#I drew half of this like 8 months ago and the other half today so hopefully it looks uhhhh consistent lol

[ectojesterdraws]

Did any of you guys ever watch Monster Allergy? It ran around the same time as Danny Phantom. I feel like you'd enjoy it.

Yes this is a recruitment for Monster Allergy fans.

[foxblood]

The Threads of Memory: IX The Surgeon's Call

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

Trigger Warnings - Graphic depictions of birth and pregnancy - Miscarriage and pregnancy loss - Fetal deformity and fetal death - References to self surgery and SA

Between the warm crackling of the fire and the rustle of yellowed paper spread on the coffee table, Velim forgot the chill sense of something watching them through the windows even though it was well past midnight.  They unfolded an unsent letter, addressed to Morena in quick slanting handwriting that ran together, same as all the others.  The paper revealed its contents with a dry crinkle.

Morena, my heart,

Each morning without you beside me is colder than the last.  I count the days until our child is born, and with each gray sunrise I hope they never find themself on these marshes.  At times, I am closer to the Hells here in the cold than I was when we stood at the lip of Mount Dis and felt the heat of the lava upon our skin.  Do you remember how it took a year for my eyebrows to grow back?  I drew them on with charcoal for six months, and you were ever-patient with me even though I looked a fool in my vanity.

With every bleak sunset over the moors, I wish I could have taken you with me.  Gods know being alone and laden with child is no easy task.  May your mother forgive me for leaving you so, wherever her soul has landed.  I’ll answer to her someday, I’m certain.  I will return as soon as I can, but I hope you’re being well cared for.  When winter recedes, I’ll send all these letters with a courier.  I hope you don’t mind a flood of words.  I write you every day because I think of you every day.  The thought of building our family is the single bright spot I have in this vast dark place.  With luck, I will return to you by spring, abashed with these letters gathered in my arms.  

In the evenings, I take comfort in the thought of you.  The peace that you are to me, in the warmth of your body and…

Velim folded the letter and held it out to Gale.  “Written just before you were born, more smut.  Written in Uktar or Nightall.”

Gale unfolded it, and Velim watched his face for the telltale flush as he scanned his father’s handwriting.  He cleared his throat.  “Yes, a comfort to know they were very much in love.”

Gale set it on the pile closest to the far corner of the coffee table, a neat stack rising based on the year each was written.  The first pile already contained twenty five letters, sprawling scrolls and hastily written notes, more than half pornographic in their descriptions of what Gale’s father would like to do to Morena or vice versa.

Velim plucked another note off the pile, this one less delicate and written on coarse seed paper with a graphite stick.  It had no date, no indication of when it was written, I miss you scrawled in thick black lines.  They set it at the end of the table.  Gale reached across Velim and picked up another letter for himself, this one four pages of parchment folded together.  Velim leaned against his shoulder to read alongside him.  Gale shifted his weight into them and tilted the letter toward them.

Dearest Morena,

Mother passed today.  She babbled nonsense until the very moment of her death, begging me not to forget her son.  I think she believed I was my father, but he never came to her deathbed.  He is still up in his room.  He keeps demanding to know where his wife is, and the only person who seems to calm him is Alexandra.  He believes she is our mother, and keeps asking why she’s lightened her hair.

The situation is dire here.  I celebrated Gale’s birthday with Alexandra not two days ago.  Thank you for sending me those letters, they were a balm to me this summer.  I understand why you write me no longer.  Alexandra wishes to meet you, but I couldn’t bear to subject my son to this place.  Alexandra asks me every day when I intend to move you in with us, how long I intend to let you suffer as a single mother in Waterdeep.  I do not tell her I intend to return, I fear that leaving her alone here may break her.  Alexandra never wanted the title of Mistress, she never sought a spouse for that very reason.  Not that I would encourage her to, at her age, but we are known for marrying young.

A large swath of the text was smudged and unreadable, marred by some unknown substance.  Gale carefully pulled the parchment apart, but only fragments of text could be picked out of the red-brown staining.

… place unravels the mind… precarious as though my very proximity… corrupting influence…  

… grows madder by the day.  Believes me to be his brother… 60 years dead…. return him to the womb, and he will waste away…

… I cannot leave Alexandra… terrified that… when my father speaks to me like I am his brother, he asks if I’m forgetting things again…

Morena… devours us… death is listed madness, madness, mad… key fall into your hands… your name on th…

…

Oliver Devon

Gale’s lips pressed into a thin line.  Velim plucked one of the pages from his hand and smelled the stains, the sharpness of iron without the animal stench of meat.

“Not blood,” they said, replacing it in order.

“Small comfort,” Gale set the pages on the pile near the edge of the table, “things seem to have gone wrong within months.”

“I wonder if his father was the one tearing pages out of books,” Velim suggested, remembering the bestiary.

“What do you mean?” Gale asked.

Velim patted his shoulder and hopped up from the couch, the speed of their movement rustling the papers spread on the table.  “I’ll show you.”

They disappeared behind a bookshelf, their passage silent except for the creaking of the bedroom door.  He flipped through the stained letter again and held each page up to the firelight, trying to see the imprint of the pen through the smudged ink.  He wondered if the black ink his father wrote in was iron-based -- spilled water might make it spread into the red-brown stain.  He sniffed it himself, and it smelled of coins to him.

The door creaked again, and Velim swept onto the couch with the bestiary in hand.  They filled the empty space beside him, and Gale’s body ached with relief.  He leaned over their shoulder as they flipped to the ripped pages, resisting the urge to inhale the scent lingering on their hair -- the faint sickly-sweet of carbolic underlying the sharpness of the herbal oils that clung to their clothes and skin.  They tapped their claws on the first page of the guide to flumphs.

Gale passed his finger over the six ripped pages, his knuckle brushing the note marking their place in the book with a twinge of satisfaction that they kept it.  Velim flipped back to the beginning of the section, declaring “Creatures of the Underdark: Ilithid and Psionic Origin, of the Creatures that Feed on Mentality and Memory”.

Velim’s brow creased.  “Hand me that letter again.”

A faint wail of pain echoed through the empty spaces of the manor, and Velim dropped the letter and sped from the room before the paper fluttered to the floor.  Gale reached for the empty space where they had been, the bestiary dropped to the ground.  He put the book and the dropped letter on the table and followed them.

Velim stopped at the landing, looking down into the foyer from the top of the stairs.  The pregnant woman wailed in animal pain again, her knees buckling.  Another gush of blood soaked her skirts, pulling them tight around her swollen belly.  Shur reached out and caught her as the man with her almost dropped her weight.

“Shur,” Velim called, their voice clear and echoing in the wide space.

The woman screamed again, rattling the glass.  Shur looked up at them, his yellow eyes pleading in the dark.  The man followed his gaze and again nearly dropped the woman, fear turning his long features evil in the low light.  Before anxiety overtook them, Velim felt the warmth of Gale at their back and the surge of the orb as his heart began to race.  They slapped their hands down on the railing, and the noise snapped all in the room to attention.

“Gale, get my coat.  It’s on the back of the desk chair in my room,” Velim ran down the stairs and slung the woman’s arm over their shoulders, shifting her weight to rest on them and freeing Shur from the job, “Shur, get a bed ready in the servant’s quarters.  We’re not getting her up the stairs.  Clean bedding, clean towels.  Set a pot of water on the stove and get it heating.  As fast as you can.”

Shur sprinted down the hall ahead of them.  The man on the woman’s other side came to and shouldered more of her weight as they sped through the darkened corridors.  Her feet dragged, drops of blood trickling behind her.  Shur threw a clean blanket over a threadbare mattress and stepped aside for Velim and the man as they laid the woman down on her back.  Velim shoved a table from the wall closer to the bed, so they could turn around and reach what they needed.  The woman writhed and moaned.  Blood soaked through the blanket.  Shur stared.

“Towels, Shur!” Velim snapped, rolling their sleeves above their elbows.

Gale rushed into the room and handed Velim their coat, his newly free hands clutching his chest as though he could force the swelling of the orb back down.  They nodded at him and plunged their arm deep into the bag of holding sewn in the lining, drawing out their heavy doctor’s bag and surgical kit.  They dropped both on the table, unrolling the surgical tools and digging in the bag for a vial of clear liquid.

Shur returned with an armful of towels and set them on the table.  He stared at Velim, desperate for further direction, his face pale at the stench of blood and urine that crowded the room.

“Boil water,” they dismissed him to the kitchen with a flick of their hand, “Gale, go help him.  When it’s boiled for five minutes, cool it.”

“As you command, doctor.” Gale followed Shur into the kitchen with an easy nod, trying to hide the nausea twisting in his stomach.

Velim dug in their doctor’s bag for the bottle of high-proof alcohol and dumped it over their hands.  It stung the places where the cold had cracked the skin between their scales and they hissed, forcing themself to hold still until the pain abated.  They dried their hands on one of the towels, and realized the man had gone pale and still, staring at the surgical instruments laid out on the table.

“Easy,” Velim warned, and the man looked up, “lift her skirts, I need to take a look at her stomach.”

He did as he was asked with shaky hands, pulling the blood soaked fabric up to her chest.  In the low light, the pale skin of her belly marred with smudges of clotted blood looked like some rotten moon.  The woman pleaded wordlessly with him, trying to push the skirts back down.  Her abdomen seized with another contraction, and blood soaked into the blanket.

Velim rested their hand on her stomach. “I’ve got you, it won’t be long now,” they promised, their voice rough.  They turned to the man who came with her, “make yourself useful and hold her hand.  This is traumatic enough without you standing there and gawking.”

He closed his mouth and looked down, taking her hand into both of his and kissing the knuckles.  He stroked away the strands of hair stuck to her forehead with sweat.  Velim drew some of the clear liquid from the vial into a syringe and clenched it between their teeth.  They crawled onto the bed and pushed the woman’s knees apart.

“I’m checking how dilated you are,” they explained around the syringe, enunciating carefully while they probed her cervix with a finger.  They felt none.  Their hand came away bloody.

Her pulse raced, the veins in her inner thighs standing out.  Not losing too much blood, then, they thought.  Velim steadied her leg with their bloodied hand and plunged the needle into her vein, emptying the syringe.  They massaged the pinprick of blood that rose in its absence.  The woman’s eyes rolled back in her head.

“Ma’am, I need you with me,” Velim rested their hand on her stomach again and her bleary eyes rolled to them, “can you count to five?”

She nodded.

“Count to five with me.  On five, you push,” they nodded with her, “one, two, three, four, five.”

She groaned loudly as she bore down.  The man winced, his hand crushed in her iron grip.  The fetus shifted beneath Velim’s palm.  The woman panted.

“Again.  One, two, three --”

“-- Four, five!” the woman wailed the last number, counting along with Velim.  The fetus shifted another few inches.

“Great, keep going,” Velim encouraged, waiting to hear her count again before turning to the man, “how long has she been pregnant?”

“I don’t know,” the man winced as she crushed his hand again, “six months?  She hid it for a long time.  Dunno the father.”

“I could not care less about the father,” Velim hissed in annoyance, “when did she start bleeding?”

“Twenty minutes ‘fore we got here,” he mumbled, cowed, “just a little at first.”

They sighed in relief.  At least she had that going for her.  “You’re almost there.  One more good push.  One, two, three, four --”

She screamed with the effort, her face going purple-red as the fetus and afterbirth flooded out of her in a flush of blood.  The flow slowed.  Velim’s heart sank, cold dread washing over them at the sight of the fetus’ two tiny faces. They packed the woman with towels to sop up what trickle of blood remained and scooped up the unmoving fetus and viscera, turning their back to her to hide the sight as they laid it on the table.  

Shur returned with the pot of water, just warm, with Gale at his heels.  Shur opened his mouth to ask a question, but the answering glare from Velim silenced him and he left the pot on the table.  Gale glanced at the fetus and his tense expression deepened.  Velim flicked their eyes to the woman, and he nodded almost imperceptibly, pulling a chair up to the opposite side of the bed.  Velim cut and tied the umbilicus, then gently washed the fragile limbs and strange bloated body.  It seemed to slumber, all four bulging eyes on both its purple faces closed with swollen lids.  Both mouths hung half-open, one palate slightly cleft.  Fine blond fuzz covered its lolling head.

“Why isn’t it crying?” the woman asked, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Gale touched her shoulder and leaned in to murmur something soft to her, drawing her attention away.  Velim swaddled the dead fetus in a half-clean towel and motioned for the man to follow them into the kitchen.  Shur quickly replaced him at the woman’s side, and Gale assured her of Velim’s skill with soft and certain words.

In the light of the kitchen, the man’s face lost its frightening quality.  He became drawn, twisting his warm hat in his hands and looking away from the bundle in Velim’s arms.  He licked his dry lips.  “It’s dead, isn’t it?”

“It was never going to live,” Velim tipped the bundle towards him so he could see its two faces and his eyes went wide, “even without the early labor, this sort of deformity isn’t survivable.”

The man’s sad eyes brimmed with tears that spilled down his cheeks.  He wiped them away on his hat.  “What are we going to tell her?”

“We tell her the truth,” Velim said, “we let her hold her child for as long as she needs, and we let her cry.  Then you dispose of it, however you see fit.”

“The well,” the man breathed.

“The well?” Velim repeated.

He licked his lips again and reached for the bundle in Velim’s arms.  Velim handed it to him.  “A boy,” he murmured to it, “she would have named him Hyde.”

Velim stood there, blood drying beneath their claws.  They watched the man’s shoulders shake with silent sobs and felt they were intruding on a very personal grief.  They accepted that their question about the well would go unanswered.  In the other room, the woman whined hoarsely for her baby.

“I’ll take him to her.” The man swallowed his sobs to speak and turned to the door, marching slowly and unsteadily back to the woman’s bedside.

The wail of grief cut Velim through the door.  They scrubbed the dried blood out from beneath their claws at the sink and only startled a little when they felt Gale’s hand on their shoulder.

“I promise, I’ve told no one about you,” he said quietly, hand squeezing tighter on their shoulder.

Velim examined their claws, then plunged them back under the water and picked at a bit of dried blood.  “I believe you.”

“That poor woman, Gods,” he sighed, “how are you holding up?”

“The fetus has diprosopus, craniofacial duplication.  It was dead as soon as it was conceived,” Velim explained, rubbing the gaps between their scales until they felt raw, “the birth would have been worse, had she carried to term.  As it is, she’ll make a full recovery.”

Gale peeled them away from the sink as they dried their hands and held their shoulders the way he had in the warehouse.  Velim’s knees threatened to buckle, clutching the hand towel tightly.

“I’m relieved she’ll recover, but Velim --” 

Velim didn’t lean into him and cry until the dread weight on their mind dissipated into a throbbing headache.  They didn’t tell him about the relief they felt for the woman in the bed, that she wouldn’t have to raise a child alone, that it was better the thing was dead and her life remained her own.  Instead, they swallowed the lump in their throat and shrugged off his hands.  “I’m fine.  Do you know where Shur keeps the linens?  We ought to set her up with a clean bed and make up another bedroom.”

“For her brother, yes,” Gale’s forehead furrowed in concern, “I’ll go talk to Shur and see if we can summon a bit of hospitality for the night.”

“Did you happen to catch their names?” Velim asked, subtly flicking away a tear that beaded in the corner of their eye.

“No, but I’ll ask Shur when I find him,” Gale assured them, slipping out of the room and averting his eyes from the grief gathered at the bedside.  

The darkness of the halls pressed in around him and he held a hand against the wall to guide him through.  He stumbled on an uneven plank in the floor and it creaked.  He caught himself on the opposite wall and found the turn, breathing deeply when it finally dumped him out in a wider hallway lit by a single wall sconce.  He made a note to rig up some lighting on the servants’ passages, wondering why they’d been left in darkness in the first place.  He caught Shur at the door into the dining room, carrying a bundle of pillows in his arms.

“Gale,” Shur adjusted the down comforter slipping from his grip, “something the matter?”

“Shur, just the man I was hoping to see.  Can you direct me to the linens?  I had a thought to make up another bedroom for our guest,” Gale gathered the fold of the comforter and tucked it beneath a pillow in Shur’s arms, “I was also hoping to discuss a small matter with you, now that the chaos has resolved itself.”

Shur grimaced.  “‘Course, Gale, let me bring these down and I’ll show you.”

Gale followed him down and helped dress a fresh bed and move the woman from one to another.  She clutched the bundle in her arms the whole time, unwilling to relinquish it to her brother when he offered.  Shur hovered over her for a moment after she clambered into bed, pulling the down comforter up around her.  Her brother rested a hand on Shur’s shoulder and thanked him quietly.

“We’re setting up the bedroom for ye,” Shur explained softly, “Marla’ll be fine down here.  Doubt the doctor’s going to leave her on her own.”

“Thanks, Shur,” the brother pulled a chair close to Marla’s bed and sat back down, “‘M good here for a while.”

Shur nodded at him once with an affirmative grunt, and left him to his vigil.  Gale joined him once more in the claustrophobic hallways, both of them silent under the weight of the dark, and breathed a sigh of relief when they finally broke into the dimly-lit dining room and he followed Shur up the stairs.

“Shur,” Gale began, annoyance flaring around the hard space of the orb, “It was my understanding that you were to tell no one who was living here.”

Shur’s eyes flashed wide with fear.  “That’s true, ser,” he admitted.

“Why, then,” Gale closed the door of the linen closet behind them and the oil lamp mounted above the door flickered, “did you disobey the one rule we set for you?  Do you understand what you’ve done?  The kind of danger you’ve placed Velim in?”

Shur shrunk from Gale as his voice rose, despite being a full head taller than the wizard.  The tales of scorned weavemasters played in his head.  “Please, Mr. Dekarios, I like my guts on the inside where they belong.  I meant no harm, I swear it.”

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a breath through his teeth.  “I don’t intend to harm you, I just believe you’ve been misinformed regarding the stakes of our misadventure in Waterdeep.  While I’m sure Marla and…”

“Kenneth,” Shur filled in.

“Kenneth,” Gale repeated, “I’m sure they mean well.  Velim is not to be disturbed.  I was very clear on that point in our correspondence, as was my mother.  This kind of stress is terrible for their health.  Any further exposure could be dangerous; and while I’m quite sure you’ve never encountered another draconic sorcerer, I assure you that Velim is a cut above the rest --” he rubbed his chest where the orb seemed to swell, “suffice to say that exposure poses a great danger to them.  I’d ask that you stress this to Kenneth and Marla when you see them off.”

“I will,” Shur pulled a set of linens off the shelf, “I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Master Deakrios.”

“Oh, enough with that,” Gale grabbed a clean robe from a shelf for Marla, “come on, we’ll get the room set up and you can apologize to Velim yourself.”

“Is it really that bad?” Shur asked once the bed was made.

“Yes, it is,” Gale leaned on the bed post, his anger abating into cold exhaustion.

Marla snored softly in the bed, the bundle cradled against her chest.  Her hair stuck to her forehead in clumps and her face bore the purple pinpricks of burst capillaries.  Velim studied the stains in the straw mattress, a pile of soiled linens at their feet.  The room still stunk of blood and urine.  Kenneth returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea and handed one to Velim.  

They cupped it in their hands, cold and dry from the scrubbing.  “Can I ask what brought you here?” 

Kenneth dropped into the chair at Marla’s bedside, and Velim pulled a second one beside him.  The weight of the hour finally settled on the both of them, and Kenneth waited some time to speak.  “Pregnancy’s been hard on her.  Since our pop left, Shur’s been keeping an eye on us.  Said he knew a doctor, just in case, but we couldn’t tell anyone ‘bout it,” Kenneth nodded at Velim, “I see why.”

Velim swiped the back of their hand over the scales at their jawline.  “No doctor in town?”

“Not for a year,” Kenneth sipped his tea, letting the bitterness warm him, “surgery’s still there -- all the notes inside.  I’ve got the key, if you ever had the thought to take up residence.  Pop’s the mayor.  Was the mayor, got keys for lots of the abandoned buildings.”

Velim shook their head, trying to dislodge the feeling of bugs crawling along the inside of their skull.  “Afraid I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Handled this well enough,” he gestured to his sister, “we’d get used to you, y’know?  We’ve had stranger folks in residence.”

“What are you going to do with the fetus?  The ground’s frozen,” their mind slid over the vacant surgery, even though they wanted to ask questions, “you mentioned a well?”

“There’s an old well in a grove near the town.  You got a stillbirth or miscarriage, you send it down the well and it won’t happen again.  If you got a sick kid, you tie the branches of the trees together with their old clothes and they get better,” Kenneth leaned forward and pulled the towel away from the fetus’ two faces, “you ever seen anything like that?”

“In livestock, sometimes.  Never in a human before.” Velim’s eyes wandered to the door as Shur and Gale entered again.  Shur approached them looking shaken, and Velim wondered what Gale said to him.

Shur cleared his throat.  “Made up a bedroom for you, Ken,” he gestured to the door, “oughta get some rest, if you’re going back in the morning.”

Kenneth looked to Velim, and they rolled their shoulders with a sigh.  “She’s fine to go when she wakes up.  The birth itself went smoothly, I’ll get her some medication for the ride home and after.”

“I don’t want to leave her alone,” Kenneth protested.

“I won’t,” Velim said quickly, “I won’t leave her.  Get some rest.”

Kenneth reluctantly followed Shur to the bedroom, though Velim doubted he would sleep.  They drank the rest of their tea, now cold and bitter, and held the cup in their hands as an anchor.  Marla’s chest rose and fell slowly, prompting some grim satisfaction in their work.  Gale dropped into the vacant chair beside them.

“You should get some sleep, too,” Velim told him, their voice flat with exhaustion.

He waved his hand dismissively. “I can’t sleep with all the commotion.”

The gulf between them stretched, Velim singly focused on the smooth rise and fall of Marla’s chest.  

“I spoke with Shur.” Gale’s voice barely rose above a whisper, nearly drowned by the howling wind outside.

Their grip tightened on the cup.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I simply informed him of the danger,” Gale explained.

They cocked their head to one side, then leaned forward and tugged the blanket over Marla’s shoulder against the cold.  “I’d rather they had come.  She needs people around her right now.”

“Vel,” Gale said when they sat back, “are you sure you’re alright?”

Tears pricked at their eyes and they wiped them away.  “Yes, I’m fine.  Births aren’t my strong suit,” the memories rose like bile in their throat, “I was engaged to my master’s son when I turned 16.  They would have turned me out otherwise, I thought I would just drag the engagement out until my apprenticeship finished and break it off once I had the capital to go my own way.  He had no interest in me but he still --” their breath hitched, but the words came anyway, “when he discovered I was pregnant, he locked me in the basement so I couldn’t terminate it.  Kept me down there, and I had to wait until I was showing to…” their chest heaved as they swallowed a sob, “I cut it out.  Ortheon didn’t find me for a week afterwards,” their voice faltered, “I can’t leave her alone.  Not after something like that.”

Gale pulled his chair closer, closing the gulf between them and gathering them into his arms.  They leaned into his warmth, horrified by the intensity of their own sobbing muffled against his shoulder.  He stroked the nape of their neck with his thumb, his hand hot on their skin, his breath soft on their hair.

“I’ll stay with you,” Gale pressed a kiss to the top of their head and hoped they wouldn’t notice, “I’ll stay.”

[uselesssomebody]

𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 - eddie munson x reader

complete masterlist | stranger things masterlist | eddie munson masterlist

"𝕨𝕖 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕡𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕠𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙 𝕨𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕤" - photograph | ed sheeran

words || 𝟙.𝟠𝕜

summary || in which eddie finds a picture in the reader's locker

a/n || alright i dunno the etiquette of answering an open-ended request like this but i wrote @eddiemunsonfix's open-ended request/call to action. i read it last night and absolutely adored it; i hope i did it justice. ➵ i just hit 400?? y'all i love you guys toooo much; i'll create like a prompt list at some point this week (fingers crossed) as a little follower special. thank you guys for liking my work enough to follow me - i appreciate each and every single one of you

request || "Imagine you and Eddie haven’t been dating for very long so it’s all still very new to him but he notices you have a picture of him hanging in your locker at school and he just gets all smiley and flustered and adORABLE SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE THIS FOR ME"

warnings || fluff

"hey, good morning!" you lightly poked at his half-sleeping form, which had been slumping onto the library table the two of you were sharing. your first period had been a free one - and you were sure eddie was missing english for this, though no amount of convincing from your end had convinced him to sit through the boring lectures of mrs. o'donnell.

besides, what kind of boyfriend would he be to abandon his girl at her time of need?

"hmm?" he doesn't raise his head, but at least you know he's awake. it was, when you checked your watch 3 minutes ago, 8:47, and you knew for a fact he rarely woke up before 10:00, missing a large chunk of his morning classes. though, since he met you, he was quick to realize that that large chunk of classes were the few that you shared. since then, he'd been trudging to school early to sit through those periods with you - regardless of how tired he was.

though, you figured this was a solid arrangement for the both of you: he was waking up earlier and missing less classes, and you got his lovely company. of course, today that company was a little lackluster, considering his current, slumped state.

though, as much as you loved him, just his presence was probably his best feature during these - rather one-sided - study sessions. his input to your work always tended to come in rather long-winded book metaphors, or would branch into tangents about completely unrelated things.

you never expected that a simple question - more to yourself than anything else - about the structure of the government to lead him into a very passionate spiel about the failures of capitalism and the gory history of america, all supplemented by surprisingly good parallels that he drew from fantasy literature.

you'd listened to the whole thing, both enraptured by his intelligence and voice, and simultaneously in disbelief at the lack of his application in his english class.

unfortunately, that had come at the cost of a hurriedly written essay that evening, but you figured it was worth it.

you found your hand curl around the spine of the book you were studying, while your other one weaved its way through his hair, the black strands parting ever so slightly at the combing of your fingers, before joining once again. you had a fascination with it, constantly tying it up and the not, and you were sure that he similarly adored that fascination, finding a sense of peace settle over him whenever you played with his hair.

unfortunately, today that sense of peace came in the form of a snore emitting from the table. your eyes widened as you studied the slow, but steady rise and fall of his form, making you suppress a smile.

"good night." it was a whisper, as you went back to your book.

you guys had only been dating - should memory serve you correctly - for two months now. though, you guys had been friends for a lot longer, the both of you finding some solace in each other that wasn't really granted by anyone else at hawkins high.

you guys were different, sure, with your studious nature, mild clothing and soft smile a very direct and very visible contrast from his dark clothing and his held-back-for-two-years, outwardly scary persona.

though, you supposed that's what you liked about him. that you were the one to peel back his layers, you were the one to see his intelligence, and that you were the one to cherish his soft side. he was so unique, with a magnetic energy and a soft smile that left you feeling happy regardless of what your situation was.

similarly, he liked the sweetness of your tone, the adoration of your gaze, the way you'd do things like tie his hair up, let him sleep on your chest as you watched movies and hold his hand when you were stressed - without even realizing it. he liked to be loved, and you liked to love him - without any worry of what others thought of him.

when these feelings fester in a friendship, it doesn't take long for one - or, in this case, both, to be hopelessly enamored with the other in a way that friends really shouldn't. so, when you'd finally let it spill one night - you were absolutely mortified, sure that you'd just lost the best friend you'd ever had.

that was, until he took your worried face in his calloused hands, allowing himself to kiss you in a way he'd wished to do for so long.

since then, he'd been trying his hardest to be the model boyfriend, worried that - at some point - you would realize how huge of a mistake this was and he'd lose the best thing that ever happened to him.

everything was still so novel to the both of you, and, although you'd known each other for so long, it was hard not to feel as though you're being introduced to a new person.

eddie didn't mind - in fact, it made him ecstatic. he felt as though he got to meet you, got to know you, and got to fall in love with you all over again.

what's not to love?

the bell ringing signaled the end of your last period, as your entire class gratefully left mr. wright's painfully boring math class. you found yourself a little preoccupied with a test that he had assigned for next week, going over what content you'd have to study for it, when two hands wrapped themselves around your waist.

your squeak of shock quickly turned into a sigh of relief when you looked down to see his signature rings across the cinch of your blouse.

"god! eddie - don't-" he cuts you off with a peck to your lips, and your unable to stop your smile.

"how was mr. wrong?" it was a nickname for the math teacher after an incident two months ago, where he nearly failed everyone in the classes' tests due to an error he had made. the name had stuck, and you were just shocked it hadn't come along sooner - as it was pretty obvious.

"awful, but how would you know?" he holds his hands up - a playfully guilty look on his face. he'd gone to wright's class a grand total of 10 times the entire year, and it was something you'd lightly chastised him for several times.

your locker's being stubborn to you, and eddie's quick to step in and help; some of these lockers truly required a brute force to open, and his attempt similarly took a few tries. finally, though, the pastel door very creakily opened, allowing you to put your books away and collect your things.

usually, eddie would find himself twiddling his thumbs off to the side, or rambling about something or the other as he waited for you to finish up. today, though, his prior action allowed him a full view of the contents of your locker. he wanted to avert his gaze - although he knew you didn't really care if he looked in your locker, he still found it a bit of an invasion of privacy.

that's exactly what he's going to do, before his eyes stop at a picture attached to one of the shelves when you could keep your books. it was hanging on the shelf, allowing anyone who opened it to have a direct view of it.

he was uncharacteristically quiet, and you'd just caught onto it.

"everything alright?" you mumble, not turning your head from the books that you were planning on taking home.

"what's that?" his response leaves his lips as soon as your question comes, and you look at where his gaze lies, right on the picture that you'd put up a few days ago.

it was really cute - a picture snapped by one of your friends - you were pretty sure it was robin - as your entire group had been hanging out one late saturday evening. robin was a vocal supporter of your guys' relationship, bordering on the edge of sounding like a mom as she fawned over just how cute the two of you are.

that had prompted her to take the picture, wherein the both of you were sprawled onto the picnic blanket you'd brought, you trying to get some semblance of tan in the hot august weather and him absolutely ruining any chance of that, his head on your chest and his hair sprawled across your body.

he had a cheeky smile on his face - like he knew exactly what he was doing - while yours had a bright one on it, your hand resting on his cheek as the sun hit your bodies just right.

usually, steve would make some joke about leaving the photography to jonathan, but even he kind of gawked in awe at her perfect timing when taking the picture. you'd swiped it off of her, unsure of where to put it so as to cherish it best.

finally, you settled on your locker, liking the fact that you could get a good look at it in between your monotonous classes - especially on the days where you two didn't have many classes together.

you look at eddie to see him with redder cheeks than usual, a huge smile both present on his lips and eyes.

"it was from last saturday - remember? robin took it?" he did remember, but he assumed that you'd gotten rid of it, or that it had found its way into one of those drawers or boxes where you kept all your old pictures. but, to see that you had taken it and put it in a place where you could see it everyday made him feel like a boy with a schoolyard crush again.

"yeah - uh, you kept it in your locker?" you looks at him, unsure of exactly what he's asking.

"yeah, i did... do you want me to take it out? is it too public-" you go to grab the picture, but his hand stops you.

"no, no - i love it. you just - it's a picture of us." the last bit is a whisper, and there's a hint of pride in his voice. it makes you turn to look at him. he looks - well, giddy is the easiest way to describe it, with his eyes large and sweet and his smile stretching further along his cheeks.

"it's cute, right?" you mumble, looking at the picture with him.

"so cute." his voice makes it sound like he's exaggerating, but he's not - he loves the way that you look in it, and the way that both of you look. you notice his reaction, before also smiling widely.

"alright, let's stop by the general store before we get home." you know he's going to ask why, so you finish your thought, "we need to buy a camera."

eddie's quick to agree to the idea, wanting to see the walls of the locker plastered in pictures like that - pictures so innately them.

[spookysmujer]

Piensa En Mi, O. Diaz

Summary: The relationship with you and Oscars suddenly ends after he gets locked up. Now it’s 4 years later..

warnings: HELLA angst, heartbreak 

word count: 1.9K

a/n: I had an itch to write today, thank you for requesting babes! Sorry it took this long to get done. I hope everyone is doing okay these days. PSA: Stop the hate against Asians! Speak up for our brothers and sisters, please. I love you all! Please consider: following, heart/comment/reblog my content! Thank you <)

Requested by @boujee-bitches!

(gif belongs to @merakiaes)

You can remember the day you realized just how much you were in love with Oscar Diaz. It was a few months into dating, he had been in and out of town on Santo business, and yet still was able to check in with you. He even sent you doordash multiple times. And in that one moment, as the doordash driver stood at your door, carrying a bag of your favorite pastrami sub, you truly felt your heart bleed for Oscar. The feelings entirely mutual with him. You can remember that exact moment you felt it, just as you remember the moment your heart had been ripped away. 

The consequence of having such a pristine memory is the ability to remember not only the good days but the hurtful ones as well. Now, after years of being with Oscar, he’s gone. Things had been going so well with the Santos and moving up in the ranks for him. Then in a matter of seconds, all that changed. The moment those handcuffs linked his wrists together behind his back as he was  whisked away in the back of the patrol car was the day everything changed.

Change. 

They always say that change is a good thing. But whoever they are, they were wrong. Change is malicious, it’s life-consuming and does nothing but harm. In the beginning you were confident everything would be okay. Nothing could break this man, he has been through the highest highs and the lowest lows. He has endured things as a young child that no child should. Even when the judge has sentenced him to 8 years, the look he gave you said: It’ll be okay, mamas.

For the first few months, things were good. The money he would send to you, you’d put on his books regardless of his wishes for you not to do so. The phone calls that didn’t last nearly as long as you wanted it to. And the letters, even if you talked on the phone and visited him often, Oscar still wrote you letters, and he always drew something for you. 

But it began to get difficult. When school started up in the fall, your full-time job and now taking care of his younger brother, you started to miss calls, needed to reschedule visits. And when you would answer, Oscar would give you the cold shoulder. He realized that you were beating yourself up for trying to juggle everything. He hated himself for making you so stressed just to make it to him. So on a surprise call that you weren’t expecting, he broke it to you that dating while he is incarcerated is foolish of you. It’s a waste of your time. Please take care of yourself and Cesar, we’ll see where we are when I’m out. But for now, it’ll be just me.

That day replays in your mind. No more calls, rejected visits, ghost letters. It felt like he died, though you would have been notified of it if that was the case. But that was 4 years ago, everything had changed and according to Cesar, it’s about to change again.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You ask, after holding your breath. Spooky gets out tomorrow. 

Cesar shovels the rest of his cereal in his mouth and gulps down the remaining milk, rushing around the kitchen and gathering his school things, “Oscar. He gets out tomorrow. His sentence reduced to half the time, remember the hearing they had last week?”

Whenever Cesar would talk about his older brother, you would tune it out. Oscar breaking up with you over the phone without a thorough reason, then dropping you as a person all together really broke you beyond repair. But you had no choice but dust off your shoulders and keep going. 

You hum and nod, packing your lunch.Without saying anything else, you head back to your room to get your things ready for work. As you pass by the room that Cesar had taken residency in, you notice the packed bags. “Cesar!” 

But by the time you make it back to the kitchen, he has already left out the door. Was he about to leave? Did he want out now that Oscar will be out? Though the idea was to care for Cesar while his brother was locked up, to know he is already ready to up and leave, hurts you. But you shake it off, Oscar is coming home, shit. 

Your day goes by painstakingly slow. All you could think about is how it would go when you’d see him again, how will you feel? What about him, what will he feel?

“Y/N, did you hear me?” Cesars voice sounds from across the table, the two of you enjoying some take-out. The day has gone from slower than a sloth to as quick as sonic the hedgehog.

He stares at you, waiting for you to respond. “Now that Oscar is getting out, it’s time for you to head on back home. Yeah, I heard you. Just sucks is all, I feel like my daily routine will be all messed up.” You joke to which he grins at. 

The next day comes by in a blink of an eye. Here you are leaning against your car that is parked in front of Oscars house. You can’t bring yourself to walk up those stairs and face him. But he hasn’t exited the house yet, you wonder if he even will. After Cesar gets the last bag is when you hear the front door. He makes his way towards you, your breath getting stuck in your airways. 

Cesar hugs you and thanks you again, you squeeze him and ask that he doesn’t be a stranger. Then there stood, you and Oscar. He stares at you for a long moment, studying you. It’s been nearly 4 years since he’s seen you. You are the same with little differences here and there, “You finally pierced your nose.” He points out. 

You purse your lips and nod, scoffing and looking him in the eyes, “Almost 1,300 days of not talking to me and seeing me…. And my nose ring is the first thing you say to me?” 

It wasn’t the plan to argue, you wanted to ask him to be kind to Cesar and take care of him then be on your merry way. But being in his physical presence now, it’s made your blood boil. How could he stand there like nothing had happened between you? The history you two have was an epic love and heartbreak but by the look on his face, it’s as if you are a stranger in passing. 

He licks his bottom lip and digs his hands into his shorts pockets, “What you want me to say? I said all I needed to that day on the phone.”

Your arms uncross from over your chest and your mouth falls slightly open. But before you can let out the rage that’s been building up continuously over the years, “I miss you, querida.” He watches your face contort to confusion then back to anger. He nearly smiles to see that you are still the hot head you’ve always been.

The words weren’t coming out as you wanted them to. All you could do was stomp past him to leave but he grabs your upper arm to stop you. You look down to where his hand wraps around your arm then up to his eyes, the look you give him is loud enough for him to let go.

“Can you just listen to me? You think I wanted to break things off? That it didn’t hurt me just as much as it hurt you?” Oscar begins, standing directly in front of you and slightly craning his head down. “I fucking hated that I did that to you, mami. The last thing I want in this world is not being with you, to cause you pain and to have done that when I was locked up? I hated it. Every single day. But I needed to do it because all I was doing was holding you back. I couldn’t bare knowing that I was making your life hard.”

An eruption of laughter sounds from you, you hold your stomach and one hand clamped over your mouth, hunching over from how hilarious you find his last sentence. Though anyone else hearing it wouldn’t really laugh, seeing as it wasn’t a funny statement. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. But do you hear yourself? You thought breaking up would be better. I don’t know if there was ever a time during our relationship prior that I made you feel I couldn’t handle something like you being locked up, I am terribly sorry if I had but I thought I proved to you that I was more than in love with you, I was hopelessly devoted to you, I was willing to endure it all, every call or visit. I was ready to work hard to make sure you could make tienda… but what did I do or what did I say to make you think otherwise?”

Oscar feels the chains on his heart tighten with every word you say. He doesn’t know what hurts him more, the break-up or now knowing how worthless it made you feel. He knows you are an understanding person, but his intentions didn’t settle as he hoped it would. 

It takes all his might to resist pulling you into a hug, With how you reacted to his touch just moments ago, he knows a hug would only result in profanities being spewed out. As if a hug could magically glue the pieces back together and fix it all. “You didn’t do shit wrong, Y/N. You were the epitome of a down ass girl. But all I could see was the tiredness in your face when you would visit me because you were playing mother to Cesar meanwhile trying to juggle everything else. Trying to make sure you would always come to see me… so I thought ending everything would be better, I thought you would be better off.”

The rage and ache in your heart fights against each other. He is saying one thing but to you its processing as nothing but an excuse. You want to yell and thrash your fists against his chest so he can feel just a sliver of what you went through. 

“I was better off with you. It didn’t matter to me what we were going through Oscar… If it was something joyous or something scrutinizing, as long it was with you and we were together, I wanted it all with you. I was ready to go through this journey with you. But you just gave up on us like that.” You snap your fingers and blink away the tears that had begun pooling for sometime now. His shoulders cave in and he dips his head down, unable to keep his eyes locked onto yours. 

“Give me a chance to prove that I haven’t given up on you or us.”

You wanted to laugh again. To point and scream how silly he sounds and to catch the circus act before they leave town but the way he says it is the reason you didn’t. How low his voice is, how soft his eyes are and his walls had dropped to below sea level is what made you stand so incredibly still.

Do you take the chance? Should push aside all the vines and roots that have grown over the chest labeled: Oscar, to let him in again? 

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @princesstiffxoxo @firebenderwolf @mbaku-babygirl​ @chellybear98 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc @roury66 @lillict @tinylumpiaa @prettymya3 @starrynite7114 @aneitii @b3mybunnybaby  @angelxfics  @spookysbabymama @kkim120 @ladylj @vayagrxce @irenne-stans @boujee-bitches @blessedboo @lidumiw @morenokatt @gltrpzy (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

[writing-in-april]

April Fools

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer needs to one up Reader just as he’s about to loose a prank war

A/N: I’m kicking things off for my 30 fics in 30 days for April with this fic inspired by April Fools day- lol this is a much better version compared to what I have experienced in the past with this holiday 😂 @90spumkin there’s a few specific lines in here that are totally inspired by your cowboy Spencer fic lol 😂 I’d like to hear all y’all’s thoughts so far or just drop me any type of anon here- ask me anything -my requests are also open!! Hope y’all enjoy reading ☺️

Warnings: 18+, Dom Spencer (not as harsh as in other fics of mine), Fingering, Edging, Public Sex, Sex with a hidden motive (there are some real feelings there 😉 plus reader acknowledges and knows the hidden motives)

Main Masterlist Word count: 2.4K

When you walked into the bullpen it was dead silent. If you dropped a pin you’d be able to hear it, even with the carpeted floors. You crept as quietly as you could, afraid that someone might jump out to scare you. It was not as if you had gotten in late today, you were actually cutting it rather close this morning.

Your fear of being submitted to a jump scare so early in the morning wasn’t as irrational. Today was the day that everything was going to come to an either a glorious defeat or a momentous victory. A two week long bet was tipping heavily in your favor at the final hours, you had to be careful to not let your hold over Spencer weaken in these last moments.

Today was April 1st- a day like any other to most people, but not to you and not to Spencer. It had all started when you both had begun trying to do little pranks on each other in the months leading up to the bet. If you asked anyone on the team they’d say it started when you replaced his normal standard deck of playing cards with a new set that had awkward pictures of Spencer you had accumulated over the years taped on them to represent each of the numbers and faces. Your personal favorite was the photos you had chosen for the Queens- one of Spencer looking rather regal, eyes cast downwards and with his hands crossed and a big lip pout while sitting at his desk obviously disproving of whatever Derek had said (who was also in the picture)

The team would’ve definitely said it had started there, but that was the first one that they had seen. The first one had actually been when Spencer had switched around the contacts in your phone while you weren’t looking while you had been hanging out with him. To be fair it had been in retaliation to you playfully teasing him about being a technophobe, all’s fair in love and war you had to admit.

And, whether you admitted to him or not, you did love him. This little bet that you set a few weeks ago had only strengthened your feelings. It involved setting a prank for each other, alternating every other day for two weeks until April Fools day, then the team would judge and figure out who one. You can definitely thank Morgan for that brilliant idea as he had spontaneously suggested it after your card prank on Spencer, though you bet he had been thinking about it for a while. Over the course of two weeks you had to delve into the mind of Spencer, really getting to know what would get under his skin, what would be the perfect prank for him.

“I hope you know what you got yourself into Spencer.” He had smirked back at me when you said that right after confirming your bet. You had delved into researching stuff, trying to figure out pranks that would be more personalized to Spencer rather than the ones everyone would see passed around. Eventually you landed on an idea for your last prank that was simple, yet the perfect way to get under Spencer’s skin. It was so easy you kicked yourself a little for not figuring it out before.

Apparently replacing the sugar Spencer specifically brought in for himself with salt was a step too far according to him. The glare that he had fixed on you after he had spit out his coffee onto his cardigan made you shiver, you knew you were going to be in for something big today.

Plus today was the aforementioned holiday that inspired the bet in the first place, you kind of wished you had gotten the chance to have the last laugh. You were still crossing your fingers and toes in hopes that it wouldn’t compare to your coffee prank.

Your eyes locked on the lone figure standing in the maze of desks, Spencer. It felt as if you were both ready at high noon for a duel to see who drew their gun fastest. Though, comparatively there was a distinct lack of cowboy hats and the sun was down to low for a proper duel. That didn’t stop your mind from wandering to thinking about him in a cowboy hat, he’d definitely look good. you’d have to get him one some day or maybe put a snake in a cowboy boot if another prank war was to ever crop up.

“Where is everybody?” You asked, though you knew that Spencer had probably sent them off elsewhere, you had done the same thing earlier when you needed to convince him that he had come in on his day off.

“I may have bribed them a bit to be elsewhere right now.” He spoke with a smirk that would have seemed foreign to you until you guys had started this. Now it was a staple for him whenever you saw him, going right along with his cardigan and tie to complete his look. There was no complaint from you, Spencer acting slightly cocky just before you were about to get pranked on oddly made you get hot and bothered easier than you’d like to admit.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you crossed your arms in front of you, probably a vain attempt to protect yourself from whatever was coming. Your voice came out a little shaky, “What for?”

“Just wanted to talk to you- privately…” He skated around your question, not really giving you any definitive answer. Though, you hadn’t really expected him to lay out his whole plan, that would just be counterproductive. There was a slight pause in conversation, you were about to break it with your own response when he added,“You know I’ve always found you desirable, Y/N…”

The simple teasing conversation that you had been having with him suddenly pivoted. The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out, leaving you gasping. Even if some part of this led to a prank, you knew Spencer wouldn’t play with your feelings like that. What was most likely happening is that he was using this confession to also pull a fast one on you. His deep brown eyes piercing into your own told you that he was telling the truth in that regard, plus if earlier in the bet was any indication, he wasn’t that good of a liar.

“This wasn’t what I thought you’d be talking to me in private about but- I’ve always found you desirable too...” You admitted with a gulp, pressing your weight into the edge of your desk almost sitting on it.

Your full weight pushed to sit fully on top of your desk, undoubtedly crinkling some important papers underneath when he stepped forward to close the large gap between the two of you. The tension was thick around you now with only two sentences spoken, both full of truth.

“Do you want me as much as I want you?” His lips were now so close to yours his breath was projected onto your lips.

“Yes.” You confirmed, with no hesitation. Honestly, you wouldn’t care if there was some sort of prank he was going to play on you soon, you knew that what he had said didn’t just apply to now. That was the part that mattered to you.

His lips surged forward to meet yours, letting all the tension that had been rising boil over. It was everything you had imagined and more, his lips just as soft and pillowy as they had been in your dreams.

When he pulled your skirt up roughly to expose your bottom half to him you came up off of the edge of the desk slightly, then being pushed back down once you were partially exposed before him. You squeaked into his mouth in shock of how fast this was escalating, but didn’t protest any further, wanting to see where he was going with this. You were so glad that he had gotten the team to leave the bullpen for a while, this would be a hard situation to explain. Being out in the open didn’t make you more nervous though, it excited you to know that someone could be around the corner with only the desk dividers hiding your exposed bottom half.

He didn’t even bother to push your panties down to your knees or ankles. He just pulled them aside to gain access to your now positively dripping hole. You hadn’t even thought to question how this tied into his prank, like it inevitably did, yet. You just wanted more of him, in any way you could get him.

His eyes were fixated on your dripping entrance, seemingly mesmerized by finally being able to see it. The awe in his eyes certainly did make you feel adored by him, but your desire made you feel impatient, “Spencer, do something or I’ll take care of it myself.”

A growl was all you were going to get in response to your desperate snarky comment. He then brought his hand up to suck on two of his fingers, his pointer and his middle. But, instead of then putting them to good use to help you reach a peak he stalled some more by bringing them up to your own mouth.

“I want you to suck too.” A little whine was all you could give in response before letting his fingers inside your mouth. You sucked diligently, making sure to get them wet enough for you.

Once he was finally satisfied with your efforts he removed them, a slight popping noise escaping. Bringing his hand down slowly was just another attempt to tease some more, but you knew that he’d reach there eventually. No matter how hard it was to be patient, you did so, though with a bit of squirming.

Your hips bucked up immediately in response to his fingers coming into content with your clit, Spencer’s other hand came down to press your hips back down again. He spent his sweet time playing with patterns, circling your clit a few times slowly before switching to a faster figure 8 pattern, seemingly just to get you more desperate.

“Spencer- again if you don’t do more I’ll take care of it myself!” You snapped harder with more venom this time, patience wearing dangerously thin. You thought you heard a small whisper of the word brat underneath his breath, but you decided to table it when he finally did oblige you.

You had to bite down on your lip hard when he stopped circling your entrance to plunge two of his fingers inside of you. The pressure on your lip was most certainly almost enough to break the skin while he began thrusting his fingers inside you in a steady rhythm, crooking them perfectly to make you see stars. You had to bite your lip so hard to combat the raging moans that wanted to escape from you due to the pressure he was putting on your gspot.

He brought his thumb up to circle your clit again once he saw that you were getting close, helping push you closer towards the edge. Your lungs were heaving in gasping breaths mixed with desperate moans as he continued to add stimulation to your most sensitive spots, hitting them perfectly with each crook of his fingers and circling of your clit.

Just as your orgasm was about to wash over you, all of his movements stopped abruptly. The euphoric stimulation you had been feeling was ripped away from you, his thumb on your clit halted, the curling of his fingers ceased, and his mouth that had been pressing kisses and hidden hickies to my collarbone had concluded its actions.

“April fools.” He then removed his fingers from me and promptly sauntered off to his own desk with no other words for you. Your legs were still shaking, more now from being edged to the point that you fully had to sit down onto your desk to try and regain your composure. Your jaw also was hanging slack in shock in contrast to how hard you had been biting your lips earlier while his fingers had been inside you.

A little glance from Spencer was thrown your way that was probably to gage your reaction,

you spotted even in your disheveled and distraught state. You had to admit, it was not what you were expecting and he had got you good. Your plan paled in comparison by far considering you were just going to have the entire office call him Stanley all day- and of course steal the coffee grounds to see if you could provoke an even bigger reaction out of him.

A deep sigh came from you, an non verbal admission of your glorious defeat. He had well and truly got you, it wasn’t as if you could exactly defend yourself and your pranks to the team during judging. Not that you really wanted to defend them, there was no reason to, he had well and truly beaten you. You could accept when you had been beaten, you’d accept defeat with grace. Though you definitely still feared the idea Spencer would come up with as a consolation prize for his win.

Reaching down with your hands to a stack of files on your desk you absentmindedly straightened them, then sitting down in your desk chair. You wriggled around a bit, feeling the dampness in your parties, already regretting sitting down. With another sigh you nodded towards Spencer, an acknowledgement of his momentous victory before getting up again to go clean yourself up in the bathroom to clean up- and maybe splash some cold water on your face. Though by the smirk on his face, there was no way this wasn’t going to happen again. And, maybe with him actually letting you finish or not, the thrill was sometimes in the chase of one. You’d also have to think of your own way of retaliation in the future of course, just because you accepted defeat just now doesn’t mean there wasn't a longer war to be won. Plus perhaps you will admit your deeper feelings for him that you could now see lying beneath his eyes as well, feelings much deeper than desire.

Safe to say you just told the team that you lost fair and square, not divulging why no matter how much Penelope pried. It was without a doubt, a glorious defeat.

—

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics

Dom Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb

[daddyjackfrost]

Akaashi Keiji;

Prompt 6: “There’s nothing you could say to me that would ever make me stop.”

i’m so in love with this man.

warnings: angst? hurt/comfort? fluff kinda? insecure Akaashi, mention of not being good enough, tears, a sweet kiss, akaashi hating himself:(

a/n: this was kinda rushed and it’s 2:57 am rn and i just thought about this and i had to write it. which is ironic because there are like 8 half finished writing pieces staring at me rn but wtvr

!!!! A/ex/g ➡️ Akaashi’s ex-girlfriend

Akaashi Keiji stared at himself in the window of a floral shop. 

His blue eyes raked over his simple attire, messy black hair, and the briefcase he clutched in his right hand. 

Akaashi had planned to stop at this floral shop today to plan and get an order on your favourite flowers for your one year anniversary in two days.

Akaashi couldn’t believe it had almost been a whole year. He couldn’t believe that someone like you stayed with him for a whole year. 

Akaashi reached for the door handle, and then paused. What if he got you the wrong flowers? What if they didn’t come on time? What if you hated them? 

With pursed lips, Akaashi took a step back, and then turned around and began walking back to his car. Akaashi had been a mess all day. He woke up five minutes after his alarm went off, causing you to wake up, and Akaashi had felt so guilty. Then, at work, he had managed to lose a manga panel, which he found after ten minutes, but those ten minutes had been the most terrifying ten minutes of his life. 

Akaashi sat in his car and gripped the steering wheel. His eyes fell on his hands and he frowned. Long and pale fingers stared back at him, and he quickly released the wheel. 

Akaashi sighed and then did something out of character.

Akaashi slammed the steering wheel and let out a quiet string of curses. 

As of right now, Akaashi hated himself. Akaashi had a bad habit of being caught up in his own head and indulging in his negative thoughts, but he had been really good at keeping himself level headed. 

Akaashi knew why he had done a good job. 

You. 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Akaashi started his car and began to drive, making sure to keep his eyes on the road and not his hands. His stomach churned and Akaashi had no idea why he couldn’t just stay out of his head. Why did he have to fall into this negative and self-loathing mindset so close to your anniversary?

Unknowing to Akaashi, his subconscious knew why. The only reason Akaashi was on a self destructive rampage was because of your one year anniversary. Akaashi didn’t think he was capable—deserving—of the love you had for him, and it was eating him up. 

Ever since he was a young boy, Akaashi had known that life was not on anyone’s side. Akaashi would have a few great weeks, and then he would have a terrible week. It had become a routine, a sixth sense. Akaashi had been waiting for the terrible week for a while, not believing that he was allowed to have just a good month. 

The writer believed in happy endings, just not his own. Past relationships had made it very clear that Akaashi could not be loved. His last and longest relationship had shown him that he would never be enough, and it was eating him. 

Akaashi hadn’t even realized he was home until he stopped the car and looked up. Slowly, Akaashi turned off the car and opened the car door. 

He was anxious. 

He knew you waited inside, and although a bigger part of Akaashi wanted to see you and lay in your arms, the insecure version of Akaashi, the one he kept hidden, wanted to be alone. Akaashi had always been a calm and collected person, until he wasn’t, and Akaashi hated it when others saw him at his weakest. 

You knew of Akaashi’s insecurities. His anxiety attacks. And even though you have told him countless times that it was nothing to be ashamed of, Akaashi wasn’t willing to believe you. 

Akaashi wiped the sweat off his hands, and forced a small smile upon his face. He knew you would immediately see through his facade, but he did it anyways. 

Akaashi opened the door to his house and was immediately greeted with soft music playing. He took a few small steps in and heard a familiar tune of BTS’s The Truth Untold. Akaashi quietly untied his tie and slipped off his shoes, his eyes on your back as you quietly swayed, staring at two picture frames in your hands. 

You hadn’t noticed Akaashi yet, and he was thankful. Akaashi’s eyes glazed over some of the boxes that belonged to you, and his heart started beating faster. 

Akaashi had asked you to move in with him two weeks ago, so why was he nervous? Why was his heart beating faster at the thought of you in his space?

Akaashi finally cleared his throat and you quickly turned around, releasing a small breath of surprise. 

You quickly put down the two frames and smiled at Akaashi. “Keiji! How long have you been standing there?”

Akaashi swallowed the lump in his throat, and licked his cracked lips. 

Your eyes zeroed in on Akaashi’s slightly pale face, his disheveled tie, and the slight shake of his fingers. 

You immediately took small steps towards Akaashi, frowning when you noticed how shaken he looked. 

Akaashi just stared at you with wide eyes. You were really here. You were really with him. You were moving in with him. All of the evidence was right there, so why was Akaashi having such a hard time believing it? 

You slowly brought your hand up to rest on Akaashi’s arm but he flinched, and you dropped your hand. 

With furrowed eyebrows and eyes filled with concern, you took a small step back, wanting to give Akaashi his space. 

“Keiji? What’s wrong?” 

I don’t know, Akaashi wanted to tell you. Sometimes I look at you and my heart begins to beat faster. I don’t why you’re with me, he wants to yell, when you can do so much better. 

Instead, Akaashi says, “Why are you here, y/n?”

Your heart drops into your stomach but you don’t move. You don’t show your hurt, because you know Akaashi didn’t mean it like that. You knew the signs. Akaashi looked pained, like he had been walking through a storm, except the storm was in his head. 

“What do you mean, Keiji?”

Akaashi dropped his briefcase and ran his hands through his hair. You bent down and picked up the briefcase, and gently put it down on the table. 

You walked to the kitchen and filled up a cup with water, and then walked to the sofa. You looked up and met Akaashi’s clouded eyes. 

“Sit down, Keiji.” You sat down on the couch, motioning for Akaashi to do so as well. “Talk to me.”

Akaashi had no control over his movements, not when you spoke to him with a soft voice and gentle eyes. 

Akaashi walked to the sofa, sitting down on the edge. He wasn’t used to talking about his feelings. Before you, he never even tried, but ever since you walked into his life six years ago, it had been a bit easier for him to talk and try and explain his feelings. 

Akaashi sighed and rubbed his hands together. Your eyes were on his hands. Akaashi unconsciously dragged his fingernails across his hands, leaving red marks. 

You reached out and grabbed both of his hands in yours. You didn’t look up at him, your sole focus on his hands. You gently rubbed your thumb over the scratches, trying to soothe them. 

Akaashi stared at your actions with watering eyes. 

You both were quiet, your music had filled the silence. You would never force Akaashi to talk, and he knew that, but you also wanted to push Akaashi into talking. Akaashi was intelligent, and he usually found the solutions to his concerns as he talked. All you did was make sure he was on the right path. 

“I’m scared,” Akaashi finally mumbled after some time. You didn’t stop holding his hands, you slowly drew circles on the backside of his hands, knowing that it brought him comfort. 

“Scared of what, Keiji?”

“You.” 

You looked up, and Akaashi looked down to meet your eyes. Your eyes met his and you were quite sure everything around you stopped. His dark eyes reminded you of the bottom of the ocean. They were dark, hiding secrets you would only know if you swam all the way down. Fortunately for you, you weren’t scared of drowning, and as you looked into those heavenly deep eyes, you could see yourself sinking to the bottom of the ocean. 

Akaashi’s eyes held so many emotions, so many unsaid words he wished to convey. 

“I’m scared of the way you make me feel. I see you and I stop breathing.” Akaashi stared into your eyes. His lips lightly quivered and you knew that the words coming out of Akaashi’s mouth would be the most important words you would ever hear. “When A/ex/g left me, I never thought I would love again. I was so sure that I would never open my heart again, and then you stood by me every single day and you always smiled at me and you--you never let me feel alone, y/n.” 

You let out a small breath. Akaashi had never been this vocal about his feelings for you, and your eyes began to water. You weren’t quite sure where Akaashi was going with his words, but you were just glad that you were here to hear them. 

“It hurts. I just want you to have the best and I’m not the best y/n.” Akaashi’s watering blue eyes locked on yours and you felt your heart break as you heard Akaashi’s next words.

“I’m not the best for you, y/n. You deserve better but I’m greedy and I don’t want you to leave me but I can’t give you much. I’m a mess and I’m anxious and I can’t really breathe and I want to love you the way you deserve but I don’t think I can.”

You watched as a tear rolled down Akaashi’s beautifully pale skin. Akaashi’s words rang in your head, but you wanted to laugh. You wanted to laugh and you wanted to cry and you wanted to hold and kiss Akaashi, but all of that had to wait.

As smoothly as you could, you slipped off the sofa and sat on your knees in front of Akaashi. You held his hands in yours and you looked up at him. 

You pulled your hand away from Akaashi’s to wipe the tears that spilled from his eyes. The ocean was bleeding and you hated it. You licked your lips and took a deep breath, hoping the tears that had gathered in your eyes wouldn’t fall. 

“Keiji,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

Akaashi lifted his head and almost choked when he saw the love and adoration swirl in your eyes. Akaashi was afraid to look at you because he didn’t want to see satisfaction in your eyes. He didn’t want to see everything he was afraid of. 

“I don’t deserve better, Keiji, you are the best. I’m greedy too, and I’m not going to leave you, ever. I love you, Keiji. I love you with everything I am and everything I hope to be. After all this time, I still love you.” You squeezed Akaashi’s hands. “Keiji, It’s always been you. I’ve only ever wanted you, I love you with your anxiousness and I love you with all your messes. I love you today, and I’ll love you tomorrow, and I’ll love you forever. There’s nothing you could ever say to me that would make me stop.”

Tears fell freely down Akaashi’s face. He had never been told that he was loved this much. If you hadn’t been staring into his eyes the whole time and clutching his hands like you would collapse if you didn’t hold them, Akaashi would have never believed you. Your words were burned onto his heart, but Akaashi still felt like he didn’t deserve them.

“What if I said,” Akaashi paused. “What if I said I hated you? Would you love me then?”

“Do you, Keiji?” You smiled at him. “Hate me, I mean.”

Akaashi stared at you with vulnerable eyes. “No,” Akaashi let out a small disbelieving laugh. “I don’t hate you. I can’t hate you, y/n. Not when you hold my heart.”

You brought Akaashi’s hands to your lips and laid a soft kiss on his fingers. “You hold my heart too, Keiji. You’ve held my heart since the first day we met.” You pressed your lips against his hands again and then looked up, your eyes meeting his. “You are enough for me, Keiji. You’re more than enough for me.”

Akaashi bit his lips to stop the sob that he knew was coming. Akaashi wasn’t surprised you knew the insecurities that plagued him. Akaashi didn’t know how to react to your words because the way you looked up at him, with your eyes shining, made him want to believe your words. You looked at Akaashi like he had hung all the stars in the sky and Akaashi wanted to cry. 

“Keiji, it’s okay to doubt yourself. It’s okay to be insecure, but Keiji,” you squeezed Akaashi’s hands and pushed yourself up so you were now on your knees and almost at eye level with him. “Don’t ever doubt me. Because no matter how much I say I love you, I always love you more than that.”

You captured Akaashi’s sob with your lips, having pressed your lips gently against his as he cried.

You tried pulling away, but Akaashi’s hands cupped your face and kept you in place. The kiss was soft, just two lover’s lips pressed together, but it was what Akaashi needed. 

When Akaashi pulled away, you grabbed the glass of water and handed it to Akaashi. 

The writer let out a dry laugh but you didn’t miss the small smile and the way his eyes shined. 

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[ejzah]

A/N: And now for the comfort aspect of this story. And some more angst.

***

Where It Hurts Most, Part 6

“Kensi, is everyone alright? Did you find Deeks?” Fatima asked in Kensi’s ear, bringing her back to the present.

“Yeah, we found, found him and we’re all fine,” she told Fatima, gently releasing Deeks to take a step away. “But Deeks does need to see a doctor. He, uh, he has some facial trauma and possibly other injuries.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Fatima let out a hefty sigh. “Ok, I’ll call ahead and let the the ER to expect you guys. Paramedics should also be on the seen in about five minutes too.”

“Thanks, Fatima,” Kensi said gratefully. When she turned around again, Deeks was halfway across the room.

Several additional agents and police were starting to arrive and she could only guess how overwhelmed he felt. Although he didn’t have any obviously severe injuries, Kensi noticed he moved slowly.

As she headed towards Deeks, she noticed Kessler was stirring. He lifted his head just enough to catch her eye. She let her gaze sweep over him as a paramedic examined his knee.

“Have fun learning to walk on that again,” she said coldly. It was a harsh, cruel comment, but she didn’t feel a hint of guilt. Kessler growled something unintelligible, which she ignored in favor of hurrying to Deeks, and slipping her arm around his back.

There were more paramedics waiting and when Deeks noticed them, he held back, his hand tightening on Kensi’s arm.

“I don’t want them to touch me,” he said adamantly.

“You don’t have to.” She’d make sure no one objected.

“Kens,” Callen called out, quickly walking towards them. “I need a statement before you leave the scene. Deeks can give his after he gets checked out the hospital.”

Kensi gave the barest description she could, using as clinical of terminology as she could, conscious of Deeks’ presence. When she was finished, Callen let her go without question.

Deeks slumped in his seat a few minutes after Kensi started driving, exhaustion clear in his face. Every time he would begin to doze off, he’d jerk awake after a few seconds.

The third time it happened, Kensi reached across the console to take his hand. She squeezed it tightly and Deeks glanced over with a grateful look.

***

When they reached the ER, Kensi had Deeks sit while she checked him in at the front desk. As promised, they had a cubicle waiting for Deeks and Kensi silently thanked Fatima again. For her own peace of mind, she needed to know that he was alright, and she could tell that Deeks’ anxiety was increasing with every second.

By the time he was safely ensconced in the tiny cubicle, his legs were vibrating, right foot silently tapping against the linoleum.

His face looked significantly worse under the bright lights, each bruise, cut, and abrasion highlighted. His chin was blood, reminding Kensi of that horrible day years ago. A shudder ran through her and she reached for Deeks, this time for her own comfort.

She touched his temple, the unbloodied side, carding her fingers through his hair. It was tangled with blood and dirt, but she didn’t care.

“That feels nice,” Deeks whispered, leaning into her touch. He covered her hand for a moment, then shook his bangs out of his eyes, glancing up at her with a tired smile that was tinged with sadness.

The curtain to the cubicle slid open then, revealing a familiar face.

“Dr. Bartholomew,” Deeks said, quickly straightening with a wince.

“Mr. Deeks, Agent Blye,” he greeted them, nodding to Kensi.

Kensi felt Deeks relieve ever so slightly, some of the tension leaving his body. Dr. Charles Bartholomew had treated Deeks a few times over the years so knew some of Deeks’ medial history, if a highly redacted version.

“I wish I could say it’s good to see you…” Deeks shrugged and trailed off, giving his best attempt at a joke at the moment. Dr. Bartholomew allowed a half smirk, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. Now, you want to give me a rundown?” He addressed the question to Deeks, but glanced at Kensi as well.

“I, uh, might have some bruised ribs, my left shoulder is kind of sore, and then there’s this,” Deeks answered, gesturing to his face and head as a whole.

“And your wrists,” Kensi added quietly. “He was bound with restraints and zip ties for several hours.

“Uh-huh. Somebody certainly had it out for you Deeks,” Bartholomew observed quietly as he pulled on gloves and gently began pressing his fingers along Deeks’ hairline. His tone was non-judgments, only sympathetic.

“You could say that,” Deeks agreed darkly. He was silent for most of the examination unless asked a direct question. He flinched again when Bartholomew rolled his sleeves back to check his wrists.

After giving Deeks a couple of liquid stitches for the larger gash in his temple, Dr. Bartholomew slid his rolling stool back a few feet, and scrawled a few things down on a script pad.

“I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic and some pain medication. I know you’re probably not going to fill the second, but it’s there if you need it.” His brow rose a tad sardonically as he held out the prescription orders. Kensi accepted them, tucking both into her pocket.

“I didn’t see any signs of damage to your teeth or jaw, but I’d still like you to see your dentist or a orthodontic specialist,” he continued. Kensi noticed how careful he was to avoid the word trauma this entire time. “Given your history, I just want to make sure everything’s still in place.”

“Got it,” Deeks agreed, clenching his jaw. He’d handled the oral examination well, though he’d held Kensi’s hand the entire time, grip so tight her fingers ached.

“Good. I’m going to have a nurse bandage your wrists and give you a shot of antibiotics, then you should be good to go.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

“No problem. Take care, Deeks. I hope I don’t see you for a while.”

A nurse came along a few minutes after Dr. Bartholomew left. She set up a tray of implements and bandages without looking at Deeks. She abruptly grabbed Deeks wrist and he jerked out of her grasp, much like he had with Kensi.

“Sir, I need to bandage your wrists,” she told him sharply. “Hold still.”

“No,” Deeks said, shaking his head as he pushed himself off the hospital bed.

“Deeks,” Kensi murmured, stepping between him and the nurse. “It’s ok.”

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, nearly pressing himself against the wall as the nurse descended on him. She could see instinct and fear were taking over.

“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to call security,” the nurse threatened.

“Lisa, is everything alright?” A soft voice inquired as the curtain around Deeks’ bed was pushed aside yet again. Lisa spun around to face the young woman, dressed in light blue scrubs and a headscarf, who entered the room. “Would like me to take over, Lisa?” I think Dr. Favor needs assistance in room 8.”

Nurse Lisa gave the second woman a glare, but left without comment.

“My name is Ifrah,” the younger nurse introduced herself in that same soft tone. “Is it alright if I take care of you, Mr. Deeks?”

After a moment, Deeks reluctantly nodded and sat back down. His body was fully tense again and Kensi could tell it was taking all of his willpower stay out.

Ifrah seemed well aware of this and made sure to tell Deeks exactly what she planned to do before she touched him. As Kensi held his other hand again, Ifrah began to clean his left wrist.

She talked about her teenage daughter who was starting driving lessons in a few weeks and the garden she was planting. It was mindless, but Deeks calmed under the soothing rhythm of her voice. Kensi felt his breathing slow as Ifrah carefully bandaged his wrists.

When she was done, she gave him a pat, and nodded to Kensi.

“You can check out when you’re ready,” she told Kensi.

“Thank you,” Kensi said fervently, gratefully. Ifrah just nodded and left as quietly as she’d come.

“Sorry about that,” Deeks apologized, rubbing a hand over his face and then eyeing the think bandages with distaste. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. What you went through…we understand,” she finished simply.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Deeks hesitated a moment and then slid his hand across the bed until he could twine his fingers through hers.

“Why didn’t you kill Kessler?” he murmured. “I mean, I’m not saying you should have, but I thought you’d want him gone permanently.”

Kensi drew in a long breath.

“I wanted to,” she admitted. “I think I planned to. Up until the moment I shot him, I wanted to kill Kessler more than anything.” She shrugged, avoiding Deeks eyes for a moment. “But as I was standing there and I saw what he’d done to you, what he planned to do to you, and everything else he’s done to us, I decided killing him was too easy.”

She heard Deeks inhale sharply and she purposely met his gaze.

“He doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. Kessler deserves every moment of pain and punishment from now on and I want to be there to make sure it happens.”

“What if he gets out again sometime?” He shook his head slowly, eyes filled with worry. “I don’t think I could take this again.”

“It won’t,” Kensi assured him. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t. After what he did today, everyone on this team will use all their power to make sure Kessler never has the chance to hurt us again.”

“Ok,” Deeks said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Kensi ran her fingers through his hair again and pulled him towards her.

“We’re free, Deeks,” she said, pressing their foreheads together. He made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob and tilted her chin up to kiss her. It was a kiss filled with relief, the remnants of pain, and more hope than Kensi had felt in months. “We’re free,” she repeated, holding Deeks closer.

***

A/N: And I think that’s it, guys! I hope this was a satisfying ending for you all. Thanks so much for your enthusiastic and lovely response to this story, which was somewhat outside my normal range.

[miceenscene]

'tis the damn season

frankie/reader | childhood friends to lovers | pre-canon

wc: 1.8k/2.5k

summary: At one point in your lives, you knew Frankie better than anyone else on earth. When did that change?

warnings: none

an: don't let anyone tell you that second person doesn't work from another character's perspective, least of all yourself while editing

Masterpost | ao3

Chapter 2: Who am I Related to?

December 8, 2012 18:57

Hudson’s was a shitty bar just up highway 210 outside of Fort Bragg, the nearest watering hole to the base as the crow flies.

As a result, it served pretty damn near exclusively military personnel. When it changed ownership about four years back, the new management decided to reflect that and so the place looked like the Fourth of July and Top Gun had thrown up on it. Never mind that Fort Bragg was an Army base. Still, they had cheap booze and greasy food that was far better than the commissary, so it was always busy.

Pope had texted the usual suspects a few hours ago that he was heading to Hudson’s that evening, making Frankie immediately ditch his plans of drinking alone for drinking with Pope and whoever else showed up. Most likely just Benny and Ironhead now that Redfly had semi-retired down to Florida. It was a short drive to the bar from the dorms on base, but it was enough to make Frankie groan and press hands to his lower back as he got out of his car and made his way inside.

Pope was sitting at the bar and didn’t look up from texting on his phone as Frankie gingerly eased into the stool next to him.

“Hey, Fish,” Pope said, rereading the email.

“Hey.” At the bartender’s attention, Frankie pointed to Pope’s beer before daring a slight back stretch.

Pope sent his email and then looked over. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just finished PT.”

He chuckled once. “Back still fucked?”

“More tired than fucked anymore,” Frankie managed, shaking his head and wincing. The bartender delivered his beer, and Frankie took a swig. “When did we get old?”

“¿De qué estás hablando ‘nosotros’, viejo?”

Frankie jabbed an elbow and grinned slightly down at his next swig. “Culero.”

“Hey, before everyone gets here–” Pope looked at him, an oddly serious expression on his face for their usual bar. “I found out today you haven’t re-enlisted yet.”

Frankie immediately dropped his gaze to the suddenly very interesting glass in his hand. “Ah, no. No, I haven’t.”

“I’m trying to pull strings to get Benny into our unit full-time. I think he’d fit well with the team. Then Simmons tells me you haven’t signed your new papers yet. So what’s up?”

Frankie glanced over to see Pope still focused on him. “Nothing, nothing. I… I’m still thinking about it.”

He chuckled. “What’s there to think about?”

“We all want out someday, right? If we’re lucky enough to choose when we leave.”

“Yeah, but there’s thinking and thinking.” Pope smacked his shoulder. “What – are you gonna become a real estate agent like Redfly?”

No. Definitely not. Even just the idea of shilling condos was enough to make Frankie’s eyes glaze over. But still–

“Real estate agents make more money than we do.”

Pope made a considering face for a moment then brushed it off. “Yeah, but you’d miss it. You’re like me. We like the rush.”

Frankie nodded slightly. This is why he was still just thinking about it. It wasn’t a small thing to walk away from fourteen years with the Army. Especially since everyone knew the retirement benefits were absolute shit until you hit twenty. But he could already tell, he didn’t have another six years in him. He wasn’t even sure he had another deployment.

“You know the deadline’s New Year’s, right?” Pope said, cutting through his thoughts.

“Yeah, I know. I have some leave I have to take before the year’s out anyway.”

Pope nodded. “Good. Clear your head, get some perspective. See how fucking boring civvy life is, and then come back Jan 2 and join my team.”

Frankie smiled wryly; Pope always could make anything sound easy. “Something like that.”

“You have holiday plans then?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the bar.

Frankie sucked in breath. “I guess I’ll go back to my parents’. My mom’s been wanting me to visit for a while now.”

“How long’s it been?”

“I saw them in DC last summer, but I haven’t been back home… since I joined Delta.”

“Remind me where they’re at.”

“Up north. Little town in the middle of nowhere. Still in the same house I grew up in.” He could picture the wreath on the door, the twinkling lights his dad always strung across the front fence every December. A matching set used to be hung on the fence exactly opposite across the street. Who lived there now, he wondered. Would they put the tree in the front window too?

“Soldier coming home for Christmas. Sounds like a Hallmark movie.”

“Fuck you,” Frankie replied as the others finally arrived.

--

Frankie got his answer as he ducked out the front door of his parent’s house about a week later. His breath immediately fogged as he sucked in a few calming breaths of night air, the pressure in his head slowly levelling. Out in the still darkness, the noise level coming from the living room was finally manageable. Inside, with all of his cousins and his aunts and uncles and the music and everyone talking over each other and the heater set far too high for the number of people inside– he… he just needed a break.

Seven hours was a decent stint for his first day. He’d be around longer tomorrow. Wading in. That was the key. Because he was now the kind of person that had to treat time with his family like running a marathon. Apparently.

He walked down to the twinkling front fence, making a mental note to shovel the front walk tomorrow, and stopped. The house across the street – your house, as it would forever be in his mind – was completely dark. A small sign posted in the front yard announced some sort of home refurbishment company was going to be arriving soon. No doubt they would come in, strip away wallpaper and old tile and heart to paint it all beige and granite for the quick resell.

He hadn’t had the heart to ask his mother yet how long the house hadn’t belonged to your family. No need for another reminder of how much time had passed, how much he’d missed. He had more than enough already.

The front door opened behind him, casting a temporary warm glow across the dark snow, and his dad stepped out, pipe in hand. He meandered down the front steps to join Frankie at the gate, puffing a few times before speaking.

He shook his head. “It’d break his heart to see it so empty, but I understand why she sold,” he said, looking at the forlorn house with him.

“How long ago?” Frankie asked.

“Few months. Not too long after the funeral.” Dad looked his way for a moment. “I’ll give it ten minutes before I tell your mother you left.”

“I… thanks,” he replied weakly.

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back.”

Dad nodded slowly, leaving just the pipe smoke wafting between them for a minute. “Take it slow, no need to rush.”

“Thanks.” He stepped through the gate, fishing in his pocket for his car keys.

“Francisco,” he said, making Frankie stop and look at him. “We’re glad you’re back.”

Frankie just nodded and went to his car. Even though he couldn’t bear another minute in the noisy press of his loved ones, the idea of going back to his lonely hotel room was truly abysmal. So after some finagling with the ignition, he started the engine and headed to the one bar he’d ever been to in his hometown.

--

There were Christmas lights in the window and a dancing Santa on the bar as Frankie walked in. Some sort of forcibly cheery holiday classic played over the speakers tucked between quirky memorabilia that hung over every square inch of wall space. And even though public smoking had been outlawed by the state well over a decade ago, cigarette stench had sunk into the very foundation of the place.

It was nothing like Frankie remembered. But it would do.

Eyes automatically sweeping across the moderately busy room for a Thursday night, he headed for a stool at the far end of the bar, ordering a beer when the bartender came by. It was just one step up from swill, but comfortably numbing in its mediocrity. He looked across the room again, checking for familiar faces this time and finding none. No surprise there. A decade was a long time, and really he hadn’t been around too much for the years before that too.

There were couples on dates here, friend groups, some sort of girls’ night happening in the corner, a few loners like him hovering at the bar. Most everyone was smiling, talking, laughing so hard their whole bodies shook. A whole world of Normal. And Frankie was a tourist.

Pope was right. He couldn’t go back to this. He couldn’t make it through one whole day with blood relatives anymore. What was he thinking? That he could just settle into a normal life like the last decade of his work was nothing? Get a 9-to-5 and a mortgage and a girl – not that he’d ever had too much luck in that department. Especially when there was one girl that eclipsed all others, and he didn’t even know her phone number any more.

The door opened, making the Santa on the bar dance, and every thought in Frankie’s head immediately stopped. His eyes drew wide as he stared, jaw barely restrained from slapping against his chest. Was it really – course it was, there wasn’t anyone else it could be. A whole century could pass, and he’d still know that face.

It was you.

Live, in the flesh you. Cheeks pinked from the wind, haloed by the street lights outside, wrapped in a truly astonishing number of woolen layers. Not a half-remembered fantasy, but Real and breathing and even more beautiful than his memory had claimed.

He watched you shake a few flurries out of your hair and stomp the excess snow off your boots, shutting the door behind you as you waved to the bartender. Your gaze swung across the bar, completely skimming past him, and landed on the girls’ night in the corner. You smiled. He stared.

You began to head over to the people you were obviously here to meet. On nothing but pure instinct, he immediately got out of his stool and followed you. Falling into step behind you, he stretched a hand forward to hook a few fingers inside your elbow.

You looked back at him, and for a heart-breaking breath there was no recognition in your eyes.

Till he gave you a half-smile and said, “Hey Bo.”

You blinked, mouth dropping open. “Frankie?” you asked.

He nodded.

Your astonishment ballooned so wide it froze your whole face solid for a moment. Then you laughed, out of far more shock than amusement, and gave him a smile all his own. “Oh my god!! You’re here!”

You immediately wrapped him in a hug. And though it took him a moment to return it, for the first time in ten whole years, he was home.

Chapter 3: Not my Homeland Anymore

taglist: @kelenloth ; @darnitdraco ; @gracie7209 ; @616wilsons ; @icanbeyourjedi ; @astroboots ;

[walviemort]

Fairy Godfather, part 3

Summary: The fairies have asked a monumental favor of Killian: be the surrogate for their babies—all nine of them. He’s been pregnant before, but this? This is a whole other level. What has he gotten himself into? And just how big will he get?

A/N: Another update! Thank you to @sancocnutclub​ for her continued encouragement...which will be very apparent in part 4 ;)

rated T / 2.4k words / part 1 / part 2 / AO3

Though he had just passed the first trimester mark in this oversized pregnancy, Killian was pleased to find he was not lacking in the energy department. Granted, his first pregnancy had been similar—he’d had the most energy during the second trimester, despite the increasing size of his belly.

But his belly was a fraction of the size back then. Now, at 13 weeks, it was much closer to the size he’d been at 35 weeks with Hope. But he had yet to slow down—as evidenced by his and Emma’s morning activities; he was even on top.

There was no denying his present form was bulky, but he’d been too fatigued at this size with Hope to do much but sleep and eat. That was not a problem now, and both he and Emma were reaping the benefits. Reaching orgasm while she was caressing his bump? It was impossible to describe how amazing that felt.

However, he’d hardly finished when Hope began to cry out from her nursery. As much as he was still feeling good, moving did take a bit more effort than it had. This bump also weighed as much as his last one, and was only going to get heavier; at least it hadn’t dropped yet. But it meant that Emma was still quicker to her feet than he was, and sprang up to retrieve their 13 month old before she tried to climb out of her crib on her own.

Hope finally figured out walking a month or so ago—just in time for her first birthday—and he was well aware of the comical sight he’d made at her party, chasing after her with his protruding stomach. But at least he still could, even if he got winded more quickly than he’d like. 

Tink had been snickering at him during one such moment. “Hey,” he chastised and patted the bump. “Your kid is in here, so I’d watch the mocking when it comes to running after mine.”

“That’s fair,” she’d conceded. “Just let me know when you need help, though—I’ll gladly go after the little hellion.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

They hadn’t needed her help yet, but it was only a matter of time—especially by the sound of tiny but insistent footsteps that were getting faster every day as they ran down the hallway. 

“Dada!” her little voice called out as she charged into the room and threw herself against his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“How’s my little cygnet today?” he enthusiastically replied as he bent down to pick her up. He had to open his legs to make room for the bump, but it was still an achievable feat, and Hope giggled as she flew into the air and the curled in as he carefully tucked her into his side. 

After a brief cuddle, she squirmed for him to set her down on the mattress, and gave his bump a gentle pat. “Hi babies,” she said (or tried to; some of those sounds were still being worked on). She’d noticed the bump a few weeks ago, once it had really started popping out. They couldn’t tell if she actually understood what was going on—and were glad she was young enough to not have to explain it—but she was at least careful and affectionate. 

He just hoped that continued as she grew steadier on her feet—and he grew larger and less so. 

Hope tucked herself back into Killian’s side and Emma sat down on the other. “This is a pretty perfect morning,” she sighed as she laid her head in his bare shoulder. “Do I really have to go into work?”

“I’m of the same opinion—but wasn’t Tiger Lily coming for training today?” She was the fairy who’d offered to take over his deputy duties once he no longer could—and he had a hunch she'd be an acceptable long-term hire. 

“Yeah,” she complained. “Just wish it could wait another day.”

“Or,” he suggested, “we get through today and then we can spend tomorrow in a similar manner.”

“I like the way you think,” she replied, then pulled him in for a kiss. 

He set Hope down on the bed, where she proceeded to tackle the pillows, and went about the process of getting dressed. His sleep pants still fit, although they were reaching the point where they were almost too snug on his hips, which had definitely widened more than last time. 

Thankfully, his maternity jeans were as stretchy as ever, and he hadn’t yet exceeded their capacity; the elastic panel hugged his belly comfortably as he slipped them on. 

Emma had bought him a collection of soft, short-sleeved t-shirts a size larger than he typically wore, and one of those slipped on easily, but the bump still stood prominently under navy cotton. Hopefully, they made these in several larger sizes. 

They stopped at Granny’s before heading to their respective workplaces for the day, and Killian consumed a larger stack of pancakes than he’d like to admit; good thing Belle took his measurements yesterday. At least there was also a generous side of fresh fruit. 

When he and Hope arrived at the library, he was only semi-surprised to see Blue there; she seemed to be showing up once a month or so to check in, but today had another goal. 

“Would you be okay with getting an ultrasound?” she asked. 

That was shocking. “Sure,” he said, “but will it be okay for them?” he countered, rubbing his belly. Inside, they seemed to be fluttering nervously. 

“If it’s fine for a human baby, it should be for them. It’s just—I see all these thorough notes and comparisons, and I’m curious what that would reveal.”

“Whale says he has an opening,” Belle added, phone in hand. “Shall we?”

They did, and headed out en masse to make the short walk to the hospital. At least, it should have been short, but Hope insisted on walking on her own and Killian’s pace wasn’t as fast as it normally was. 

Whale met them in the waiting room when they arrived, though, an eager look on his face. “Wondered if I'd see you this time around,” he greeted. “I’ve gotta say—I’m pretty curious about this.”

“Aren’t we all,” Killian answered dryly, bracing his hook against his lower back. 

“Come on; let’s take a peek in there,” Whale beckoned, and led them to an exam room. 

Killian passed Hope off to Blue and began the process of climbing up on the exam table; again—he was doing fine on the energy front, but a large bump was a large bump, and it not only was an obstacle to his mobility, but he was carrying around some weight he hadn’t been 13 weeks ago (and in more places than just the bump).

But he managed to get up there and lifted up his shirt without prompting; he knew the drill. During his seemingly arduous climb, Whale had been looking over Belle’s notes from both pregnancies. “Damn,” he commented. “I think your notes are more detailed than my charts.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Killian called out; Whale just chuckled and moved to ready the ultrasound machine while Belle rolled her eyes and readied her pen. 

Killian had forgotten how cold the gel was, but he got over it quickly as Whale began to move the probe over his (thankfully stretch mark-free) stomach. 

“Well I’ve never seen that before,” Whale said after a bit, and everyone focused on the screen. 

“I thought those were only in black and white?” Belle asked. 

“They are,” Whale confirmed. 

And yet, as the tiny images of multiple babies appeared on the screen, each one was showing up in a different color—the color of the orbs they started as. Tink’s green stood out front and center, but as Whale moved the probe over the dome that was Killian’s abdomen, all the other colors showed up, except—

“Where’s mine?” Blue asked, understandably worried. 

“Hmm,” Whale hummed, investigating. “One, two,” he started counting, finding 8 that were easily visible. “But it looks like…” He pressed harder on Killian’s belly, to the point of discomfort, but he didn’t complain—not when Blue looked so worried. 

“Yeah, there’s definitely one hiding in there,” Whale said. “I just can’t zero in. There’s some color bleeding through, though…”

And in between a pink-hued and navy-hued fetus, a bit of bright blue was visible. Blue sighed in relief. “Yeah, she’s just being stubborn,” Whale assured her. “You can probably blame it on Hook.”

“Hey!” he protested, but Belle’s snicker suggested she agreed.

“Anyways—from a development standpoint, yeah, I’d put you right at 13 weeks, although probably half the size. Were it a normal pregnancy, I’d guess you’d only go to 30 weeks or so, for safety—but I’m guessing that won’t be the case here?”

“No,” Blue said. “He’ll go all the way to full term.”

Whale whistled. “Thank goodness they’re small then.”

Several copies of the sonogram were printed off—as mysteriously colorful as they were on screen—with Killian taking one, another going in Belle’s notebook, and the rest going with Blue. There was some discussion of doing another ultrasound at the second trimester, but it was ultimately deemed unnecessary.

Whale bid them adieu but they lingered in the room, if only because it took Killian a bit to clean off the gel (he hated the way it got caught in the bit of hair on his stomach). Belle was wrangling the kids, but Blue was staring at the pictures, almost in awe. 

“You were worried, weren’t you?” Killian asked softly. “That she wasn’t there.”

“Yes,” Blue admitted. “It’s rare, but sometimes, they don’t all take. And I’ve just—I’ve waited so long for this.”

“I understand.” It had taken him and Emma quite some time to conceive Hope, and obviously they required assistance. 

“I guess I’ll just have to be patient,” she sighed. 

“Aye,” he agreed. “But—” He placed his hand on the top of his bump and furrowed his brow in concentration. “I’m almost positive she’s kicking my bladder at the moment.”

It drew the polite chuckle he was going for, but also meant he needed to excuse himself. Blue also took that moment to take her leave, but not without an emphatic thank-you.

He had to admit, as he shuffled off to the bathroom—he’d definitely been resentful of this arrangement to an extent. But seeing Blue’s genuine emotions there at the prospect of parenthood made that feeling dissipate. 

He was sure he’d have a mountain of complaints by the end of this, but being able to grant so many others the joys he’d found as a parent—that would be worth it. 

------------------------------------------------------

At 16 weeks, he hit the same measurements he had when he was at full term with Hope (literally those of the day before he’d gone into labor). But the bump still sat high on his frame. “I wonder if whatever magic is preventing stretch marks is also holding it aloft,” he quipped as he traced the curve of his belly. 

“It’s entirely possible,” Belle concurred. “Look at the difference.” In addition to measured data, she also had photographic documentation of his various milestones in both pregnancies; comparing the picture she’d just taken on her phone to the one from right before Hope entered the world, it was plain to see the similarities in how much they extended in front of him, but the difference in where it sat on his body. 

“We’ll see how long it lasts, though.”

In answer to his theory, he got another few weeks before things began to sit lower, though his stomach continued it’s outward expansion—a couple centimeters every week. But by his 17th week, he finally started feeling the pull of gravity and had to dig out the belly band he’d relied on the last month or so with Hope. 

But he soon noticed another issue. While he remembered what it was like to not be able to see his feet, and had gotten used to the obstacle about his midsection, he wasn’t prepared for it to stick out even more. 

Case in point: one morning during his 18th week, when he was attempting to surprise Emma with breakfast (usually she rose first, but a flurry of activity in his belly had woken him early). However, he was a bit farther from the stove than he was used to, as well as the cabinets, and he kept knocking into the chairs around the table; Hope was watching him from her own high chair in amusement, far more interested in his slapstick endeavor than her cereal. 

“What’s going on?” Emma’s sleepy voice asked after he cursed at nearly burning his belly on the oven. 

“Nothing,” he huffed, rubbing the spot on his bump that was just a bit too warm. “Just a failed attempt at treating my amazing wife.”

She glanced around, then smiled. “You were trying to make me breakfast but then your belly got in the way?”

“Aye,” he sighed. 

She walked over to him and pulled him into a hug—from the side, since she already couldn’t get close enough from the front—and turned his face towards her to kiss him. “You’re too sweet,” she said, tucking herself into his side. “And you treated me plenty last night,” she added in a low voice; he swallowed at the memory of their shared moment—probably one of the last times he’d be able to make love on top for a while, unless they got creative with the logistics, but dammit, he did it, and it was amazing. 

“I can finish this up; take a seat, okay?”

“I should be able to do this, though,” he complained. 

“And you will—in 5 months or so. But I told you I’d support you with this, so let me.”

He sighed again, but complied, and ignored the creak of his chair as he sat down (angled away from the table—he was also up a size in shirts, but his jeans were holding on…for now). “How did the gods see fit to bless this poor bastard with such an amazing woman?” he asked, watching the blush rise on her cheeks. 

“The same way they did for this lost girl,” she countered, then put a (heaping) plate in front of him. 

“I love you so much, Swan—thank you.”

She placed another kiss on his lips. “I love you too—always.”

Even if this wasn’t an ideal situation, he knew that he was blessed to have Emma at his side; he wouldn’t be able to get through this without her. 

-------------------------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging @wyntereyez​ @jennjenn615​ @superadam54​ @ashley-knightingale​ @justsomewhump​ @teamhook​ @88infinity88​​ (let me know if you want a tag!)

[dreamypeaches]

tell me it’s okay | jj maybank x reader x pope heyward

request: anonymous asked: Laying on the beach at night, tucked between Pope and JJ. Your boys telling you how they're gonna take care of you for the rest of your lives. Get you a big house, nice cars, and most importantly, how you'll always have their hearts.

summary: some days are darker than others. jj and pope show you the light. 

warnings: fluffy angst, depression, cursing

word count: 1.2k

a/n: idk where this came from, but this ask really got me emotional and i had to write this. this is a really personal piece for me, i drew from my own experience with depression and general mental health issues that i deal with everyday. some days you just need some sweet boys and tell you everything is okay.

It was Saturday. A day for rest, relaxation, and restoration. For you, it was a day of emptiness. A day that allowed your mind to fall in an abyss that haunted every corner. Sometimes you were able to jump over it, avoid it a few times. You laugh at it, looking back at the void you had narrowly escaped and flipping it off. But you weren’t paying attention to the road ahead of you, where another hole waited, and you fell. Sometimes you wished there was a bottom, at least you’d be able to feel the pain that came with the impact. No, you just got to fall. Fall and fall through the dark emptiness as it consumed you.

You laid on the couch as you fell. The TV was on, Netflix asking if you were still watching, but you couldn’t bring yourself to grab the controller, the smallest movement feeling like a marathon. How long had you been there? You weren’t sure. The day had passed in a blur. You woke up squished between your two boys, the loves of your life. You cooked them breakfast as they got ready for work, you were the only lucky one with weekends off. As you kissed them goodbye and heard the door shut behind them, that’s when you stepped into the hole. You collapsed onto the couch, turning on the television and scrolling through your phone, not yet realizing how deep this hole was. Falling, falling, falling. No rescue in sight.

“Hey, love.”

A light. A rope. Something to grab and hold on to for dear life.

“Hey, sunshine.”

Grasping, climbing. Not falling, not anymore. For now.

“How was your day?”

JJ asks this question every day. He always wants to know what went on in his love’s days, the moments he didn’t get to see. But as he crouches beside you, labor-worn fingers brushing through your hair and ocean blue eyes filled with a storm of worry, you heard something different. How are you? How can I help you?

Pope joins you on the couch, lifting your legs and letting them fall back down into his lap. His soft hands rub up and down your bare legs, the simple touch radiating comfort and love telling you I’m here.

“It was fine,” you reply, lump already forming in your throat. It was impossible to speak without crying, not when you felt like this. Not when they were looking at you like that.

“Love?” Pope says, his voice breaking for a moment. He exchanges a look with JJ. Neither boy had seen you like this in a while, especially not this bad. Even when you were sad, even when you were falling, you always tried to force a smile. Always greeted them at the door with a kiss and a smile that didn’t meet your eyes. They always saw right through you, breaking through your paper-thin facade and getting you to talk. Today was different. You weren’t trying, you didn’t want to try. What was the point in trying if there was no future to try for?

JJ takes your hand and pulls you off the couch, Pope taking your other and helping.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

The sun is setting, the beautiful oranges and pinks following looking dull as JJ and Pope lead you down the street, swinging your intertwined hands as you moved. They tried to make you laugh, cracking jokes, swinging your hands wildly, anything they could think of. The most they got out of you was a small smile and a half-hearted chuckle. The jokes fade as you reach the beach, JJ and Pope opting to stay silent, realizing the usual strategies weren’t going to cut it.

They found a spot in the middle of the empty beach, pulling you down in between them. You lie on your backs, staring up at the darkening sky. The tears come before you realize you’re crying, falling silently down your cheeks. Pope and JJ are turned on their sides, arms crossed over your middle as their chins rest on your shoulders. The sun is almost completely gone before you speak.

“Why is it so hard?” you say, hands moving to grip the ones resting on your stomach.

“Why is what so hard?” Pope asks.

“Life. Being alive. Fucking breathing.” You choke back a sob at the last word, sniffling and squeezing your eyes shut as the tears come quicker. JJ tries to ignore the lump in his throat, the site of you in pain absolutely destroying him. Pope starts to rub circles on your side with his thumb, pressing kisses to your neck and jaw.

“It is hard. I know it’s hard. But you are so strong, my love. You’re the strongest person we know, right JJ?”

“Fuck yeah, the toughest bitch in the universe.”

You let out a watery laugh.

“But some days it’s hard to be strong. It seems like every step is impossible, right? That’s why were here. We’ll always take care of you, love. Hold you up when you feel like your falling, support you while you keep moving forward.”

“Yeah, you’ll always have us. We’re going to take such good fucking care of you. We’ll get you a big house, the biggest one in Figure 8. A pool, big kitchen, lots of rooms for us and all our hooligan children. A trampoline too, I know you love those.” JJ joins in, his words like a pen, sketching out your future before your eyes.

“A nice car too, one that doesn’t break down every three days. Pretty dresses, flowers every day, big vacations twice a year and small ones every month,” Pope adds on. The boys continue to paint out your future together, getting more extravagant and spectacular until you are laughing at their ridiculousness.

“Then, once we have one vacation house on every planet, we’ll travel to the end of the universe, find god, and kick him in the nuts.” JJ finishes, a grin on his face as you let out the most joyful laugh of the night. Pope and JJ laugh along with you, partly from the hilarity of their words, partly from the relief of hearing you laugh.

It dies away after a while and you sigh, looking up at the now starry sky.

“All I want is more nights like this. My two boys next to me, holding me, telling me everything will be okay.”

“Well, you’ll always have that. No matter what. We could all be homeless living in a cave at the bottom on the ocean, you would still have our hearts,” Pope says

“No refunds, sunshine,” JJ adds. You turn your head side to side, looking at each boy in the eyes before pressing sweet kisses to their noses.

“That’s okay, I lost the receipt along time ago.”

They chuckle, snuggling closer into you. You turn onto your side, back pressed against JJ’s chest as you rest your head in the crook of Pope’s neck. They surround you in a cocoon of warmth, protecting you from the dark emptiness. That’s when you realize you’re not falling anymore, you’re flying. Up, up, up, away from the abyss and into a bright light. It’s so bright, you can’t see what’s on the other side. You know it’s good, it has to be because JJ and Pope will be there. And wherever they are, you know you will be okay.

taglist/moots: @ilovejjmaybank @broken-jj @vindictive-hearts  @fttayla @rafej-cambanks @sunwardsss @jjmaybby @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @rekrappeter @diverdcwn @rafecameron @prejudic3 @starlightstarkey @https-luna @obxmxybxnk @jjmayybank @euphoricmalfoy @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @peachydrews @outerbanksbro @poguestyleskye @softstarkey @bricksatanakinswindow @mdlyncline @poguemackin @downbytheouterbanks @rae131415 @outrbanks @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @tempestuousjj @stargazingstarkey @anxietyandtacos @joshy-obx @overly-b @pokerfacepankow @royalmerchant @toriswrites @stfukie

[sevlgi]

patient

requested: yes

group: mamamoo

pairing: hwasa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: tattoo artist!hwasa, flustered!reader [15/33]

warnings: none

synopsis: It’s hard for you to be patient about your next tattoo session when your artist is so damn gorgeous.

a/n: um??? I love tattoo aus???? also don’t come at me for the name, I’m not creative

word count: 1.9k

“Elegant Chaos.”

You test the name out on your tongue, staring up at the slightly grimy neon sign of the shop. The entire front is one-way glass, so all you can see is your own reflection and the ones of the people bustling around you.

Before you can make up a decision to open the door to the store or not, someone else does; a pretty brunette woman steps out and smiles at you, crazy beautiful with full lips and crescent-eyes. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah.” You show her the printed-out address your friend sent you and step a bit closer. “Is this a tattoo shop? I searched the address up but nothing resulted, I was referred by a friend.”

She barely takes a glance at the address before flashing another bright grin. “Oh, yep! This is our tattoo shop, we opened a couple months ago. It’s weird that we’re still not showing up, but oh, well. Want to come in?”

You barely register her quick words but step into the shop after her, the smell of rubbing alcohol, paper, and perfume vaguely stinging your nose. “I’m Solar, the receptionist,” she introduces, walking behind what you presume to be her desk. Out front, some teenagers talk quietly, a tall, dark-haired boy with a sleeve sipping at a banana milk.

“Cool. Uh, I’m Y/N. I don’t have an appointment, is that okay?”

Solar nods, tapping at her phone. “Sure. Jungkook over there is just waiting for Byul to finish her other client, and Wheein is prepping to pierce the kids. Hwasa’s our best artist, anyway, does that sound good?”

Her question startles you from staring at the intricate sketches taped all over the walls, the same 3 signatures stamped everywhere. “What?”

She laughs, though it’s not rude. “We have one artist left, Hwasa, but since you’re referred, you probably don’t have someone in mind, right? You can go to see her now, she’s free.”

“Great. Do I just...?” At Solar’s nod, you walk past her and into the back. The studio’s quite small, to be honest; there are 4 stations, two of them occupied. One of them, who you guess is Byul, is tattooing an elderly man, her sleeves rolled up to reveal the art on her bicep. 

The second, probably Wheein, is wiping down her tools, and she’s the first to notice you. “Hi!” she grins, turning the music blasting from the radio down with her ungloved hand. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. Solar mentioned that I should come find Hwasa,” you explain, eyes widening at the complicated art being tattooed on the elderly man. “Are you...?”

“No, I’m Wheein.” Ah, so you were right. “This is Byul, she’s a bit preoccupied,” Wheein smiles, dimples poking into her cheeks. “I’ll get Hye- sorry, Hwasa for you.”

She hurries out to the back, and you can hear talking through the open door, before she comes back, the woman you presume to be Hwasa behind her.

Instantly, you’re starstruck; she’s stunning in a way that’s completely unique, long dark hair and tanned skin contrasting beautifully. The only makeup she wears is a bold red lipstick, her tank top showing the delicate tattoos she has. “Hey, I’m Hwasa,” she greets, sticking her hand out. Her nails are long, too.

“Y/N.” You accept the handshake, trying not to stare. “Uh, Solar said you were free for a consultation?”

“Yeah.” She sits at one of the free stations, clearing the things scattered on the table. “So, what’re you looking for? Do you already have a design chosen or am I freehanding?”

You fumble in your bag for a piece of paper, sliding it over to Hwasa. “Um, this is just something my friend drew up for me. I want it pretty small, on my forearm.”

The dark-haired woman shrugs, unfolding the paper. “I could do that. Is this your first tattoo?”

Nodding, you watch as Hwasa taps her long, red-painted nails on the desk. “Okay. Is this part of a sleeve or by itself?”

“Uh, how long would each one take?” To be honest, you have no idea why you said that; you didn’t consider a sleeve at all, though you considered multiple tattoos or a large one. There’s just something about the other woman that makes it impossible for you to think.

She considers the question before answering, “Depends on the size and how many small ones you want to work in for the sleeve, but I’d recommend a separate session for each small square, so maybe 8 or 10. I’ll be done with this in less than 30 minutes, though, if it’s just the one.”

To be honest, the only thing causing you to consider a sleeve is getting to see Hwasa again, and you curse your own attraction to her when you blurt, “Maybe a sleeve? I have to think about the other ones I want to work in, though.”

“Okay. I can just do the one today, and we can schedule another day for you to come in and design the whole thing,” she offers, picking the sketch up. “I’ll go make this into a stencil, then.”

“Sure.”

When she takes the sketch and walks to the back room, you slump down in the chair and pivot to look at the others. You quickly realize how long you were talking with Hwasa; Byul is already working on the coconut-haired boy, and Wheein is already done with the teenagers.

She seems to be the outgoing type, and waves at you while sanitizing her needles and packing her kit up again. “So, how did it go? Are you going to start today?”

“I am, yep. You’re already done with the kids?”

Wheein nods, placing the studs back into their cases. “Yep. They just wanted more lobe piercings, it’s really easy. I’m a tattoo artist, too, but I think the kids like me more. Except for Jungkook over here, they think Byul’s intimidating.”

“I’m not!” the other woman protests, hands still steady as she works on the boy. Her voice is deeper than you’d expect. “You literally call me a hamster.”

Flapping a hand, Wheein flashes you her dimples again. “So, what do you think of Hwasa?”

“Huh?” you blink, brain basically short-circuiting. “Uh, she’s a good artist? I saw some of her sketches, yours too; you’re all really talented.”

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. Wait, you’re not straight, are you?” she narrows her eyes at you, scanning you from head to toe. “Maybe my sense is broken, I didn’t peg you for a...”

“I’m not. Straight. I’m a lesbian.” Your cheeks burn to say it aloud, though nobody really reacts, not even Jungkook. “Are you?”

Wheein shrugs, “I mean, I’m attracted to women. All 4 of us are- Hyejin, Byul, Yongsun. Solar, to you. And we make sure everyone who comes in is accepting, we won’t serve bigots.”

For whatever reason, you’re almost relieved to hear that Hwasa’s also attracted to women in some sense, even though it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s attracted to you. “Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah. So, is it just one tattoo or a sleeve?” Her knowing smile puts you off a bit; how did she figure it out? “A lot of girls who come in here change their original idea because of Hyejin-ah. You’re obviously attracted to her, to, so it’s no surprise.”

“Is it really that obvious?” you groan, surprising yourself with how open you’re being about it. “Do you think she knows?”

“Probably,” Wheein giggles, nodding when Solar pokes her head in the studio to tell her something. “Anyway. I’ve got to go, good luck!”

She waves as she leaves, the only noise left in the studio being the quiet music and Jungkook’s quiet talking. He seems just as awkward as you are, lifting his free hand in a half wave.

You’re saved by Hwasa returning with a stencil. “Here. Does that look good?”

She’s modified the original design just the tiniest bit, making the lines a little bit darker and the shading simpler, and it looks... “Perfect.” You grin, a weight on your chest lifted by your conversation with Wheein. “Should we start?”

“Sure.” She brings you over to one of the actual tattoo stations, the seat already smelling sanitized. You can barely listen as she explains what the process will be like- cleaning, the actual tattooing, pain; you finally come to when she asks, “Are you ready?”

“I... yeah. I am.”

It’s quiet until the buzzing of the tattoo gun brings you to life, the tiniest bit of fear sour on your tongue. Hwasa looks concentrated as she peels the stencil off, not exactly reassuring, either. “So. Is there a meaning behind this?”

“Uh, not really. Are there meanings behind yours?” You gasp when the needle first touches your skin, the cold wipe taking off excess ink.

“I have some matching tattoos with Wheein,” Hwasa explains, smiling at the mention of the other girl. “Uh, one is Maria, my Christian name. Wheein has more, but all of us have some kind of meaning behind ours. It’s not bad to have no meaning, though.”

You wince as she continues with the linework, slowly getting used to the pain. “Are you and Wheein...”

She looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Together? No, we’re best friends. I haven’t been with someone in a few years.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Hwasa laughs, wiping your arm once again. “Nothing, I guess. I’m just patient enough to wait for the right person.”

“Patient. Right.”

Conversation flows smoothly, mostly light topics. You learn each other’s ages, and you’re told to call Hwasa ‘Hyejin’ instead. You learn when she got her first tattoo, and when she learned to tattoo others. The more you talk, the more drawn in you are, fascinated by her every word.

The half an hour is over far too fast. “Done,” she announces, smiling as she turns off her gun. “Take a look.”

It looks gorgeous, as expected, though Hwasa plays off your barrage of compliments. “Uh, should I pay now?”

She shrugs, placing saran wrap over your arm. “We’ll go talk with Solar about that, she’s better with pricing than I am. But it probably won’t be much.”

“What? Why?” you frown, examining the tattoo. Usually, discounts only happen when something goes wrong, or you have a coupon. You’re pretty sure neither of those things apply.

Hwasa pauses, turning to send you a small smirk. “Well, the cute ones usually pay less.”

Your heart practically stops, though you force yourself to walk to the front with her. “Besides, you’re probably coming back again soon, right?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I think so. When will that be? The next session, I mean.”

She frowns, tapping at the tablet Solar hands her. “You can come in as soon as you’re free to design it, if you want, but you have to wait a bit for the next session, especially if you’re doing the things close together. If you want, I can give you my number.”

At your stricken expression, Hwasa’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “So you can send me ideas, for the sleeve.”

“Ah, of course.” Your cheeks burn as you take out your cash, counting out a surprisingly small amount. “That sounds good. I guess I’ll just have to be patient, then.”

“I guess so. Call me, Y/N,” she smiles, handing your phone back with a new contact in.

Being patient is going to be so damn hard. 

[saijspellhart]

Could you do 8 for Radicalshipping? I think it would be sweet :)

8. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand. (Radicalshipping)

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond. (Radicalshipping)

16. One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person. (Radicalshipping)

“I knew he only liked me for my body,” Bakura spat. He flicked a duel monsters card at the TV and watched it hit the screen and deflect off of Malik’s face and join its brethren on the floor.

They were watching a tournament on the television, and the broadcast was currently wrapping up Malik’s latest duel. He’d been successful of course, and they were in the post duel interviews where Malik was answering questions about his plays. Ryou was with him, their arms thrown over the other’s shoulder in congratulations and friendship.

Malik leaned his head against Ryou’s and smiled at the camera, bright and proud.

Bakura flung another card at the TV.

“I like your body.” Yami Marik pulled off a pair of headphones, and turned away from his game at the desk.

Bakura threw a card at him too. “That’s the whole point you twit! This isn’t my body.” He gestured to himself, his thin lanky frame. There were muscles, because Bakura worked for them. But they weren’t incredibly defined because Ryou had never had that sort of stature. Upon being given a second chance at life, the gods had humbled Bakura by giving him a replica of Ryou’s body, rather than his original body. “And now Malik is shacking up with my former host.”

Marik eyed the television which was still showing the interviews with Malik. He’d been purposely ignoring this portion of the broadcast. Seeing his other half always stirred troubled emotions of resent and anger in him. Feelings he was working hard to overcome.

“They look like friends to me,” Marik remarked.

“Feh,” Bakura shuffled the stack of cards in his hand. He was lounging across the couch, one foot crossed over the other. The floor around the apartment was littered with Duel Monsters cards that he’d been throwing for the last hour.

“Well he certainly wouldn’t like you for your personality,” Marik snipped. “You’re an insufferable bastard.”

“Prick,” Bakura spat.

“Bitch.”

“Wanker.”

“Look! Yugi’s on!” Marik suddenly leaped from the chair and vaulted over the couch. He snatched the remote off the coffee table, and was already turning up the volume. Bakura didn’t bother to move his legs, which didn’t bother Marik at all. He climbed onto the couch, crouching on it like L from Death Note rather than a sane normal person.

Then again, Yami Marik was not a sane and normal person. In the years of separation from Malik—and with the gift of his own body—Marik had grown into himself. In some ways he had matured, grown, and mellowed out, but in other ways he’d developed his own idiosyncrasies, and still had a streak of impulsivity that reared from time to time.

Marik turned up the volume, and even Bakura sat up straighter. The two men watched as the small “King-of-Games” appeared on screen stepping up to a podium on a duel stadium. This tournament was using a classic stadium, rather than Kaiba’s portable duel disk system.

Yugi waved to the crowd, and smiled. Then the cameras switched to his opponent, and they watched as a different person, a taller guy with black hair and a ball cap, stepped up to the opposite podium. He too, waved at the crowd. But he followed it up with a fist pump that awarded him a round of cheers.

Bakura flicked a card at the guy on the screen. It struck the man’s ball cap before bouncing onto the floor.

“Boo!” Marik voiced both their thoughts aloud.

The two Yamis resented their absence from the tournament. They had not been allowed to sign up due to a lack of identification. Kaiba promised that he was working on creating identification for them, as well as obtaining credible backstories and citizenship. They’d only been given their fleshy new bodies less than six months ago, and it had taken a lot of convincing from Yugi to persuade Kaiba to help Marik and Bakura.

Suffice to say Kaiba wasn’t exactly in a rush.

So here they were, at home—Yugi’s home, because he had been the only one willing to take them in—behaving themselves. Sort of.

Yugi’s apartment was a mess right now. The carpet blanketed in a layer of trading cards that Bakura had spent the last hour and a half throwing about.

The desk where Marik had been faired no better. It was covered in the empty cans of energy drinks, sodas, and the occasion alcohol. Marik had a tendency to stay up all night playing MMOs, and the lack of sleep only enhanced his usual crazy unkempt appearance, rather than detract from it. Amongst the cans were the various wrappers of plant protein bars and veggie chips; there were also a few cards here and there that had managed to find their way amongst the mess.

The tournament commenced after a handful of commercials and a few more interviews with the other contestants. It was mostly speculation of who they thought would win, and what strats might be employed from each player.

Bakura muttered his own commentary about Yugi’s strategies, and Marik grunted in agreement.

And then the duel was underway. Yugi was first to go, and played a face down card before ending his turn, and letting his opponent retaliate.

Ball-cap Boy, as the Yamis labeled him, lost his first summoned monster to Yugi’s trap hole.

“Kick his ass!” Screamed Marik. He was clutching the remote between his fingers like a demented gargoyle.

“Not a bad start,” Bakura remarked. “The field is wide open for Yugi to make a counter attack, and Ball-cap Boy only played one face down card.”

The turn passed back to Yugi. He drew a card.

“Yugi has cards to sweep the field of magic and traps,” Marik nodded at the screen, stating the obvious. It wasn’t necessarily for Bakura’s benefit, as they were simply voicing their own thoughts and observations.

Right on cue, Yugi used a Mystical Space Typhoon, and sent Ball-cap’s card to the graveyard. Then he used a Pot of Greed, drew two more cards, and played a Black Magic Ritual spell card. He sent two monsters from his hand, to the graveyard as tribute, and summoned Magician of Black Chaos right to the field.

This was followed by the activation of the field spell, Yami. Which cast the whole holographic playing field into a black and purple miasma. The change in field giving Yugi’s Spellcaster and Fiend type monsters a boost.

Which included Magician of Black Chaos.

Yugi struck his opponent with a savage blow to his life points, then ended his turn. His hand was empty of cards except for one. It was a vulnerable position to be in, but he did have a very powerful monster on the field.

“YAAS!” Marik bounced on the couch and howled at the TV.

“Babysitter had a very lucky hand to start with,” Bakura remarked. “This will hardly be a fair match.”

“Don’t care as long as Yugi fucks him up.”

Bakura nodded his agreement, and they both continued to watch the game unfold.

The duel didn’t conclude as one-sided as the Yamis first predicted. Ball-cap Boy managed to make a come back, and get rid of Yugi’s Magician with a spell card. After that, he had Yugi on the defensive for a bit.

But when the match finally concluded it was with Yugi’s decisive victory.

The cameras momentarily followed the loser as he slunk offstage, as well as a shower of trading cards and popcorn from Marik and Bakura.

When attention returned to Yugi, interviews and congratulations commenced. With his latest win, Yugi would be attending the semi-finals tomorrow, where he would face off against Malik Ishtar, Mai Valentine, and Weevil Underwood. They would draw names tomorrow to decide who would face off against whom.

The Yamis continued to watch the broadcast even after Yugi had excused himself from the cameras, and mysteriously disappeared. No one appeared to be able to locate him again for further interviews, and turned instead to interview various members of the crowd about today’s matches.

Twenty minutes later the apartment door flew open, and the spikey little “King-of-Games,” entered the apartment. He tossed his bag on the floor next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m home! Did you guys catch my duel?”

Bakura quickly snapped the television off and looked over the back of the couch.

“Of course not. I don’t watch bullshit.”

Marik fixed Bakura with a dark stare. Then turned and draped his large frame over the back of the couch to watch Yugi kick his shoes off.

“Oh.” Yugi’s face drooped a bit. “What were you guys watching?”

“The news.”

“My Little Pony.”

This time it was Bakura’s turn to fix Marik with a death glare. “We do NOT watch My Little Pony.”

“Keh, speak for yourself,” Marik muttered, “Discord is my kindred spirit.”

Yugi hung up his jacket and approached the two of them with an infectious smile. A smile different from his other ones, and one he only seemed to wear when he saw them. Whether it was coming home from a long day, or upon seeing them whenever they picked him up from university.

“Did you win?” Bakura inquired, folding his arms over the back of the couch.

Marik struck him with his unsocked foot, where Yugi couldn’t see. “Of course he won. Babysitter is the King.”

“I lost. Big time,” Yugi lamented. He dropped his eyes and kicked the carpet in shame. “Sano, will go on to the semi-finals tomorrow.”

Marik held out his arms, beckoning Yugi to come close for a sympathetic hug.

When he did, the Yami scooped him up instead and dragged Yugi over the back of the couch and onto the cushions between him and Bakura.

Yugi yelped in surprise.

Both Yamis drew over him like a couple of predators. It was akin to being flanked by a lion and lynx.

“Let us console you,” Bakura purred.

“We’ll ease the sting of loss,” Marik added. “Tell us how it happened.”

“You definitely should have won.”

“Especially the play with the graceful charity, and the discarding two dark magicians from your hand to boost the power of Dark Magician Girl. That was a wicked thing to do~”

“Marik! You absolute knob-head!”

“I knew it,” Yugi giggled, and a grin spread over his face from ear to ear. He stared up at the two Yamis. “You did watch my duel.”

One Yami was baring his teeth and scowling so hard that creases formed on his brow. The other was grinning with feral delight.

“I never wanted to play this game in the first place,” Marik defended. He turned his attention to their babysitter and picked up Yugi’s hand, placing a chaste kiss to the back of it. “You sacrificed your most precious monster cards so callously for power. How unlike you. We must be rubbing off on you.” he purred almost sensually.

It sent butterflies squirming in the young man’s stomach.

“Congrats of the victory, My Precious,” he hummed the words against pale skin before dragging his long tongue over Yugi’s hand and fingers. The endearing nickname was something he’d coined for Yugi after the three of them binged a Lord of the Rings marathon. Bakura refused to use it, preferring his own terms for Yugi. So this one was uniquely Marik’s.

“It was a good duel,” Bakura grumbled. He folded his arms over Yugi’s bent knees and rested his chin upon them.

Yugi couldn’t help but beam up at him even whilst Marik slipped one of Yugi’s fingers into his mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch that over the sound of my hand being molested.”

“You kicked ass,” Bakura snarled louder, his cheeks suddenly flushing a deep pink. His eyes were staring at the floor off to the side though.

“Thanks.” Yugi knew the admission didn’t come lightly. Bakura was generally sparse with his compliments, and praise did not fall from his tongue lightly.

Marik was now biting Yugi’s fingers, but this didn’t bother him at all. Marik tended to be very bitey, and on numerous occasions Yugi had to get creative covering up various bruises ranging in spots from his neck to his calves.

He leaned his head back to meet Yami Marik’s lovely lavender colored eyes.

“I won my duel. So, do I get a victory kiss?”

A sinister grin pulled over Marik’s face, Yugi’s fingers still caught between his teeth. He released the thoroughly molested hand with one final lingering caress of his tongue and leant forward to place a kiss on Yugi’s cute mouth.

A pale hand intercepted, two fingers placed against Yugi’s lips before Marik could kiss him. “But I thought you lost?” Bakura sneered.

Yugi shot him a pouty look.

“We can pretend he won,” Marik tried to pry Bakura’s hand out of the way.

Bakura pushed against Marik’s forehead with his other hand. “We don’t reward losers.”

“Oh, just kiss me.” Yugi huffed, sounding a bit breathless in his demand.

“Babysitter ordered.”

“Well in that case...” Bakura pushed Yugi’s knees apart and crawled between them. He dipped his head under Marik’s nose and his mouth closed over the Game King’s. It was soft but aggressive, wasting no time coaxing Yugi to let him in, and then letting his tongue slip into the kiss.

Marik growled above them.

Bakura paid him no mind. Relishing the taste, lips moving, molding, and coaxing delightful noises from the male below them. He stole breath and sound like the thief he was, and swallowed them both. And his hand trailed over Yugi’s thigh, fingers raking over more sensitive areas until Yugi arched against him.

They broke apart for air, and Bakura watched Yugi pant, with a playful hunger in his half-lidded eyes.

Yugi blinked, and refocused just past him.

Marik’s mouth was twisted in a pout, and he looked very left out.

Yugi reached both hands up, and dragged the Egyptian down for an upside down kiss, that was more teeth than lips, but no less intense and heated.

Marik made a noise akin to a growl, but more hungry and throaty, and slipped his own hands under Yugi’s head to grasp fistfuls of his colorful spiked hair.

Both men continued to lath the little King-of-Games in attention. Occasionally squabbling with each other over possession of Yugi’s mouth. But both of them spoiling their little keeper with touches and affection.

If someone had asked Yugi six months ago if he would ever have two boyfriends—and both of them the former Yamis of his friends, Malik and Ryou—he would have laughed and called them insane. Six months ago he had still been mourning the loss of Atem. Moping about his departure for the afterlife, even though three years had already passed since the ceremonial duel.

Six months ago he had tentatively taken in the homeless, aimless, pitiable Yamis; whom the gods had saw fit to grant a second chance to redeem their souls. He had been the only one of their friend group willing to give these two the second chance he felt they deserved.

And for awhile they resented him with the same disdain they showed the rest of the world.

But Yugi never ceased being patient and kind, freely giving them his friendship. No strings attached.

They had come to accept it begrudgingly at first. And then coveted it selfishly.

Somewhere along the way friendship had morphed into affection, and feelings became complicated.

A strange relationship of hate, friendship, lust, and loyalty, that sometimes left Yugi feeling lost and drowning. He really liked them both, maybe more than he should. And they couldn’t seem to decide if they liked him, or hated him, but they certainly wanted him.

Things were now very complicated.

All this, compounded on the sinful things they were doing with their mouths, was enough to fray his nerves and light his skin ablaze with sensations and confusing emotions. It left Yugi extremely overwhelmed and dizzy.

He broke from all the attention to catch some much needed breath. Marik and Bakura backed off looking mischievous and starved, their eyes dragging over their little Babysitter like he was a juicy piece of meat.

“Why are there duel monsters cards all over the floor?” Yugi asked, finally taking in his surroundings and the state of his apartment.

“Because Bakura was huffy about staying home, and decided to fling his trading cards at everything,” Marik explained, sounding equal amounts amused and annoyed.

“Actually,” Bakura corrected. “They’re all Marik’s cards.”

Lavender eyes shot up.

“What?”

~0000~

So this was interesting to write. Sorry it took me so long. I had to agonize how I wanted to write this ship for the longest time. Pondered over their dynamic, and what circumstances would even bring them together. I hope this was satisfactory. I did a have a lot of fun writing this. Mayhaps you’ll have fun reading???

[emy-loves-you]

Wrong Numbers And Useless Gays Chapter 8

Snake Boi Needs Hugs

This chapter deals with depersonalization, disassociation, self-harm (scratching), past body mutilation, child neglect, etc. If any of these topics have the potential to trigger you, please skip to the bold section at the end of this chapter. There, I have a masterlist/recap of all issues/disorders that the characters have been revealed to have up to this point. I was at a really low point when I wrote this, but it’s still important to the story, and this is the worst that it's gonna get. Please be safe. If you skip down to the masterlist and something in Janus' section triggers you, don’t read this chapter. You can read the rest of this fic with only the masterlist info instead of the actual chapter.

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

(November 9th)

V- (6:24 PM) Hey guys, I’m gonna be really busy over the next few days. Probably won’t respond to texts. Nothing’s wrong, I just won’t be on my phone.

P- (6:24 PM) Alright Kiddo. Stay safe, and don’t forget to eat!

V- (6:25 PM) I will. I’ll text you guys when it’s over. See you then

Virgil sighed, locking his front door. He began his long walk to Janus’ house. This was one of those few times where he wished that he owned his own car. He sighed, adjusting his backpack. While normally Virgil would ask Janus or Remus to pick him up, Janus’ birthday was in 2 days. That’s why Virgil was making this journey in the first place. Sometimes, Janus spent his birthday like an excited 8-year-old, ordering a 3 tier cake and enough glitter to cover the entire house. Sometimes Janus was clingy: wanting to cuddle on the couch with Remus, watch shitty romcoms and drink enough booze to fill a river. But sometimes…

Virgil shook his head. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be one of those birthdays. He knocked on the door. There was a muffled curse before the door was swung open. Remus stood there, slightly panting. His hair was all over the place, and he was wearing what looked like his pajamas from the day before. Virgil bit down the urge to say “you look like shit.” Instead, he just nodded his head and stepped into the house. He followed Remus into the old study (Janus never came in here any other time of year) and found Janus hunched over his desk, writing something down. But what drew in Virgil’s attention were the wrist-length yellow gloves on his hands. So it’s one of THOSE birthdays.

Virgil's mind flashed to the day he met Janus, the yellow gloves brushing his hair back. Janus had been given those gloves by his father for his 18th birthday. Other than to bathe, Janus never took them off until months after his parents died. It took a lot of time and effort to convince Janus that he didn’t need those gloves, especially since they were the only present that his father had ever given him. After they started performing as The Dark Sides, Janus had bought himself a pair of yellow elbow-length gloves. He only wore the elbow-length gloves when he was Deceit, and he never wore the wrist-length gloves.

Virgil shook his head, stepping further into the room. Janus has yet to look up. Virgil stepped around the desk, knowing that he wouldn’t acknowledge Virgil even if he spoke up. He read the first line, frowning at what he saw.

“Dear Mother and Father,”

Virgil looked up at Remus, giving him a nod. Remus left the room. It would be beneficial for Remus to go, since he knew the house better than Virgil. While Remus went to lock up anything potentially dangerous, Virgil kept an eye on Janus. He took a seat in the armchair in the corner of the study, positioned specifically for Virgil to have a perfect view of both Janus and the door. They sat there for several hours, the sound Janus’ pen the only sound between them. Virgil’s eyes never left Janus, knowing what would happen if he looked away for too long. Janus abruptly stood up, neatly folding up the 20-something pages of letters and throwing them away. Virgil stood up, following Janus into the dining room. He couldn’t see Remus- he was probably sleeping. There was a pile of sandwiches on the table (turkey with tomato and mayonnaise, crustless. Janus’ favorite) along with 2 plastic cups and bottled water. Virgil pulled back a chair, and Janus numbly sat down, posture perfectly straight. Virgil gave Janus a cup of water and half of a sandwich before sitting down. They ate in silence. Two bites into his third sandwich, Janus stood up. Virgil followed. They walked upstairs, Virgil glancing at the clock on the wall. 12:13 AM. Earlier than usual. Virgil followed Janus into the master bedroom, finding Remus passed out on the edge of the bed. He watched as Janus changed into his pajamas, currently having no sense of decency. He kept his gloves on as he lay in bed, facing the ceiling with eyes wide open. Virgil sat on the couch near the bed, his gaze never wavering. They sat there for several more hours, neither moving an inch. When Virgil’s alarm went off (vibrate only, no loud noises) at 4 AM, Virgil got up to wake Remus. They quickly changed positions, with Remus sitting on the couch and Virgil curling up on the bed. He noticed Janus’ eyes fluttering shut and he drifted off soon after.

He woke up to Remus shaking him at 9:30. He silently got up, giving Remus a quick nod before slipping out of the room. He went to a separate bedroom to change before hurrying down to the kitchen. He made a batch of blueberry muffins (they couldn’t eat anything that required silverware, not after the first time) and went about cleaning up the sandwiches from last night. By 10:30, the muffins had cooled down, and Virgil could hear Janus and Remus making their way downstairs. Virgil quickly put the muffins on the table and checked to make sure he wasn’t covered in any ingredients (when he was like this, Janus would forget that he fired his servants years ago). Virgil quickly sat down, glancing up just as Janus walked in.

He was wearing a crisp business suit, his gloves still in place. Virgil watched as Remus got Janus situated, planting a quick kiss on the side of his face. Virgil let a ghost of a smile flicker onto his face; even when Janus was like this, Remus still absolutely adored him. That smile quickly fled when he realized where Remus had kissed him. A long, horrid scar rested on Janus’ face, stretching from temple to chin. Janus tended to paint that half of his face with scales when playing Deceit, if only to cover it up. Another flashback appeared, this time of Janus two weeks after his parents died. They were eating steak, and they thought Janus was finally opening back up and suddenly there was so much blood and Virgil took the knife away as Janus kept clawing at his face and make it stop make it stop-

A hand on his shoulder pulled him back roughly. Virgil looked up to see Remus peering down at him, a look of not-quite pity on his face. Virgil quickly shook his head, turning back to the muffin on his plate. He didn’t feel hungry anymore.

Today played out much like the day before, with Janus hunched over his desk writing letters. Virgil and Remus each took turns watching him while the other slept or prepared meals. That night, Remus took the first shift while Virgil went to sleep. He woke up at around 2 AM to Janus screaming. He quickly bolted up, taking in the situation. Remus was now sitting on Janus’ lap, keeping his legs down as he pinned his arms to his sides. Janus arched his back, his face red but no open cuts to be seen (that’s at least one good thing about those damned gloves). Remus looked close to tears, and Virgil quickly grabbed one of Janus’ arms, allowing Remus to focus on the other. They sat there for several minutes, praying for Janus to calm down. He eventually passed out, a combination of exhaustion and lack of air from screaming keeping him asleep. Virgil took up his shift early, letting Remus lie down. Neither slept for the rest of the night.

The next day, they had some strawberry muffins and contemplated what would happen today. It was now November 11th, Janus’ birthday, and neither friend had a single clue about what would happen today. They watched as Janus got up and grabbed his coat from the living room. Remus kept watch while Virgil hurried upstairs, grabbing his backpack. He quickly ran back downstairs, giving one last nod to Remus before Janus slipped out of the house. Virgil would go with Janus while Remus cleaned up the house and got some sleep.

Virgil followed Janus as they walked through the gardens, already knowing where they were heading. They walked down this path constantly after the funeral, and by now Virgil had it memorized. While they walked, Virgil quietly opened his bag and brought out a bouquet of fake flowers. He handed Janus the bouquet as they reached the grave. It was an elaborate headstone, with angels etched around the words:

“Here lies David and Mary Williams. October 8th, 1961 to November 11th, 2014. December 4th, 1962 to November 11th, 2014. Lovers, parents, and friends to all that met them.”

Virgil scowled at the headstone as Janus kneeled over the grave. Even after 6 years, these bastards still hurt him. They stayed there for a few hours, no sounds beyond the birds chirping in the distance. Janus eventually got up, dropping the flowers and making his way back to the house. Virgil followed, silently checking Janus for any sign of emotion. His face was perfectly blank, with no signs of crying or distress. They reached the house at around 2 PM and Virgil was slightly surprised when Janus made a beeline for the ballroom. He nudged Remus awake as they passed the living room, pulling him off the couch before following Janus. They could hear the slow sounds of some waltz as Janus turned on the old gramophone in the corner of the room. Janus then stood there, staring at the floor as if it could tell him what to do. Remus quickly walked up and put a hand on Janus’ waist, using his other to clasp Janus’ own hand. Janus looked up, and for the first time in 3 days, he looked like he actually saw Remus, not a stranger.

They slowly danced around the room, and to Virgil they looked more intimate than he’d ever seen them. There was groping, no dirty secrets whispered between each other, just dancing. Dancing with open and honest looks on their faces, speaking in a language that Virgil’s pretty sure he’ll never learn. The way that Remus furrowed his brow every few minutes, the subtle squeezing of Janus’ hands. This was the spark that they shared, and Virgil knew that he would never be able to have this type of moment with them. They were so obviously in love, and he wished that moments like this happened more often, that they were able to be like this without one of them being emotionally compromised or vulnerable.

Eventually, the record stopped, and with it all of Janus’ self-control. He flung himself around Remus’ neck, and Virgil could hear the muffled sob from across the room. Remus gently lowered them to the ground, rubbing his back and whispering something that Virgil couldn’t hear. Remus looked up and made eye contact with Virgil, silent tears streaming down his face. Go, his look said, I’ll take care of him. Virgil nodded, going to make dinner.

The next day, Virgil was happy to see Janus sitting on the couch, curled up against Remus, and watching cheesy rom coms. He glanced down and noticed that the gloves were nowhere to be found. Virgil smiled, going to take a seat on Janus’ other side. He glanced over at Remus as he made some snarky remark. Yes, they were still broken. Yes, they still had moments where they lost all hope. But they also had each other. They were family, and that was all Virgil ever wanted.

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Here is the masterlist of issues and/or disorders that the characters, in order of relevance to the story:

Remus- Remus is a transgender male with the deadname Rebecca. His parents were very controlling and manipulative. They refused to acknowledge that he transitioned, so he ran away at age 16. He hasn’t talked to his family since. In retaliation to how transphobic and homophobic his parents were, Remus developed a very vulgar mindset. He tells everyone that he meets about how he’s trans and very gay for Janus. He never talks about his life before he met Janus and Virgil unless he’s extremely drunk. Remus developed his persona of the Duke to help combat his gender dysphoria and intrusive thoughts. The Duke is much more vulgar but less likely to admit that he’s trans. He currently lives with Janus (and a good distance away from his hometown). He has lived there for almost 7 years, has been a member of The Dark Sides for 5 years, and has been in a relationship with Janus for 4 years.

Roman- Roman is Remus’ twin. When Remus (still being called Rebecca at the time) was trying to discover himself, he began to look and act similarly to Roman. He was punished for this (since their parents were transphobic) and Roman’s low self-esteem combined with Remus’ punishments caused Roman to lash out at Remus the day before he came out to their parents. Roman is unaware that Remus transitioned and blames himself for pushing “Rebecca” away. Roman began to lash out against his parents and started a secret relationship with Logan in order to combat their homophobia (that’s what he told himself. He also had a massive crush on both Logan and Patton). When Patton found out, they briefly argued before getting together in a polyamorous relationship. They coincidentally moved to the same town that Remus did soon after graduating high school. Roman still suffers from extreme guilt at the loss of Rebecca and is occasionally harassed by his parents over the phone. Roman has been in the poly relationship for almost 8 years and has lived in his current house for 6 years.

Janus- Was emotionally neglected at a young age by his rich parents. They were always screaming at each other and him behind closed doors. He was taught to never show that his life was less than perfect, so by 19 he was a compulsive liar. He met Virgil during one of his depressive (and slightly suicidal) episodes and decided to take him in. He met and took in Remus 4 months after meeting Virgil. His parents were neglectful to the point where they didn’t realize that they were housing two other teenagers. On Janus’ 20th birthday, both of his parents died in a car crash. He immediately fired all of his staff and went into an extreme depression. Two weeks after his death, he self-harmed and mutilated his face with a steak knife, leaving him with a horrible scar. He has gotten a lot better over the years, though he tends to depersonalize and potentially self-harm on the days leading up to his birthday. He uses the persona of Deceit to separate his compulsive lying from his actual personality. You can never tell when Deceit is lying (and half the time, neither can he). Janus is less of a compulsive liar now, but he’s still extremely sarcastic and will slip into his Deceit persona when he feels vulnerable. Same timestamps as Remus, though he’s lived in this town his entire life.

Virgil- Virgil has never known his birth parents, his mother dying when he was 3 months old and his dad nowhere to be seen. He never had a stable home, having bounced around the foster system until he was kicked out at 18. He met Janus soon after, who took him in. Virgil has always had a knack for music and art, but he was never able to fully develop his talents until Remus suggested they form a band. He cooked for Janus and Remus before he moved out, since neither of them had needed to cook for themselves before they met each other. Virgil never felt he earned anything for himself until he started earning money from The Dark Sides. Because of this (and the fact that he has an insane amount of money now), Virgil likes to spoil his crushes with big, elaborate gifts (he can’t spoil Janus or Remus because Janus is richer than Virgil will ever be and Remus is already spoiled by Janus). When Janus and Remus got together they offered for Virgil to join their relationship. He declined, quickly noticing that their relationship with each other is deeper and more intimate than anything that he could ever have with them. Virgil uses the persona of Anxiety to combat his, you guessed it, anxiety. Anxiety is suave and confident, though Virgil only slips into his persona when either flirting or at a Dark Sides-related event. Virgil has the same timestamps as Janus, though he never joined Janus’ relationship with Remus.

Patton- Patton has always had mild depression. He gets depressive episodes at least once a month. He’s never been suicidal, but he becomes very self-deprecating during more intense episodes. He usually turns to one of the others for a distraction. Patton grew up next door to Logan, and they got together when they were 12. They kept their relationship a secret until Patton found Logan making out with Roman 5 years later. It hurt him a lot and he still fears that they’ll leave one day for someone else. Patton has been in a relationship with Logan for nearly 13 years, Roman joined them 8 years ago, and they’ve lived in the same house for 6 years.

Logan- Logan doesn’t have any issues or disorders to note, other than he’s really tired. He’s helped Patton through his depression for as long as he can remember, and he helps Roman through his issues of guilt and anger (Patton’s self-deprecating thoughts tend to increase when Roman is upset). Logan is calm and collected. He’s the only one in this series who’s been to college, and will soon earn his master's degree in astronomy. They actually decided to move to this town due to its college’s astronomy program. Logan is the one who deals with budgeting and scheduling, hence why he’s annoyed with Virgil spending so much money on them. All of his timestamps are the same as Patton’s.

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst 

[inkribbon796]

Backstage Blues

Summary: Roman is determined to plan out the greatest wedding in history, if only he could get some help on that front.

A/N: I have decided that for the sake of the narrative that Tubbo and Ranboo’s marriage is a lot more common knowledge, Michael’s existence is still not, but whether Techno knows about that marriage is up in the air because he’s Techno. He focuses on weird stuff.

Things were strangely quiet in Egoton. Especially for the amount of people trying to actively kill each other these days.

The heroes had some of their usual problems to deal with: robberies, press talks, superhero activity; things that the heroes usually had to take care of.

The press wanted interviews with the heroes’ new “apprentices” and they were counting three of them, despite the fact that the Coalition had only two currently on record: Bomble Bee, Big Man . . . and Enderwalk, as Tubbo liked to introduce Ranboo.

With Tubbo’s husband almost acting like an apprentice, and the city absolutely loved the idea of a new trio of apprentices. Tommy loved being on TV, screaming and cursing when Ethan didn’t try to distract him from something else. And Tubbo who would ask overly invasive questions on camera about the most population-dense area of the city. Ranboo often helped Logan with Tubbo so that he didn’t accidentally give out bomb threats on live news feeds. Ranboo between his more demonic appearances and skittish nature the news could get close to him without putting themselves in harm’s way.

Despite Logan and the rest of the more senior heroes’ efforts, Ranboo was starting to become more and more an attachment onto the Sides. Mostly because Ranboo liked to come over and talk to Tubbo, and other times he liked to bring little snacks and trinkets. He wasn’t an apprentice yet, but with two of his little trio in the Coalition, a lot of people figured it was only a matter of time.

And occasionally he actually remembered to wear that identity-obscuring outfit Tubbo had made him a week ago.

Roman was really coming around to Tubbo, mostly because he and Tommy liked to listen to music and quote random musicals. Which was really all the requirement that Roman needed to like someone.

Today Logan, Tubbo, and Ranboo had accompanied Roman on a very important mission. Mostly because Roman was meeting with Illinois and Eric to help finalize some final touches on what Roman was sure was going to be the most glorious wedding in all of existence.

The couple met Roman in an outdoor café, taking advantage of the nice, warm summer weather. Roman was at one table with Eric and Illinois, while Logan was two tables over with Tubbo and Ranboo. Everyone except for Illinois were in superhero outfits, mostly because Illinois didn’t care about his own identity and he wasn’t a hero.

Any errant press that wanted a picture of “Egoton’s own Romeo and Juliet” because one was a hero and the other worked in Dark’s network — to which Illinois originally shouted when he first heard that “at least pick a couple with a chance” — and the sight of them always made Eric extremely jumpy. After Illinois caught sight of them it usually took a second or two for them to suddenly get pulled into a portal and dumped somewhere else to give the couple a little bit of privacy.

After another ameteur “reporter” had been dealt with, Roman looked over to the trio over in the other table. Tubbo and Logan were working on some equipment while “watching” Illinois. Ranboo’s lanky legs were pulled up in his chair and he was folded up in his seat.

Honestly Roman was pretty sure you could shove a bus under their noses and they wouldn’t notice. Which was a disappointment because he needed a third party to help give his ideas a little positive gratification because Illinois was letting Dark completely plan the entire affair with no consideration for what Roman suggested except for “paltry concessions”. Roman needed Patton to back him up, but Illinois drew the line at two Sides being part of his wedding planning at any one time.

“It’ll be a wonderful experience,” Roman promised, looking back from his failed check for Logan’s support. Then he looked over to Tubbo. “Bomble, you’re married, tell him.”

“Huh?” Tubbo snapped to look at him, clearly distracted by what he was working on. Ranboo put his feet down.

“You’re married,” Roman urged. “Explosion Boy needs a little bit of confidence for the wedding. How’d you and your husband get married? I’m sure it was beautiful.”

Tubbo snorted, “I got married fer[1] tax benefits.”

Roman blinked at him, “What?”

Tubbo chuckled to himself, looking positively pleased with himself. “Yeah, bonded pairs in the SMP get a bit of an aura break if yer linked with an empath. I got sick an’ tired ‘a havin’ ta pay that extremely pricey piper an’ Ranboo had just joined so when I saw him I went “that’s the one” an’ we were already kinda friends so BAM! We’ve been married fer almost six months now.”[2]

“What?” Roman repeated in complete, astonished confusion.

“Sides,”[3] Tubbo added, “yer older than I am, shouldn’t you have changed yer apprentice name ta somethin’ like, I don’t know? Concussion? Explosive Decompression. Or Combust-ION?”[4]

Tubbo paused, thinking, “That last one’s not half bad, I probably should have gone with that one.”

Another pause from the young arsonist passed, “Okay if you don’t take that one I want it after I stop bein’[5] an apprentice.”

“I, uh, I,” Eric stalled nervously.

“If he likes the name it stays,” Illinois dismissed. “If he wants to change it, he’ll get around to it.”

Tubbo shrugged, turning back to his projects with his usual dismissive but chipper demeanor.

“There must have been some romantic aspect of your engagement,” Roman demanded in exasperation.

“Nah, man,” Tubbo chuckled. “You are talkin’ ta the wrong person. You should talk ta my sister an’ her girlfriend. Or Karl’s fiancés. That would probably make yer argument work.”[6]

“So if you got married for taxes, which, okay, I get that, how did you two actually decide to get married to each other?” Illinois looked confused but intrigued at the same time.

“Well Tubbo was already making jokes that we were already married and divorced so I just proposed,” Ranboo answered. “I kinda looked online how to do it and Tubbo had been mentioning the thing so I gave him some jewelry and I said “do you wanna get married for tax benefits” and to my amazement he said yes.”

“I was smitten,” Tubbo joked. “Certainly helped that he was throwin’[7] necklaces an’[8] gemstones at me.”

“Man you two aren’t just a can of worms, you’re a whole boat of ‘em[9] aren’t you?” Illinois asked.

“Neat trick I didn’t realize until afterward is that tax benefits count in the human world too,” Tubbo grinned.

“You are an absolute menace,” Logan told Tubbo, and the teen just startled cackling in laughter.

“Isn’t it great?” Tubbo grinned before looking back at Eric. “I’m sure yer weddin’ will be nice an’ pretty an’ stuff. Yer in love an’ shit, it’ll be great.”[10]

“I’m,” Eric hummed, making the word sound more like a smushed “m” in his nervousness. “Nervous.”

He was gripping onto his knees, “I-I’ll trip over my . . . stupid legs or—”

Illinois slowly and gently placed his hand over one of Eric’s. “Dulcito,[11] if you’re worried about it we can get you a wheelchair or I can just carry you down to the altar.”

Eric’s face went red, he started twitching a bit, “But . . . I’m supposed to walk down the aisle.”

“Fuck that,” Illinois told him, leaning in. “You’ll look lovely whatever you do, even impossibly lovelier if you’re happy. I don’t want you to hurt yourself over this, or be so worried you’re not enjoying it. It’s our day. Your day. We’re doing a huge ceremony because a bunch of people want to be there. But I could grab Host and my dad and we could go down today to the closest courthouse and be out in an hour flat.”

Roman twitched uncomfortably.

“We did that,” Ranboo cut in, looking back at Tubbo. “We had what? Six people?”

Tubbo started quickly counting on his fingers, “Puffy, Foolish, FJ, me, you, Niki, Eret, Michael . . . Yeah six, not includin’[12] us. Eight, if you do.”

“It was a nice little ceremony.” Ranboo reminisced with a smile on his face. “Eret married us, your sister walked me down the aisle.”

“You tripped on the stairs,” Tubbo chuckled, before turning to the engaged couple, “do yourselves a favor an’[8] make a ramp. Boo here is all legs like a mad giraffe an’[8] he ripped his dress when he tripped. Almost knockin’[13] Puffy over and you can’t do much worse than that, let me tell you.”

That didn’t seem to calm Eric’s nerves.

“Already been planned,” Illinois reassured.

“We’ll get back to that, just excuse me,” Roman cut in, “so your best friend didn’t even show up to your wedding?”

“No, he couldn’t have, he . . .” Tubbo paused, clearly thinking about something. “Big Man couldn’t be there, talk ta[14] him about it, it’s really not my place ta[14] bring it up. It wasn’t his fault, Dream just . . . like I said, it’s not my place ta[14] talk about it.”

“I,” Logan stalled, something in Logan’s brain didn’t like how that had been worded. “I see.”

“Yeah so Big Man wasn’t there,” Tubbo shrugged, a distant look hidden behind his domed helmet. “He’s around now an’ it is nice ta kinda have him back ta normal again. Wish he didn’t try ta set Boo on fire, but no one’s perfect.”[15]

“That is very concerning,” Logan commented. “When was the last time he tried that?”

“Tried or just threatened it?” Ranboo asked.

“Both,” Logan’s tone was as dry as a bone.

“Attempted, it’s been a couple months,” Ranboo admitted, “ he threatens it once every couple of weeks though.”

“We need to have a conversation about constructive behavior then,” Logan decided. “We’ll talk with him when we get back because death threats are unacceptable.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s joking,” Ranboo tried to deny. “The furthest he’s ever gone is pull out a knife on me. It’s alright, he’s just like that.”

“You know the more I see you heroes, the more I’m sure that if you’d ever actually met the Author, he would have cut through all of you like wet tissue paper.” Illinois spoke up, looking at Ranboo like a particularly accident-prone toddler. “You all really lucked out, didn’t you?”

Ranboo nervously ducked his head so he didn’t accidentally look Illinois in the eyes.

“Yoo-hoo! We have the world’s perfect wedding to plan.” Roman reminded, trying to refocus the attention. Inadvertently saving Ranboo from the stand-off. “Hey, while I have both of you here: what’s on the menu, what’s the number of chairs, seems like it should be higher.”

“Max of fifty,” Illinois reported. “None of Dark’s business contacts are invited, we figured you guys might arrest them.”

“Depends on the person,” Logan admitted.

Roman rolled his eyes, cutting back into the conversation, “I just wanted to know how we should just group people, is there any extended family we need to separate from each other?”

“My . . . siblings were all I had,” Eric whispered quietly.

“Well let’s see, Yan’s parents were part of a demon murder cult, they’re dead. Yancy’s folks are dead and he’s still not on speaking terms with his uncle for obvious reasons. King’s parents are dead. We literally all live with Bim’s dads. Fuck if the Host ever talks about Artie’s folks. And all we’ve got are shitty foster parents, who if they show up are getting exorcised back to hell and then killed again.” Illinois scoffed dismissively. “And even if I wanted someone who threw me away the instant they saw me, I would have gone looking for ‘em[9] years ago.”

“Didn’t you,” Eric started timidly before looking away, his mouth still open but not sound was coming out anymore. “Uh, get a, uhm . . .”

“Some asshat might have tried calling me at assfuck O’clock in the morning, but I blocked him,” Illinois sounded like he wanted to punch his mystery caller, Eric nervously looked away. “Dark’s my dad and I don’t care about anyone trying to get money or use me to cozy up close to Dark.”

The other two were quiet for a bit as Illinois mentally calmed down. He did reach out and lightly stroke the side of Eric’s face. Which helped Eric relax and by extension calm Illinois down.

“You could have just said no,” Roman finally commented in a tone that might as well have been saying: “I think you need therapy” and went back to his planner. “So we make a safe plan for sixty people?”

“Sounds good to me,” Illinois agreed, his tone brisk and forced.

He did take Eric’s hand in his own and smiled, “Don’t worry, my dear, I will make sure everything’s perfect for you. It’ll be the most amazing day of your life. I promised that I’d make sure you never regret saying yes to me. I meant it, it’ll be the most beautiful day of our lives and you will look amazing.”

That got Eric to tear up a little and after some minor note taking on Roman’s part, the couple left. Eric left with Roman, Logan, and the two apprentices, while the adventurer returned to Dark to run a couple “errands”.

Roman for his part was in a better mood, he’d gotten a couple more “concessions” and the wedding planning was coming along smoothly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: Also I would like to draw to everyone’s attention to the canon fact that Tubbo and Ranboo got married at an emotionally turbulent time for Tubbo. Tubbo doesn’t handle those moments well. Impulsive marriage to escape how he felt about what happened to Tommy? . . . It’s more likely than you might think.

Accessibility Translations:

1. for

2. Yeah, bonded pairs in the SMP get a bit of an aura break if you’re linked with an empath. I got sick and tired of having to pay that extremely pricey piper and Ranboo had just joined so when I saw him I went “that’s the one” and we were already kinda friends so BAM! We’ve been married for almost six months now.

3. Besides

4. you’re older than I am, shouldn’t you have changed your apprentice name to something like, I don’t know? Concussion? Explosive Decompression. Or Combust-ION?

5. being

6. You are talking to the wrong person. You should talk to my sister and her girlfriend. Or Karl’s fiancés. That would probably make your argument work.

7. throwing

8. and

9. them

10. I’m sure your wedding will be nice and pretty and stuff. You’re in love and shit, it’ll be great.

11. Sweetheart

12. including

13. knocking

14. to

15. He’s around now and it is nice to kind of have him back to normal again. Wish he didn’t try to set Boo on fire, but no one’s perfect.

[maybankiara]

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

10: BAD DAY, HUH?

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 3k

a/n: ah. the bittersweet taste of our own flaws. -- probably addie in this chapter tbh. basically marianne being very british and making addie Question Everything, as best friends do

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

Virgin Mary | 3:47pm so the gang is planning a night out this week, you free saturday?

Me | 5:07pm why this saturday? Me | 5:07pm is it someone’s birthday?? Me | 5:07pm pls say no

Virgin Mary | 5:08pm Tom’s is in two weeks and you better not forget that

Me | 5:08pm ffs marianne i won’t

Virgin Mary | 5:09pm you better not bitch I need your help with the present Virgin Mary | 5:09pm can’t give my boy anything less than perfection

Me | 5:10pm wow what a way to not put pressure in your about-to-burst-from-stress friend

Virgin Mary | 5:11pm you mean my overdramatic friend? Virgin Mary | 5:11pm get your hole and you’ll be fine

Me | 5:11pm MARIANNE

Virgin Mary | 5:12pm BITCH WHAT Virgin Mary | 5:12pm you need to shag Virgin Mary | 5:12pm when’s the last time you got your hole

Me | 5:13pm I’m busy okay i don’t want a boyfriend rn

Virgin Mary | 5:14pm so that’s totally why I’ve been hearing about Holden for the past three months 👀

Me | 5:15pm you do realise we work at the same place right Me | 5:15pm i can’t just hook up with a guy i have to see every day for at least 8 hours

Virgin Mary | 5:16pm fucking hell you’re a tuff nut

Me | 5:17pm go make me some tea pls Me | 5:17pm I’m home in 20 and I’ve got some late emails

Virgin Mary | 5:17pm whatever bitch Virgin Mary | 5:18pm you’re a freaking workaholic Virgin Mary | 5:18pm shag Holden

Me | 5:19pm shut up Me | 5:19pm ur blocked ❤

Virgin Mary | 5:20pm so are you free on saturday or not? Virgin Mary | 5:33pm ur cancelled❤

◇

The music coming from their apartment is loud enough that Addie hears it as she walks up the staircase. She can’t distinguish the song, but the beat’s there, and she’s either imagining Marianne singing along, or it’s actually happening. One is just as likely as the other. 

  It gets louder when Addie walks through the door, and she figures it’s safe to assume it’s her friend rather than her imagination. The door closes behind her, sound swallowed by whatever rock song Marianne is blasting through the speaker – this is what Addie is used to. 

  She leaves her purse on the drawer at the side of the hallway, one that’s filled with trinkets they’ve got nowhere else to put, and she hangs the raincoat right next to it. Her shoes are the next to come off – the loss of the three inches that the burgundy platforms come with comes as soon as she steps out of them. Her feet are grounding her on the floor, now, and a moment’s break is all she gives herself. It’s peace after a tedious day of relentless work; it’s the calm from the scent of cinnamon candles, Earl Grey tea, and the dish Marianne is making that smells very Italian – this feels like home. 

  Addie makes her way to the kitchen. Her roommate is singing her heart out to music coming from the speaker on the round table, stirring whatever’s in the pot in front of her. Marianne doesn’t notice her come in, so Addie walks over to the speaker and tunes it down, low enough for them to talk. 

  ‘Honey, I’m home!’ 

  Marianne turns around with a big smile on her face. Her ginger hair is pulled into a high ponytail, loose from what Addie assumes must’ve been a kitchen concert. This is paired with sweats and a loose crop top, and Marianne’s demeanour is enough to tell her she’s ready to tackle the weekend ahead of them. 

  ‘Honey, welcome home’’ She points behind Addie. ‘There’s your tea. I’m making lasagna and it’ll be ready in about half an hour.’

  ‘Shit, I've actually been craving that today.'

  The girl goes back to stirring the pot, swaying her hips to the tune of the music. ‘Sixth sense, Addie. Bruce Willis had it right.’

  ‘I told you that movie creeps me out!’

  ‘It’s a masterpiece and you’re a pussy.’

  Instead of a reply, Addie huffs with an eye roll, taking a sip from the cup. It’s midnight blue with a quote from one of the books Marianne likes, imported straight from the British Isles. The colour is faded on the holding part of the mug, but it remains the girl’s favourite mug despite a variety of prettier, newer mugs she’s acquired over the time. 

  Marianne is simple. She’s got things she loves and doesn’t stray from that. 

  They chat for a bit, Marianne preparing the lasagna to go into the oven and Addie drinking her tea. Addie learns that the firm Marianne is interning for has gotten a new project for a family home on the outskirts of Atlanta and the interns are being allowed to try out their hand at designing it, and the firm will end up critiquing their work and possibly giving one of them the chance to have their design turned into reality. 

  It’s an exciting thing – the most Marianne has gotten in the past three months of working there. 

  The lasagna is put into the oven and Addie announces her shower time, and promises Marianne she better tell her about her day after she scrubbed off all that reminds her of the office. Taking her contact lenses out and getting into the shower after a long day is the one feeling Addie cherishes more than just the arrival home in itself. Her showers are long, with steam rising and fogging up the blurred glass sides of the shower and the mirror in the bathroom. 

  When she gets out of the bathroom, she’s wearing an outfit that mirrors her roommate’s. Her hair’s wet and wrapped into an old T-shirt, basking in a curl-defining product she got the other day. She’s got a facemask on, too, and Marianne sighs at the sight of it. 

  ‘Bad day, huh?’

  Addie walks up to the counter beside the oven, taking out some cutlery and begins to set the table. ‘I envy you. All your bosses are so self-absorbed that they don’t even notice you guys. Mine are self-absorbed and narcissistic, so we get all the work nobody can be fucked with.’

  Marianne taps on the table with the fork she’s just been given. ‘No swearing, missy.’

  The brunette raises an eyebrow, trying to figure out if her roommate is joking. Then she remembers her resolution from a few days ago -- “I will swear less because I’m not a fucking sailor.” “That’s a quarter in the jar, Miss.”

  ‘Whatever,’ mutters Addie. She places the last of the dishes on the table and plops into the chair across from her roommate, resting her head in her hands. ‘I’m so tired of Harrington. The divorce isn’t going well because his ex has actually got a brain, which he hadn’t anticipated, and now he’s literally just throwing the worst shit at us. And to complete it, Patty is just being her regular cruel self.’

  ‘That’s horrible.’ Marianne scrunches her nose. ‘That’s also three quarters now.’

  ‘I’m allowed to say shit!’

  ‘Well, you’re the one who decided to swear less.’

  ‘Saying shit isn’t swearing. It’s basically a normal word.’

  The look Marianne gives her is full of friendly scorn. Addie sighs and fishes three quarters out of her wallet that’s on the table—she can’t believe saying “shit” alone cost her two quarters—and throws them into the jar that's on the part of the table closest to the wall. There’s hardly anything in it, but Addie reckons that’s more because of the fact that she’s hardly both home and awake anymore, as opposed to her not swearing a lot. 

  Marianne walks over to the oven, checking the lasagna. She pulls the door open and hot air fills the small space, alongside the smell of a beautifully done Italian dish – or Addie is just really hungry. 

  ‘Patty made Holden and I work on a budget plan for some Grubson’s subdivision upstate. We did budgeting. He majored in finance and I majored in economics and we’re doing damn accounting.’

  ‘You’re interning for a law firm,’ notes Marianne, putting oven mittens on. ‘You shouldn’t expect to do exactly what you want to do.’

  Addie’s lip curls into a bitter grin. Her friend is right, and she knows it and she hates that this is what her career has come to -- wasting her actual talents because the industry is shitty as it is. She’s got to put in triple the effort her white male colleagues do, and even then, her brilliance is hardly registered. 

  The lasagna is on the table. Marianne gives each of them a piece and Addie fills their glasses with some Coca Cola-ripoff they got at Tesco. The music from the speaker changes to something more dinner-appropriate. 

  ‘This looks delicious, Marianne.’

  ‘It better be. Took me nearly three damn hours.’

  Both girls blow on their slice before taking it, and both of them still end up having to half-blow through the food while it’s in their mouths, bursting into laughter as they watch one another struggle. 

  ‘I don’t know what’s your excuse,’ says Addie, having finally swallowed the piece, ‘but mine is that I’m absolutely starving.’

  Marianne pretends to chuck some food at her. ‘My excuse is that I invested a lot of time in this.’

  ‘Fair. It’s amazing.’

  At this, the girl beams with happiness, and Addie can’t hold back a smile even as she struggles through the heat of another piece, her stomach grumbling. 

  ‘Anyway, it’s shit. It got so bad today that I ended up spending nearly all of my time with Holden— No, hush, I’m not having it— Seriously, Marianne, we’re literally work colleagues!’ Addie sighs in exasperation, one finger raised in the last effort at getting her friend to stop nagging her about her colleague. 

  Marianne pouts, then gives away an innocent shrug. ‘All I’m saying is that there’s something there.’

  All Addie can do is roll her eyes and focus on the plate in front of her. Her fork pierces through the lasagna with a little too much force than warranted, and the brunette concludes that’s enough to show how irritated Marianne got her.

  Despite her hardest attempts at denying it, Marianne’s kind of got a point. Addie’s been at the internship for over three months now and it’s not like she has gotten close with anyone – at least, not enough to call them friends. Her career and education have always taken the priority over friends and temporary relationships, and it’s never hurt her in any way. Sure, she might’ve been lonely from time to time, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t end up with great friends, regardless. 

  With the internship and a Master’s degree to work on, Addie doesn’t really have time for personal connections that won’t last. 

  Addie shakes the thought out of her head. The lasagna bit is steaming in her mouth and Marianne rolls her eyes, but it eases the tension between the two. 

  ‘There’s nothing between us, Marianne,’ says Addie, once her mouth isn’t burning anymore. ‘We’re a good team. Patty and Harrington noticed that we get more done than any other teams.’

  ‘So there’s work chemistry. You don’t have that with just about every other person, Addie. Especially not you.’

  Especially not Addie, who likes to have her work done at specific times of the day, filing it in a specific way, handling her responsibility like a drop of water. Again, Marianne’s got a point. 

  ‘Plus, he’s pretty good looking.’

  The memory of showing Marianne pictures of Holden makes her chuckle. ‘You flipped out. I was scared for Tom.’

  ‘Please,’ scoffs Marianne, waving her hand. ‘There’s no one better than Tom. But after I spent a whole month listening to how well you’re getting on with this Holden guy, how much better it’s to work with him than other people, how much he’s helped you join the group… How else was I supposed to react when I found out that he’s a hot piece of blonde-hair blue-eyes?’

  ‘I just…’ Addie’s fork moves some of the lasagna around the plate. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t want you to think he’s hot.’

  Marianne huffs. ‘All I’m saying is, don’t write him off.’

  ‘I’m not writing him off. I just don’t have the time to focus on anything romantic right now.’

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ Marianne finishes the last of her slice and puts her fork down, leaning back in the chair. ‘Addie, you’re the most organised person I know. You never have a problem making it to any of the things our group organises, so why do you always say you don’t have time to hang out with people from work?’

  For a few moments, the only sounds in the kitchen/dining area are whatever’s coming out of the speaker, Addie’s work scratching the bottom of the plate, and her chewing. 

  She knows Marianne’s got a point, again. It’s starting to annoy her.

  ‘Things are good the way they are,’ she finally says, the admission heavy across her lips. ‘I get closer to any of them, it’ll become more difficult to point out what they’ve done wrong, or do my own work if I want to know about their day. It’s already difficult enough with Holden, and we’re just friends.’

  ‘That’s different. You want to shag him.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Are you seriously trying to deny the fact that you’re attracted to someone who looks like a damn nineties movie star?’

  Addie grunts, burying her face in her hands. ‘Fine. He’s hot.’

  There’s a pregnant pause and when she finally dares look at Marianne, the girl has a tired smile on her face. She knows this look -- a combination of I told you so and I could be your therapist, you don’t need to pay for one. 

  ‘What.’

  Marianne taps her hand, her smile widening. ‘I know your career means a lot to you, but you’ve got to loosen up. You’re going to burn out.’

  ‘Everybody burns out.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re gonna do it at, like, thirty.’

  Not dignifying this with a response, Addie rises to her feet, taking her plate and Marianne’s, then stacks the cutlery on top. She’s acutely aware of Marianne waiting for a reaction, even if she doesn’t want to give her one. Instead, she gets to washing the dishes. Running water drowns out the tension easily enough for it to slip into the back of her mind.

  She hears Marianne’s chair let out a squeak a moment later. Her ginger hair appears in the corner of Addie’s eye, and she sees her put the uneaten half of the lasagna into the fridge, wrapped up in aluminium foil. When finished, Marianne rests against the counter with the small of her back.

  Neither of the girls says anything. Addie is trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that’s trying to convince her Marianne is right.

  She sets the washes dishes aside, letting them air dry on the dish rack.

  ‘All I meant was that you could go out with them, for a change, not turn your life upside down,’ says Marianne. ‘Just think about it.’

  Addie presses her lips together. ‘Okay. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Great! Anyway, you need to come out with us on Saturday. Leanne spent fifteen minutes of our coffee date today just freaking out over the fact that you met Drew Starkey.’ A beat. ‘She binged Outer Banks yesterday.’

  ‘I can’t believe my life is finally interesting to you guys.’ Addie puts away the last of the dishes and wipes her hands with a kitchen towel, smiling. ‘All it took was meeting an actor.’

  Marianne pushes herself up on the counter, grinning like a fox. ‘It’s not just that you met him, Addie. It’s been three months and you still talk.’

  ‘Not really. We haven’t talked in’—she counts the days in her head—‘about two weeks.’

  ‘Oh, so you haven’t talked since he read your essay and shared it to his hundreds of thousands of followers and said how much he liked it?’

  ‘Nope.’

  The sigh Marianne lets out is pure exasperation. Addie walks out of the kitchen and the girl follows suit, bringing the speaker along. Both of them plop on the couch as they usually do for half an hour after dinner, before going each to their own studying sessions. Deciding to room with Marianne, who’s currently also doing an internship and a Master’s degree (in architecture), was one of the best decisions Addie has ever made.

  Except for the times when Marianne is awfully nosy for a Brit – must be the French part of her.

  With her legs criss-crossed and an arm draped over the back of the couch, Marianne is in her element. ‘That is not your average celebrity interaction.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So you’re telling me you’re not trying to get on that?’

  ‘On what?’ asks Addie, feeling her irritation levels steadily rising again. ‘Jesus, Marianne. I’m not trying to get with every guy who’s good-looking and nice to me. We share some opinions on social media and whatnot, he agreed with them. It’s not that big of a deal.’

  ‘So you’re saying you wouldn’t shag him if you had the chance?’

  Addie looks away. Her cheeks are hot and body is on fire, and she’s had more than enough of Marianne’s attitude today, and that’s on top of already having had a pretty fucking shitty day in the first place.

  ‘You can’t be ser—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’

  She grabs her phone and, absentmindedly, checks her Instagram notifications – none. The feeling in her stomach intensifies and she opens up her work group chat instead, and curses herself for hoping that maybe there’d be a specific person in her messages.

  Maybe Marianne isn’t that far off.

◇

11: WELCOME TO MY LIFE

tagging. @jjmaybanksbaby​​​​ @taiter-tots​​​​ @sacredto​​​​ @snkkat​​​​ @drewswannabegirl​​​​ @yeslifeofateen​​​​ @rudypnkw​​​​ @stfukie​​​​ @x-lulu​​​​ @sacredto​​​​ @drewstarkey​​​​ @butgilinsky​​​​ @solllaris​​​​ @hyperactive2411​​​​ @chasefreakinstokes​​​​ @surferkie​​​​ @jroseron​​​​ @k-k0129​​​​ @starlightstories​​

[press-x-tojason]

Giant Bomb is dead, and I care way less than I thought I would. Probably because 83% of the people who I ever cared about had already left or died, or were already relegated to reduced content roles. 

Honestly, though, the writing’s been on the wall for a bit. They haven’t had anything worthy of paying for premium in several years, and, even though they’ve had well over a year to figure out a plan for the COVID era, they maybe made it a month with their plans to have a series of streams daily. I actually managed to forget I followed them on Twitch at all, for about 4 months, because they only streamed the podcasts and the occasional former Harmonix employee (who was literally paid to make content with their games while employed at Giant Bomb, which was funny because he blocked me on Twitter for making a post, addressing no one, back in 2014, which was asking about the legitimacy of the leaked list of “games “””””journalists”””””” who had taken money from publishers for positive reviews, a list which included him and multiple then-coworkers. I didn’t follow him, he didn’t follow me. He was manually searching the keywords, because he was, and is, a prick.) solo Rock Band stream in the last 8 months or so. Even when Jeff would manage to do one of his 20 streams from home a year, it would be on his own channel. There was just no content. And they’re surprised their “pay for our unique premium content!” model failed. They always “feigned” anger at Dan for “making” them do the Mario Party Parties, and literally never promoted his and Drew’s Metal Gear series after the first game... but I bet that, when only those, UPF, and the ad-free versions of the podcasts were premium features, those two series were keeping them afloat. Well, that and the remaining goodwill they miraculously managed to hold onto for a few years after Ryan died.  Shit, I follow several people who are GB staff-adjacent, and... I can’t think of the last time they mentioned anything that happened on-site. Even the people who’ve been directly supporting them for over 10 years were out. 

But yeah, the site is super dead. They pretended in the announcements like they’re going to make a go of it still, but... you’ve got like 4 content people left, and the only one people give a shit about is Jeff. You just saw 3/4 of the side of the site that was still trying these past several months jump ship in a 3 month span. One of those was, by nearly any definition, a founding member. Of which you had already lost one, and are losing another from the main side. Jeff’s been way less active until the last week or two, probably because he heard they were leaving and was like “oops, should probably check on the ship that’s been sinking for years!” Then you have Jason “The Human Mumble” Oestricher, the charisma vacuum, whose legitimate public-facing reaction to first hearing that all but one of his GB predecessors were going to be gone. was, and I quote, “Hoo Boy.” Ben and Jan are the definition of “fine”. They would have been great, as they are today, as secondary members 8-10 years ago. But carry the site, they cannot. They’re down to, what, 5 named members now? It hasn’t been that dire since the beginning of 2009, before they hired Drew, when they hadn’t even started the P4 endurance run. You know, that surprise massive, internet-changing thing that essentially popularized the Let’s Play concept, loosening its definition and making it something that could be as personality-driven as game-driven, made simply to give them something to put on the website, beyond the rare review and, slightly later, quick look. This kinda illustrates the problem with modern Giant Bomb. When they were figuring shit out, flying by the seats of their pants, they came up with great shit, and they gave enough of a shit to make it happen. 0.000% chance they do a 10 hour Thanksgiving Kinect stream if the Kinect was new today. 0.000% chance the core members would have done an endurance run in the last 10 years if CT and Shenmue (which I haven’t watched) weren’t driven by the younger members. And you could see it in the fact that they never made a real, true mobile app. The number one thing that would have made them indispensable this past decade, an app to integrate premium features, the podcast, their video player, etc. all in one place in a mobile-friendly package, that could sync with the website... and they never even raised the idea publicly. I wonder how much of the innovation was the group think-tank of the first 5 years. Beyond Dan’s couple major contributions, I don’t think they added a single new type of content after 2012, which... still means the last 6.5 years lacked any semblance of innovation. I guess that’s a big part of why I fell off tremendously quickly after late 2014. There was just nothing new, and believe me, I was looking. I wanted reasons to stay watching. I supported them with my dollar. I believed in those brave early days. And I went back yesterday to watch the DP endurance run from VJ again. I still miss that rapport. And really, that hurt, too. Vinny moving back east, less than a year after Ryan passed... short term, it was fine. You had more people than ever to cover the gaps. But the spark was gone. The chemistry made the site. When I think of Giant Bomb, I still think of Jeff, Vinny, and Ryan, first and foremost. Those early podcasts, the NintenDownloads, the crazy tangents that everyone could seamlessly follow up on(well, except Brad, because he essentially slept through most of the podcasts, unless he was talking about the thing he did that week), the weird high-concept GOTY stuff... it wasn’t perfect, but you were entertained. You laughed. You were engaged. It never felt like you were watching them working, even though you could see the work they put in. It felt like, when they released something, you were experiencing a group of legitimate friends doing what they wanted to do anyways.(And boy have I seen enough groups do everything they can to NOT be enjoying doing that, and break up as a result due to hating the jobs that they chose to do). 

Part of me would love to make it as simple as “Ryan died, and so did the original spirit”, and... to a degree, it’s true. If you go back to any retrospective they’ve done about the founding of the site, or the podcast they recorded after Ryan passed, you can’t help but recognize that Giant Bomb never happens if these core members don’t all quit their jobs, led by Ryan,  because they respect their boss/manager, Jeff, and know he’s doing the right things(for them, for the reader/viewer, etc.) ahead of what GameSpot management wants him to do. Jeff could have been left in the wilderness, trying find a spot elsewhere, with the rumor going around between executives that Jeff wasn’t going to help them promote anything, essentially killing their revenue. He would have been done in terms of getting employed by a major site. But Ryan first, and soon after, Vinny and Brad, gave up their jobs to make this fledgling little project go. As much as the ERs brought me in and gave the impression that Jeff and Vinny were the long-standing duo, no, it was Ryan who was Jeff’s partner in crime. And, 8 years later, I can comfortably say... Giant Bomb never recovered from losing him. 

But it was so much more. Everything that set them apart slowly went away,  in time. I don’t think they’ve posted reviews for games in consecutive MONTHS since 2017; 2018 at the latest. They have done one Endurance Run in 9 years. They have not had a meaningful live event in 6 years. Unprofessional Fridays were more formulaic and lesser in volume and frequency after the major players started moving east. The lack of coordination between coasts killed the camaraderie, to the point that I think one of the last 5 true gameplay crossovers was their series of 2016-2017 PUBG shitfests. I remember when Vinny starting GBEast was supposed to be the start of a new era of content, and... it was, but not in a positive way, like it sounded. When half of each side seemed to constantly have no interest in making anything, nothing got made. But I guess that’s what happens when your second in command in one of your headquarters is just a former marketing grunt with an attitude problem, and the guy with the biggest ego on the team is the one who refuses to move to join either side, and just pushes out the most self-important drivel as a header to what were literally just copy-pasted articles from other sites every week while sitting at his desk, dreaming of the days Gawker would pay him to plagiarize political drivel instead, because that’s what really gets the soulless clicks. One of your founding members becomes depressed due to losing his two closest work friends, one for real, one to a 3000 mile separation, within a year, while the other one who is left virtually stopped playing anything but DOTA 2 for 2 years. Suddenly your most prominent personalities are the 2 new guys(one the aforementioned charisma vacuum, the other a walking mark) and your previously-mostly-off-camera producer who is best known to the wider Internet for... blinking. So, yeah, lifeless. And NOW, all you’ve got is old melancholy dad, charisma vacuum dad, and the two ADHD kids whose defining trait is that they choose to exclusively refer to their partners as “my partner” in voices that make it sound like they are embarrassed to have partners, while also talking more about what their partners are doing than what they do.  It’s confounding.

But yeah, TL:DR: RIP zombie Giant Bomb. Glad you’re finally getting taken behind the shed. It took 3 years too long, minimum.