#I have a bone to pick with the world and I’m gonna make it everyone’s problem | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stardustrebels · 22 days ago

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Fathoms Beyond- Chapter 1: Full Fathom Five

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader Rating: 18+ / MDNI WC: 3.5k Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Next Chapter

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, tension, slow burn, hurt/comfort, post-season 2 (The Mandalorian), canon-divergent, razor crest never gets destroyed but Din does have the Darksaber. Mild language, emotional/ mental health issues, guilt, depression and trauma. No use of y/n, minimal physical descriptions of reader— she has hair that she can braid.

A/N: This is a follow-on fic from Fathoms Between (my Din x f!reader angsty WTTS entry). That story broke my heart a little, and I’m bringing these two back for closure. For me. For them. For everyone! This will be a HEA, but man, it’ll take a while to get there, so strap in— it’s gonna be a bumpy ride! If you’re here and you’re reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart, it really means a lot. I hope you enjoy!

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

The trading post on Vath was a scab on the planet’s surface— filthy, sprawling, and thick with the stench of sweat and rot. What little daylight broke through the clouds was swallowed by the rust flaking from the towers clawing toward the sky. Nobody here was a native. Travellers weaved through traders hawking wares, each one adrift. Like animals too wilded to have a flock, too feral to be herded. None more so than the Mandalorian.

His steps were cautious as he stalked the outskirts of the throng, hidden behind ragged market stall canopies and stretches of overgrown foliage, the stems twisting from the ground gnarled and knotted. He walked as if the armour held him together more than his own bones. If anyone had dared to look closely, they would have seen a broken man.

An apostate.

The word stung like a wound that wouldn’t close. The Creed had been stripped from him with nothing but words, but they might as well have ripped his armour from him and cleaved him in two. He was a pretender, a man without a face and now little reason to hide it other than shame and habit. He’d told himself that there were places he could go where old words and choices meant nothing to anyone but him. He could rebuild, re-group. Find a way to make a life that was better than before. But he felt the weight of his beskar more every day, along with the ache of a waning sense of purpose.

He hadn’t realised just how much of it had been tied to Grogu. And now— without him— the galaxy felt emptier. A stretch of dust-choked worlds like this one, one job bleeding in to the next. His only ambition now was to scrape enough credits together to keep the Razor Crest running and to make sure he could take care of the kid. To be able to still offer him a home if he ever came back.

And if he didn’t—

Din pushed the thought away, clenching his fists until the leather strained. Dwelling on what he couldn’t change never got him anywhere. All he could do was what he did best. Find the bounty. Finish the job.

He scanned the crowd from behind his visor— picking out those eyeing up his beskar like they hadn’t decided yet whether it was worth the trouble of trying to steal. His latest target was part of some local gang, wanted for a myriad of crimes by a substantial number of people.

He reached for the fob at his waist. A tap, and the signal blinked to life, red light stuttering through the haze. He turned, about to step out and follow the ping when he heard it— laughter. Bright, unfettered, and achingly familiar.

Din’s blood ran cold. The fob in his hand shook and his helmet turned toward the sound before he could even think. A compulsion. A pull like gravity.

He scanned the crowd, every detail suddenly sharper than he thought was possible, the world narrowing through the HUD. And then he saw you.

Through the press of bodies and the shifting dust, standing at a weapons stall, smiling. The same smile he remembered— quick, unguarded— but it sat differently on your face. You looked altogether sharper. Your posture was drawn tight, shoulders squared. Your clothes were well-kept, and you were armed, more than you ever used to be. Twin blasters at your hips, a knife strapped to your thigh, no doubt another in your boot. You looked stronger than before. Healthier. Alive.

You’d survived, despite everything, and whatever had happened next had brought you here. For a moment, he just stood there, dumbstruck. Blinking, like he could clear the sight of you from his vision. The crowd swelled and ebbed around you, the flow of bodies making your image flicker in and out of view like something conjured by his guilt, but you were solid and real, leaning over the weapons stall to inspect something the merchant was holding up for you.

A man approached you— broad-shouldered and rough-cut. You greeted him with a smile and he gave you a look that bordered on admiration.

The sight made something in Din’s chest twist.

You’d found camaraderie, perhaps more. A family, maybe. Something more than he had.

A clan of your own.

The realisation crawled beneath his skin, itchy and sharp. The latest in a long line of uncomfortable emotions he’d recently been forced to face.

The man leaned in and murmured something that wiped the smile from your face. Din’s attention sharpened. His visor fixed on you, its scanning capabilities straining to pick up details. His hand drifted to the side of his helmet, activating the audio receptor. The signal faded in and out as it honed in, sifting through the ambient noise until the conversation broke through.

“…I figured he might be with you,” the man said, his eyes narrowing as his easy smile disappeared.

“We spoke yesterday,” you replied after a shake of the head. Din’s breath only caught a little when your voice reached his ears. “But I haven’t heard from him since. Didn’t he tell you he was chasing another buyer before circling back? You know how he gets when he’s close to locking something down.”

When the man didn’t reply you shrugged and fixed him with a look. “If he was in trouble, Ramus, don’t you think you’d be the first to know? He’d never contact me before his second-in-command.” Your voice was dripping with sarcasm.

The man—Ramus— scoffed and shifted his weight. “Something feels off,” he muttered. “There’s been no word. No ping, no comms. It’s making the others jumpy.”

You gave the man a tight smile and turned to him then, leaning back against the stall. The move looked relaxed, but Din saw the tension in it, even from a distance — the way your posture straightened and your fingers curled and tightened around the metal lip of the stall tabletop.

“The others are always jumpy,” you said with a smirk. “There’s no need to overreact. He’s not missing, he’s just running late.”

Ramus stayed quiet, scanning your face for any hint of doubt. You looked up at him, and rolled your eyes at his expression. “You’re acting like it’s never happened before.” You said with a breathy laugh.

“This feels different,” Ramus replied.

You shook your head defiantly. “He’s fine,” you said, too quickly, before you caught yourself.

Din didn’t miss the way your voice cracked as you said it. You turned away from Ramus and back to the weapons on the stall. “Jarek’s always fine.”

The name hit Din like a strike to the chest plate. Jarek.

It was the same name as the bounty he’d been hunting through five systems and three false leads. Every whisper Din had followed about this man had led him here. To this. To the unbelievable re-appearance of you and the possibility of his bounty on a silver platter. You hadn’t found a clan, he realised bitterly. You’d ended up a member of a gang led by a wanted criminal.

He felt something within himself pull taut— His instinct washing back over him, refocussing his attention. It smothered the ache of seeing you and he welcomed it. He was razor sharp now that he had a lead. He could work through his feelings later.

Ramus disappeared in to the crowd after a mumbled goodbye. You watched him go, jaw tight.

“Dank farrik,” you muttered, already reaching for your comlink.

You ducked your head, shielding the device as you called Jarek’s frequency. Static. You tried again— still nothing. No reply. Just dead air where his voice should have been.

Your guts twisted.

You moved fast, winding your way out of the market lanes and back toward the edge of the trading post where the junker yard loomed— a graveyard of forgotten ships, a jagged blot on the already horrid landscape.

The workshop was tucked behind the shell of a gutted freighter, half-collapsed under its own weight. You keyed in your access code and the metal door stuttered open with a hiss. You let it close and lock behind you, leaning against it while you took a moment to breathe.

It was quiet inside other than the hum of cooling units and the occasional groan of shifting scrap outside. It was familiar. Safe.

You slid in to the stool at the workbench, sweeping tools and parts aside to access the embedded terminal. You brought up the locator protocols with quick, practiced motions and scrolled through the options— linked devices, known frequencies, encrypted paths.

Jarek’s ID wasn’t there.

You tried again. Manually. You knew the string of numbers by heart, burned in to your brain from years of running ops together.

Still nothing. The ping was dark. Shut off.

You blinked down at the screen and your stomach dropped. Jarek’s encrypted location had never been shut off. You had one too, and no one else knew the codes other than the two of you. You always kept the ping on. It was rule number one.

Your heart was thudding now. It wasn’t a coincidence, and it sure as hell wasn’t an accident. There was no other way it would have happened—Jarek had turned his location ping off deliberately.

You leaned back in the chair, exhaling through your nose, trying to fight the panic creeping up your spine. Think. Think.

You could tell the others. Say he’d gone dark on purpose. But you weren’t sure how they’d take it— especially the ones who still didn’t fully trust him. Ramus would probably be fine. He might even try to help you, he wasn’t Jarek’s second for nothing. But some of the others? Jarek hadn’t been leader long enough for them not to turn on him. Or you by association.

You dragged a hand down your face, cursing again under your breath. This meant that there was really only one option left, and you hated it.

Tetherline protocol. The rendezvous point.

The one he’d made you promise never to mention. Not to the others. Not even to Ramus. If Jarek really was in trouble, that’s where he’d go. You never thought it would have come to that.

You took a breath and shook out your arms, trying to shrug residual jitters before you worked through the stages of the plan. You recited the steps to yourself methodically, just as you had so many times across so many plants over the years, ever since you’d met Jarek on Lothal. You’d never had to initiate it before.

Gather the gear, secure the comms, wipe the tech.

Easy enough, you’d always thought, hypothetically. Facing the reality of it made your stomach twist. You looked around the small workshop. It had started to feel like somewhere you could have settled. A cramped space surrounded by scarred durasteel, sleeping on a cot where you spent your days fixing tech to sell. You hadn’t realised until now how achingly similar it was to a life you’d had before. Another life you had left behind. You hadn’t had a choice then. Although, you thought bitterly, staring down at the terminal where Jarek’s location ping should have been, you didn’t really have a choice now either.

You stood and crossed the workshop, crouching beside the small footlocker tucked beneath your cot. The hinges creaked as it opened, the sound sharp in the quiet. You pulled out your pack, laying it open on the cot before you began gathering what you’d need. Clothes first— a couple of spare shirts, pants and underwear: the basics. You packed in the jumpsuit you wore while you were working next, taking it from the hook by the door. You rolled it up and patted it fondly before shoving a med kit next to it— compact but stocked, just in case. Rations, water tabs and an old encrypted data pad came next, wiped and reset to factory protocols. You stuffed everything down and buckled the flap closed.

Weapons next: you stripped down your blasters to do a quick field check. Power cells fully charged, no carbon scoring, grips solid. You re-holstered them at your hips and made sure the blade at your thigh was secure, as well as the one hidden in your boot.

The shelves where you kept the comms were behind your workbench. The receivers and transmitters were all neatly tagged, organised by range. You took only what you needed— short range, single-channel, narrowband frequency. Harder to trace. You twisted the comlink in your hand before slipping it in to your jacket pocket, the strap already keyed to your encryption.

Then you crouched by the bench and reached beneath it, fingers finding the loose panel you’d slotted in to the underside years ago. You pried it open and pulled out a small, flat chip encased in cast-plast— dull grey, nearly weightless.

It didn’t look like much, but the data stick held your entire savings. A secured link to an encrypted amount of credits routed through three outer rim banking droids and buried so deep in old InterGalactic banking code that even slicers would struggle to sniff it out. Something that Jarek had taught you— hide everything. Trust nothing.

You slid the chip in to a pouch at your belt, sealing it tight.

If this really was a run, you’d need every credit you could get.

Next was the tech.

You moved back to the terminal, not bothering to sit on the stool, and brought up the system logs. You wiped them. All of them. No traces, no coordinates, no call signs. Even the search you’d made for Jarek’s ping— gone. When you were done, you shut the system down completely and pulled the auxiliary power line from the wall. Let anyone else try to boot it up. They’d find nothing.

Your eyes swept the workshop one last time, over the pile of broken tech by the door, the jacket with the hole burned in to the sleeve that you’d always meant to mend, the dent in the corner of the workbench where you’d slammed a hydrospanner during one particularly bad morning.

It felt strange, knowing you might never see this place again.

You shouldered your pack and clicked off the main light. The soft red emergency glow illuminated the space just enough to guide your way to the hatch. You paused there, fingers hovering over the panel and took a deep breath.

You weren’t sure what was going on, but if Jarek was going to go down, you were going to make sure he didn’t go down alone.

You keyed the lock and slipped out into the fading daylight.

The air was cooler now than it had been earlier, the heat bleeding away with the sun— its rays failing to break through the haze and cloud as it edged close to the horizon. You slipped past the perimeter wall and crossed the ridge line where the terrain changed.

This zone was a scar.

Twisted metal and splintered duracrete poked from the earth like broken teeth. An old Imperial facility— or what was left of it— lay sprawled ahead in jagged, corroded ruins across the valley below. You stepped through the remnants of old barricades and past watchtowers, now long collapsed and half-swallowed by time and nature. There was nothing of value here, it had either been picked through or broken by vandals, hell-bent on taking out their frustration on the Empire with whatever weapon they could get their hands on. Some of the structures beyond still stood tall enough to cast long, skeletal silhouettes against the amber-stained sky.

The silence here was uncanny. Even the wind felt reluctant to disturb the ghosts.

This place used to be an auxiliary depot, if memory served. Jarek had told you once, back when you’d first set foot on Vath, about how the Imps had pulled out of this side of the planet in a hurry, their retreat sloppy and panicked after a well-placed rebel strike. The pride in his voice had made you tear up at the time, now the memory of it only served to drive you forward.

Your boots crunched over brittle ground as you walked, weaving through the fields of debris. Thick cables snaked over the ground like veins. You passed by a busted TIE wing half-buried in rock where it had crashed, the viewport shattered and blackened by fire. A faded Imperial cog still clung to its hull. You didn’t look at it. You didn’t need to. You’d seen enough of them in your time.

You passed more of them on the way— plastered over anything able to be branded. They lingered in your peripheral and made the air feel heavy. You wondered, as you often did, how many other people still carried the weight of the war on their backs, like you did. You adjusted your grip on your pack and kept moving. The rendezvous spot wasn’t far.

It had taken you and Jarek three weeks to find it back when you’d followed him here— a transport hangar, accessible only after you’d cleared the piles of rubble. You’d turned it in to a bolt-hole that no one else knew about. Stashed a ship here. It was a place to vanish to— to get away, if it ever came to that.

You’d joked at the time that it was your own private war bunker. He hadn’t laughed.

You slid down the edge of a broken embankment and landed lightly, soft dust puffing around your boots. The entry point was ahead— the opening jutting out of the landscape like a gaping maw, crates scattered around it like tiny islands among the dust. You scanned the hangar— there was no sign of life. The ship wasn’t powered up and nothing had been moved. Jarek wasn’t here.

The realisation hit you like a blaster bolt. It was the first time you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that something had happened to him. You sat on the edge of a crate and rubbed your eyes.

You reached in to your pocket, pulled out the short-range receiver and flicked it on. It was already tuned to the channel you needed.

“Jarek, it’s me. I’ve initiated Tetherline protocol. Nothing on the ping. Call me back when you get this.” You hesitated before releasing the transmission. Then added, softer. “I hope you’re okay.”

You ended the call and waited.

Nothing.

You set the receiver down, leaned back and stared at the sky. Time passed. Slowly. The light faded through the last amber hues of daylight and in to the inky depths of dusk, plunging the hangar in to cold and shadow.

Your leg bounced restlessly as you scanned the perimeter. You reached for one of the ration bars in your pack and forced yourself to chew, but it tasted like ash. You stood and began to pace. You checked the perimeter, then the comlink again. Still nothing.

You didn’t know how long you’d wait. A couple of hours? All night? A few days?

What came after? Where would you even go?

You hadn’t thought that far ahead when you’d left the workshop. Tetherline protocol had always relied on Jarek meeting you here— he’d never allowed any discussion on the possibility of the contrary.

You let your thoughts wander. They drifted to Lothal. To the first time you’d met Jarek. To everything that had come after. To all the ways you’d come to trust him more than anyone.

He’d been cocky back then. He had a reckless grin and a stupid sense of humour, and he’d offered you a spot on his salvaging crew before you’d even worked up the courage to ask him. You worked on low-end jobs for a contractor that barely paid, picking clean the bones of an old Imperial installation outside Capital City. You’d hated him at first. He was too loud. Too charming. Too quick to call you Starshine.

But then, two weeks in, you’d seen him jump in to a burning wreck to pull a kid out after a fuel line had ignited during a job. He’d run in with zero hesitation while everyone else panicked about what to do.

He earned your respect one fire, one bad job, one near-death experience at a time. And somewhere between pulling rusted panels from a wrecked star destroyer hull and racing speeders in to the city to blow off steam, he’d earned your loyalty too.

And now he was gone.

Maybe not forever, but the longer it took for him to show, the panic twisting in your gut grew harder to ignore. You reached for your blaster without really thinking. Nothing had changed— you couldn’t see anything approaching, but the hair at the back of your neck stood on end. It was a feeling you hoped you’d never feel again.

You were being watched.

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year ago

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There were a lot of things Mike hated in life.

The demogorgon, and how it had essentially destroyed his life.

Brenner, and the madhouse laboratory El had survived.

How each and every one of his friends now did something weird--were weird, because flashing lights or fireworks or some stupid tune a toy horse played dragged up memories that made their eyes flat and faces hollow.

Most of all though, Mike hated how much they relied on Steve.

There was no reason he should be the person to call when it started pouring and no one wanted to bike home from AV.

Steve wasn’t Nancy, or Jonathan, or a parent--he wasn’t even dating anyone related to any of the Party anymore so what excuse did he have to keep hanging around?

(Even if Jonathan was always working, and Nancy was always busy with some club or homework, and everyone’s parents all seemed to be in a race of who could get back to normal the fastest…)

They should at least try to get a hold of other people, instead of constantly going to Steve first.

“Why?” Dusitn had scoffed at him the last time this had happened, feeding quarters into a phone and staring at Mike like he was the one being unreasonable. “I’m not gonna waste money just to hear your sister tell us no again when we all know Steve will do it.”

Which was perhaps the most infuriating part of it all.

That Steve would do it.

Show up and help them, even if he bitched the whole time.

Hell, Steve Harrington knew more about Mike’s life offhand than Nancy did, and that made him want to punch a wall more days than it didn’t. Why the hell was Steve so involved?

It was stupid.

Weird, even! They weren’t friends, (even if Dustin and Max and El of all people said the opposite) he wasn’t being paid to babysit, (Mike had double checked; going round to ask Ma Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair, only to get an earful of how wonderful Steve was from both.) he had no reason to hang around!

It didn’t make sense that Steve could be harassed into picking them up from school.

Would take them to get ice cream, or hand over extra quarters for the arcade. He even gave out advice like some kind of--brother that Mike had never wanted.

Above all?

Mike hated that when he needed someone, the number he punched in on automatic was Steve’s.

“I need you to come get me.” He said into the receiver, mad at himself and the world, but mostly mad that beyond the normal amount of squawking Steve did, he shut up and came.

Drove up in his rich boy car, stepping out and herding Mike into it like the rain hadn’t already seeped into his bones.

“You wanna tell me why you snuck into a bar two towns over?” Steve asked, long after Mike had slung himself into the passenger seat, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“No.”

One of Steve’s hands went right to his hair, running through it before adjusting the mess he’d just made.

It was a nervous habit, and Mike hated that he knew that too.

“Okay, well.” Steve’s hand fell back to the steering wheel, clenching tight around it. “Next time you want to do something dumb could you at least come talk to me about it beforehand?”

“What the hell would that do?” Mike bitched, staring firmly out of the window.

“Not waste my gas for starters.” Steve bitched right back. “But I dunno man, we could have taken some bats and gone and wailed on cars in the junkyard and talked or some shit, not--whatever this all was.”

‘This all’ was accompanied by a wave of his hand, indicating not just the bar Mike had been standing in front of, but his general sopping wet state.

“You’d actually go to the junkyard with me?” Mike challenged, doubtful.

Steve made a face. “Did you lose your hearing in there? I just said--.”

“Why?” Mike interrupted. “Why the fuck would you come out with me?”

Matching his entire aggressive tone, Steve said; “Because it’s better than trying to sneak into the one local gay bar when you’re barely fourteen, Michael.”

And that?

Steve being oddly aware of shit he really shouldn’t have?

Mike hated that too.

“You knew what the bar was?” He asked, his voice coming out much smaller than he intended.

“Everyone knows what that bar is, except it’s more of a biker bar than a gay bar.” Steve shot back--which did actually explain about ten different questions Mike had about the place. “Also, language you little shit.”

Under his breath, Steve continued in a muttered; “I swear I’m going to start carrying around soap.”

“You cuss more than we do.” Mike responded, and if his own voice was a little strangled as he fought back the sudden swell of tears, then that was between him and God.

He was not crying in front of Steve Harrington, he outright refused.

“The point I’m making is that there are way better bars to sneak into. That one’s not nearly as welcoming as people make it out to be, probably because they’re sick of all the rumors.”

Steve seemed to realize what he was implying because he quickly added; “Not that you should be sneaking into any bars at all!”

“You’re not my mom.” Mike’s voice turned wet as he lost his battle with his throat, voice cracking as he failed to choke the tears back.

“No shit Wheeler.” Steve said, and at least he was good enough not to call attention to Mike’s crying.

If he had, Mike was pretty sure he’d just up and die of embarrassment, right there.

“I don’t get why you care.” He muttered, angrily swiping at his eyes.

“I didn’t keep you alive this long just so you could die of something stupid.” Steve countered easily.

Which was kinda fair, if you thought about it.

Mike very much did not want to think about it.

Any of it.

Ever.

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” He asked after a painfully long moment.

Long enough that Steve had begun fiddling with the radio, trying to find a station as they drove back that wasn’t wailing country or gospel music.

“I’m not a narc, so no.”

“Not about the bar.”

Now Steve just looked confused.

Probably because he was, because he was without a doubt the stupidest almost adult Mike knew.

(Not that he could say that out loud--last time he had, Max had made one of her pissy faces and then El got mad because Max was, which led to a break up, which led to Mike having to beg his way back into his girlfriend’s good graces while explaining that he hadn’t meant it like that.

“How did you mean it then?” Max demanded, and Mike wasn’t sure how he managed to dodge that entire conversation but he had, on grounds that untangling his own emotions regarding stupid Steve made him want to pull his hair out and scream.)

“What about then?”

“You know. Don’t make me say it.” Mike absolutely didn’t plead, even if it did sort of, kind of, sound like pleading.

Steve flicked his eyes away from the road to give one long, weird look at Mike. The same one he gave Dustin when he went off on a rant about Cerebro or Lucas when he started discussing the stats of different D&D weapons.

Unlike those times, Steve’s face cleared.

“Oh.” He said, blinking, and Mike could practically see the light bulb flash above his head.

Then;

“Nah.”

Mike waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting as Steve went back to searching through radio channels, as if that was the end of the conversation.

It couldn't be the end of this conversation.

Not when this was the part that was eating Mike alive.

He didn’t know if this was Steve repressing it on purpose or if this was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life if he kept trying to figure his own head out, but either way, he knew he had a choice to make.

To let the unspoken part of today die quietly. Go unsaid, and remain unsaid, for all eternity--or he could let it out.

Shove the “gay” part of “gay bar” in Steve’s stupid, jock face.

Make him acknowledge it, even if it got Mike kicked out of the car, and who cared if it did?

Steve wasn’t the person who should have picked him up anyway.

The anger climbed higher and higher in his chest, tears and rage combining until Mike spat it all out, furious.

“You’re not going to ask if I’m gay?”

Steve didn’t turn to face him, but Mike saw his eyebrow cocking anyway, given how he was currently glaring a hole in the side of the older teen’s head.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.” Mike bit out automatically. “Yes. I don’t know!”

Steve’s hand found its way back into his hair.

“Okay then.” Steve paused, clearly fishing for something to say.

Gleefully, Mike watched him struggle.

“Do you like guys?” He managed finally, looking like he was navigating a minefield more than just talking.

“I don’t know.” Mike stressed, sinking lower in his seat. “Why do you think I was at the bar? I was trying to figure it out!”

“Honestly I assumed this was some sort of stupid dare--but!” Steve held up a finger, before Mike could interrupt, “But let’s--shit, hold on, I had a speech for this but I kinda wasn’t expecting to use it this soon. Um.”

“You have a speech for me being gay?”

“Not for you.” Steve rolled his eyes. “For--in general! It was an in general, just in case speech!”

He rounded on Mike, for longer than the younger was comfortable with given Steve took his eyes off the road to do it. “Okay--you can like boobies, you can like, uh--not boobies, and that’s fine! It’s all totally fine!”

“You are not making it sound like it’s fine.” Mike said, feeling like he’d been taken out by hearing Steve say the word “boobies.”

Gross, gross, gross.

“Well it is.” Steve said, in a tone that felt like he was two seconds from adding in a smarmy ‘so there!’ at the end.

“But I’m dating El.” Mike whined, which really, was both the heart of the matter and the eye of the storm that had been growing in his head for months now. “I can’t be gay if I like her.”

“Don’t you guys break up and get together like four times a week?”

“No, that's Max and Lucas, El and I are stable.” Mike scoffed. “Or we--we were stable.”

Before he started to have thoughts about people that weren't his girlfriend.

Or women.

“Stable for being in middle school, sure.” Steve snorted. “You don’t just have to like one or the other you know. You can like dudes and chicks at the same time.”

Which Mike did not know, on account of being fourteen.

He did his absolute damndest not to show that realization, instead adding that to the list of reasons why he hated Steve Harrington too.

Steve shouldn't be the one teaching him about who you could like!

“The point is that who you end up loving isn’t a problem.” Steve finally looked back to the road. “Other people might be an issue, and those people we can punch in the face so long as the cops aren’t looking, which isn’t part of the speech so let’s not tell people I said that part, but whatever you do choose, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Steve’s voice went firm, as he apparently recalled his speech or something close enough to it because his next words sounded a little rehearsed. “You have people who are here for you, no matter what. Okay?”

Oh God, Mike was crying again.

He wanted to punch Steve in his stupid face.

Wanted to hold onto the fury he'd built inside himself. Thrash around, throw himself out of the car, get away from the emotions that felt too big for his chest to contain.

Instead he felt it all break on Steve's acceptance. On word's he didn't know he needed to hear until they'd been spoken, and sniffed out a quiet; “Okay.”

Steve of course had to take it too far by reaching over and patting his knee, which they both regretted judging by how quickly Steve took his hand back and the face Mike made at his hand--but it…

It was appreciated, even amongst all Mike's rage.

Steve was appreciated.

Not that Mike would ever, on pain of death, tell him that.

Neither said a word for a while, Steve finally landing on a radio that was playing some Top 40 hit, Tears for Fears singing about ruling the world while Mike found himself trying to rebuild his own once again, tired of it having shattered so many times over.

At least he finally felt better, even if he refused to admit Steve was the reason for it.

He wasn’t quite done though.

There was a piece Steve had skipped over, that Mike felt was critically important, if only because it was partly the reason he was having thoughts about being gay in the first place.

He had to know if Steve saw it too.

That it wasn’t just him and his stupid head, making up things that weren’t there.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Who was the speech for?”

Steve sighed.

“Rule one of the whole queer thing Wheeler, you don’t out other people.”

Like there were written rules or something.

(Maybe there were, it wasn't like Mike knew.)

“Was it Will?” Mike asked, and pretended like he didn’t desperately want the answer to be yes.

Steve didn’t say a thing, but the fact he nearly took the car off the road was a pretty solid answer in itself.

“We’re not playing guessing games about other people’s sexualites!” He yelped, hands gripping the steering wheel as Mike felt a wave of relief crash through him.

Will was--maybe, possibly, also--queer too.

Which didn’t make this any better but it--wasn’t the not preferred outcome, either.

(It wasn’t just Mike struggling alone, trying to figure out if his best friend wanted to be more than that, if El was breaking up with him and more and more because she wanted to be less than a girlfriend, if things were changing and he would have no one--)

“I’m not out here picking Will up from a gay bar dipshit, I’m picking you up, and this is your reminder that next time, you should just come talk to me!” Steve ranted.

Mike snorted.

He absolutely hated Steve Harrington, but--

“Fine.” He said, talking so low he could barely be heard. “I will.”

--maybe Mike did have someone in his corner after all.

Even if it was just Steve.

xXx

Bonus:

“Between you and me, that kid is gayer than a two dollar bill.”

“Wow Robin,” Steve teased, “Isn’t that like, a slur or whatever?”

He snickered when she rolled her eyes and threw a roll of stickers his way.

“I’m just saying. Did you see the way he was looking at you when you were showing off your stupid biceps?” Robin said, nudging her shoulder into Steve’s. “Will’s gonna have a rude awakening later if he hasn’t already.”

Steve nudged her back, but kept his gaze on the Party as they trooped their way from Family Video to the arcade next door, the realization that they now had connections for free rentals making them downright gleeful.

Will was the last one in, and Steve watched him hurry so as to not be left behind.

He didn’t like to worry about the dipshits, but Robin was just putting voice to a thought Steve knew he wasn’t the first person to have.

And if he noticed it, then it didn't exactly bode well as being kept a secret.

“Should we like…talk to him about that?” He asked after a long moment, turning to face Robin.

“Us?” She pointed at herself, before turning her finger on Steve. “Why us?”

“Well you’re into girls.” He gave her a pointed look, glad that the store was empty of everyone but them so he could actually voice all this. “And I’m fine with it.”

“Yeah I’m sure he wants to know you’re fine with it.” Robin taunted, but she had her thinking face on, eyes out to the middle distance. “I barely know him. You barely know him--he’s the quietest out of all your kids.”

“They’re not my kids.” Steve argued automatically. “They're like a weird cross between shitty siblings and that kid in your class who never leaves you alone.”

A fact Steve no longer took for granted, even if he made it sound like the worst thing ever.

“I just think it’d be nice if he knew that he had people in his corner, you know? Who supported him and shit.”

“Steve, you compared my crush to a muppet, that wasn’t supportive.” Robin countered, but it too was on automatic.

Softer she admitted; “You’re right though. If I had known other queer people, if I had known people would accept me...it would have made things a lot easier.”

A very long pause, in which both of them stewed for a moment, before Robin abruptly slapped her hand down on the table.

“Okay, you got me. We're doing it, and I'm making us a speech.”

“A speech?”

“Yes dingus, a speech. I know you, you’re terrible when you’re put on the spot with this kinda thing, and trust me with things like this the moment will be spontaneous.”

“It’s Will, how spontaneous can it be?” Steve challenged back. “Getting a dinner order out of him is a chore.”

“Stop whining and hand me that notepad. Im telling you its gonna happen when you least expect it and then you're gonna thank me later.”

“It better not happen without you.” Steve sighed, but passed the notepad over.

God the things he did for those stupid kids.

Bonus x2

Steve would later go on to use the speech on himself, in a gas station bathroom mirror, eyes wide and freaked out after Eddie Munson called him Big Boy in a van they stole, while Robin snickered behind him.

He would turn on her, snapping that she; “Help me with this dammit!”

In return she’d remind him that Tammy might sing like a muppet but Eddie was the guy who stepped on lunches while giving speeches at lunch and sticking his tongue out, and “Really Steve, I think I won best gay awakening, here.”

Which would promptly start an argument regarding how it wasn’t a competition, which would continue for another fifteen or so odd years before finding its way as a reference into both of their speeches as each other’s best man.

Nancy and Eddie wouldn’t get it at either wedding, but Mike would.

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arc-misadventures · 10 months ago

Note

MFK with Jaune: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, and Selina Kyle

Jaune: MFK XII

Nora: Oh Jaune-Jaune~?

Jaune: No, you can’t have your grenades back.

Nora: But, that’s not…?!

Jaune: You aren’t allowed to test peoples bone density with your war hammer.

Nora: But, it’s only, Cardin… Wait! No, that’s not what I want…??

Jaune: You can’t have another, McSchneer Lumberjack Burger. They banned you after you demanded more maple syrup bacon strips, and subsequently destroyed the counter when they said no.

Nora: That’s not what I wanted to ask!

Jaune: It’s not; Then what is it?

Nora: MFK~!

Jaune: Naww fuck��

Nora: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, or Selina Kyle~?

Jaune: The ladies of, Batman’s Rouge Gallery? Why them?

Nora: Why not them?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Fair enough… Okay… I would kill, Poison Ivy.

Nora: Aww… but, I thought you liked us red heads~?

Jaune: I do, but it’s more of personality/mind set kind of thing. I understand why she wants to save the environment, and all that. But, considering her powers she could make plants that absorb the pollution, and cleanse the environment like nature currently does. I mean, we’ve got algae springing up the can digest plastics, and there are mushrooms capable of absorbing nuclear radiation. I mean come on! Poison Ivy could easily do that, and make something ten times better at doing that! But, no let’s kill all the corrupt businessmen, politicians, and everyone on the whole god damn planet to save the environment! That’s sounds lovely~!

Nora: Okay… that sounded personal…

Jaune: Sorry, but environmentalists annoy the hell out of me! I mean come on! Let’s stop using all fossil fuels, and natural gas to prevent the world from ending in the next five years, a notion that they have said a dozen times in the last three decades! Not to mention that idea would kill millions in a matter of weeks if implemented?!

Nora: …?!

Nora: So…

Nora: Who ya gonna fuck…?

Jaune: Harely Quinn.

Nora: Oh really, you got a thing for clowns~?

Jaune: No. I have to pick, and of the two I would like to sleep with, Harely Quinn. I’m curious about how flexible she would be, among other things…

Nora: Nice~!

Jaune: And, lastly I would marry, Selina Kyle.

Nora: Why her?

Jaune: Admittedly I like, Catwoman the most out of the trio. I like her mature elegance, that femme fatale, and saucy air about her. Plus, I read the comics, she a romantic at heart with, Bruce Wayne. Granted unless written as so, Selina never overcomes, Bruce’s obsession with being, Batman. But, in the stories they do get together, they form a strong lasting pair who grow up to have a loving family together with.

Jaune: I want that too…

Jaune: You happy, Nora, have you got your answer.

Nora: I’m ecstatic, Fearless Leader~! I’ll see you later~!

Jaune: …

Jaune: Somethings off with that smile of hers… I don’t like it…

~~~

Nora: Alright ladies, have you made your decision?

Cinder: Perfectly! I will be going as, Catwoman. I already have a catsuit that I know, Jaune will absolutely drool all over~!

Nora: Oh, nice! It really shows of your phat ass! He better give that a nice hard slap when he sees it!

Cinder: I’ll give him plenty of reasons to do just that~! Now, Neo will be using her semblance to dress as, Harley Quinn. She is also flexible enough to play the part~!

Nora: I’m sure, Jaune will love that~! Don’t pull a muscle out there , Neo!

Neo: 😁

Nora: No, I’m being serious, he will pull some muscles when he’s done with you!

Neo: 🤕🥴

Nora: Oh~? Kinky, I like it~!

Cinder: And, lastly, Emerald will be using her semblance to appear as, Poison Ivy!

Emerald: Are you sure this will work? He hates, Poison Ivy.

Nora: That means he’ll hate fuck you to get rid of that pent up rage~!

Emerald: Oh…? Oh~? Oh that sounds like fun~!

Cinder: Alright girl, let’s head out! Let’s show, Jaune what’s it’s like to be embrace by a trio of femme fetale’s~!

Emerald: Thanks, Nora, we really appreciate your help!

Nora: No problem ladies! And, good luck!

Nora: Cause… you’ll need it… oh boy you’ll need it…

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iamumbra195 · 2 years ago

Text

Random One Piece incorrect quotes cause I'm bored

Some of these are modern au though

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

*Sanji's not there*

Usopp: HELP! I TOLD LUFFY I’D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN’T COOK!

Zoro, pouring alcohol directly into a cereal bowl:

Zoro: And you thought I could help?

...

Luffy: In my defense, I was left unsupervised.

Nami : Wasn't Zoro with you?

Zoro: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised

...

Law: I trust Mugiwara-ya.

Penguin: You think he knows what he's doing?

Law: I wouldn't go that far.

...

Sabo: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life

Ace, confused: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind?

Sabo: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die.

Luffy: edible

...

Nami: We need to get through this locked door. Usopp, give me your credit card.

Usopp: Here.

Nami, pocketing it: Thanks. Luffy, kick down the door.

...

Chopper: You know those things will kill you, right?

Zoro, pouring another glass of whiskey: That’s the point.

Sanji, smoking a cigarette: We’re trying to speed up the process.

Luffy: *Nods while eating raw cookie dough*

...

Robin: Why is Luffy so sad?

Nami: He took one of those “Which Character Are You?” quizzes

Robin: And...?

Nami: He got Buggy

*Zoro cackling in the background

...

Zoro: Self care is actually getting into fights with randos in dark alleys.

Nami: No, self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath, or putting on a lot of makeup if you like it, or taking a nice warm nap!

Kin'emon, trying to be poetic: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you!! Self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists!! Self care is the fear in your enemies’ eyes!!!

Usopp: Lmao self care is taking Luffy's birthday meat cake just so I can eat the frosting.

Luffy: If you touch my meat cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

Sanji, losing his mind: WHY IS THERE FROSTING ON MEAT?

...

Franky, about Jinbe: Apparently we’re getting someone new in the group.

Robin: Are we stealing them?

Brook: New or used?

Franky, cackling: Wonderful responses, both of you.

...

Smoker: You’re receiving a ticket for having three people on one motorcycle.

Sanji: Shit.

Usopp: Wait, three?

Smoker: Yeah?

Nami: OH MY GOD ZORO FELL OFF!!!

...

Kin'emon: Tonight, one of you has betrayed us.

Ashura: Is it me?

Kin'emon: No, it’s not you.

Denjiro: Is it me, Kin?

Kin'emon: It’s not you either.

Kanjuro: Is it me, Kin'emon?

Kin'emon, bleeding from several debilitating injuries:

Kin'emon, mockingly: Is IT mE kiN'eMOn?

...

Usopp: Can I be frank with you guys?

Luffy, confused: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Chopper: Can I still be Chopper?

Franky, snickering: Shh, let Frank speak.

...

Sabo: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Koala: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Sabo: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING ROBIN-CHAN WITH ME

Hack, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

...

Law, walking into his submarine: Hello, people who do not belong here.

Zoro: Hey.

Sanji: Hi.

Robin: Hello.

Chopper: Hey!

Law: I gave you my vivre card for emergencies only!

Luffy, grinning: We were out of meat.

...

Sanji: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how that blender works.

Luffy, drinking meat: Why do you say that?

...

Zoro: Do you take constructive criticism?

Nami: I only take cash or credit.

...

Koala: Why are you on the floor?

Sabo: I'm depressed.

Sabo: Also I was stabbed, can you get Ivankov, please.

...

Robin: If I accidentally sat on a voodoo doll of myself, would I be trapped forever in that position, doomed to starve to death?

*everyone looks ay Karasu

Karasu: What? How am I supposed to know?

Lindbergh: You say, as if we don’t use you as a source of knowledge of the occult.

Karasu: *sighs*

Karasu: You wouldn't be trapped

...

Vivi: I love you guys, you're the best thing that's happened to me.

Nami: We're the best thing that's ever happened to you?

Vivi: Yes!

Usopp: ... I'm starting to feel a little sorry for you.

...

Usopp: WHY. why did you give Luffy a KNIFE?!

Zoro, shrugging: He said he felt unsafe.

Usopp: Now I feel unsafe!

Zoro: ... would you like a knife?

...

Dragon: What did you do with the target's body?

Sabo : What didn’t I do with the body?

Dragon:

Sabo: Okay, that sounded more sexual than I intended. I disposed of the corpse respectfully.

...

Luffy, texting Ace: Ace! Help I’m being kidnapped

Ace: Where are you?

Luffy: I’m with some strange person. In a car. Help.

Ace: I’ll call Gramps.

Garp, answering their cell: Y’ello?

Ace: Where’s Luffy? He texted me that he was being kidnapped.

Garp: Luffy? Whaddya mean, he's right next to me-

Garp, who shaved his head:

Garp: I’ll call you back. *hangs up*

Garp: THE NEW HAIRCUT ISN’T THAT BAD!

Luffy: WHO ARE YOU?!

...

*Ace, Sabo and Luffy sitting in jail together*

Sabo: So who should we call?

Ace: I’d call Gramps, but I feel safer in jail

...

Roger: Garp, my old arch enemy.

Garp: ... I thought I was your only arch enemy?

Roger: I have a life outside of you, Garp

...

Zoro: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container.

Luffy: The cow???

Zoro: What?

Sanji: *disgusted shudder* LUFFY, W H Y?

...

Usopp: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 billion berry?

Zoro: Nami can stab me, and then when my leg gets better, we buy a big-ass house and erase my debt

Luffy: You can stab me too, then we'll have 20 billion.

Zoro: Good thinking.

...

Kin'emon: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.

Denjiro: You were flirting with O'Tsuru.

Kin'emon: So what? She's my wife.

Denjiro: You asked her if she were single.

Kin'emon:

Denjiro: And then you cried when she said she wasn't

...

Marco: What time is it?

Ace: I don’t know; pass me that saxophone and we’ll find out

Ace: *Plays sax loudly and extremely out of tune*

Izou: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING

Ace, proudly: It’s 2 am

...

Luffy: I can’t believe you live nearby, and you won’t let anyone crash at your place.

Law: You people already know too much about me.

Kidd: I know exactly three facts about you, and one of them is that you won’t let any of us crash at your place.

...

Sabo, an enabler: Tell Ace about the birds and the bees.

Luffy: They're disappearing at an alarming rate.

...

Brook: Schrödinger’s cat is overrated. If you wanna see something that’s both dead and alive you can talk to me any time of the day.

...

Zoro: With great power comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later.

...

Law: When someone points at your black clothes and asks whose funeral it is, having a look around the room and saying 'Haven’t decided yet' is typically a good response.

Bepo: Captain, no.

...

Law: Nothing in life is free.

Chopper: Love is free!

Luffy: Adventure is free!

Robin: Knowledge is free.

Nami: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

...

Usopp: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Luffy will and will not eat.

Franky: Grass? Yes!

Usopp: Moss? Yes!!

Franky: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Usopp: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Franky: Worms? Sometimes!

Usopp: Rocks? Usually nah.

Franky: Twigs? Usually!

Usopp: Zoro's cooking? Inconclusive!

Chopper: How did you… test this?

Usopp: You just hand him stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if he eats it, he eats it.

Chopper: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Nami: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SHOELACES WENT?

Robin: What about humans? He tried to eat Crocodile once

Everyone: ...

Usopp: I think I might be too afraid to ask

(Someone pls draw this one XD)

...

Betty: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Koala: *turning to Sabo* How tall are you?

...

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

That's it, this took forever to write lol

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xx-alice-in-wonderland-xx · 11 months ago

Text

Abby, Lev & Yara incorrect quotes 🖤

Abby, to Lev: Look at you! All cute and small! I could just eat you up! Lev: *proceeds to kick her in the shin and run away* Yara, walking past: Rule number 1, don't call Lev cute or small.

Lev: Why is everyone so obsessed with top or bottom? Honestly, I’d just be excited to have a bunk bed. Abby: Abby: I'm gonna tell him. Owen: Don't you dare.

Abby: Today, Lev said a swear word, so Yara said that she was going to wash Lev’s mouth out with soap. Lev replied, “It’s okay, I like the taste of soap”. Turns out, they’ve both been putting soap on their lips to blow bubbles for the past hour.

Lev, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe? Abby: Yeah, sure. *A few minutes later* Abby: Here you go. Lev: Abby: Owen: Why am I here?

Yara: Breathe, just breathe. Lev: I’ve done nothing with my life! I’m a failure! Their mom in Lev’s mind: Awww, that never bothered you before.

Lev on his 18th birthday: Adulting is hard. Lev: How do I quit? Yara: Time travel. Abby: Die.

Lev: When Yara was born, the gods said, "She’s too perfect for this world." Abby: Please. When I was born, the devil said, "Oh, competition."

Yara: You get turned back into a baby but you retain all your skills and memory, what do you do? Abby: Eat a nickel. Yara: A reminder: You have retained all your skills and memories. Lev: Eat a nickel. Yara: Ok.

Lev: Why does everyone want to kill Abby? Ellie: Because, goddamnit, have you seen her? her neck looks so snappable.

*the Squad cleaning up* Abby: Pick up the nearest piece of trash and throw it away. Lev, to Yara: Aight, which bin do you wanna go in—

Lev: *sneaking in through their window* Yara: *turning in their chair and flicking the light one* You want to tell me where you've been all night? Lev: I was with Abby? Abby: *turning in their chair* Wanna try again?

Yara: Do you support gay rights? Lev: I’m literally trans. Abby: He’s avoiding the question!

Yara: What did Abby do this time? Lev: More like WHO did Abby do this time?

Lev: Self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath or putting on a lot of make up if you like that, or taking a nice warm nap and stuff like that basically. Abby: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you. self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists. self care is the fear in your enemies eyes. Yara: Self care is stealing someones birthday cake just to eat the frosting. Lev: If you touch my birthday cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

⬆️ (Lev’s never had a birthday cake 🥲)

Lev: If I die, my funeral will be the biggest party ever and you're all invited. Yara: "If" Abby: Great, the only party I'm ever invited to and they might not even die.

Abby: Uh, I think I got your lunch. *Holds up a note that reads: ‘I am very proud of you. Love, Yara’* Lev: Oh yeah. I didn’t think this was for me. *Holds up a note that reads: ‘Be good. For the love of God, Please be good.’*

Yara: Nice rock. Lev: Thanks, Abby gave it to me. Abby: I threw it at you! Lev: Isn’t she the sweetest?

Yara: Lev! Abby got that thing on the control panel working! Lev: Wow! That looks pretty impressive. Yara: Yeah! Abby: Any idea what it does? Lev: Not a clue.

Yara: What are you two arguing about this time? Abby: They’re always using common phrases incorrectly! Lev: Cry me a table, Abby.

Yara: Lev isn’t answering my messages. Abby: Allow me. Yara: I tried 6 times, what makes you thi- Lev: *replying to message* Hello.

Lev, not understanding the concept of holidays since I headcannon Seraphites didn’t celebrate stuff like Christmas: Christmas is cancelled. Abby: You can't cancel a holiday. Lev: Keep it up, Abby, and you'll lose New Year's too. Abby: What does that mean? Lev: Yara, take New Year's away from Abby.

Yara, to Abby You know, Lev can be really aggressive, so it's important to take all the necessary precautions when approaching. Lev: *blows airhorn at a seraphite* GET FUCKED!

this was so funny to make lmao 😭

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insomniamamma · 1 year ago

Text

Spinner: Joel Miller x F!Reader

A/n: Okay, so this one got real personal real fast. Many of Spinner’s insecurities are my own. I meant this to be a soft little snuggling for warmth fic, but then things happened. Even in a world than hasn’t entirely gone to shit, it’s so hard to hang on to doing the things you love even if they don’t make you money or get you likes or clout. Also, I rabbit holed a lot about the spinning process and plant dyes but there’s only so much i can do. Any inaccuracies are on me.

Warnings: slurs. Mentions of past relationships gone bad. Shitty family dynamics. Reader is neurodivergent, diagnosis unspecified. Old enough to be married on outbreak day. Ageism. Bullying. Gruff Joel.

No one in Jackson calls you by your name. You’re Spinner or Weaver or Yarn-lady. Turning wool into yarn into clothing that spills out of your needles when you can’t sleep, socks and hats and mittens. You had a spinning wheel, looted from the historical society, but it was old and dry as a bone and the wheel split the one time you tried to use it despite how careful you were, so now it’s the drop spindle, the endless rhythm of it, a sensation so close to your own pulse that you don’t think much of it any more. Waste of time your father told you when you built a loom in the garage, your useless hobby your ex-husband called it as if he didn’t spend all his free time playing GTA and Zelda and Final Fantasy. Every family gathering since moving out a hybrid of when are you going to settle down, when are you going to give us grandkids, when are you going to get a real job, as if you didn’t spend half the year doing paid demos and plying your wares on the ren-faire circuit, good if not entirely predictable money, but it didn’t count because you didn’t make it in a cubicle farm.

You always knew you weren’t like them but could never quite pin down what made you different, what made you other, your Mom told me not to marry you because you’re a fuckin retard, your ex had spat during the fight that ended your marriage. And, for as shitty as your ex was, you knew he wasn’t lying about that part. Two brilliant sisters and then you. An odd afterthought of a girl. Got yelled at for staring at people when you weren’t looking at anything at all. Got yelled at for not making eye-contact, look at me when I’m talking to you.

Funny how they’re all dead and you’re still alive.

You hear folks talk sometimes. Waste of time if you’re asking me. They drug a whole container of clothes from the old Walmart. In your mind you grab them and shake them and yell in their faces that that world is never coming back, that we’re gonna have to get our shit together real quick or our grandkids are gonna be wearing untanned hides and rotting plastic tarps. But you don’t. You just spin your wool into yarn, and do your assigned tasks. Everyone helps everyone. That’s how things work here. Folks come and help you pick and soak and scour the fleeces. You show them how to card the wool and how to make drop spindles of their own and turn fleece into yarn, but most of them give you odd pitying looks. That world is dead, you want to tell them. It’s been twenty years. It’s not coming back, but you know in their secret hearts they don’t believe it.

Everyone helps everyone. So that means you help with the gardens, help with the harvest, help in the kitchens, reinforcing a gate or raising a barn or clearing brush for firebreaks. You’re at your best when you can work with your hands and not have to talk much. Everyone helps everyone and you know how people think of you with your wool and experimental plant fiber yarn and onion skin dyes and mordants. You can feel it even when they don’t say it right out loud. No place in this new world for people like you. Only the strong survive. So you put yourself on the roster for watch duty and patrols. Watch duty is fine by you. Sit in one of towers along the wall and peer out over the vast and unchanging dark, rifle leaned against the wall in case something happens, two way radio for emergencies only and it’s quiet and unchanging and you don’t mind at all.

Patrol is a different animal. Why do you keep signing up for this? Maria asked you, I know you hate it. Can’t make someone else do something I won’t, you told her, but that’s not the whole answer. You want to feel like you’re doing something real. Like you’re contributing. Like you’re not as helpless, as useless as everyone seems to think.

You show up for your assignment. A foot patrol. Day out and day back. Over night in a shelter house a little over halfway round the trail. You’ve got a bedroll and a change of clothes and the canvas bag you use for foraging. Your patrol partner eyes you skeptically and you curl into yourself. Everyone’s heard the rumors about Joel Miller. People shrink from him. You’ve seen it. When he comes into the tavern or the caff or the lending library people suddenly find someplace else to be. Figures. “You Spinner?” “Yeah.” “I’m Joel.” “I know.” “You good to go?” “Yeah.” He looks at you the way someone might look at an odd bug or a difficult equation, and then turns down the trail and you follow.

He doesn’t say much. Which is a relief. Last time you were on patrol you were paired with Ez who could not shut up for the life of him. That trip out and back was a running commentary of things Ez missed and things Ez remembered and a million other things you could not give the faintest of shits about. Joel doesn’t try to engage you in conversation and you are glad for that. A soft hold up means he needs a moment to go take a leak in the weeds, and you creep off too to do your business. You’ve seen plants along the trail that you could use on other patrols, sumac berries and oak galls, but you never said anything, just tried to remember on the off chance you’d be out here again.

“Joel? Can we stop?” The question surprises you as you ask it. He turns to look at you, “This is curly dock.” You hunker in the tall weeds on the side of the old road, logging trail most likely, frantically clipping stems and pawing roots out of the ground, dirt plating itself under your nails, scrabbling for what you can get before Joel tells you to hurry it. Even dried out and dormant, it’s still good. “What’s it for?” “For making dye. If I can find the right mordants I can get some nice golden yellows from the roots and the seeds. I’m still figuring it out.” “How much you need?” Joel hunkers down beside you and starts slicing off the flower heads that look like clusters of coffee grounds. You shrug. “I was just gonna fill this bag,” you say, “I’m still testing it out.” Joel stands and you yank a few more roots out of the ground. “I’m gonna make a blaze,” says Joel, slicing lines into the bark of a young cottonwood. “Huh?” “So the others’ll know there’s something useful here.” “Thank you.” Joel nods, folds his blade away, puts the knife back in his pocket. He turns and continues along the winding game trail and you follow, small smile playing at your lips. Useful. Not a word often used for you and what you do, you and yours. The other artisans. Figuring out how to tan hides and dye wool and save seeds because that world isn’t coming back. They’ve managed to drag a few trailers of that world from the Walmart, teams of horses foaming around their bits, sweat darkened flanks and for what? Clothing and shoes and cans and dry goods for now. There’s only so much to be looted. And then what? That world isn’t coming back. Even if cordyceps went away, that world isn’t coming back. Who could fix the world? Not Fedra, that’s for damn sure. Not the folks in town who talk too much.

He stops walking and you almost collide with him. “Look.” You follow the track of his raised hand over his shoulder, a herd of deer crossing the path, a buck standing stone still, looking at you with shimmering black eyes, antlers curling up like old tree branches, while the does and yearlings cross behind him, all long limbs and flicking ears and quivering noses, and you feel yourself smile. You remember a time in your life when seeing deer in the back yard was a magical thing, you and your siblings and your parents pressed to the curve of the bay window, watching them pass through the trees like shadows. Even after everything you’ve seen since, your heart contracts with the old wonder. “They’re beautiful.” You glance at Joel and see the curve of his smile, the way it dimples his cheek. “They are.” The buck flicks his ears and springs off into the gray light, the rest of the herd gone like ghosts, and the wind stirs after them, and you pull your coat closer, tuck into yourself. The faint spats of rain against your cheeks have turned into a steady, miserable drizzle. Nothing to focus on but how cold you are and Joel’s retreating back, and you silently curse yourself for not dressing warmer. Bright blue sky scrimmed over and swallowed by low, blank clouds, not quite cold enough to snow, but the damp air makes your knees and hips and knuckles throb. Should’ve dressed warmer. Fall in this part of the world can turn on a dime.

Not too far now, he says, but by the time you reach the shelter little pellets of sleet are mingling with the rain. Shelter is a rough, drooping structure with yellowed plastic sheeting taped over the small windows, crude wood stove blacked with smoke, ugly welded chimney poking up past the sagging roof. Joel hunkers in front of the wood stove. Folded cots lay against the wall and you pull one out and unfold it, smells like mold and motor oil, and you get another one, one for you and one for Joel. “Shit,” he murmurs low, “Wood’s all punky.” “Will it catch?” “Yeah. Maybe.”

You and Joel sit on your cots and eat, bread and cheese brought from home. The fire in the stove burns low and ugly. Joel has set up lengths of firewood in a straggled ring around the stove, hoping the heat will dry them, but the cold creeps in, unroll your sleeping bag and try to rest. Sleet spats against the roof, against the plastic shrouded windows, wind blows hard enough to send huffs of smoke back down the chimney, not that the fire is doing much, seething hiss and low smolder, sluggish embers, weak orange glow that does little to ease the cold. You jam your hands into your armpits and curl yourself tight, crunch your eyes closed and wait for your own breath to warm you, but there’s no position, no way of tucking your limbs against yourself that does a damn bit of good, the cot creaks and squeaks with each shift of your weight.

“Stop movin around so much.”

You can see the slope of his shoulders picked out in the weak firelight, his back to you. Your throat constricts and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You lay with your arms crossed, peering up at the cobwebbed beams I won’t cry, I won’t, but the tears slide out of you all the same, fever hot where the rest of you is so cold, close your eyes and try to make yourself stay still, at least until Joel falls asleep. Your teeth chatter. You can’t stop it. You wonder for the millionth time why you’re still here, familiar poisonous rut that your mind runs in, why are they all dead and I’m still alive? Can spin wool into yarn while people snicker behind your back for it, you know that world isn’t coming back, the easy one where you could go to a store and buy a heavy coat to keep you warm, an electric blanket to keep you warm, once this is over, you hear them say sometimes, once this is over I’m gonna eat nothing but rare steaks for an entire year, once this is over I’m gonna buy my girl a ring, once this is over, we’ll never be cold, we’ll never be hungry, we’ll never be hunted once this is over. You feel your chest tighten. Your breath comes hard and fast. Your chattering teeth and ragged inhales betray you. You hear him move and tighten your arms across yourself, try to stop your tears and teeth.

Joel knows the sound of muffled crying. Tess would cry sometimes in the dead of night, curled away from him, when she thought he was asleep. Your shuddered inhale and tight clench of your shoulders give you away. His first impulse is to turn over and ignore you, let you blend into the spackle of rain and sleet and let sleep take him, but a dull spike of guilt lodges in his gut, can’t fix the world, but maybe he can fix this.

“Hey, Spinner, you okay?” You roll on your side, poke your head out of your sleeping bag to look at him, can’t quite meet his eyes, you shake your head. “Can’t get warm,” you say, “It’s stupid. My hands--“ “That wood should be a dried out a little,” says Joel, “Try and see if it catches.” You get up and moving around feels a little better, hunker by the wood stove and tuck a length in, flames licking low and yellow, you blow into the fire, hoping the wood will do more than hiss, more than useless white smoke of escaping water vapor, hold your hands in front of the low lazy flames and grey-ashed coals. You prod at the small nest of logs with a stick, turn one over and the fire licks up bright. You can hear Joel moving around behind you, scrape and rustle and he’s pushed the cots together, he’s unzipping his sleeping bag. “What’re you doing?” “I’m gonna zip these together,” he says, “It’s warmer this way.” Your cheeks and ears burn. You shouldn’t even be out here. Can’t even keep yourself warm. Can’t look at him. “You don’t have to--“ “C’mere.” You glance at him, his dark eyes shining in the weak firelight, “It’s okay.” You nod, more to yourself than him, crawl in beside him and zip the bag around the two of you, and before you can protest, Joel has pulled you half atop him, rubbing his hands briskly down your arms and back. “When we were kids, Ma got it in her head that we should go on vacation for Christmas and see real snow,” he says, the motion of his hands rucks your shirt up a little and he smooths it back down. “Colorado?” you ask. “Maine,” says Joel, and you laugh through chattering teeth, “Ma rented us a cabin out in the ass end of nowhere. I’ve never been so cold in my life. Dad showed us how to zip our sleeping bags together. It was warmer after that, ‘cept Tommy wouldn’t stop kicking me. Here. Give me your hands.” Joel folds your hands into his, squeezes your fingers, and then cups your hands in his, and blows, breathes into the cage of his hands around yours, you remember coming home from a day spent playing in the snow, cheeks and ears and toes and fingers burning as they warmed and your Mom taking your hands like this and breathing into them like this, and your eyes scrim over, sink your teeth into the meat of your lip but it does no good, the tears slip out. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” For everything, you want to say, but don’t. “Weather turned on us, that’s all.” Joel rubs his thumbs over your knuckles, “You don’t need to be sorry.” Presses your hands tight in his, holds them to his chest, and that’s how you fall asleep, warmed by his breath, hands folded together between you.

You don’t speak of what happened. Just pack up your gear and head home, following him down the trail, it feels like he turns to check in with you more, but maybe you weren’t paying attention on the way out.

“Hey you got a package!” says Ellie. Joel misses coffee. Almost killed a man over a dented can of Folgers, misses the taste and smell and waking slow with a cup cradled in his hands. He’s barely staggered into the kitchen, barely nursed the coals in the stove into life, waiting for the kettle so he can have some herb tea that warms his hands at least, but Ellie is up and bright eyed and talking a mile a minute. “Package?”

“On the front step, stupid.” Joel rubs at his eyes.

“Why don’t you quit yappin and bring it in for me?”

“Lazy ass,” says Ellie, but Joel hears her grin, hears the door open, feels the puff of frigid air. Ellie plops an irregular bundle wrapped in string and old newspaper on the table. “I gotta go,” she says, “Gonna be late for school—“

“Hey! Did you eat?” But Ellie’s already out the door, leaving Joel to examine the lumpy parcel, rain-dotted darkening newsprint scavenged from God knows where. Joel unties the string and winds it into a careful coil, turns the bundle over to unwrap it. Thought I’d return the favor, the note reads. No name, but who else could it be? Broad scarf of thick cream colored wool with a pair of socks to match. He runs the pads of this thumbs over the precise rows of stitches, brings the bundled scarf to his face and breathes in, not unpleasant smell of sheep and grass.

“Oooooh, looks like Christmas came early!”

“Ellie!” Joel feels his face going hot.

“What? I forgot my bag,” she says, scooping said backpack off it’s hook by the door, heads back out into the bright, bitter day, frigid air blowing loose snow across the threshold, turns to grin at him, her split eyebrow quirked up. “You know she likes you, right? She actually smiles when you’re around—“

“Git! You’re letting all the warm air out.”

“If those socks fit you can thank me!” And then she’s gone, door closed behind her.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel says to his empty kitchen. Wraps the scarf around his neck, just to see how it feels, imagines your hands busied with knitting needles, maybe a spinning wheel like in Sleeping Beauty, hands that felt like ice in his, the uncertain way your eyes would fix on his and flick away, didn’t say more than three words to him until you happened on that patch of weeds in the ditch along the trail. Burdock? Curly dock? It looked like used coffee grounds on stems, but you were so happy about it. Your face lit up. You smiled. He sits at the kitchen table, hoping that Ellie hasn’t forgotten anything else, and peels his socks off, threadbare, thinning at the heels, so he can try on the ones you made for him. They fit perfectly. Gonna have to talk to that girl about prying into grown-ups business, the thinks.

You wouldn’t be here if not for Lina’s birthday, she came to your place with three cakes of beeswax, knows you need it for waxing the finer threads you spin, the ones for leatherwork, for sewing book pages onto spines, we’re getting together at the Bison! You should come! And Lina is one of the few people in town you like. She’s always been kind to you, never seems to mind when you start talking scouring and lanolin and how you want to start working with plant fibers. She’ll talk endlessly about her hives and how the weather effects the honey, what’s in bloom and what isn’t and how it changes the taste. So you sit with Lina and her handful of friends, drinking hard cider and wishing you were home sitting in front of your wood stove drop spindle in your hand, endless, thoughtless repetitive motion until sleep calls you. When you spin the things you’ve seen recede, slows your ever racing heart. You fidget, calloused fingers rubbing together, the motion you make when you spin, not wanting to be there, but not wanting to let Lina and the other half-dozen people you interact with down, an impromptu artisans meeting, you and Lina, Jimbo the paper-maker and his daughter, Tim who used to teach high school chemistry before everything went to shit. Joel’s here, him and his brother seated at the bar, talking over their drinks, faces serious. You feel yourself start to smile. You’re not sure if he’s been around more, or if you’ve started noticing him more, like playing punchbug when you were kids, there were Volkswagen Beetles everywhere if it meant getting to hit your cousin as hard as possible without getting in trouble for it—

“Oh look it’s the Artists.” You feel your jaw clench and Lina puts on her brightest, cheeriest, go-fuck-yourself smile. “Hi, Kev,” Lin chirps, “To what do we owe the pleasure?” “Maybe I want to wish you a happy birthday,” he says. Kevin and his lot. Supposed crack-shots. Take every opportunity for long patrols, ex-military if you believe their yap. Picked off some clickers and expect everyone to kiss their asses. “Consider it wished—“ “And maybe I’d like to know what we’re risking our necks out on perimeter for--“ And this shit right here is why you rarely leave your house, if it’s not Kevin it’s some other jerk wanting to know what you’re here for. Same question you’ve asked yourself so many times. Why are they all dead and you’re still alive? What are you here for?

“Maybe I want to know what you ar-teests are doing while me and my boys our out risking our lives in the dark.” You know how this will play out, how it always plays out, Lina will placate him with offers of hot honey and soap, the rest of you will bend the knee, make polite noises about how you wouldn’t be able to do what you do without people like him keeping you safe. Never mind that no one’s seen a proper pod of clickers or runners in months, a few lone stragglers and that’s it, your eyes flick up to Jimbo’s and you see the resignation there. Let him have his say, take the ribbing and move on, and you see Joel, pushed back from the bar, looking your way. Your face goes hot and your neck goes tight and you are angry, Kevin and his bullshit always makes you angry, but this is different, brighter and sharper, and before you really know what you’re doing you are up in moving yourself into Kevin’s personal space.

“How those Walmart socks holding up? Your little toesies start poking through yet? Getting a little thin in the heels?” He grins wide, hands on his hips, “You offerin to mend my socks, Spinner? Got a girlfriend for that. ‘Less you think you can do better-“ He laughs and his dumb buddies do the same— “What’s this shirt made of?,” you pinch a bit of his yellow and black flannel between your fingers, “Feels like a cotton poly blend. Probably more poly than cotton. Too bad.” “You tryin to flirt with me, here, Spinner? Bit long in the tooth for all that aren’t cha-“ “You know why wool is so much better than poly-cotton blends like this? Wool holds its heat even when it gets wet. You can wear wool in a rainstorm—“ “So what?” “So you’re gonna have a cold walk home.” You dump your nearly full pint of cider down the front of Kevin’s cheaply made flannel shirt, turn tail and bolt for the front doors.

“Woo!” “You tell im, Spinner-“ “You fucking BITCH!” “Don’t.” Joel’s voice the last one you hear before bursting into the snow-shot night.

You fetch up near the huge pine tree in the town square all lit up for Christmas, on the steps of the gazebo where the choir’s set to sing a few days from now, a rag-tag group led my Moira who’s got to be pushing ninety and teaches the kids how to read music and pick out middle C on the desperately out-of-tune piano in the Hall. They sound so sweet together. For now the square is silent save for the gentle ticking of snow falling on snow. You’re cold and you should go home, but your rolling gut says to sit right here and wait, a couple pints of cider and spent adrenaline roiling your insides. Stupid, you think. You’ve made things worse, Kevin and his goons will just double down, but you were so angry— “Hey.” You glance up from the nest of your hands and the gathering snow, feel Joel settle beside you on the step. “Hey.” “That was brave, what you did in there.” “How come I feel like I’m gonna throw up, then?” “You want me to break his legs?” You look up at him and he’s smiling, a little one that just curves his cheek. “You’re joking.” “Mostly,” says Joel. “If Kevin bothers you again, you come tell me-“ “You’re wearing the scarf,” you say, and feel yourself smiling wide, and now his eyes flick to the side. “It’s real warm,” he says. “I’m glad you like it.” And you sit in the silence together for a beat, mesmerized by the slow falling flakes, catching and haloing the strung lights. A few years from now, these bulbs will be candles, but for now it feels a little bit like it used to. Joel stands and offers his hand. “Can I walk you home, Spinner?” You let him pull you up off the step. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Tagging @oonajaeadira @grogusmum @sp00kymulderr @boliv-jenta @writeforfandoms @quicax3 @fromthedeskoftheraven @artemiseamoon @the-blind-assassin-12

#pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #tlou

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squidsinashirt · 6 days ago

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Your thoughts on how to be a good big brother to Alan are super interesting. He’s a lucky kid 🥰

If the roles were reversed, do you think you’d have made a better job of being the biggest big brother than Scott has? What advice would you give him?

If that question were any more loaded, Anon, it’d have come with cheese and pickles on top.

Me? Give advice to Scott on how to be a big brother? 😂

Everything I learnt about big brothering comes from my own big brothers. You mess with the order, and suddenly things will not work. It’s a null point to ask because I didn’t have to - because of Scott. Because of him, and Virg and John. And it’s because I have three big brothers that did all that, that I can be the way I am with Alan. Doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

Look, it’s really easy to sit and make comment and say your piece when the day is done. Everyone’s a critic in hindsight, right? But sometimes, you don’t get the luxury of time to consider, to think, multiple options or plans to weigh up. Sometimes you’re tossed into a situation, with other people relying on you, and you’ve gotta think on your feet and run with your decision.

Bit like doing a rescue, y’know? We don’t make a habit of sitting picking apart missions another brother was on to say “oh, I’d have done this or that”. Because ultimately, you weren’t there, and it wasn’t you that had to work with what you were given. It’s really easy to criticise when you’re safe and comfortable.

So with that in mind, now that I’m a grown adult who is very safe and comfortable in numerous ways thanks to the decisions somebody else had to make…

A better job? Never. Not in this lifetime or the next.

A different job? Well, naturally, we’re different people. And maybe that difference would have mattered - maybe it wouldn’t. I’d have definitely let more things slip - and I’d have definitely slipped up more. I couldn’t have shut things away the way that Scott chose to, to focus on what he had to do. Because that’s just how we differ as people, isn’t a jab.

… see, Scott, he leads like the world is on fire and it’s his job to put it out with his bare hands. He wakes up every day with this weight on his shoulders like if he slips up for even a second, we all fall. That kind of responsibility? It’s heavy. The kind of heavy that could crush anybody ordinary, and that pressure doesn’t just shape you — it builds walls around you. High ones.

And for a long time, maybe that was true.

He had to be that way. Alan and I were kids. Dad was gone, International Rescue was all on him and suddenly we were on the edge of something massive, dangerous.

Scott stepped up and carried us. No instruction manual. No backup. Just sheer will and that impossible sense of duty carved into his bones.

And y’know — no one gives him credit. Not really. They see the mission. The uniform. The job. Might even see the CEO, head of the family, big brother.

But we see him — or at least, I do.

I still see the twenty-something-year-old who stood in front of his grieving little brothers after burying another parent and said, “It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got this.”

And sometimes I wonder if he ever stops just to get to look at what he’s built — or if he’s too busy holding the scaffolding up to notice it’s already standing.

So if I was pressed to tell him something? Not that he’d be for listening, it’s Scott, c’mon, but… it probably wouldn’t be all that different to what I tell Alan. That, despite his gained belief somewhere along the way that being vulnerable is the same thing as being unreliable, I’m here if/when he decides to change that. That he’ll always have me, without question, and with space for him to… just be Scott. Yes, despite the frequent attempts to emulate the volcano we live on top of when we argue.

Let us all be there for you, the way you've always been there for us. You're not a machine. You're not a myth. You're a man — our brother — and you don’t have to be perfect for us to love you.

Because this family? Its not a chain of command. It’s a net. It catches you - because you taught us how. And no one — not even Scott Tracy — is above needing that.

But you realise he’d absolutely hate that and he’d do the pat on the head and ‘okay Gordy’ and then oh no, a call from John, he’d have to run. Because world to save, y’know?

#thunderbirds rp #thundersocials #gordons squid thoughts #gordons squid thinking

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major-comet · 1 year ago

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i have a lot of ideas for how they could introduce mccoy into strange new worlds, and one of my favorites i’ve been musing over lately is them doing it via joanna

if my memory is correct, SNW is currently right around the point when the cerberus crop failure happened (joanna was attending school there at the time). perhaps the enterprise is making a supply run to the planet just to help make sure they’re back on their feet, and mccoy gets picked up along the way because even starfleet’s terrible mental health services recognize that it might be a good idea for the man to be able to verify that his daughter is okay, especially if the ex wife hasn’t been able to get out there to verify she’s alright.

or! since actually i don’t think bones and pike ever met, maybe they pick her up during the supply run and bring her to a space station where mccoy can see her because surely that kind of thing is grounds for the school to go on break, and the whole episode is this kid running around the enterprise absolutely charming everyone she meets and so eventually during the five year mission bones is kind of known as Joanna’s Dad at first to everyone who was there at the time

modern trek need to give me joanna mccoy or else i’m gonna riot

#comet posting #star trek #joanna mccoy #bones mccoy #doctor mccoy #leonard mccoy #star trek strange new worlds #st snw

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spencermorgans · 1 year ago

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Incorrect Quotes Generator II

Rossi: I never said I was gonna get back together with them. But I was thinking, they're in town, would it be the worst thing in the world if I gave them a call? Spencer: No. No, Rossi, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would be the fourth worst thing. Number one: a super volcano. Number two: an asteroid hits the Earth. Number three: All the Evel Knievel movies are lost. Number four: Rossi calls Hotch. Number five: Derek gets eaten by a shark. Derek: I’m Derek, and I approve the order of that list.

Derek: Bad news—Rossi locked themself outside of their own house. Derek: Good news—we didn’t have to wait around for a locksmith. Derek: Bad news—Hotch finds it very concerning that I know how to pick locks, and tried to unlock my Tragic Backstory(TM). I was too embarrassed to admit that the reason I learned it was because, at thirteen, I figured that was the kind of skill that would impress cute guys Derek: Good news—a cute guy saw me do it. Derek: Bad news—it was Spencer, and since they’ve already seen me fall out of several trees, cry because I saw a fawn that was just too damn small, and knows I can ride a unicycle, they’ll never think I’m cool no matter what I do. It’s too late. They know.

Spencer: I’m so happy two of my favorite people are getting along now. Rossi: Uh, Hotch and Derek are not getting along. Spencer: They’re not trying to kill each other. Rossi: You may have a point.

Derek: What’s the announcement, Spencer? Spencer: It’s a lecture. Hotch’s gonna tell us everything they know about sex. Rossi: It should be an enjoyable 60 seconds.

Spencer: seductively takes off glasses Spencer: Wow… Derek: blushes Haha… what? Spencer: You're really fucking blurry.

Derek: Being half asleep and feeling someone gently plant a kiss on your forehead is one of the purest kinds of love in the world. Spencer: Unless you're home alone.

Spencer: It doesn’t have a bone. Derek: Then why is it called a boner?

Spencer: I truly go into housewife mode when I'm someone's soulmate- like, I'll make you pancakes and bacon every morning. Derek: This is a lie. Derek: I'm literally dating them. This is a lie. Derek: THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK A PANCAKE, WHAT IS THIS.

Hotch: It'll be fun. Hotch: We'll make a day of it. Hotch: Come on you punk bitch. Rossi: I can't believe I have to say this. Rossi: I don't have time to get tested for sti's with you tomorrow.

Emily: So you like cats? JJ: Yeah. Emily: tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table

Emily: How do I tell JJ that I want them to yell at me like they're Gordon Ramsay and I'm a poor little chef who just ruined a crème brûlée?

JJ: What’s your body count? Emily: Do you mean sex or murder?

Emily: I was going to suggest we do Marilyn Monroe and JFK roleplay, but I’d get way too into it. JJ: What- how? Emily: You’d be like “come to bed … Mr. President” and I’d be like, “I need to increase the amount of American military advisors in South Vietnam by a factor of 18.”

Emily: JJ, is that my mug you’re drinking out of? JJ: No, it’s mine. Emily: It… looks just like the one I have… JJ: You don’t have one like this anymore.

Gideon: walks into the kitchen, ignoring everyone Rossi: Hey, Gideon, how was your day? Gideon: picks up an onion and bites into it, staring at Rossi Hell. Hotch, watching this unfold: whispers Who hurt you?

Hotch: So, what’s Rossi's type? Gideon: Brown eyes, kind, oblivious, good sense of humor, turtle lover. Hotch: Sounds kind of like me. Too bad we’re just friends. Gideon: Did I mention oblivious? Hotch: Yeah, why? Gideon: Okay, just making sure.

Gideon: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming? Hotch: Can everyone in this godforsaken group please learn the skill called "Think Before You Speak"? Rossi: Ya know… it might be.

Hotch: Look, I know you think my judgement's clouded because I like Rossi a little bit. Gideon, holding Hotch's notepad: You doodled your wedding invitation. Hotch: No, that's our joint tombstone. Gideon: My mistake.

Penelope: H-how do you ask someone out? Emily: Well, first- JJ: Don't ask them, they asked me out in a McDonalds parking lot. Penelope: …And you said yes?

Gideon: Who do we know that has handcuffs? Rossi: Well Hotch and I- Hotch: elbows Rossi Rossi: …wouldn't know.

Gideon: What did Rossi do this time? Hotch: More like WHO did Rossi do this time?

Hotch: And here we see Rossi and Gideon in their natural habitat. Texting eachother variations of the word "garlic bread" to try to make eachother laugh. Rossi: Gaelic bread. Gideon: Grueling brad. Rossi: Ha ha, glamorous beans.

Gideon: They can't make me admit France exists, right? Legally, that's not allowed. Gideon: Sure, if France was REAL I'd say I liked it. Gideon: But who's to say. Rossi: I think France isn't real. Hotch: Rossi, you've been to France. Rossi: And???

Gideon: I need 28 lightbulbs for 28 ducks. Hotch: Ducks can’t eat lightbulbs? Rossi: I think that’s the point. Gideon: Exactly. I want my ducks to glow so I can find them.

Hotch: What happened to Gideon? Rossi: They died. Hotch: They what? Rossi: They died, but they’re okay. Hotch: …Can you please clarify? Gideon: Clarification is for the weak.

Gideon: So… I’ve seen you’ve been spending a lot of time with Hotch recently. Rossi: No, Gideon, it's not what it looks like, I swear. Gideon: Oh really? So no reason for me to be jealous? Rossi: No! You’re the only one for me. Gideon: Is that so? Rossi: I promise! Hotch and I are just dating, okay? They’re my partner. Gideon: So there are no best-friends-feelings involved? Rossi: You are still my one and only best friend! They’re just the love of my life, nothing more! Gideon: But I’m still the platonic love of your life, right? Rossi: Of course bro! Gideon: Bro… Hotch: What the-

Rossi (brainstorming ideas for pranking Hotch): How much could a serial killer mask possibly cost? Gideon: Well it’s hard to find a high-quality one made out of leather or silicone, but if you did find a good one like that it’d be a couple thousands of dollars. I can try to hook you up with one but I don’t know if I’d be very successful. Rossi: Huh, that’s pretty interesting actually- Wait, how the hell do you know that? Gideon: …I am very passionate about Halloween, Rossi.

Spencer: Isn't it weird that people kill mosquitoes just because they're annoying? Derek: Damn, if people did that to each other, Hotch would've killed me years ago.

#criminal minds #moreid #hossi #jemily

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webbo0 · 1 year ago

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Prodigal Doll

Goose Boys Mafia AU

AO3 Link

Length: 753 words (short and not sweet)

Summary: Nobody ever expected Ken to join the family business, but when he's caught in the middle of a war he knows nothing about, the other boys have to pick up the pieces.

Content/Warning: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/barely comfort

Authors Note: I don't even remember how this started lol

I think I saw those Tag Heuer photoshoot pics that look like Ken but as Six?

Anyways I have a LOT of lore ideas and a whole arc for Ken in this, but god only knows if I can actually write it ugh

Also I'm not sorry lmao

“He’s… changed”

“ Don’t say that”

“Look at him!”

“Shut the fuck up, Richard”

Gathered, the men stare at Ken.

Whenever he used to be scared, he was loud (it was a liability sometimes, all the shrieking and sobbing). But now, he’s silent. Tear stains cut clean lines through the filth and gore on his cheeks, but none fall from his eyes. Not anymore.

He’s… vacant. Not like Driver, his stare always intense, or like Julian, always lost in thought. No. He’s just. Empty.

Six and Lars are sanitizing and bandaging his wounds. Slashes on his chest, burns on his limbs, bruises scattered on every inch of available skin like a fucking Jackson Pollock, and blood from god knows who and god knows where drenching his scarily pale skin and platinum blonde hair. He doesn’t flinch, doesn't move at all, even when Six gently murmurs that he needs to reset his shoulder. The bone grinding into place would have even the toughest of men gritting their teeth in pain, but Ken just sits there. Disconnected from the world. Lars is delicately cleaning the blood off of him, swallowing tears of his own while dabbing a warm cloth over his exposed skin.

Ken wears nothing but a ragged pair of boxers stained with fluids nobody wants to think too hard about (just like they found him). He hasn’t said a word since they found him, but Lars finally gets a reaction out of him. He’s shakingly whispering to Ken that they need to remove his old shorts to wash him off and get him into something clean, but when his hand goes towards the waistband an explosion of movement happens. Ken bolts away from the men, scrambling to the closest wall and pressing his back to it. His voice is raw and venomous as he roars at the surrounding men.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Everyone in the room freezes because Ken never curses. All eyes are on him, the torn and bloodied nails on his hands scratching at the brick wall, the bloody trail of footprints he makes, his heaving chest, and his frantic, darting, unseeing eyes. Blood drips down his inner thigh.

“I think I’m gonna be sick”

“He needs a professional, guys, we can only do so much”

“Oh yeah, get the cops involved that’s smart”

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck-”

“Everybody out.”

The room silences once again, save for some muffled sobs and Ken's rapid breath. All eyes now turn to the man who spoke, the man in charge . His white jacket is splattered with blood, and a fire rages behind his cold, blue gaze.

“... are you sure we should leave him like this?”

“Six stays, the rest of you leave. He’s in no state for visitors. Every man is allowed some dignity.”

The room empties without protest, save for Ken, Six, Driver, and Julian. Julian didn’t need to ask to stay (not that he would have). Wherever Driver goes, he goes.

“Why am I staying?”

“You have the most combat-medic training. And. You can… restrain him if you need to.”

The rage in Driver’s eyes slips, showing for a brief moment deep, soul-wrenching anguish before he clenches his gloved fists and returns to his default neutral, intense stare.

“I expect a complete injury report once he’s patched up. Ask Julian if you need any extra supplies. I have to go deal with the rest of this shit storm.”

He turns to leave, but pauses, glancing back over his shoulder.

“And Six?”

Six stands at attention, ready to receive orders.

“...be gentle.”

Six nods once in affirmation and Driver lets his head hang down, taking a deep breath before straightening his spine and closing the door quietly behind him. The room was now solely occupied by the three men left there.

Julian, standing and waiting by the door. Both ready to retrieve any necessary items and guarding against any poor fool that might try and interrupt them.

Six, shoulders sagged and ruffling through a medkit.

And Ken, who had slid to the floor, legs finally giving out, but the wild look in his eye still shining.

And it wasn’t until Six slowly approaches (the same way he did when he freed a wild deer from a beartrap as a kid), sinking to his knees, gently carding his hands through his blood-matted platinum hair and softly reassuring him that you’re safe now, you’re safe, we got you back that Ken starts trembling, a tear finally slipping from his eye.

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firephoenix23 · 2 years ago

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A Tad Discussion

So, I kind of wanted to do this post for a while now. I was just never sure how to collect my thoughts about it because Tad as a character is very... interesting to me, specifically his motivation for why he hates Eli and his hatred for his dad despite acting almost just like him. So, sit back and relax as I try my best to understand and explain Tad.

Tad himself, as a character was obviously not very well-liked when he was first introduced. Despite the fandom being really small at the time our tiny but mighty fandom had a bone to pick with Tad because he's just Twist but almost worse. It's like those goofy fanfic where they're like and then it turns out that along Dr. Blakk had an evil son or daughter. Like it's just really lazy and we already had a character that the fandom really liked do this plot so much better

But I don't want to talk about Twist's motivation (I'll save that hopefully for another day), but I want to talk about Tad. First of all, his motivation for hating his dad really doesn't make sense... at first, I will explain. For example, he constantly says that he's picking up where his FEEBLE father left off and Tad I don't know if you've SEEN your father but that man is not feeble for the life of him lol.

But he continues to go on to insult him calling his dad a fool and even when Boss Ember calls him junior since I assume his full name is Thaddius Blakk Jr., it really pisses him off and his points his blaster at Boss Ember saying he's no one's junior. Speaking of his name it's interesting that he goes by Tad and not Thad. I guess you could argue that he was trying to hide himself from Eli and the Shane gang but considering how much he hates being called junior I feel like that's not the case.

It's just strange. He's really pissed off at being called Junior and acts like he doesn't want to associate with him but then ACTS just like him. I mean not completely, he doesn't ghoul Peiper which is better than you can say for Twist, but it's almost like Tad knows the ghouling is wrong. Maybe that was a way to differentiate from his father. I know they say it's to control the ghouls better but still

Either way, what does this leave us with. A boy who had a horrible life on the surface that acts like his dad but doesn't want to associate himself with him and who literally says that he wants to be twice the man he was. Sounds like bad writing sure but I think it's something different. I think Tad is overcompensating.

I mean think about it. Imagine you're Tad. You have a horrible life on the surface and your father either left you or doesn't even know about you only to spend all his time in this fantasy world building a business and a life that you're not a part of.

Only to later find a map or create a map I can't remember which one it was that leads to this underground, and you think I'm gonna go see my dad only to find that he was defeated by as he says "A kid my own age" I would be pretty mad too and it's clear just like Twist, Tad is taking out his problems as his frustrations out on Eli. Also, I will say I feel like the "evilness" from Tad came outta no nowhere or it could just be bad writing.

Either way, I still think he's overcompensating for his daddy issues. Everyone does something different. Some run away and become the protector of the world, some steal treasures, some become their enemy's associate, and others resurrect their father's business lol

But to finish off, Tad clearly wants to show the world or eh Slugterra that he is clearly better than his dad and a better villain. He's kinda like, oh, you were a businessman and left me or didn't know about me well, I’m gonna be a better businessman than you ever were, and I’ll prove that leaving me behind was a mistake. He hates his father so much that he wants to prove to everyone and himself that he can be better than him and kind of show off that he never needed him. At least, that’s the kind of vibe I get from Tad.

I mean in the end, I'm probably just reading waaay too much into this character. More likely than not the writers probably were just like ooooo how cool would it be for Blakk to have a son that also lived on the surface and then betrays the gang... as if we haven't seen that before. Rip Twist

#slugterra #slugterra thoughts #slugterra headcanons #can someone please get these boys into therapy #slugterra and the States have something in common when it comes to taking care of mental health #and by that i mean they're horrible at it

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lowkeychenle · 2 years ago

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Lost & Wayward [NJM] (1)

Description: After the worst couple weeks of your life, you finally break down in the middle of an alleyway. Jaemin hears you and comes to comfort you, and little do you know, he's about to change your life--in more ways than one.

Genre: Fluff/Eventual smut

Content Warnings: A little bit of an existential crisis at the beginning but what else is new?

Word Count: 2,452

Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader (Canon!AU so all the Dreamies will be mentioned/appear)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Lost & Wayward Mini-Masterlist

Juliet's Masterlist

You’re officially having the worst day of your life.

After five years, you decided to break up with your ex-boyfriend last week on a whim. You waited and waited for the sadness to hit you, but it never did.

Until now, that is, when your manager pulled you aside to let you know you’d been let go from your job. You worked there for almost as long as your previous relationship, making it the last bit of normalcy you had.

To be honest, you’re more frustrated than sad, but the tears pour out either way. You walk down the street before you allow yourself to break down. You find a slot between buildings and, without a second thought, plop onto the ground and bury your head into your knees.

If you weren’t scared of shattering every bone in your fist, you’d punch the brick wall behind you and pretend it’s your boss’s face. You worked so hard for them, only to be let go because they didn’t have the hours.

You’re not sure how long you’re out there for. Could have been minutes, hours, or even a whole day and the thought would’ve skirted right past you.

“Excuse me, Miss,” a voice sounds, not quite close enough to worry you. “Is everything alright?”

It doesn’t surprise you that someone decided to ask you. It’s beyond cold outside and you’re not wearing a winter coat. The chill sets in when you remember that, but the tears burn hot on your face.

When you don’t answer, the man steps closer. The only light is the crescent moon behind him, so you can’t see him too well. He’s hesitant to approach you, but considering the amount of people walking past the alleyway on the street behind him, you’re not worried about him talking to you.

“Is it okay if I talk to you?” he asks. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I hate to see anyone sad like this.”

You sniffle, cradling your knees to your chest and nodding slightly. Soon enough, he’s squatting in front of you to look at your face. Even through the darkness, there’s something familiar about him. The majority of his face is covered by a mask, but strong eyebrows furrow over his worried eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll be okay,” you tell him. After all, you’re used to shrugging off your problems and pretending they don’t exist. That’s probably how you ended up in this situation in the first place.

“Wanna talk about it?” He tilts his head. His hair is some sort of blond, but you barely have time to register anything about him before he’s blinking expectantly at you.

“You don’t even know me.” You let out a small laugh of disbelief. “Why would you want to listen to me?”

“The world can be a lonely place.” He clasps his hands together, planting himself down on the ground in front of you. “Everyone feels like this at some point, I think. You shouldn’t have to go through it alone. And let’s not forget you chose a dingy alley to come sit in, so I couldn’t just…leave you here by yourself. It wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Lucky for you, this is one of the only days in existence where I have time to listen.” Humor laces in his tone, and it forces a smile onto your face.

You pick at your shoelaces. “It’s gonna sound stupid.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Okay, just remember you asked for this. You’re not allowed to leave until I’m done now.”

The only reason you know he’s smiling is from the way his eyes crinkle and sparkle like stars are lodged in them. He looks so damn familiar, but you can’t place it here.

“So, it started last week. I broke up with this guy I’d been dating for…a while. But that’s not what I’m sad about. Honestly, it was a long time coming, and everything he did annoyed the shit out of me—sorry, getting off track. Anyway, I was doing okay with that and being alone and stuff, but then I just got let go from my job I’ve been working in for forever. It was my dream job since I graduated, and now I’m back to square one.” You let out a shaky sigh, letting your head smack against the bricks behind you.

The man flinches at the sound. “Why’d you break up with him?”

“We weren’t right for each other. I was tired of fighting for love and affection when it should’ve just been given. I’d rather be alone than tied down and miserable, you know?” You run your fingers through your hair and wipe your eyes. “God, I must look like a complete mess.”

“Not completely,” he says in an attempt to soothe you. “Promise, I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh, do you make it a habit to come check on crying women in the street?” You meant it as a joke, but he coughs once.

“No, absolutely not.”

You’re pretty sure he’s blushing.

“I really just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He clears his throat. “What…What did you do for work?”

“Marketing,” you say. “I used to work down the street, but my boss said they’re not bringing in enough money to justify my hours. It’ll suck for them once they realize I’m the only one who brought in any money to begin with.”

“I’m really sorry that happened to you.” He pauses. “Is talking about it making you feel better?”

As much as you hate to deny it, it is.

“Yeah.” You purse your lips, pondering your thoughts. “I don’t really have any friends to talk to about this, so I appreciate you taking time to make sure I’m okay.”

“Speaking of friends.” He glances over his shoulder. “Mine are probably wondering where I am.”

“Oh.” You don’t mean to sound disappointed. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be fine.”

He looks back at you, seemingly contemplating something before a sigh escapes him. When he stands up, he holds his hand out to you. You take it, and he helps you up to your feet. Brushing yourself off, you pull your phone out of your pocket to check the time.

“Let me give you my number,” he offers. “That way you can just text or call me if you’re sad.”

“I can’t ask you to do something like that.” You silently thank whoever’s listening that it’s so dark outside. He can’t see your blush.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to answer quickly, but I’d feel a lot better knowing you had someone to talk to.”

Hesitantly, you open the contacts app and click the add button. He recites his phone number, and you show him once you’re done typing it to confirm it’s correct. Once he nods, you click to add his name.

You don’t even have to ask, he already realizes what you need.

“Na Jae—” he cuts himself off with a cough. “Na Jae…Na Jaeseok.” He watches you type it in.

“Thank you, Jaeseok.” You smile at him.

“Text me if you want. Or not. I won’t be offended.” He puts his hands behind his back.

You’re about to speak when a group of six guys appears at the end of the alleyway.

“What the hell are you doing over here?” The guy in the middle tries his best to sound like he’s scolding Jaeseok, but you know there’s no real malice behind it.

“Sorry, coming.” He turns back to you. “Are you alright getting home on your own?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me.”

He jogs off to meet his friends, making eye contact with you one more time before they disappear down the street. You stare down at your phone screen, at his name and phone number, and wonder why he would do something like this.

You mutter his name under your breath, frowning when you yet again think of how familiar he feels. It didn’t matter, not really, because he was nice enough to make sure you were okay.

With that in mind, you walk home with a smile on your face. As you settle in your bed, you send him a quick text to thank him and to tell him your name.

A few days later, you awaken to your phone ringing at 7:30am. With a groan, you stare down at the unknown number with a frown.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hi, is this (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

“Speaking.” You sit up, massaging your forehead.

“Hi (Y/N), this is Kim Minji, I’m head of the marketing department at SM Entertainment. I heard you’re looking for employment, and your work history is quite impressive. Are you interested in coming in for an interview?”

Your mind whirls and your eyes widen.

SM Entertainment? As in…EXO, NCT, SHINee, Red Velvet, Aespa, and so many other groups you absolutely adore? What the actual hell?

“I…I’m so sorry, but I didn’t apply…”

“You were mentioned by one of our scouts, ma’am. Although I completely understand if you’d like to pass on the interview—”

“No!” You gasp. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. No, I’d love to have an interview. The sooner, the better.”

“Perfect. If you’ll provide me with the best email address for you, I’ll send you the time and location for it.”

You happily provide Minji with your email, bubbling with energy even after you hang up the phone. Without a second thought, you open Jaeseok’s message thread.

You (7:42am): you’ll never guess what just happened to me!!!! Jaeseok (7:43am): this kinda sounds ominous…a good thing i hope? You (7:43am): didn’t you say you might take a little bit to respond? i figured that meant more than one minute Jaeseok (7:44am): well you better hurry up and tell me because i start work in 16 minutes You (7:45am): freaking sm entertainment just called me and offered me an interview. SM ENTERTAINMENT!!!!!!!!! Jaeseok (7:50am): holy shit, no way! that’s great! i’ve gotta disappear for a bit but i’m so excited for you. you’ll have to tell me how it goes

You text him back to let him know you will, and then you refresh your email for the next twenty minutes straight awaiting Minji’s email.

Your interview is the same day. Holy shit, your interview is the same day. You never even thought of applying at SM, assuming they were way too competitive for the type of work experience you have.

You dressed in a nice skirt with a button-down shirt tucked into it. Since you only own one pair of heels, you quietly thank your past self for making them work appropriate. You don’t exactly know what to expect when you walk in.

You let the lady at the front desk know you’re here for Minji, and she instructs you to sit in one of the lobby chairs. You do as she says, nervously bouncing your leg.

The door opens next to you, and immediately, you almost choke on air. Three of your favorite people in the entire world just walked in. You only realize you’re staring when Chenle, Haechan, and Jisung see you, too.

They exchange a glance, and before you know it, they continue on into the building. You fan yourself with your hand as you try to calm down. If you’re going to work at their entertainment company, you’ve got to be level-headed when you see them.

Until the rest of them walk in after. Mark, Jeno, Renjun, and Jaemin. Mark says something to the group, and that makes Jaemin throw his head back in laughter, the widest smile on his face. Good God, they even walk in sync. Your heart stutters at the sight of your years-long bias walking past you.

Jaemin is so much prettier in person. Holy shit. His hair is blue, and from the looks of his roots, it’s freshly dyed.

Every single thing that went wrong in your life over the past few weeks is suddenly not even a thought in your head. Who gives a shit about your old job when this new one has you in the presence of the world’s most beautiful angels?

And then you make eye contact with Jaemin. Your gazes lock together, and the breath leaves your body. Like the friendly human he is, he slightly bows his head at you before he continues on with the rest of Dream.

“Holy shit,” you mumble under your breath, bringing your hand up to your forehead.

It’s safe to say you rock your interview. Minji seemed to really like you. She let you know you could expect an answer by the end of the week. You, obviously, thanked her for the opportunity and left.

The first thing you do when you get home is pull your phone out and text Jaeseok.

You (3:45pm): the saga continues Jaeseok (4:03pm): another ominous text. u have to quit doing that to me! what happened? You (4:10pm): so i go in for my interview, right? which i rocked by the way, not that either of us were concerned about that, but you’ll never guess who i saw Jaeseok (5:24pm): sorry, just on my dinner break. who did you see? You (5:25pm): dinner break? what the hell do u do that keeps u at work literally all day? but anyway, i saw nct dream. freaking nct dream. they just walked right past me and i nearly had a heart attack Jaeseok (5:26pm): you’re a dream fan? You (5:30pm): i’m not like…crazy if that’s what you’re asking. i loooove them though! it would be so cool to work in the same building as them. and exo. if u want to see me crazy, put me in a room with byun baekhyun Jaeseok (5:32pm): forget exo, who’s your dream bias? You (5:45pm): why does that matter?????? i saw alllll of them, jaeseok, keep up Jaeseok (5:46pm): pinky promise i’m definitely keeping up. just curious. You (5:50pm): we are not close enough yet for me to spill those kinds of secrets. try again next week Jaeseok (5:52pm): i have to get back to work but keep me updated on if you hear anything about the job! i’m sure you rocked it.

How the hell did your life do a complete one-eighty like this? You went from crying alone in an alleyway to having a job opportunity at one of the biggest entertainment companies in South Korea. And you were blessed by the presence of NCT Dream.

Now all you have to do is wait for Minji to call you with her decision. Can’t be that hard, right?

#nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct scenarios #jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #nct dream jaemin #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #jaemin smut #jaemin scenario #jaemin x reader

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