone, triple frontier,

marvel, the last of us- smut, fluff, angst, dc)

salaciousdoll (tr, jjk, aot- smut)

sammysficfactory (aot, jjba, kpop, jjk, marvel- fluff, angst,

comedy, hcs, suggestive)

@sanjisluvbot (op, jjba, kenyan ashura, jjk, baki, naruto-

smut, angst, emotion, dc, yandere, series, ✒️ )

sassginaswanmills (wwe- smut, fluff, angst)

satellitedusterart (original art, ocs universes- sci-fi, fantasy

horror, religious horror, surreal comedy)

satorhime (jjk- fluff, comfort, emotion, nsfw)

saturn-rings-writes (the haunting of hill house, oscar isaac

hernandez roles, p. pascal roles, moon knight, avengers- fluff,

plot, smut)

screampied (jjk- sfw, nsfw)

@seiishindraws (ocs, original art)

@shegetsburned (jjk, kny, op,🔹)

shewrites02- (op, naruto, black panther- sfw/nsfw, fluff,

smut, plot) silly-thinkings (batman, jaime reyes- plot,

series)

@shishibazz (bleach- smut, fluff, dc)

sintiva (aot, jjk, cod- nsfw) sleepybrainiac (fanart, ocs,

original art) slippinninque (they cloned tyrone (fontaine)-

smut, fluff)

@slvttyplum (jjk, cm- smut, fluff, angst)

@soft-girl-musings (moon knight, the hobbit- sfw, fluff,

angst,✒️ ) soft-persephone (the flash, they cloned tyrone,

moon knight, p. pascal, minx, new girl, stumptown, p. pascal

roles, more- plot, sfw, series,✒️ )

southpauz (original art- ocs, fanart)

@st4rbwrry (formerly hellaville; aot, ds, jjk, naruto, bleach,

seven deadly sins- smut/nsfw, dc)

@starcrossedxwriter (m.b. jordan- plot, angst, smut, dark

content, series,✒️ )

starrysharks (original art, ocs, fanart- reassassination,

splatoon, ultimate excalibur, novabridge)

starslyt (jjk, aot, good girls)

strangeauthor (ocs, series) strwberry-halo (original art)

@starberryfarms (dungeon meshi, hq!!- fluff, suggestive,

series,🔹)

suguella (jjk- smut)

sunasbon (jjk- smut, angst, plot)

@sunshinescribes (one piece - sfw & nsfw, pwp, fluff,

series)

sweetbunanarchy (ocs, original art)

sweetdonutsart (ocs, original art)

sweet-potatah-pie (the princess and the frog- plot, sfw,

nsfw,✒️ )

T

tayatimiko (fanart- jjk, op, naruto, zelda, h!!, more)

tchallasbabymama (black panther- smut, fluff, angst,

series,✒️ )

@tetsuskei (h!!, genshin, one piece, fluff, smut, angst, dc)

@thecoochiefairy (jjk, aot- romance, smut, plot, emotion,

fantasy, comfort, black niche, + southern cultures, ✒️ )

thee-horny-thicky (mha, jjk, cod, ds, buddy daddies- sfw,

nsfw)

@thegifstories- (rhianna, childish gambino, beyonce, trey

songs, yahya abdul mateen II, trevante rhodes, doja cat, ryan

coogler, dave east, many more- series,✒️ )

theninthwonder (wwe- jey uso, jimmy uso, r. reigns, solo

sikoa- sfw, nsfw, angst, plot, series,✒️ )

@therabbitthatpostthings (jjk, ds, arcane- fluff, smut,

angst, plot)

thotsforvillainrights (mha- sfw, smut, plot, series)

@tiazvni (aot, jjk, more- smut)

tododeku-or-bust (PatroChilles- romance, hurt/comfort,

drama, ocs)

@torawro formerly diorsbrando (bleach, naruto,

mha, aot, jjk, jjba, more-fluff, smut, dc, incl. 11k)

toydrill (original and fanart- q-force, care bear stars, lolita

fashion, more)

@triangularz (op, jjk- depth/meaning, plot, comfort, humor,

fluff, sexually explicit)

@trippinsorrows (roman reigns- fluff, smut, plot, ocs,

series,🔹)

tsukiboo (h!!, aot, jjk- smut, some fluff)

tteokdoroki (jjk, bl, bnha, h!!, aot- smut, fluff, angst, plot, dc)

tvgals (mha, jjk) tyniamel (original art, ocs)

U

umber-cinders (black panther- smut, plot, dc, omegaverse/

abo, teratophilia, ✒️ most fics are 10k, incl. 209k)

usoppsstar (bleach, naruto, ds, h!!, spiderman, avatar the

last airbender, tmnt- fluff, smut, dc, angst)

uzumaki-rebellion (black panther- plot, nsfw, series, ✒️ ,

high word counts)

V

vvynia (the last of us- lgbtq, smut, fluff)

W

wakandamama (black panther, eternals, the bear, euphoria-

sfw, angst, smut, positive emotions, series,✒️ , incl. 20k+ )

wakandas-vibranium (marvel, they cloned tyrone, the last of

us, narcos, the mandalorian, series,✒️ )

wide-nose-and-wonderful (snowfall- sfw, angst, soft smut,

drama, series,✒️ incl. 39k+)

X

xblackreader (fanart, writing- wakanda forever attuma x

okoye, the bear, omegaverse,✒️ high word counts)

xoxovivafics (ocs, marvel ex. brunnhilde/valkyrie, bucky

barnes, loki, m’baku, more, stranger things- mature, explicit,

sfw,✒️ )

xsapphirescrollsx (s. stan, h. cavill, c. evans- sfw, smut,

dc,✒️ )

Y

@yoursweetinoccentdreams (mha, jjk, aot, ds- nsfw)

yuta-nation (jjk, genshin impact- smut, dc)

Z

zombinary (original art- some incl. horror, gore)

zu8her (haikyuu, op, jjk- smut)

▪️

INACTIVE WITH CONTENT

skillbattle (original art) periodbloodmanipulator (jjk- smau, hcs, fluff, nsfw) spliffymae (aot, jjk, bnha, h!!- fluff, smut, plot, series,✒️ ) residentfromnowhere (ds, jjk- smut, fluff, angst, yandere, kny imagines) shaguro (jjk, aot- sfw, nsfw) smiley-babe (mha- smut) @syntheticseraton1n (tr, op- smut) spitcrank (aot, jjk- smut, fluff, humor, dc)

▪️

Besos, Hazel 💋

blk fanfic writer, triangularz

▪️

**Nothing about this list is official or bound by any kind of external requirements/others' expectations- it's a project l've created. There are some content topics I'm uncomfortable with, so if I happen to skim, and note that a blog contains:

• glorification of/detail recounting of themes like inc*st, harm to minors, rape/noncon, glorification of abuse or similar, I will not add.

As I spot check or if others notify me and I verify, I'll remove. I'll do so quietly, no call outs or big to do's

If I don't feel comfortable with other topics, etc. I have the right to exclude. I'm talking primarily about content concerns, not blog exclusion because of petty foolishness or anything like that. I want as many of us as possible to be included! ✔️

[etherealeeknow]

like always

• it’s rated a for angst, peeps~

• pairing: chan x y/n (jisung cameo ahaha)

• wc: 500

• tw: chan is a jerk, explicit language, mention of sex- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: the setting, characterizations, and plot of this story are purely fictional. i adore chan and have no intention to put him in a bad light or anything. also, please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes.

—

“what are we?” you ask, shaking as you try to fight back the tears from spilling by biting your lip. even the pain and the metallic taste on your tongue are far better compared with the look on his face. “i- i don’t know. i’m sorry.” is all he said before walking away. “cut! woo, superb acting, y/n and chan! let’s take five- no, no, let’s take fifteen because you all deserve it!” says jisung, your classmate as well as the director for your mini series project. wiping your tears, you thank everyone involved and follow chan’s footsteps—like always.

“chan,” you call once the two of you reach somewhere secluded, but he doesn’t answer. “chan,” you repeat, still no answer. “chan!” this time he turns around, pupils dilating and jaw tensing in surprise, looking around to make sure no one’s present. “tone it down, y/n!” he replies though not moving an inch and let you come to him instead—like always. “so now you’re talking? seriously, what is wrong with you?” standing right in front of him, you make sure to look at him right in the eyes, searching for something, anything, at least the slightest sense of longing from the man who would usually utter flowery words to please your ears and leaving butterfly kisses all over your body. “what do you want me to say?”

“wha-” “that i’m sorry? that i’m confused? that i’m bored? that it’s not you it’s me?” his words hit you right there and then and the fact that he’s finally staring into your soul after weeks of ghosting your midnight calls and texts is what strikes you best. “cut the bullshit, chan. you’re not going to give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ talk after all we’ve been through.” you manage to let out without stuttering despite fighting the urge to keep your lips from trembling.

he scoffs, running his hand through his hair, messing it up as he looks away. “what have we been through, y/n? we fucked, that’s all.” you hold onto his face and pull him down to meet your eye level. the memory of doing the exact same thing, yet it was to meet his lips lovingly and not to confront him seems to have done something to your chest—it’s suffocating. “if that’s all, then look me in the eyes while you say it, coward.”

“we fucked, y/n. we fucked a lot of times and that’s all.” before you have the chance to respond, your phone rings. the fifteen minutes break is over. looking up, chan has already made his distance; away from you—like always. 

“what are we?” you ask, letting your tears spill down to meet your wound and it stings, but the pain doesn’t do justice. it’s nothing compared to the way chan is soullessly staring at the wall.

“nothing, y/n... i’m sorry.” and there he goes, walking away, leaving you the back view of his figure growing smaller and smaller—like always. 

—

tagged: @formidxble did i do the tagging thing right- aAA

[weallsimpfordabi]

Switching Sides (Part One)

Find the other parts here

A/N: ahh I’m so excited to share this with you guys 🥺 I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Dabi x Reader, Ex!Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 1,652

Warnings: Kidnapping, cursing, choking, mentions of death, threats, angst, Dabi being Dabi

Tag List: @platinumbelle @sweet-bunny-writing @bunbunsblog

———

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Dabi’s deep voice called out as his long legs started to carry him towards you. You were frozen in place, fists clenched. You weren’t sure if it was fear or shock, but either way, your feet were planted to the ground, keeping you in place. His footsteps got closer, and you could only muster up the courage to look into his almost electric blue eyes. He smirked, reaching his hand out to your face. You flinched, turning your head away, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him once again. “Poor little kitten, already terrified before the fun even begins? What a pathetic hero you are.”

“Dabi, we don’t have time for this. Since she’s here, the pros are probably on their way. We have to move. Get rid of her and come on.” A harsh tone hurried him, but Dabi just raised his free hand to hush the other villain, keeping your chin in his grasp with the other. His eyes dropped down to your shirt, something seeming to catch his eye as his eyebrow raised.

“You know, Kurogiri, she could be useful.” He leaned in close, eyes scanning your face before locking gazes with you again. “What do you say, doll face? Wanna help us? Or do you wanna die and take all of your friends with you?” He chuckled before grabbing your wrist tightly, spinning you around and clasping his hand over your lips to keep you quiet before you even had a chance to speak. He dragged you towards the warp gate that had been made, his breath heavy with excitement in your ear.

Your stomach twisted with nausea as your body was transported to what you assumed was their headquarters. Dabi sat you on the couch in the corner of the room, unbuckling his white belt. You watched with wide eyes as he just stared you down, the belt slapping lightly against each loop it slowly passed through.

“Don’t worry, it’s just to keep you quiet, kitten.” He chuckled as he squatted down in front of you, wrapping his belt around your face, effectively turning it into a gag. You just watched as he looked over you, something dark taking over his eyes. “You look pretty with my belt in your mouth.” He tucked some hair behind your ear, and you flinched away. A growl bubbled up his throat, his hand finding its way around your neck. “Don’t fight me, baby doll, you’ll lose.”

“Dabi! You mind explaining why there’s a hero in our hideout?” A blue haired man, covered in hands appeared. You looked over, your heart dropping. You knew exactly who this was. You had seen the aftermath of his trials, almost completely destroying Kamino. You also knew that he had cut off the arms of the Yakuza leader of Shie Hassaikai, Overhaul.

“Shiggy, don’t worry so much.” Dabi spun around on his heels, his back now facing you as Shigaraki kept his exposed red eyes on you. “She overheard Kurogiri and I talking about our plans. I could have killed her, but then we wouldn’t have the leverage we need.”

“Leverage?” Shigaraki tore his eyes away from you, looking at Dabi with a glare that sent a shiver down your spine. “We don’t need leverage, Dabi, we already have a plan. Don’t forget your place in our organization.” As he spoke, he started towards you. “If you won’t get rid of her, I will.” His hand reached out to you, your squirms quickly becoming desperate scrambles for escape. You knew his quirk, and you could feel the fatality of his touch as he got closer.

“Don’t, no one touches her except me.” His voice got deeper, as if the other man had taken something that was his. He changed his tone almost immediately, his dark eyes lighting back up as quickly as they had dimmed before. “Shigaraki, trust me on this. She goes to UA, look at her uniform.” They both took a glance, and that seemed to interest the red eyed man. “We could use her, get inside information.” You made a noise in protest, trying to argue with them. You could never betray your friends and the teachers you held so dear to you. You shook your head, glaring at the men towering over you. Dabi sighed, working the belt off of your face.

“Be nice, kitten, or we’ll have to use this belt for something else.” He sent a smirk your way before putting his belt back on, Shigaraki shaking his head and sighing.

“Are you sure this is a plan to get intel and not some weird sexual fantasy you have?” Dabi looked over at his colleague, rolling his eyes lazily.

“I’m not helping you.” You tried to project your voice, remembering what your mentors had taught you before. You always had to at least seem brave, even if you’re terrified. Dabi hummed, crossing his arms.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’ve been put in.” He crouched down in front of you, his black painted nails resting on his bent knees. “See, you have a way in to get the information we’ve been trying to get for a while.” His hand ran up your thigh, making you jump. He looked up at your face, holding back the smug smile he wanted to let free. “And we have the power to make sure that everyone you’ve ever loved and cared about dies in a horrible, burning, decaying death.” His hand continued up your body, the surprisingly soft skin of his palm tracing up your arm. “What do you say, sweetheart? We have a deal?” His hand stopped at your shoulder, his fingertips digging into the skin hard enough to make you wince. You shook your head, keeping your chin high.

“There’s no way in hell I’m gonna be a mole for the League of Villains. I’d rather die than help you.” His brows furrowed, anger taking over his features. His hand, in one swift motion, grabbed your throat and squeezed with an impressive amount of force. He stood just as quickly, your body being pulled up with him. His face was suddenly uncomfortably close to yours, his warm pants moving your hair with every breath. Your eyes widened, pure fear numbing your body. You started struggling to breathe, choking gasps the only thing you could muster.

“Let me make this perfectly clear. You’re gonna help us, you know why?” He smiled wickedly, the look in your eyes making him feel more powerful than he had in a long time. “Because if you don’t, I will make sure that everyone you know dies. I’ll even make you watch as they burn to death. So, are you absolutely sure about your answer? You can change it now and I’ll let go.” You could feel your head spin, black starting to slowly take over your vision. You tried to pull his large hand off of your throat, but to no avail. You knew you needed to answer soon unless you wanted to pass out with them around. You nodded, wheezing out that you would help.

You were let go of, your body immediately crashing against the ground. You took a few deep breaths, coughing in between as your vision slowly returned to normal. You looked up at Dabi, your breath still a little shaky. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop your hands from trembling. Of all the years you had patrolled and even fought against strong villains, this one had you terrified. You heard a low chuckle vibrate his throat as he took a short stride towards you. He crouched down again, leaning in so his nose was less than an inch away and his insanely bright eyes were boring deep into your soul.

“Aww, what’s wrong, kitten? You scared of me?” He smirked deviously as he straightened his back, helping you up and lifting your chin so the gaze you two shared never strayed. “Don’t get scared now. We’re just getting started, baby.”

———

You had gotten back to the dorms around eleven at night. You felt as if your brain had been deep fried as you stumbled through your door. You weren’t really sure where you were going, but your body seemed to know exactly where to go. After a few minutes of aimlessly wandering, you found yourself in front of your ex boyfriend’s, Katsuki’s door. You knocked gently, hoping he was awake. You heard cluttering before the door opened, Bakugou squinting at you.

“Y/N/N? Where the hell have you been? You know you aren’t supposed to be out after curfew, idiot.” He blinked, rubbing his eyes before taking your appearance in again. He then got a worried look, opening the door wider. “C-Come in, hurry before someone sees you.” He helped you inside, sitting you down on the edge of the bed as he searched for spare clothes for you to wear. Luckily you left some of your own from a few months ago when you two had broken up and you “moved out” of his room. He handed you your clothes, turning away so you could change.

Once you were done, he tucked you in to the bed, wrapping his toned arm around you. “You don’t have to talk, Y/N. Just don’t tell anyone I let you sleep in here.” You nodded, closing your eyes as you instinctively cuddled into him. Your body was shaking as the events from the day replayed in your head. The plan they had told you to follow was almost impossible to keep a secret. But you didn’t want to think about it even more than you already knew you would. For now, you just wanted to sleep in Katsuki’s arms. You had no idea it would be the safest you would feel for a long time.

[iwasntstable]

♱₊⁺ 𝗡.𝗦. | 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 ❯ 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗔𝗡

| WORD COUNT: 845 | RATING: SFW | CONTENT TAGS: angst |

𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗜𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗡𝗘𝗗, 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗘 𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗜𝗧 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗔𝗡 𝗪𝗘 𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘, 𝗧𝗢 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘, 𝗧𝗢 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗔𝗟𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗜 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗘𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗨𝗠𝗔𝗡

➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

When she started to change, all he could do was watch. They chose to walk down that road together, but deep down, he knew their fate was predetermined. Inevitable footsteps leading towards disaster. No matter how much love he held for her, it would always be incompatible with reality. He tried so hard to fight it, defying the path and desperately holding on to her, but fighting for her turned into fighting her. Tears shed and tender embraces, words softly spoken and promises sealed with kisses, turned into fierce altercations, biting back in anger, things that couldn’t be unsaid, backs turned and promises broken.

Grief had found him early, settling itself into his heart while she was still there. It watched him beg despairingly all the while still holding onto her and stubbornly refusing to let go, carrying her dead weight. It watches his life cease, his hopes and dreams forcefully pushed aside, allowing her to take centre stage. All of his efforts though were a waste, and his precious time was squandered. It watches as words fall upon deaf ears; his family beseeching him to let her go, to unshackle himself in order to live again, but pleading with her to come back to him, to be who she was before. And when he finally accepted it as a part of him—the grief—he knew the last of their finite time was up.

On his knees, he cups her face in his hands, pulling her close and resting his forehead against hers. “I love you,” his voice cracks, his tears falling onto her cheeks. “I love you so fucking much. That’s why I have to do this. I’ve tried so hard, so fucking hard. I’ve put so much on hold to be here for you, and I did it gladly, but it’s clear to me now that I’m not the one you need. I tried to be. But I can’t watch you slip away anymore. Nothing I do is helping, you need real help, someone that can stop you from withering away,” taking in a shuddering breath, he pulls her in closer. She’s limp against him, but he holds her ferociously tight, like she’d slip away if he let go. He knows, after all, that she will slip away when he leaves.

Her head against his chest, his heartbeat is the backing track to his words. Arms so secure around her, she can scarcely breathe. If she died here in his arms, she thinks, she’d die happy. “I’ve been putting you first for so long. You’ve always been my priority, but... you can’t be anymore. It has to be me. I have to let you go,” his breath catches in his throat as he cries into her hair. “I have to live for myself now. And you do too, you have to live for yourself. You have to be yourself again. I never needed you to be anything but you.”

He holds her there, for how long he couldn’t say. Until his legs stiffen and his back aches. Until his tears subside, and finally, he feels he can let her go. He takes one last look at her when he releases her from his arms. Her face betrays no sign of emotion, her eyes, no signs of life, devoid of the light he fell in love with. And he knows he’s making the right decision.

Brushing her hair out of her face for the last time, he tucked it behind her ears like he did on their first date. Like he did when they’d cook together. Like he did when she was engrossed in a book. Like he’d do before he’d lean in to capture her lips with his. He does that one last time too, salt-stained lips brushing against hers; cracked and cold. “I love you,” he whispers, for the final time.

EPILOGUE; The sun was high in the sky when he saw her again.

Her.

As she was.

He prayed the night he left. For the first time in years, he fell to his knees, hands clasped in front of his heart, and he spoke to God. He prayed for her—for her health, for her mind, for her life. He prayed that she’d survive and that He would give her the strength she needed to live. But most of all, he prayed to see her again, if not here on Earth, then on the other side.

Her skin was vibrant and full of life, hair long. Longer than he’d ever seen it. She smiled ear to ear as she spoke on the phone—that very same heart-stopping smile that captivated him all those years ago. She’s just as she was. A familiar warm glow emanated from her, as though pure light itself was radiating from within. Her heart being the power source, or maybe her soul.

He was frozen to the spot, and when she sees him, she too halts as though time had stopped for them both. The only two people in the world, hearts beating in unison.

“Noah?” She smiled at him.

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/BLURB/ANYTHINGHUMAN [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | series | one-shot | [blurb] | head-cannons | ask 　　﹂ when-i-miss-you | [anything-more-than-human]

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ᯤ 𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗦 (22) :　 ⌞⬤ 10 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ › @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning › @runadaggerthroughmychest › @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard › @seven-glass-kids › @english-fucker

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[muwur]

haikyuu x otome: masterlist |  prologue

» synopsis:  a haikyuu x reader au where you, the player, are bound for university in a metropolis several hours away from home. hope and excitement are replaced with dread as you come to realize that juggling life as a student and a part-time employee takes a toll. from demanding classes to a ruthless manager, life just can’t seem to give you a break. that is, until you meet a certain someone who reminds you how to live and follow your dreams. somehow, when you’re with them, time stands still. maybe things are finally starting to look up. if only you could stay in those moments for just a little longer. 

» disclaimer: i do not own haikyuu or any of the pixels in this post (i simply made collages out of them)

edit: it’s been brought to my attention that another HQ writer may have written something similar to this idea in the past and I was unaware. Though I haven’t seen this particular type of thing written yet, I don’t mean to claim this event idea as my own bc I feel a lot of events that ppl put up may have some overlapping themes n such (tho this idea would def be more specific and be cause for concern of plagiarism) and bc I would never want to steal ideas/not ask other writers first/not credit other writers (that’s not cool fam). If you have any issues with this event, pls bring them up w me, and if you know any other writers who’ve done smth similar, pls share w me their URLs! thank u for ur understanding :) I hope u can still enjoy haikyuu x otome :’)

» how to play:

I. you can refer here for the general rules of my blog. also, for this event (and it’ll say in the descriptions below), i’m only accepting one character per request. also the word count limits i wrote here may change as im getting started on actually writing requests lol

II. essentially a collection of x reader one-shots, drabbles, and smaus in which you are a busy college student whose only break seems to be spending time with friends who actually get you or the 15-minute lunch break during which you get to ignore annoying customers

III. since this is otome-inspired, i have several options you can choose from. these options are essentially types of requests:

» everyday is a new start 

» drabble about how you meet the character of your choice  

» it is not guaranteed y’all are gonna gel (get along) when you first meet,, warning: if the character is usually a bitch, i may write them as one LMAO jkjk but fr

» usually light, fluffy, and/or silly

» hmm tbh,,, idk word count,,, probs anywhere between 700-1k words (i edited this word count after writing my first thing bc HNNN)

» the only characters you can’t request this for is yamaguchi, tsukki n hinata,,, bc you meet them in the prologue AHAHA sry it’s nothing too spaicy since it’s just in the intro

» it’s all in the little things

» one-shots about normal, daily interactions with the character of your choice

» in other words, these include what can go on in a day in the life of y/n and the character of your choice (after they’ve already met). in the city, the possibilities are endless

» give me a word (or several, cuz writing is hard lmao. also legit any word, like ‘orange’ or ‘nostalgia.’ i may choose only one or do a combination from your list :3) as a prompt and ill somehow make something of it lmao

» medium relationship development + exp

» 700-1.5k words

» hmmm what should i get today?

» very short drabble with a character of your choice about various scenarios and thots i have in my head

» a complete surprise, totally random, may have no context

» may be serious, fluff, crack, etc. 

» if u choose this u basically told me ‘surprise me’

» 100-300 words, depends on my mood

» when i see your name pop up on the screen, i can’t help but smile 

» short smau with a character of your choice 

» fluff or crack, ur choice or leave that up to me (if unspecified, ill just flip a coin)

» you can either give me a word(s) as a guide or leave the topic of convo up to me

» 2-4 panels

» you’d be surprised how much can happen in a day 

» BMO has nothing to do with this, i just found a cute pixel of him

» spaicy relationship development, the scenes in which you actually make progress in the game

» one-shot with a character of your choice

» order from the following:

» macaron: when they realize they’ve fallen for you

» banana bread: when you realize you’ve fallen for them

» iced americano: when they feel a tinge of jealousy 

» hot chocolate: when they see you crying  

» matcha latte: when they have a longing to be around you

» cupcake: love confession (may be intentional or accidental)

» major relationship development + exp + sometimes confusion

» 1-2k words

» these will probs take me longer

» all good things must come to an end

»  not as angsty as those bolded words above sound,,, unless you want it to be >:)

» drabble or one-shot with a character of your choice. the final interaction before finishing the game

» you have three options: good end (fluffy, romantic & the like), bad end (angst), or crack end (surprise)

» word count will be super variable, from 300-1.5k words

IV. this forces me to write one-shots, drabbles, anything but hc’s, and also forces me to limit my word count. that said, this will take me a hot minute, y’all. word counts may change too bc i am,,, indecisive n untalented AHAHA

V. search for ‘haikyuu x otome,’ ‘haikyuu x otome special,’ ‘haikyuu x reader otome’ tags! i will tag each work under these c:

got it? have a request for me? send me an ask or submission! 

request example: ‘start new game with akaashi’ or ‘love challenge with yachi in the empty lecture hall at night’ or ‘continue story with noya. words: tired, mangoes, music’ 

feel free to ask me if ur confused about anything and have questions! thank you so much for reading <3 im excited for this heh

inspired by recent haikyuu otome teasers i keep seeing online and the fact that i dropped my summer class and am taking on personal projects (like painting my room LMAO i gotta manifest my inner buff daddee ushi to move shit in my room bc i kid u not everything is rlly heavy in here. and i also delved back into otomes on my phone,, does anyone else play midnight cinderella or mr love LOL talk 2 me)

haikyuu x otome masterlist

[dragonofthedepths]

29/100 (29th of June 2021)

(29/100) Written/posted for the #100daysofwriting challenge by @the-wip-project

I spent several hours today filling out a survey on my fanfiction reading habits! This was not supposed to take several hours, but my inability to answer any free form question without writing multiple paragraphs dragged it out much longer than it was supposed to be! Considering that this was done around baking, having a friend over, and finishing a drawing that according to the timer on my art program took me a cumulative 22.5 hours to complete, I figured I would just copy and paste some of my more interesting answers here for today!

Here’s the link to the survey if you want to take it yourself, apparently it’s part of some kind of collage study: 

https://robertgordonuniversity.onlinesurveys.ac.uk/fanfiction-questionnaire

Question:

What type(s) of library/libraries do you use? What activities or purposes do you use them for?

Answer:

The local library. I go there every now and then when I’m looking for an actual book to read, I usually have what I want already in mind, but might end up picking up something new from the same section if anything particularly catches my interest. Very occasionally I grab a few reference books, usually on things like religions that are harder to find a comprehensive reference for online beneath all the sensationalism and opinions.

I almost always spend at last a couple hours there, looking through my selection and reading a chapter or two. the only reason I’ll leave without sitting down and beginning at least one book is if I’m already late for something somewhere else.

Tldr: I use my local library, I do not go very often but I take my time when I do.

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Question (fanfiction.net):

If possible, please explain your typical process for finding fanfiction to read.

Answer:

Whenever  I get interested in a new show I’ll latch on to a concept or particular character interaction eg. Villain!hero, ensemble finds out secret, character A needs a hug, character A adopted by character B, character C & character D friendship & hurt/comfort. Sometimes (especially if it’s a lesser known thing/has a small fandom) I’ll be as vague as favorite character, timetravel, wingfic, or soulmate AU. Whatever it is that I’ve latched onto, I’ll enter it into the search bar on whatever browser I’m using, and open whatever links look most appealing in a new tab, giving preference to stories from any website except Wattpad* over any king of collection, and links to Ao3 preference over links to anything else.

From there I work my way through everything that was offered, and as I do so I eventually come across new things that capture my interest, and —in general terms— follow them.

On ff.net I’ll follow the link back to the page for whatever franchise this is, then open the filter menu, select "all ratings" and begin using the filters to look for whatever character or pair of characters (seeing as looking for idea is not really possible on ff.net) interests me most in either the family, hurt/comfort, or angst genre depending on which has the most stories, unless one of them has stories in excess of 3 or 4 hundred, in which case I’ll pick whichever has the least stories. I’ll then go through the offerings, opening any story that look is interesting in a new tab. If I make it through all of that and somehow haven’t found something better to do on Ao3, then when I’m done I’ll go back to the genre filter and pick whichever had the middling number of stories, then after that the one on the opposite end of the spectrum from most to least. If at any point I’m offered more than 1,000 stories I’ll add additional filters until the results drop below 1,000, because I am not dealing with slogging through that much ff.net at once. If there is that much written for whatever I’m looking for, then either there’s some on Ao3 and I can leave, or I’m actually looking for something more specific and was just over-estimating how vague I’d need to be to get results at all. This is very methodical probably because I do not like this site and am putting up with it only to find what I’m currently looking for, I never get new ideas prompted to me or am enticed to wander off the beaten track. I don’t use ff.net very often, though still more often then I go to the library.

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Question:

Are there any search features or filters you wish fanfiction.net had for readers and searchers?

Answer:

Fanfiction.net is not a functional website, it’s a particularly shitty ghost town that is actively crumbling to pieces around its few remaining inhabitants. I it’s a hassle to read on and I only do so because I’m a fan of rare pairs, and have to take anything I can get, and because I’m a fan of a particular kind of low-brow overpowered-hero fanfiction that tends to be more common there then on Ao3 or Tumblr.

I wish it didn’t have adds in the middle of a page, every time I hit next chapter, ect.

I wish it didn’t have pointless captchas every time I  start a new session.

I wish it had a visually pleasant format for presenting the stories for you to select from. Whether they’re search bar results, the results of a filter search, stories in a collection, or stories on an author’s page. It’s the same aggressively bad format and makes it hard to tell them apart from eachother and hard to pick which one(s) I want.

I wish stories could have longer summaries. They are so short that it forces everyone to sound same-y and rushed, and if an author want to include trigger warnings they have to be even shorter.

I wish there was a way to exclude/search/mark trigger warnings.

I wish you could select more than four characters in the filters, I wish authors could TAG more than four characters.

I wish there was a way to search/mark platonic relationships instead of only romantic.

I wish there was a way to search/mark a single character in multiple separate relationships eg. [A/B] and [A/C]

I wish there was a way to search for certain tropes or cliches without relying on pure hope that either the author used part of their limited summary space to mention it, or that someone else already made a collection for that trope and managed to find at least a few (they never have all) of the fics containing it.

I wish you could copy and paste the text without having to switch to the mobile version of the website. I don’t personally know why you can’t do this on desktop but I’ve heard other people say it’s because it’s actually generated as a pdf instead of genuine text.

I wish there was a way to open the whole story in one tab instead of being forced to go through it other by chapter.

I wish there was a way for authors to include author’s notes without it being part of the chapter.

I wish there was a way for authors to respond to comments without doing so in the author’s notes.

I wish the formatting wasn’t so aggressively bad as to be actively harming the quality of the story. I have found stories that were posted on both Ao3 and ff.net and read them on both websites, no differences in text, in punctuation, in anything at all, but on Ao3 it flowed much better, was much easier to read, and I’d have given a higher estimation of the author’s skill level if asked. All because it wasn’t actively being dragged down by ff.net’s formatting.

There are probably a fair few more things that I’m just not managing to think of at the moment, but considering there’s no way ff.net will ever be fixed and is in fact very likely to completely implode and die in the near future, I think this is good enough.

Sorry for the essays every time I’m allowed to write an answer but you’re asking loaded questions.

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Question (Ao3):

If possible, please explain your typical process for finding fanfiction to read.

Answer:

Whenever  I get interested in a new show I’ll latch on to a concept or particular character interaction eg. Villain!hero, ensemble finds out secret, character A needs a hug, character A adopted by character B, character C & character D friendship & hurt/comfort. Sometimes (especially if it’s a lesser known thing/has a small fandom) I’ll be as vague as favorite character, timetravel, wingfic, or soulmate AU. Whatever it is that I’ve latched onto, I’ll enter it into the search bar on whatever browser I’m using, and open whatever links look most appealing in a new tab, giving preference to stories from any website except Wattpad* over any king of collection, and links to Ao3 preference over links to anything else.

From there I work my way through everything that was offered, and as I do so I eventually come across new things that capture my interest, and —in general terms— follow them.

On Ao3 I’ll head back up to the top of a fic I really enjoyed and click on the tag for whatever little bit of it I enjoyed the most, and begin browsing again from there, refining with filters and following links and tags from new stories.

I will filter out reader inserts, original characters, y/n, or notps if I keep seeing too many of them in my results, but otherwise I’ll just scroll past them. Sometimes if I’ve been reading for a specific idea for a while I’ll sort by word count and begin going through it from least to most to see if there’s anything I’ve been missing because it’s not been updated recently. And sometimes if I feel like reading fanfiction but don’t have anything particular in mind I’ll just head to the Ao3 page for the main character (more reliable then a fandom tag, if a franchise exists in multiple forms of media they’ll usually each have their own tag the fanfiction will be scattered accordingly) of one of the bigger fandoms I’m in and start trawling the page for anything that looks interesting.

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Question:

Please use the box below to write any thoughts or opinions on this questionnaire or the subjects within it that you did not get the chance to share.

Answer:

On how I find fanfiction to read on websites that are not ff.net or Ao3, copy-pasted from the original all-encompassing answer I wrote before I realized you were looking for answers only about the website you’d just been talking about:

Wattpad (which I did not select when asked what websites I search for fanfiction on because I never willingly go looking there I just end up on it sometimes to my great frustration.):

Whatever idea it is that I’ve latched onto, I’ll enter it into the search bar on whatever browser I’m using, and open whatever links look most appealing in a new tab, giving preference to stories from any website except Wattpad* preference over tags or other collections, and links to Ao3 preference over links to anything else.

(*If links to Wattpad make it onto the first page of results, I’ll take whatever meager scrapings I was offer from other websites, then give up the search as a lost cause and pick a new idea as a I mourn the lack of the content I want to read. Only if I am already very attached to an idea and very desperate will I follow a link to wattpad. That website is the only one I have ever encountered worse then ff.net and it is an absolute unnavigable MESS.)

Tumblr:

If I’m on tumblr (mobile, I’ve never used tumblr on the computer but I don’t think it works the same) then once I find one thing to read that I like, I’ll begin tapping my way through the suggested posts on the bottom based on whatever looks the most interesting from what little I get to see of it. Sometimes I’ll end up on a specific blog or a specific tag, and I’ll just scroll through reading anything that looks even mildly cool regardless of whether it has anything to do with what I was originally searching for or not, until I click on a specific post for some reason (usually a “read more“), and then I’m back to navigating by suggested posts again. I tend to wander through fandoms and subfandoms a lot faster here, trading one interesting idea for the next as they’re presented to me. It’s a lot of fun and I sometimes discover completely new stuff! I’ll often end up following Authors I really like so that their stuff will end up in my feed, and this is really the only site on which I do that.

Just another couple comments on my general media consumption habits that I didn’t really see anywhere else to put:

Everything I stated about my fanfiction habits when getting into a new show applied if it’s a movie or book or game too, it’s just that 90% of the time it’s a show. My favorite movies are documentaries so I’m not sure what fanfiction for them would even look like, I prefer video essays and theories for games, and I just don’t read as many books as I used to. About half of the remaining 10% of the time is actually probably musicals.

It’s not unusual for me to have seen only three or so episodes of a show, but to have read insane amounts of fanfiction for it. I have difficulty sitting down to actually watch a show, and I usually only expend the effort for my absolute favorite series, so most of my interaction with most shows ends up being fanfiction. Getting into a new show because I came across some really good fanfiction for it is not uncommon either.

[princecupcakee]

Park Bench | Reddie

Read on AO3

Rating: E

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 3,112

Chapter: 1/8

Next Chapters: Chapter 2 (AO3), Chapter 3 (AO3), Chapter 4 (AO3)

Summary: Recently divorced and ‘incapable of love’, Eddie Kaspbrak moves to Los Angeles for work and a small, small hope of a fresh start. Broken up and never dated again, Richie Tozier tries to get back into love with help from his love of music. Quickly meeting eyes and one concert later, they think that maybe love isn’t that bad. So they try it one more time.

Chapter 1: Richie Tozier’s Plan, Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl & Beverly Marsh’s Plan

Tags/Warnings: Angst / Unhappy Ending / theres only one sex scene but this is explicit anyway / Bisexual Richie Tozier / Gay Eddie Kaspbrak / Post-Divorce / Implied/Referenced Cheating / Inspired By Remembering Sunday (All Time Low) / Inspired by The Book Ninja by Ali Berg / Implied/Referenced Child Abuse / Implied/Referenced Abuse / Implied/Referenced Manipulation

Tag-list: @richietoaster, @s-s-georgie, @mikeuris​, @gazebobullshit, @that-weird-girls-blog, @tozierking​, @thoughtfullyyoungduck, @s-onora, @bellarosewrites, @lermanslogan, @ambitiousskychild, @ghostnebula, @vanillaredvelvet, 

(Ask if you wanna be on the tag-list!!)

Chapter 1

Richie Tozier’s Plan

If Richie’s love life was written into a song, it would be called ‘Disaster’; named after his sad attempts at everything even just slightly involved with it. It would be a ballad, slow at first, some depressing line about how dreams don’t become reality. The chorus would hit loud, deafening if rock music wasn’t something you’d find yourself listening to, ‘He loved the sound of their romance’ is the loudest line in the chorus followed by: ‘But he messed up the steps to the dance’  then a sudden melancholy beat, ‘He failed his audition and he lost his chance.’ Toward the end of the song, as the sounds of the drums faded, and a slow guitar was the dominant sound, ‘It’s hopeless’ and the song would close.

Richie’s love life was an utter disaster if you tried to put it to words. He hadn’t had a single normal date in a very long time (he wonders if he ever did, really.) It wasn’t as simple as, ‘I spilled my drink and now there’s going to be a stain and that embarrassing’ those dates wouldn’t stand a chance on his. A few from his museum of failed dates:

Exhibit A -

James: Hey, I saw that you live in Los Angeles

Richie: Yeah! What about you?

James: I just got out of jail and my ex changed the locks. I really need a place to stay?

Exhibit B -

“I love this band so much,” Abigail gushed.

“Me, too! I’m really glad we were able to catch them here.”

And later that night on the news: ‘Woman arrested for jumping on stage to pull a strand of hair from a celebrity in a Los Angeles concert.’

Exhibit C - Connor. Connor Bowers was perfect with Richie, at least as Richie thought. The two had been dating for 2 years until Richie proposed, only to be rejected. Connor confessed that he was cheating, that he didn’t even actually like men. The night they got together, Richie had bought him a drink. Connor really only wanted to try it, but it clearly wasn’t for him. The next morning though, when they woke up in Connor’s bedroom, Richie decided that they were together. Richie wasn’t really thinking, he was just in desperate need for love. After Richie was kicked out of Connor’s apartment, he ended up in Stan’s house, unable to stay alone his own.

Richie never really moved out of Stan and Patty’s house. They didn’t really mind Richie living there, but they did mind that Richie was still bitter about the breakup. Stan and Richie have been friends since they were kids, he’s seen Richie in every way. Patty and Richie became close friends right when Stan introduced them. They would try to set Richie up with a few of their friends but he would just sulk in his room. He claims to be ‘done with love in the most chill way possible’ but the sad love songs, the bitterness on Valentines, and the sulking would beg to differ.“Love isn’t that bad you know, you could try”

“I don’t need to try. I’m fine,” Richie countered.

“There’s a lot of fish in the sea,” Patty said, kindly.

“Not anymore. All I get is plastic bags now,” Richie said bitterly.

Stan sighed, “you’re just gonna be alone forever?”

“Yes,” Richie replied immediately, standing up to get ready for work. Aside from a few comedy gigs, he works at a little record store a few minutes from where he lives. The store had the best speakers, phonographs, Walkmans, discs, headphones, everything. Richie loved it there, always being surrounded by music. The store was always pretty empty, aside from the occasional customer, it was just him. Like its always been.

He took his car from the driveway, heading for the city.

~~~

“Morning, Ben, Bev,” Richie nodded at them, smiling.

“Good morning Richie,” Beverly greeted with a wave, “How have you been?” Beverly was Ben’s wife, she has always been nice to Richie. ‘Nice’ didn’t compose of only greetings and coffee and being professional, they were close friends who went out to movies and heard each other’s lives play. Beverly designed clothing lines, while Ben was an architect. They don’t spend much time in the store, usually just leaving it with Richie.

“Pretty good, you?”

“Fine, but this one forgot to fix the thing on this table yesterday and was insanely worried all night,” Beverly pointed to Ben over her shoulder.

“It could break!” Ben argued, continuing to fix whatever was wrong with the table. Beverly walked over to Richie, who is sat down on the sofa. “So… I have this friend. He’s smart, good-looking, and really nice-“

“No, Bev, I’m not going to date. I’m single and unwilling to mingle.”

“More like, single and afraid to mingle,” she tiredly rolls her eyes, “Richie, there are good people out there, you just have to try.”

“I don’t see that. All the good people are with the other good people. Look at you and Ben! Both of you are like, super hot and nice. Guys like me got no chance- not saying that I want a chance, because I’m fine being alone.”

“You just have to keep looking.”

“Its a waste of energy to ‘keep looking.’ People who like me are not okay. Remember Abigail? Not to mention, people have shit taste in music.”

“You’re such a music snob,” She weakly laughs and shakes her head.

“Alright, its good. The screws were just-“ Ben says, getting up and walking to them.

“Ben, we love you but I don’t understand a single thing you say about architecture and furniture, and whatever else there is,” Bev jokes.

“I try. I’m out for today though, I have meeting, and I’m not sure if I’ll be back,” Ben says to Richie.

“Thats fine, I’ll just sit back here,” Richie smiles putting his hands behind his head and leaning further into the sofa.

“See you then.”

Richie picked up a vinyl and put it in the player. He had been playing around with cassettes, and a few of his own vinyl for a few hours now (‘few’ probably not being the case) and thinking and writing. After he’s finished a chunk of the script he was working on for his Friday performance at a local bar, he had gotten bored and just casually sat by the sofa. ‘Love’ the word danced around his head, taunting him. Or at least, to him, it was taunting. ’He woke up from dreaming and put on his shoes’ sung the player.

The song carried him around as he sang, “Forgive me I’m trying to find, my calling, I’m calling at night. I don’t mean to be a bother but have you seen this girl?” The lyrics took him strongly, his heart tight and loose at the same time, feeling each beat. He drums his fingers on the sofa, following the beats, “She’s been running through my dreams. And its driving me crazy it seems. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“you’re such a music snob,” rang in his ears, and he knew what he was going to do. He ran to his collection of vinyl seated by the left of the speakers, under the small table and began to search. He had his own few pieces of vinyl in the store, his own music that he listened to on the empty days of work. The Beatles, Green Day, Aerosmith, he took all the classics in his hands and grinned.

~~~

“Explain to me your plan again?” Stan asked, shocked.

“I’m going to get the best vinyl, write my number or email- whatever, and see who calls. Go on a date, see what happens. I’m gonna leave the vinyl all around the city’s subway all that, ” Richie explains excitedly.

“That might actually work!” Patty says, joining Richie’s excitement.

“This can get you more crazy dates than the ones you got before, Rich,” Stan says, unsure.

“Then, its material for my shows! Like Abigail and James!”

“See, Stan? Its great! Richie tries to go back to dating and he gets show material, win-win!” Patty hopes.

“Where will you get all the vinyl your leaving?”

“Thats the only downside, I’m going to use my own vinyl, maybe beg Ben to let me use the ones at the store?”

Stan sighs, softly smiling and nods, “this could work.”

~~~

‘Hot Fuss’ sat on his lap as he traced over the letters. Richie was in doubt now, his heart racing as he sat in the train. This was the first vinyl he would be leaving for this project of his. His stop was in a few minutes, so he pulled out the Sharpie from his pocket, bit the cap off, and wrote: ‘If you’ve enjoyed listening to this, would you enjoy a date too? Email me, Richie Tozier, @Remembering_Records.’ Richie set the vinyl down subtly and walked. “@Remembering_Records?” Stan asks.

“I was listening to Remembering Sunday, it was influenced,” Richie replies, hopping over the gap, he takes a deep breath and looks over at Stan, “Let’s hope this works,” he smiles, dashing away.

Eddie Kaspbrak’s First Vinyl

“I can’t believe we’re not using our cars,” Eddie mumbles, grumpily.

“Says the New Yorker,” Mike jokes.

“I drive there! Bill’s from there too! Subway stations are so unsanitary, so many people-“

“P-please! Enough with the com-complaining!” Bill says, frustrated, “M-Mike’s car broke down, and there’s no other way to get to B-Ben and Bev’s shop.”

“Its your day off! You landed in LA at midnight, and now we’re going to meet up with old friends,” Mike says happily, walking into the train.

“Exactly! Midnight. I shouldn’t be running around in this germ-infested-“

Mike looks at him tiredly.

“—I’m doing this because Ben and Bev are great and they’re our place to stay, Florida,” Eddie rolls his eyes.

Eddie doesn’t fit in LA. At all. He’s not used to the weather, the lifestyle, everything. He doesn’t like it here and just wants to go home. And Los Angeles seems to not want him here either. He lost one out of three of his suitcases the moment he got down, he had to wait an hour for Mike and Bill to pick him up from the airport, Mike’s car breaks down on the way to meet a friend, and now he’s taking the dirty subway.

He’s only really here for work. All three of them are. Bill and Eddie are from New York, and Mike is from Florida. They were transferred to the Los Angeles branch as a way to teach and help the new workers there. Bill’s ex-girlfriend, Beverly, lives in Los Angeles with her husband. They’re all good friends and Ben and Beverly offered to let them stay at their house (scratch that- mansion) for as long as they’re there. Of course, they took the offer instead of some crummy hotel, too far from their jobs.

Now here he is, on a train, heading to EighthNote to meet Ben and Beverly. But something isn’t right in this train, Eddie doesn’t know if this is just Los Angeles, but there, two seats away, is a light blue, paper casing, with the words ‘The Killers Hot Fuss’ sprawled across its center.

“Look, its Hot Fuss,” Mike points, “someone must’ve lost it.”

“We could put it in the l-lost and found,” Bill mumbles.

“Do not touch that. Who knows where its been?” Eddie says immediately, grabbing Bill's wrist and lightly pulling him back.

But Mike was already on his way to the seat, hand already about to grab the record. Until some guy in his late twenties took the record and sat on the seat. “Oh, is this yours?” He asks Mike.

“Oh, no, it isn’t mine,” Mike says walking back to Bill and Eddie.

~~~

On a street corner, a glass door, big windows, and a small wood sign that says EighthNote hanging above, Ben and Bev were talking inside when Bill, Mike, and Eddie walked in. “Ben! Bev!” Mike smiles, arms open wide.

“Its been so long!” Beverly sings, piling them into a group hug.

“It really has. I didn’t even know you had this shop,” Eddie says, admiring the speakers.

“At this point, it isn’t even ours, one our friends who work here basically one the place at this point,” Ben explains.

“You guys have a whole staff for this?”

“Nah, its just one of our friends. We pretty much just lay around here, the few customers here and there,” Beverly smiles, “he’s got comedy gigs though, he should honestly be a star now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Richie. We met him through Patty—one of my friends who model for me— her husband, Stan.”

“I’m probably pulling at strings here but are you talking about Stan Uris?” Mike asks, surprised.

“Yeah! How do you know him?”

“Best ex I ever had.”

Beverly laughs cheekily, “do tell.”

“Nothing! I just know from college, we dated a while, then he swooned for a girl, Patty Blum.”

“Thats her alright. Gorgeous.”

Eddie had moved on from the speakers by then, knowing they’d be reminiscing college in the next few minutes. Eddie only knows Ben and Beverly through Bill. Bill and Beverly had dated in college, but broke up and just stuck to being friends. Nothing is really awkward between them, all still close. Ben and Eddie both get along with architecture. He really just wanted something to do, he didn’t know what anything in this store was. “Its the thing from the train,” Eddie points, not exactly talking to anyone.

“Oh yeah,” Mike says walking over to Eddie. Mike’s reply startling him.

“Train?” Ben asks.

“We found a vinyl in the train on our way here,” Bill explains.

The conversation didn’t go into the details anymore, as Beverly took the record and put it in… Eddie didn’t know what that was. Was he supposed to? He saw Walkmans from his classmates when he was in middle school, but he never paid too much attention to it. He simply didn’t have the time or energy to care. Its just music. The song started oddly, in Eddie’s opinion. ‘Save some face, you know you’ve only got one’

“What the fuck is this?” Eddie wondered as the song continued.

“You’ve never heard ‘Smile Like You Mean It’?” Bill asks making Eddie slightly uncomfortable.

“I- No?”

Beverly cheekily grinning, “Well, since you’re in LA with us, you’re gonna finally see what good music is.”

~~~

The day took longer than Eddie had hoped, but now, he was in a car (thank God) heading the Marsh’s house. Grateful that Bill and Mike were just as exhausted and quiet as he was, he finally caught up with his thoughts. He was finally able to think again, about how the shop looked, how much he disliked the album Beverly basically threw at his ears, how cute the boy who walked into the shop earlier- no. No. Not what should be running threw his head right now. “Do you guys know the guy who walked into EighthNote earlier?”

“The tall, Hawaiian shirt guy with the glasses?” Mike asked, not looking at Eddie as he turned the wheel.

“Yeah.”

“I th-think that was the guy who works there. Who would randomly bring food into a store and y-yell ‘I brought Chinese, fuckers!’ If they didn’t work there?” Bill answers.

“Right,” Eddie says, his mind wandering away from the topic. He found himself opening his phone and searching ‘Hot Fuss’ into Spotify’s search bar. As much as he’d hate to admit it, it wasn’t that bad. And the guy at the store was cute.

Beverly Marsh’s Plan

“I brought Chinese, fuckers!” Richie shouted as he walked into the store. He instantly dropped his hands when he saw a man right in front of him.

After a quite lengthy moment of staring, “Excuse me,” he said, moving to the right of Richie, out the door, two men following after.

“Who were they?” Richie asked, setting the food on the table in front of him.

“Old friends of ours. They’re gonna be staying at our place,” Beverly explains.

“Okay,” Richie drags the word, “anyway, I have an amazing plan that was already put into action before any of you two hets try to stop me—”

“Uh-huh,” Ben cautiously nods.

“— so. Here’s how it works. I’m gonna set out a bunch of vinyl and shit on subways, with an email written on the back, and see how calls. I write if they wanna go on a date on the back, and if you’re worried if that'll be a bunch of people like Abigail and shit, I’m not saying you’re wrong. But if it is, it’s show material. It’s gonna be great.”

“This is amazing! You should’ve told us earlier, I totally would’ve come with you!” Beverly laughs.

“Wait. Did you start today?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“Which?” Ben smirks at Beverly, as she returns the look.

“Hot Fuss,” Richie smiles. Ben and Beverly snicker. Richie rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know I played Mr. Brightside to a girl before, but I didn’t know the song was about cheating!”

Beverly’s laughter doubles, “That’s not it but okay.”

“Whatever. But, anyway, who was the short guy earlier?”

“We told you, old friends. Why?” Ben says.

“Dunno. He was kinda cute I guess.”

“See? I told you you’d like him. That was the guy I was telling you about,” Beverly smiles knowingly.

“You tried to set up Eddie and Richie?” Ben wonders. Beverly sneaks a wink at Ben, “There’s a concert next weekend, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Think you could get us three more tickets?”

“Sure?”

~~~

Beverly walked into to her and Ben’s room, grinning. “Are you gonna explain why you’re so happy?” Ben asks.

“We’re gonna get Richie and Eddie together.”

Ben gives an unsure look at her, “Richie’s going back to dating with this vinyls-on-trains thing he’s doing. Are you sure you want to set him up? You know how unhappy he is about love and stuff, its surprising enough that he’s willing to try again.”

Beverly takes a moment to think. She knows Ben is right, but she also knows that this will be good for both Eddie and Richie. Well, the second one, she isn’t so sure of. “I guess,” Beverly says, slightly disheartened, “but, we could ask them and, y’know, try?” She says hopefully.

“As much as I worry about this, I also think that it could be good. We’ll take them both to the concert and see where they go from there. What do you think?”

“Perfect,” Beverly smiles.

[strawberry-skies-xx]

a million reasons to let you go

C H A P T E R   T E N

word count: 2701

tags:  eventual hiccup/astrid, slow burn, fluff, angst, happy ending, feral hiccup, hiccup whump, bamf hiccup, protective astrid, protective hiccup, interrogation, aftermath of torture, implied/referenced torture, hurt/comfort, stoick’s a+ parenting, stoick’s bad parenting, hiccstrid fluff, hiccup and toothless friendship

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

Sunlight shines through to the cove three days later when Astrid walks into it, sitting on a rock nearby and opening Fishlegs’ second edition of the Book of Dragons in an attempt to banish the sound of Hiccup’s dragon-call echoing from the prison, filled with so much vivid, animalistic pain and grief that it hadn’t stopped plaguing her since that night, echoing in her dreams and all her thoughts. She starts reading it, shoving down the guilt and fear and pain and replacing it with the memories of when she first met Hiccup, a month and a half ago. Talking to him, being saved by him, being brought back to Berk. His crooked half-smile, the way he and Toothless moved so fluidly together, when he told her Toothless’s name.

She flips through the pages, scanning all of Hiccup’s neat annotations. Most of them are feeding habits, things the dragons love, and there isn’t much he adds about how to hurt them. Typical, she thinks, as she flips past the Night Fury page.

And then she finds more words there, an entire page that isn’t officially titled, but is scribbled with notes.

None of the food is eaten, she reads, pausing to focus on the notes.

Toothless led me to the island. There’s some sort of call the Queen gives out to lure the dragons in.

Toothless seemed to be unable to resist the call.

There were lost Viking ships all around, broken into splinters from where they’d crashed. Toothless was able to sense the sea stacks where I couldn’t.

Astrid frowns, rereading the notes.

There’s some sort of call the Queen gives out-

She inhales sharply, realization dawning on her. Hiccup found the nest. The Nest. The one her tribe has been searching for for centuries.

She glances back down at the page, skimming the notes once more for any other clues. The Nest can only be found by a dragon, she gets that, but there’s something else that seems off.

None of the food is eaten.

They drop the food down a hole, and if a dragon doesn’t provide enough, they get eaten themselves.

Astrid looks up, flipping the book closed in her hands, mind racing. This- this could solve all their problems. If they defeated their Queen, then the dragons wouldn’t need to steal food. Berk wouldn’t have to fight them - Stoick could see that dragons weren’t evil, and could let Hiccup and Toothless go. The war between Berk and dragons could end. For good.

She stands up, a new determination in her step. If she tells Stoick, all they need to do is find a way to kill the Queen and then Hiccup and Toothless will be free. Stoick has no reason to keep them - the only grudge he has against them is that Hiccup is friends with a dragon, and he doesn’t know whether there’s more of them, if they’re friend or foe. And Astrid knows Stoick doesn’t want to kill him, otherwise he would have and this mess would never have existed in the first place.

Astrid grins and starts her run back to Berk.

“Chief!”

Astrid skids to a stop in front of Stoick, who turns and looks down at her with confusion and irritation on his face.

“Astrid? What are ye doin’ here?”

She looks up at him, eyes wide and Fishlegs’ Book of Dragons held in her hands. “I found a way to stop the dragons. We don’t have to fight them anymore, Chief, we can end the war!”

Stoick’s eyes widen now, and he turns to face her full-on, all his attention focused on her. It’s a little intimidating, especially with the stakes and consequences of what she’s suggesting, but she has to keep going. “Explain,” he says.

She takes a breath. “You know the dragon-boy locked in the prison, right?”

Stoick’s face darkens at the reminder of his failure to figure out anything about Hiccup, and he nods.

“He got Fishlegs’ Book of Dragons, and he made notes in it. One of the pages talks about the nest,” Astrid continues. “The Nest. The one we’ve been searching for for centuries.”

She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face as she continues almost breathlessly. “Only a dragon can find it, and the Queen controls them all. She’s the one sending all of the dragons on raids. They don’t eat any of it! They bring it all back to her, and if they don’t bring enough, then they get eaten themselves.”

Stoick catches on, a sort of awed joy entering his voice as he finishes her thoughts. “If we kill the Queen, then the raids will stop.”

Astrid nods, her grin widening. “Yeah.”

Stoick looks up, projecting his voice and catching the undivided attention of every Viking in the vicinity. “Ready the ships! We’re going to the Dragon’s Nest!”

Hiccup looks up from where he’s curled in his cell when he hears the prison door open, and there are two pairs of footsteps. One stops only a few steps in rather than going to the end where he is, and another pair is familiar, walking towards his cell. He uncurls, rising to a crouch, watching the shadows elongate in front of his cell, until Stoick appears, his eyes dark as he glares at him. Hiccup glares right back, green eyes fiery with defiance and stubbornness.

“You’re so friendly with dragons,” Stoick growls. “Now you’re going to help me kill one.”

Hiccup’s eyes widen as Stoick unlocks the cell, but he’s not close enough to run out before he closes the door, or save Toothless while he’s at it. He’s stuck in the corner as Stoick stalks forward, but he growls steadily and gives a low hiss when Stoick gets a foot away from him.

“Come with me, dragon-boy,” Stoick rumbles, an unmistakable threat in the way he moves and talks that makes Hiccup’s entire body tense, poised like a cornered animal - which is exactly what he is.

Hiccup lashes out at Stoick when he reaches out, pulling a thin leather cord by his wrist and releasing the sharp claws from the leather pad on the back of his hand. Stoick gasps in surprise as the points cut shallowly along his arm, before he yanks it back and his glare grows darker and more threatening.

Hiccup pulls the other cord, releasing the other claws and balling his hands into fists, letting the sharp claws curl over his fingers and crouching defensively, his glare matching Stoick’s.

Of all the things Stoick has done to him, and made him do, he will not kill a dragon. That is something unthinkable, something so wrong that Hiccup hasn’t imagined himself doing it for eleven years, even when he was pinned against a rock with a Night Fury’s jaws roaring in his face and thought he would die right then and there.

He will not kill a dragon.

Stoick growls in frustration, his hand reaching for his axe on his back and unsheathing it, hefting it in one hand and looking down at Hiccup.

Hiccup’s eyes widen at the threat - this he cannot beat. His claws won’t work against an axe, and neither will his blade if he had it. There is no way for Hiccup to defeat Stoick like this, unarmed and defenseless except for eight small pretend-claws.

Stoick raises the axe. Hiccup shrieks fear like a dragon, ducking and covering his head, curling into a protective ball, heart racing and eyes closed.

The blow never comes, but instead Hiccup slowly looks out from underneath his hood to see Stoick watching him, sadness reading in all his body signals and in his eyes. The axe is embedded in the ground next to him.

Hiccup tilts his head at the sudden change, but only for a second. Stoick wipes the expression off his face, his body shifting to that of threat, and moves fast enough to catch Hiccup by surprise, taking his arm and pulling him upright.

Hiccup yelps and struggles, kicking and fighting enough to get annoyed grunts of effort out of Stoick before his arms are pulled behind his back and he feels rope tie around them, in a complex knot that’s tight around his wrists and unreachable by his claws.

Stoick doesn’t say anything, only puts his hands on Hiccup’s shoulders and roughly steers him out of the cell and towards the doors of the prison. Hiccup doesn’t see Toothless in the cell by the door, and a cold fear settles into his stomach, more permanent than any other time he’s been scared here before.

He blinks at the bright light as Stoick leads him out and down towards Berk’s dock. Hiccup looks around, at the mass of humans carrying weapons and other machinery to the docks, and feels himself shrink away from them. All his instincts are screaming at him to run, to get away from so many people, especially Vikings, that for only a moment, he forgets it’s his father and tormenter behind him and he cringes back, pressing into Stoick’s stomach.

Stoick doesn’t stop, almost pushing Hiccup forward, and Hiccup’s body tenses, heart rate picking up as they weave through the crowd.

A Viking bumps into his shoulder and Hiccup lets out an involuntary whimper, quiet and half-bitten off. The stress of the past two weeks is pressing down on him now; being injured and unconscious in Berk’s healer’s house, and then being trapped in the prisons and interrogated, along with the pain of Astrid’s betrayal, and then being separated from Toothless, even if only for three days, while still interrogated. And now this, being forced into a throng of Vikings bigger than him and stronger than him and being unarmed and incapacitated during it, with no idea of where Toothless is.

Hiccup sees the boat, sees Stoick’s path towards it, and his fear increases. His breaths come short with the sudden weight of where he is, of where he will be - stranded with Vikings on a boat in the middle of the ocean, without Toothless, for as many hours as they want to keep him there. No escape, and it’s all too easy for them to simply throw him overboard and let him drown. Then they’d have Toothless, they’d have his other half and he’d be alone in the world, without Hiccup, and it’s wrong, it’s lonely and bad and wrong.

His eyes dart panicked around the docks, meeting the curious gazes of Vikings as he passes by, and shrinking away from them, flinching whenever a Viking passes too close.

Then there’s a shriek, a familiar shriek of heart that means Hiccup, and all other thoughts flee his mind as Hiccup’s head snaps up, gaze flicking frantically around the docks for a flash of obsidian scales.

Toothless, Hiccup whistles, except it really means self to other dragons, but Hiccup and Toothless don’t care. They’ve long since accepted that each other’s names sometimes come out as heart and love and self, because they’re each other’s self as much as they are their own, and the same with their hearts and souls.

Hiccup spots Toothless, strapped and muzzled and still growling and shrieking heart and self at Hiccup through the leather, and he growls himself, kicking back against Stoick and renewing his fight, whistling his own calls for Toothless all the while.

Stoick grunts and moves his hands down Hiccup’s arms, tightening his fingers there and giving a low growl when Hiccup turns his head, green eyes filled with vehement fire as he keeps struggling as hard as physically possible. The Vikings around him, already curious, are now openly staring, glancing between the dragon and the boy fighting to be near each other.

Hiccup smiles darkly as Toothless tosses his head and knocks a Viking down to slide across the docks and into the water, while his tail swings back and forth, smacking into any Viking that gets close to it. Stoick grunts again with the effort of holding Hiccup in place and not letting go as he twists and kicks, and then his fingers slip.

It’s the slightest movement, but Hiccup feels it like he feels every human touch like a brand on his skin, and he wrenches himself hard, away from Stoick, whose hands slip and let go. Toothless, he whistles as he runs, hands still bound, and gets an answering chirp as he stops by him.

Toothless nuzzles his head into Hiccup, both of them letting out a low purr at being with the other again, but only for a moment. Toothless growls at a Viking coming up behind Hiccup, and Hiccup turns, pressing his back to Toothless and giving his own growl at the advancing crowd of Vikings.

Stoick’s voice rises from the back of them, catching the attention of dragon, boy, and all the Vikings. “Let him be,” he says, walking forward through the crowd. He meets Hiccup and Toothless’s matching glares with a look that isn’t his own glare, but rather just sadness and a slight tinge of annoyance.

“I’ll take care of him,” Stoick says, dismissing the Vikings, and he stalks forward towards the dragon and boy. Hiccup glares up at him, fiery and defiant, but Stoick only takes the chain Toothless’s wooden cart is attached to and pulls it, wheeling it down the docks. “Come on, dragon.”

Hiccup follows - he has no other choice, outnumbered and outmatched as he is. That’s a bad thing, this is not at all what Hiccup and Toothless are supposed to be, trapped and defenseless, but they’re together again, and that’s better than they were before. They can take on anything as long as they’re together.

Toothless’s platform is hooked onto a chain and lifted, and Hiccup yelps no-mine at the threat and climbs onto the platform, locking his legs around Toothless’s leg and hanging on as the platform rises. Toothless turns and pushes his hood back to nuzzle into Hiccup’s hair with a purr, an answering one coming from Hiccup as he presses back.

The platform sways and Hiccup yelps as he leans outwards, caught only by Toothless’s teeth in the collar of his shirt. He looks back at Toothless, then down at the gradually fading ground, and whimpers softly, moving further towards Toothless until he’s nearly bent beneath his front and tightening his legs around his paw.

The platform lands on the ship, rocking it, and Toothless hisses at the Vikings who chain down the wood, giving looks at Hiccup as he hides in the shadow of Toothless that range from curious to disdainful.

Hiccup glares at them all, shoving down the fear and ignoring his racing heart. He sees Stoick step on the ship just as it starts moving, and both Hiccup and Toothless glare at him as he walks past them and leans in, gaze dark and his voice a hiss.

“Take us home, devil.”

Astrid watches the two in front of her, the Night Fury muzzled and chained and the boy curled around his front paw, and she wonders what she’s done. Of all the things she meant to happen by going out to kill the nest’s Queen, this was not it. Hiccup and Toothless were supposed to be safe back on Berk - imprisoned and separated, but safe. They were supposed to be let go after this, not brought on the boat with them. Astrid doesn’t know what she’ll do if they drown because the ship is set on fire and they can’t escape.

She doesn’t want to reveal herself to them, yet. She has no idea if the dragon can smell her, but it will be riskier if they know she’s here than if they think she isn’t. Astrid can’t risk the Vikings finding out about her relationship with them.

So she stays at the back of the ship, strangely calm despite the fact that this is it. The thing Vikings have been waiting and searching for for centuries, the thing that may be the freedom for Hiccup and Toothless, the event that will change Berk forever.

Astrid straightens her spine, watches the horizon, and leans with the ship as it turns into the dense, cold fog of Helheim’s Gate.

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[booksbea]

Chance Meeting

Chapter 44: Work Rating: E - this chapter is T, however Relationship: Qrowin Tag: Slice of Life, Adventure and Romance, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comedy, Slow Burn, Pre-Canon, Military, Canon-Typical Violence, Age Difference, Canon Compliant Author’s note: Qrowin Week 2020 Day 6 Submission; I decided to continue my Chance Meeting Fic and used the prompts as inspiration. So...most will not stand only fics - sorry. However, the AUs will be! c:

Winter frowned at her half-finished signature on her paperwork. The black ink in her fountain pen ran out sooner than she thought. She got up with the intent of looking for a disposal pen when she glanced up to the clock. It was well past eight in the evening and the sun had long sunk into the horizon. She had relieved her subordinates at five, never expecting them to stay as late as she does. It was Friday night. They all had loved ones to get to or personal social engagements to attend, and she strongly believed in a work-life balance. If only she could feel comfortable committing to that sentiment as well. Her paperwork for the day was completed before noon but she decided to work on other projects. There was an upcoming intel mission in the north she and the Communication Department were collaborating on. In the following month, she had a scouting mission in the south of Argus. She had a report due the following Monday for General Ironwood on an investigation of a drug ring in Mantle she led. She needed to prep for a search and destroy mission at the western coast of Mantle next week. So, she worked. Her mind won't let her rest if she tried to leave early. She had so much to prove not only to her superiors and colleagues; but, to the Atlas and Mantle communities. She heard the whispers and read the headlines. 

Read the rest here. Start the fic from the beginning here.