#Large Rubbish Bags

[megabag]

When it comes to builders' waste management, you need a proper waste disposal plan if you operate a construction company, an industrial site or a core drilling company. As a result, waste disposal bag or skip bin hires have come to relieve you of the burden. So, let’s have a look at those rubrics that make hiring a skip bag or skip bin necessary.

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[moonstruckme]

hi mae! i’ve recently become obsessed with herbal teas and i noticed you have mentioned chamomile and jasmine tea in your fics lol. i am wondering if you would be interested in writing a remus or poly!marauders fic with an american reader who loves herbal teas and they kinda tease her about it (in a loving way of course)? i love your fics and i hope you have a lovely day whenever you read this <3

I love herbal teas! I fully support this obsession honey. Thank you for requesting!

cw: british slander, i love y'all but i'm besmirching your brand <3 (based largely on my own experiences lol, so perhaps not fully accurate)

Remus Lupin x american!reader ♡ 614 words

“This is so disappointing,” you sigh at the sight of Remus’ cabinet. 

“What?” he asks from the couch. 

“You told me you had tea.” 

“I do have tea.” 

“No, you only have this.” You take the box of Yorkshire Tea out of the cabinet, brandishing it where Remus can see. “This shit is nasty. Rubbish, as your folk say.” 

“Oh,” he laughs, “so you sail all the way across the ocean, take our teas with you, denounce our government, and then come back here to criticize, is that it?” 

You look at him darkly. “This is what the Boston tea party was really about. I get it now.” 

Remus beckons you toward the couch. You go, abandoning the boiling kettle since apparently there’s no point in searching the kitchen for anything good to drink. It’s only once you sit down on the couch and he takes your hand into his lap that you realize your mistake. 

Remus has a mollifying effect on you. It’s tragic, really. All it takes is a look, a shift in his tone, a small touch like this, and you’re pliant and boneless for him. 

“What sort of teas do you prefer?” he asks you softly, tracing the lines of your palm.

“I usually keep a variety,” you tell him, matching his tone. “Like cinnamon, or passionflower, or rooibos…have you heard of any of those?” 

Remus smiles, slow and sweet. “I have. Would you like whipped cream and sprinkles on those as well?” 

You laugh, rolling your eyes. You try to take your hand back, but Remus holds fast (you don’t make it hard for him), grinning at you. 

“That is so not fair. Just because y’all like your tea bland—”

“Say that one more time for me? Who all?” 

“—doesn’t mean my tastes are somehow unrefined.” You fix him with a hard stare, though your smile is untamable. “You’re being posh.”

Remus looks amused. “Never been accused of that one before,” he says. 

“Have you ever tried jasmine tea with a little bit of sweet creamer in it?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Remus, you’re really missing out.” 

“Alright.” He stands, taking your hand with him and giving it a tug when you don’t follow. “C’mon, up.” 

“Where are we going?”

“To make you a cuppa.” 

You giggle. “I can’t take you seriously when you call it that.” 

“Once you stop saying dude, we can talk about my diction.” 

“So mean,” you tsk, letting him pull you over in front of the kitchen counter. He pours the hot water from the kettle into a mug, placing a tea bag in it. 

“We’ll get this drinkable for you, love, don’t worry,” Remus murmurs, waiting until the tea is a deep brown before going to the fridge. He pours in heaps of milk and sugar, stirring with a look of mild distaste in his expression. “Alright, try.” 

You take the mug off the counter warily, blowing on it before putting it to your lips. 

You hum, and Remus lifts an eyebrow. 

“It’s…better.” 

“I’ve done my best,” he chuckles, taking it from you. “I’ve thrown all my principles and better sense out the window, and it’s still not up to your standards, hm?” 

“No, it’s not bad.” You steal the mug back, taking another sip and smacking your tongue against the roof of your mouth experimentally. “It’ll do.” 

Remus gives you an indulgent look. “I’m sure we can find you some jasmine tea if that’s what you want,” he offers. 

You shrug. “I was just at the grocery store, and I didn’t see any.” 

He tilts his head skyward, blowing out a long-suffering breath. “I think you mean the grocery, sweetheart.”

[cloudbug08]

Worth It

Logan (James) Howlett and agere!reader

A/N: All of my oneshots will be/are written with a fem reader in mind because I write my works self indulgently, however, if it’s requested I have no qualms writing the reader GN

Unless I’m writing a romantic work, there is so age in mind for the reader, however, romantic works will be written with an over 18 reader in mind （╹◡╹）

I’m being honest this made me quite emotional, the x men movies had a large impact on my life, especially the Logan and wolverine movies, they got me through a few dark spots. So I’m sorry if you get sad or cry, I did too, but it will get happier :)

I’m honestly really bad at characterising ironic characters like Wade, so forgive me if he’s a bit ooc

If you haven’t watched the Logan movie or the newest Deadpool movie this is my warning! Do not read any further if you don’t want spoilers! There are spoilers in this work!

TW/CW: references to Logan’s death, angst, grief, swearing, “Bad” Logan from the Deadpool 3 movie, fluff, obviously where Logan died in Wade and Readers universe, the Reader died in ‘bad’ Logan’s universe, if that makes sense

“Your eyes are just like his, but your face is a bit different”

You lay your bag on the ground, shifting to lie down on your side, you brush your fingers against the cold rocks piled up over Logan’s grave, tears glob over your eyelids, gasping in wet breaths.

Your body jolts at the realisation that you’ll never see him again, you’ll never watch cartoons with him again, never have his warm hand rub over your shoulder again.

You lay until your bones ache and your knees creak, waiting, hoping, that just maybe he’d dig his way out of the pit, alive and warm. A hand rests on your shoulder, you jump, turning, you’re face to face with a red mask

“Wade!”

You cry, pulling the man into a hug, you hear the puff of air leave his chest

“You little ankle biter, why are you here alone?”

You whimper, alone, that’s right, everyone’s gone, you expect him to crack a joke, but he doesn’t, he just stays, quiet, a rock for you.

You offer him a shaky smile when he jokes about how late it is, offering you a night at his apartment, you comply, quietly walking next to him, thankful to have a friend.

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆

A night at Wade’s apartment turns into 5 years at Wade’s apartment, although the man’s a little odd, he keeps you safe, fed and happy.

You’re sat on the carpet, kicking your socked feet, colouring in a picture of a cat, you look up at the sound of the door unlocking

“Wade!”

You wave at the man as he stumbles in, balancing a McDonald’s bag in one arm, holding his keys and a few knives in the other

“Hi bug”

You grin at the nickname, a little peculiar, but so was Wade, you zero in on the brown paper bag in his hand, eager and nosy

He drops it on the table and you feel your stomach grumble at the greasy, but oh so delicious smell

“Hungry?”

You nod, eyes big and puppy-like

“You eat anything today?”

You feel warm, cared for

“Apple slices! N some peanut butter”

He squints, clearly not all that impressed

“I’ll pack up a breakfast and lunch for you tomorrow, don’t want you touching any knives”

You frown under your pacifier, dejected, you suppose he wasn’t being unreasonable, you did nearly cut your hand with a small paring knife

“Sorry”

He slouches into the old couch, pulling your happy meal out of the bag, along with a cheeseburger, he passes you the box

“Don’t worry.”

You both dig in, hungry. Finish up, playing with the little toy that came with the happy meal, Wade leans down to grab your rubbish, after wiping a blob of ketchup off your lip, you smile up at the man.

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆

It had been a dreadful two days, Wade was gone, nowhere to be found, at first you wondered if it had anything to do with his birthday, maybe he just needed time away, but Wade had never left you alone this long since he took you in, you were panicking, feeling your adult state slowly slipping away.

You thumb at your stuffed animals ear, nervously waiting, praying that something hadn’t happened to the only person you had left.

You whip around, listening closely to the murmur of voices outside, Wade? And someone else, you couldn’t quite make out their voice.

You jump up when Wade unlocks the door, barrelling at him, you grip at his back, your tears soak into the spandex.

“Woah, what’s wrong”

You hiccup

“Thought you died”

Wade rubs a hand down your back, clearing his throat, only just realising what an impact his potential death would have had on you, considering how close he actually was to dying.

“Shit-“

You tap his shoulder, light, but a warning, he lets out a puff of air

“Sorry, bad word, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that again.”

You grumble, He nods, pulling away, he turns you away from him, so you’re looking at the hulking man stood next to him, you blink owlishly, frozen in place, his eyes widen as he takes you in, you gasp wetly, you scramble against him, your small cry’s turning into heaving sobs, his gloved hands rest on your back, he calls your name.

You peer up at him, your face flushed and streaked with tears, he lifts you up, his own tears soak into your shoulder

“Da?”

He hums, his throat scratchy

“I missed you”

His breath catches

“I missed you too honeybee”

You were glued to Logan for the evening, holding his hand and following him around like a lost puppy, trailing after him when he left to go change.

He picked you up, rocking you on his hip while a lullaby played on Wade’s tv. Pressing a kiss to your forehead when you drifted off.

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed, comments, requests and reblogs are very appreciated! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

[sofasoap]

When the rain stops

Pairing: Simon "Ghost"Riley x F!reader Rating: T-M rating. slightly open ending. no angst ( for once!)

Summary: You were stuck at the shop with your groceries, and your intimidating ( but nice ) masked neighbour waited the rain out with you.

Thank you @glitterypirateduck for organising the writing challenge! you are totally awesome :) Go here to check out other wonderful writer and artist's work for this challenge.

Prompt used : No.83 Stuck/Caught in the rain note: I have to thank @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world her roommate series simon will always be my inspo for any neighbour/roommate related ideas. *taking deep bow*

Part of the Memory in a Fragrance series Master list

Holding one bag of grocery in one hand, and a bag of rice in another arm, sighing as the sky opened up, regretting not listening to yourself earlier on.

Should have brought my brolly, or should have driven here instead of walking. Thinking to yourself. So much for wanting to get some exercise and steps into my daily routine. 

Oh well, What else can you do but wait? 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

Suddenly a large shadow with a deep rumbling voice loomed over you, cursing away.

Looking up, stands Simon, your large yet mysterious neighbour, with a small bag of grocery, seemingly in the same predicament. 

“You too?”

Awkward silence. He slowly turns his head down towards you. You can almost sense his discomfort from the tense body language and the way he is staring down at you. 

“There’s extra storage space on the ground floor. Rubbish collection day is every Monday, remember to take it out. Oh good morning Simon.” your landlord greeted a tall masked man, with a big camo bag who was about to head out the door. He nodded his head towards the two of you, before turning away abruptly.

That was your first meeting with Simon.

After that, he only appears every few weeks, always carrying his Camo bag. Sometimes in his uniform, sometimes already changed into Civilian uniform.  The two of you never spoke a word to each other, nor acknowledged each other. 

“Um. I am your neighbour two doors down?” You shifted uncomfortably, thinking he doesn’t remember you. 

“I know.” 

Another awkwards silence. 

“I don’t think the rain is going to stop for a while.”

“…….” 

Pointing to the cafe next door to the grocery store,“Would you, would you like to um, have a cup of coffee while we wait?” WE? You don’t know why you offered.

“Tea.” 

“Pardon?”

“I drink tea.”  He repeated.

“Oh.” Well, you assume that is a yes. “Let’s.. Let’s go?”

You look out the window, at the rain that is currently bucketing down heavily, showing no signs of stopping. The drumming sound drowning out the chatting voices of the cafe patrons. 

“Not to your taste?”

Simon’s voice snapped you out of the reverie. 

“Sorry?” you blinked, confused at his question. 

He pointed at your coffee. “Not to your taste? Should I get another one for you?”

He has insisted on getting the drinks.

“I am very particular with tea.” He insisted as he gently set the groceries down beside the table. He raised a hand to stop you before you speak. “A cup of coffee isn’t going to break my bank. What would you like?”

You shook your head and quickly took a sip. “Oh nono, I was zoning out…looking at the rain. Listening to the sound.It’s very… calming.” 

He looked out the window, humming. Back to the silence between the two of you.

You took another sip of your coffee, and stole a glance at the brooding man in front of you. 

This is probably the first time you have seen him without any face covering on. 

Not a face of a model, but a pleasing looking face. Long eye lashes, framing those deep brown eyes,  full of sorrow, weariness and… loneliness? 

“What if the rain doesn’t stop?” You break the silence again after a while. 

“Then we wait a bit longer.” 

“Until the cafe closes?” You chuckled.

“Then I’ll walk back to get the car and pick you and the grocery up.” 

You cocked your eyebrow. Although the two of you are neighbours, technically the two of you don't know each other before this. He could have just left you there to your own demise..

“But I don’t think I need to do that. Seems like the rain started to die down. Come on.” Simon drained the last of his tea, donning his mask back on and stood up and picked up his bag of grocery and your bag of rice.

“OH, I can..” 

Before you finish your sentence, he hauls it over his shoulder like a bag of feathers and stares at you. Somehow you know it’s pointless to argue with him so you just pick up your bag of groceries and follow him out of the cafe.

Two of you walked home in silence. 

You couldn’t resist taking a peek at his strong muscles… you mean him. With the first glance he sends people scrambling with his deathly stare. But from his actions today.. You know he’s a man of action.  From the little things he does. Insisting on paying for the coffee. Carrying the heavy bag of rice.

Oh he smells so nice. You also couldn’t help but take a deep breath in as he gently nudged you to the inner side of the walking path and shielded you from all the puddle splashes when the car drove past. 

Smell of fresh pine. Citrus. Freshly cut grass.

Just like after the rain. Your favourite smell since childhood. 

It gives you comfort. And joy. Memories of going for a walk and running around on the field with your family and falling over onto the grass, big patches of mud on your butt while your siblings laugh at you, and your mother shook her head.

“You got the front gate key?” He grumbled, adjusting the bag of rice on his shoulder.

“Ah? Oh. yes. Sorry..” you quickly dug through your bag for the keys and opened it up to let the two of you into the building. 

“Well, Ah, Thank you for your help today.” You said as he put the bags down in front of your door. “ Would you like to come in for a cup of tea… OH.” What the hell are you saying, the two of you just sat in the cafe for more than an hour drinking afternoon tea.

He chuckled. Oh, he sounds nice when he laughs.  “I think we have enough tea and coffee for the afternoon.” 

You nodded your head, embarrassed and somehow disappointed at the rejection. You opened the door and half kicked your groceries in.  

“But maybe next time.” you snapped your head around, he was already walking towards his own door. “If you need people to go grocery with you. I will be happy to if I am home.” 

You blinked your eyes, is..that his way of asking you to go on a .. date but not a date? Or is he just being friendly??

You stood there for a long time mouth gaping, long after he returned to his apartment. 

Simon look down at the little container of home baked biscuits left on his front door step the next morning, and smiled. 

“Just a little thank you for the impromptu afternoon tea and carrying my groceries yesterday. This is my number just in case you want to ask me to go again…”

tag:

@homicidal-slvt

@cumikering

@siilvan

@gamergirlbones

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@nrdmssgs

@writeforfandoms

@devcica

@liyanahelena

@okayyadriana

@clipperfly

@glitterypirateduck

[imagine-darksiders]

Mobsiders, chapter 1.

Timeless Unrest.

So, I'm trying something different here, this is a mafia au in which the Horsemen are mob bosses, and they take an interest in the Reader. This story will be set in the Universe of Darksiders, 2 years post-resurrection.

You are a self-proclaimed reporter, tasking yourself with hunting down a rumour that humans are being sold off-realm as slaves to a certain Demon Prince. At the centre of those rumours is one, particular family who control Haven City, and the Earth at large. You've been found out, and now you're going to have to meet the very beings you've been trying to expose.

--------

You’ve heard it said that a good journalist will face down threats every day in search of the truth, but a great journalist has already skirted so close to the truth that they’ve been privy to the inside of a burlap sack.

‘If there’s one thing to take out of this,’ you muse, panting for breath inside the coarse, stinking bag slung around your head as you’re dragged forwards down an unseen path, ‘At least I can finally say I’ve made it.’

Jesus… You’d only gone out to pick up your ration of milk for the week…

The passage of time seeps by at a disjointed rhythm when you can’t see. It seems only minutes ago you were trekking through the murky fog from your tiny, jerry-built apartment to the community centre near Fifth to collect your weekly rations. A small slip of card had been clutched protectively against your chest. On it, in little black writing was a short, unimaginative list.

'Bacon.'

'Milk.'

'Cheese.'

'Eggs.'

'Water.'

Two years since the Great Waking has seen Humanity still struggling to cobble their lives back together, and although supplies aren't nearly as sparse as they were in those first few months of chaos and disorder, people are still being careful with what little they have.

You'd been fantasising about how soon you'd see the word 'chocolate' appear on the list when, from out of nowhere, there was a loud squeal of tyres on tarmac, and something came careening to a halt behind you.

Strangely, it took you a moment to register what you were hearing.

When it eventually clicked, the first thought that sprang to mind was, ‘Who the Hell has a working car?’ Your second thought came moments later when you wheeled around just in time to see two, suited men plunge a sack down over your head and heave you bodily into an old, rusty car.

In the struggle you dropped your precious ration card.

The jolt of panic that shot up your spine was so potent, you almost managed to lurch right out of their grasp.

They weren’t expecting you to put up a fight, you suppose.

But how could they not? One of the cruellest aspects of the Great Waking was that humanity didn’t come back as new-born souls who had no recollection of their past lives. Instead, in a sick twist of fate, everyone, yourself included, can still recall how they died.

It sure as Hell made you want to avoid meeting a similar fate ever again.

Which is partly why you’d all but exploded into action when you were grabbed, thrashing your limbs, kicking, lurching sideways, gnashing your teeth to try and catch the burlap between them and tear your way out from the inside if you had to.

With all the ceremony of tossing out a bag of rubbish, you were flung, yowling like a terrified bearcat, and the hands left you for all of a blessed second before your back hit a stiff, leathery surface that punched the wind right out of you.

You can still remember the morbid satisfaction of kicking out and striking something solid that went ‘crunch!’ when it connected with the heel of your shoe.

It wasn’t as satisfying moments later when you were slugged so hard in the cheek, your head snapped back and your vision exploded into colourful speckles of light.

An engine had rumbled to life underneath you as car doors slammed shut, and through the ringing in your ears and swimming head, you caught snippets of conversation, mostly revolving around a broken nose and a call for tissues.

You have no idea how long you were in that car for. All you remember is just how peculiar it was to be in one again. Even more peculiar to realise it had been over a century since you sat on a leather seat with an engine purring against your spine.

You still fought, of course.

Borrowing strength from your fear, you struggled furiously against a weight settled on your legs and a pair of hands that kept your flailing wrists in their vice-like grip.

In hindsight, you regret fighting so hard in the car.

Now that you’re on your feet again, stumbling blindly through an unknowable building with half a chance at running away, you’re exhausted, mouth hoarse and dry from shrieking and limbs that tremble with terror and fatigue.

Your throat aches now, thick with emotions, and your cheek isn’t faring any better either, throbbing like it has its own heartbeat.

Even without the tears clinging to your lashes and muddying your view, the path ahead is still obscured from sight by your scratchy, unconventional headgear.

You’re inside a building. You can deduce that much.

And from the sounds of dress shoes clacking hurriedly on the floor below you, it’s either somewhere that’s been newly built, or a place that had remained miraculously untouched during the stretch of time between Humanity’s extinction and their resurrection.

The surface below you is perfectly and unusually smooth from what you can tell as you’re dragged along by two unknown thugs, neither of whom seem hindered by your stubborn efforts to dig the heels of your plimsolls into the floor, hoping to trip on a notch or bump.

It’s only been two years since the Great Waking, and all the buildings in Haven City have one thing in common that this place doesn’t.

Structurally, every single one of them is as rickety and unstable as a two-legged horse.

Yet this place has no creaky floorboards, no potholes left over from where the ground was blasted apart by a falling meteorite, no dip, sag, scoop or pocket to trip yourself up on and shake your kidnappers loose.

You try to focus on the pounding of footsteps, not your heart, nor the abject terror that tries to sink its teeth into you every time those bruising hands clench all the tighter around your arms and heave you upright again when your legs yield underneath you.

Eyes pinched shut, you force a kerosene-drenched breath in through your mouth and choke it out again, blowing droplets of sweat and tears off your upper lip.

You nearly bite your damn tongue off when ahead of you, something unlatches – ‘a door?’ – and you’re readjusted in the men’s grasp, two hands on each arm, keeping you marching forwards.

The toes of your plimsolls squeak against the hard floor as you’re dragged over a small bump and onto a different surface entirely.

Softer. More giving. The footfalls are quieter…

Carpet, you surmise.

“Ah, finally!”

Your hammering heart seizes up at the sound of a booming, unexpected voice that filters in through the fibrous gaps in your burlap prison. You’d almost grown used to the grunts and curses of the men hauling you along, it’s odd to hear actual words for a change.

“Boss,” one of the men at your side speaks up, his clear, nasally tone confirming he isn’t the one you’d kicked in the face, “Got ‘er right here, Boss! Just like you said.”

The breath hitches in your chest and you wrack your brains to place the first voice as it speaks again.

“Oh for- C’mon, guys. The sack? Really?” a distinctly male voice complains.

Your ears catch the sound of metal clinking, heavy footsteps on the carpet as their wearer draws closer to you… He sounds big, weighty, far more so than either of the two who lugged you in here.

‘Shit…’ you think, breathing hard. And when nothing more helpful springs to mind…‘Fuck!’

Stealing an iota of adrenaline from somewhere deep inside your guts, you start to struggle in earnest again, lips stuffed together to stop yourself from letting out any pitiable whimpers of distress. You have an awful, awful suspicion about whose turf you’re on, and it has everything to do with the little, red notebook currently locked in the top drawer of your bedside table.

“Sorry, Boss,” the nasally man to your left responds, shifting on his feet, “Gave us a little more trouble than we was expectin’. Look what she did to poor Dimitri.”

There’s a pause, in which you assume he must finally see the extent of your efforts to escape the car.

“Yeah,” the stranger eventually says, “I noticed that… S’it bad?”

The man to your right – Dimitri, you infer – huffs out an acidic hiss through his teeth and starts to dig blunted fingernails into your sleeve, upping the pressure until you wince beneath the sack.

“Broke my fucken’ nose,” he sneers in a voice that’s thick and wet, as if he’s bunged up with a bad cold, “F’she knocked any teeth out, this little bitch’d be-“

“-HEY.”

It’s alarming how one simple word can crack across the room like a bolt of lightning, raising the hairs on the nape of your neck and causing Dimitri to choke on his tongue in his haste to fall silent. Instinctively, you flinch away from the shout, as far as the hands will allow, though you can’t help but notice that the men on either side of you do the same thing, each taking a quick, aborted step back before they seem to remember themselves and stop in their tracks.

Nobody says a word. You don’t because you’re loathe to draw that kind of wrath down on your own head, and the men don’t for much the same reason.

Another heavy boot falls to the carpet with a dull, metallic ‘clunk,’ far closer to you than it was before, and when its wearer draws in a breath, you can hear the creak and stretch of leather as it expands to compensate a prodigious chest.

… He’s standing directly in front of you…

“… I catch you usin’ that kind of language about this lady again,” the stranger growls, his once casual tone now deep and dark as a mineshaft, likely just as dangerous, “And I might just forget that you humans aren’t bulletproof.”

‘Humans…? Oh, God…’ Gulping audibly, you try to keep your breaths shallow and quiet; a difficult feat when the air around you is disturbed by the terribly familiar ‘click’ of a gun’s hammer locking into position.

From within the muffled pocket of your hood, the sound is almost deafening.

Throat closed around several, trapped sobs, you hold your breath and clench your eyes shut, expecting that at any moment, you’re going to hear a man die.

But then…

“Understood…” Dimitri says, hesitating for a second before he quickly adds, “Sir.”

How he managed to speak without his voice quaking, you’ll never know.

With bated breath, you wait for his Boss’s verdict.

When it comes, the stranger’s voice bounces back to its jocular lilt in a turnaround violent enough to leave you with whiplash.

“Good!” he announces promptly, “Can’t have her thinkin’ we’re a bunch of monsters.”

His tone shifts again as he aims it at you.

“Now then...”

Gentle, amicable, friendliness wrapped in a cloak of deception. You know how loud his voice can be, so this unexpected softness means nothing to you.

“Let’s get you outta there, n’ see that pretty face up close…”

Oh, if only you could will yourself to dematerialise and sink through the floorboards like you’ve seen so many demons do on a whim.

Finding your voice, you shake your head, eyes wild behind the sack as they flit from side to side. “Please,” you croak, fruitlessly trying to peel your arms away from the hands rooting you to the spot, “I-I haven’t seen your face, I don’t know who you are, just-!”

Enormous, unnaturally cool fingers brush against the bottom of the sack, wriggling under the twine and tugging the knot loose. In an instant, you reel backwards, throwing your head as far away from the touch as you can, chest heaving hysterically when the man simply follows your motions.

“Just let me go home!” you sob, realising that maybe you aren’t cut out for this, after all.

A reporter. You could spit at the idea now. What the Hell were you thinking? You could have taken up with the group who left to build farmlands outside the city. You could be relaxing on a maker-built porch right now after a hard day of planting those precious seeds an angel found in Svalbard.

You could have picked up a hammer and set to work patching the holes in a shelter's roof, or jumped in a wagon that trundles around the city, distributing supplies and medical aid.

There are no jobs anymore. People are too busy focusing on the rebuilding effort, trying to restore an entire world and its civilisation to something functional once again. Nearly everyone wants to help, in their own way.

And what did you decide to do, to help? You thought it would be a grand idea to pick up a pen and a notebook and chase down information, scribbling out newsletters from the rickety desk in your apartment and distributing them around the city by hand.

And that foolish decision has led you here, to your doom. You'd grown too cocky, thought nobody would pay attention to one, little human trying to track down the sources of rumours that people are being sold off-world as slaves.

A mellow chuckle rolls from a throat high above your head and resonates inside your ribcage. “Easy, sweetheart,” the stranger coos, gripping the sack and raising it carefully up over your face, adjusting easily to the way you twist your neck from side to side, “You’re all right.”

When the burlap finally pulls free of your eyes, you can’t keep yourself from squinting against the sudden intrusion of light, blinking rapidly to clear your vision.

“There you are,” the voice says, quiet with barely contained wonder.

Keeping your head locked straight ahead of you, you finally manage to peel your eyelids apart and free the tears that were trapped behind them. Little tracks roll down the curves of your cheeks and gather on your chin as the body in front of you comes into focus.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. And shit.

You’ve been flying too close to the sun, haven’t you, Icarus? Now you’re going to die, and what came of it? What was it all for? Exposing a corrupt family to the world. A world who could do nothing to fight back even if you armed them with knowledge?

There’s nowhere you can look that isn’t absolutely covered by armour. You can't even see the room beyond it.

A vast torso stretches across your field of view, protected entirely by segments of silver armour. Each interlocking part connects with another seamlessly to fit over the swollen muscles of a body built solely for destruction.

Every inch of it is marred with a constellation of scratches, welts, and age-old scorch marks tarnishing the silver black in places, and from waist to chest span three, distinct gouges that have torn through the armour entirely, leaving thin lines through the metal and giving you an uninterrupted glimpse of black, skin-tight leather beneath.

Something big had left those marks, and still he'd come out the victor.

Everything your bulging eyes take in attests to a life lived in battle, and a survivor of all that have made an attempt on his life.

You don’t want to look up. You’ve heard a rumour that to meet his eyes is akin to slapping a hungry bear on its snout. Your eyes can’t see high enough to glimpse the mask you suspect is tilted down at you anyway.

You know what you’ll see if you do. You know the man standing in front of you, perhaps not personally, perhaps more than you should, perhaps not at all. His name is scribbled on almost every page in your notebook.

Gritting your teeth, you swallow thickly and instead, allow your gaze to creep lower, away from the eyes burning a hole into the top of your head.

You regret looking down almost immediately when your stare lands on the butt of an enormous, silver revolver jutting from a holster strapped to his hips, so large that it would make any ordinary man who wields it look like a toddler trying to play with a cannon.

An audible whimper falls through your teeth as you flick your gaze sideways and see the second gun you already knew was there.

You swear you can feel several pints of blood drain from your face.

These guns are about as infamous as their wielder. And you’re standing within spitting distance of all three.

“O-oh, shit,” you stutter through buzzing teeth. And really, what else is there to say?

You’re in the den of one of the most dangerous beings in the Universe. One of four, in fact.

You’ve heard so many names accredited to him.

Endless Spirit of Timeless Unrest is your personal favourite for nothing else but the sheer pageantry of it.

He’s a killer, a monster, spreading desolation and terror everywhere he goes…

Worse still, before the End War and Earth’s downfall, you and everyone else assumed he was nothing more than a fairy-tale written into the pages of an old, allegorical book.

After all, a Horseman of the Apocalypse? It was always such an outlandish idea.

Until it wasn’t. Until he wasn’t.

“Hah…”

You give a start at the soft chuckle rumbling above your head.

“Not the reaction I was hopin’ for, but beggars can’t be choosers…”

You try to keep your tear-blurred vision on the armoured torso in front of you, but the decision to of inaction is stolen from you seconds later when a gargantuan, metal gauntlet rises up in front of your face.

Startling, you buck against the goons pinning you in place as he extends a finger and slips it underneath your chin.

You cram your lips together, fighting to stop that impossibly strong hand from tilting your head back.

Eyes rolling with fright, your face crumples and you let out a wheezing sob that catches in your throat as your gaze is forced up past a monstrous, armoured chest, then over a thick neck until finally, when you can hardly muster up the courage to draw in a rattling breath… there he is, staring down at you with eyes that exude all the qualities of a predator. Bright and yellow like melted gold, illuminating the silver helm that conceals every other feature from view.

Thick spikes of hair jut from the back of it, and you're reminded more of sharp, ebony horns belonging to that of a demon, rather than anything human.

Above you looms the man who holds Haven City and all the world in the palm of his unforgiving hand.

Of their own accord, your quivering lips peel apart and release his name into the air like a curse, uttered in terrified reverence.

“Strife.”

[777bae]

ROOKIE OF THE YEAR AWARD

PAIRING… f1!drivers x fem!driver | WC… 2.1k | Masterlist

Interview/comment clips… George, Alex, Lando, Y/n

“As you know I love a powerpoint presentation so today I’ve created a powerpoint to show you why I am rookie of the year.” George begins, waving his hand about enthusiastically as you sit in between Alex and Lando.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve got it in the bag, I mean…”

“So I thought I’d start with a photo of me probably overtaking Lando here.” He introduces.

“I’m pretty sure I’m lapping you there.” Lando exclaims as you and Alex try to stifle your laughter.

“Not sure, anyways. Fact one, most consistent qualifying position. Oh Alex, look at that. What’s that all about?” George cuts off the discussion before presenting a graph, not forgetting to take a dig at Alex’s downfall. You laugh as Alex and Lando begin to try to point out his errors and how he’s only been consistently last.

“As we know, in Formula 1, consistency is key.” He finishes, pointing a finger at you as you notice how much your data fluctuates.

“Fact two, Least amount of points behind teammate.” Russell presents his second graph, your result not being quite as bad as Lando’s as his goes into the 50s. “George Russell, one point, Lando Norris, 58 points behind his teammate.”

You laugh along with Alex as Lando only sits there, unable to come up with an answer.

“…”

“Fact three, most positions gained on opening laps.” He shows yet another graph whilst you immediately notice how low Lando and Alex are. “George Russell, two, Y/n Y/l/n, zero, Lando Norris has lost four and Alex Albon lost ten. What’s that all about mate?”

“Yeah but you started at the back.” You point out.

“You can’t lose positions when you start last.” Alex continued your point as you look at the producers of the video for help.

“Fact!” George exclaims whilst Alex still tries to reason his case. “I’ve qualified P19 before, I’ve had someone behind me.”

The video would quickly cut to your ‘interview’, your disappointed face being the only thing shown as you were unsurprised with George’s lack of evidence.

His statement causes you to immediately start laughing before Lando soon joins in, Alex still trying to prove his point in the back.

“Fact four, as we know Formula 1 is a lot about the cars.” The driver continues once you had all settled down. “2018 Formula 2 championship, fourth, Y/n Y/l/n, third, Alex Albon, second, Lando Norris, first George Russell, oh.”

Photos of the podium and George’s celebration began to flash on the screen before an enlarged ‘FACT’ appeared, an obama meme quickly following.

“I was surprised that Williams gave him the confidence to show that. If that’s what his presentations are then, uh, I expected more.”

“The were real, they were real facts.” George points out as he walks over to you all, his hands placed on his hips.

“Yeah, I feel like you were taking advantage…” Lando begins.

“Of your bad qualifying.” You finish, a large smile on your face as you try to suppress your laugh.

“So, you were consistently at the back.” Alex continues.

“Consistency is key.” George tries to reason.

“I think throughout the season you could have lost…” Lando pauses trying to find the right words.

“One position.” You laugh, sticking your finger in the air as George scowls at you jokingly.

“I think it’s a good presentation but not a convincing argument.” Alex finishes off your comments, before getting up ready to present his evidence.

“Okay so I don’t actually have a presentation, so you’re gonna like this, but, uh, I haven’t been very well organised.” He begins, trying to find his piece of paper beneath all the rubbish. “So how do I do this?”

“Uh, tick tock, the times ticking.” George comments as you chuckle at his statement.

“I was uh, a little concerned for him when he told me he was doing a rap.”

“I’m nervous about this.” Alex mumbles, an awkward smile on his face.

“I’m nervous for you.” You speak, he had previously told you that he was going to do a rap and you told him how great of an idea it was, obviously without including how amusing you found it.

“For me?” Albon questions.

“Yes because after yesterday’s performance in that sky sports interview, that was shameful.” You reply, a smug smile on your face.

“That was great!” He tries to reason.

“That was absolutely shameful.” Russell comments.

“That’s some great banter.” Alex says before turning to face the screen.

“Haha, he’s chatting shit like always.”

“This has got all the characteristics of embarrassment.” George remarks.

“For who?” Alex questions.

“You!”

“For me? Not for me!” He argues as you and Lando just sat there, waiting for the charade to end. “Okay, anyways ready?”

“There once was this kid called Lando,

Who thought he could fill the shoes of Fernando,

He managed to bin a hotlap,

Sat your head in your hands,

But Johnny dug him out of the gravel trap,

Where are your one million Instagram fans?,

We came from F2, but we didn't have a clue,

But when you're off the pace and leave too much space,

Like how you did that in that Suzuka race,

Just know that I'll spank you in every race.

How about I introduce you to the only girl on the grid,

She’s joined the top when she’s only a kid,

Missed a lot of chances at coming first,

Caused her to have quite an angry burst,

“I don’t think so.”

Being behind me all the time must be a struggle

The stress of it all must be hard to juggle,

Qualifying for her never seemed to be so hard,

Maybe it’s because I’ve upped my guard.

Now onto our boy Russell,

Who likes to flex the muscle,”

“George’s topless instagram stuff that he likes to do, and I always give him rubbish about it”

“The only driver yet to score

What are you even doing this for?”

“It’s true.”

“Just kidding, I know you can take the flack

By the way, Lewis called: he wants his yellow hoodie back!

Last but not least, let's talk about me

Alex Albon, number 23

Try and stop me getting past?

That's fine, I'll get through on the grass!

I'm going through front wings like no tomorrow

I'm the asian Tom Cruise, so give me a follow

Last race, I came close to champagne

Which thanks to Lewis, never came

But now I'm here to state my claim

If I'm not top rookie, you must be insane!”

You all giggle throughout, immediately clapping once it finished.

“He pulled it off so…”

“Pretty good performance, needed a bit more flow… just like his racing.”

“If only he could do such a good performance on track.”

“That was great.” George assured.

“You could get a career in rapping after that.” You joke, still trying to remain serious.

“You can take this home, uh, just to have it.” Alex hands you each a piece of paper with the rap on, trying to suppress his laughter.

“I’ll hang this on my wall.” You say before Lando got up and got his presentation ready.

“I haven’t got a lot to say, cause the video speaks for itself.” Lando announces before clicking the play button.

The screen quickly presents ‘Reason 1 2 3 4: overtakes’ before showing a video from the race.

It shows Lando overtaking a Renault before having an explosion effect go off on the side, causing you all to laugh.

“That came in a bit early but okay.” George comments before the video moves onto the next scene.

“Okay this one was good.” Alex announces before you point out how Lando was overtaking Alex himself.

The video has another explosion go off before playing the ‘you’re going too fast!’ meme as George quickly mimics it.

‘Reason 5: Respectful’ Quickly presents itself on the screen before showing an interview between Daniel and Lando.

It then shows a montage of clips, the last few being slowed down radio communication causing you to laugh again.

‘Reason 6: Fashion icon’

“I disagree.” You put your hand into the air quickly before letting the video continue, only to be shushed by the presenter himself.

“Respectful… yeah”

The screen finally rolls the credits where it just all goes to Lando.

“Lando, poor effort, really.”

“You know, I expected more from him.”

You just end up shaking your head, a disappointed look on your face.

“Well you’re not getting a round of applause from me.” Alex comments as Lando just stairs, unsure on what to say before looking into the camera.

“I don’t think it was my best performance. I think, uh, I’ve done better things this year driving on track.”

“Alright my turn.” You announce, stepping up from your seat and setting up your video.

“Uh, so, my video contains less facts and just more about why I am the better person in general.” You comment, earning a few ‘offended’ faces before clicking the play button.

The video immediately cuts to a clip of you trying to do a three-legged race with Charles but it just ends up in the two of you falling over. The next clip shows you singing into your radio during the formation lap as your engineer tries to tell you to stop but just gets ignored.

“Haha, she’s gibbering.”

These first clips earned a few chuckles from the guys before it continued.

The next clip shows you going into a hug with Sebastian when your helmets suddenly knock onto each other causing you to nearly fall over. The video finally ended with a few photos of you trying to do yoga poses with multiple drivers before showing a video of you falling straight onto Lando after a failed attempt.

“Pretty good, pretty good.” George comments as you bow.

“Okay verdict.” Alex begins as you quickly sat down in a chair to join the discussions.

“I think yours was pretty good.” You say to Alex as George quickly nods.

“I think I had the legs on them.”

“I think Lando’s was worse.” George suggests as you and Alex quickly nodded.

“Lando’s gotta choose.” You announce as the boy quickly looks at you surprised.

“I’m like the deciding vote.” He reluctantly agrees..

“Well, you’re not the deciding vote.” George tries to reason.

“I know I’m last.”

“I mean, I’d still put me first.”

“Can I say why I think I won?” Alex asks before continuing. “George’s presentation was just facts, you know, facts facts. P19.”

“Yeah.” Lando mumbles.

“I’m actually surprised you only went up two positions.” Alex comments.

“He only went up two? In the whole season?” You questioned, shocked at his lack of improvement.

“Don’t give me that.” Russell shakes his head.

“And with Y/n, there were no facts.” He finishes as Lando nods his head.

“It’s up to you Lando.” You say as he chuckles.

“If it’s based on performance I think Alex has got it, if it’s based on the track, I think we got it-.” “Performance on track.”

“I don’t think I got the hand on them.”

“I’m going to have to go with… Alex.” Lando finally announces after a moment of silence.

“I almost agree, I almost agree, I’m gracious in defeat. He’s gotta have one to show no defeat.” George comments as you pat Alex’s back.

“I’ll take the flack, I’m used to it.”

“And you guys have a trophy as well.” Alex points out as Lando reaches back to grab onto said object, trying to connect the trophy back onto its podium.

“It’s my trophy, my only trophy- ahh.” Albon screams as he nearly drops it, causing you to laugh a little.

“He pulled it off, he pulled it off so…”

“Yeah, like Lando said he needs to transfer that onto the track and he’ll, uh, be in good shape for himself.”

“I think it’s gonna leak.” Alex points out as he pours redbull into the trophy.”

“Oh, it’s leaking real bad.” You point out as Albon quickly drinks out of it.

“Thank you very much, and uh, it’s detachable as well, so uh, I can put it in my suitcase.”

Bloopers/funny bits:

“I can see why Williams chose you after that presentation.” Alex jokes after George finishes, earning a laugh from all of you.

-

“Lando could fit the whole post-it note on his forehead, it’s that big.” George laughs as you all sit there laughing with notes stuck onto all your faces.

-

“Where’s my mouse?” Lando questions, his hands spreading everywhere trying to find said object.

“It’s there.” Alex points as Lando quickly finds it.

-

“Can we, uh, dim the lights.” You ask the producer as they quickly follow.

“No, cause they can’t see our faces you mug.” Alex responds before quickly laughing, causing you to roll your eyes.

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[fandomwritingbit]

I feel like if William found out that one of the cute, kind, unassuming girls that works for him was also serial killer he would definitely get horny about it. And of course when he implies to her she knows she's like "Take's one to one, Mr. Afton~" They would both just sooo messed up and fuck about it I think

Hello! Sorry this took so long, I wasn't planning to publish this 'til next month but a sudden urge to finish it struck me and here it is!

Serial killer William Afton x (afab)serial killer reader

warnings: murder, somewhat glorified, reader and William are both fucked up

It’s been 6 months since you started at the diner and by now you were more than well acquainted with your role. It came relatively naturally to you this whole customer service thing, your brightly coloured scrunchies bobbing as you kept patrons happy and balanced everything that needed doing by the end of your shift. To cut it short, you were absolutely thriving. Your bosses liked you, so much so that you’ve had your first raise already, it was all going just swimmingly. It’s just the perfect job, no one would ever think anything bad of you here, you’re just too damn cute, too damn charming. It’s really an excellent cover. 

The diner gave you more than just cover though. You've learnt some very helpful skills over these months, like what the best chemicals for cleaning are, how to remove even the most stubborn of stains and how to dispose of the things that just couldn’t be cleaned. 

At the back of the restaurant for example. Like most eateries has huge skips, always full of the week’s waste and secluded enough to offer a window of opportunity. It was very easy to get in as you had a key, that and the knowledge that your cheap-arsed employers didn’t install cctv there, and so of course you put the window of opportunity to use. Several nights of fun easily hidden from prying eyes in black bin-liners and blending in with the rest. How could it be that easy?

But, what you hadn’t considered was that perhaps you weren’t the only one using such a perfect place. 

~

He stumbled through the door like a drunkard, the high of his activity so delicious, it made his fingers tingle and a cold electric colour tint his vision. He props the doors open with a brick,  reaching into the diner to grab what he needed to get rid of, his shoes slipping in the red slick dripping from his form. God, it’s all over him, staining his shirt and leaving footprints on the floor, a nightmare to clean up, but he wasn’t worried. He had all night to sort it out, not like any of his lay-about employees would be in a hurry to chuck any rubbish out anytime soon. 

He grabs the bag, moving it over to the bins and opening the one furthest from the door. Taking a bag off the top, he undoes the half-arsed knot and sets about getting rid of his evidence, a baseball cap, one of his branded teddies and a blunt statuette; each smeared in the blood on his hands. He packs them into the bag and again ties it up. But he’s too careful to leave it at that, and removes the bags closer to the bottom, intending to shove the incriminating one down where no one would find it. And it’s there at the very bottom of the skip that he sees it. It’s such a sobering sight that he freezes for a moment, confusion flooding his features. 

A kitchen blade, a large one stained with crusted blood, he was sure of it. That browning red was so familiar, Hell it was all over him now, the smell very apparent. But that wasn’t his. The bins were emptied only two days before and whilst he is an efficient man, he wasn’t that good. He reaches down to touch it, but stops inches away. Right next to the knife was something else. As he plucks it from the rubbish, it all clicks into place. 

~

At the end of a busy shift, you walk down the staff hallway more than relieved, absentmindedly taking off your apron a few paces before your locker. There was nothing special about to day, but it was fucking rushed, hardly a moment to breathe and right now nothing sounds better than going home and spending you day off in bed. When you’re done shoving your apron inside the locker and slinging your bag over your shoulder, your body instinctively tenses at an awareness of a presence behind you. So you shut and lock the door as quickly as you can, before facing your boss. 

“Oh hi, Mr Afton. Just about to clock off.” You smile brightly, so sweetly that he almost doubts himself, almost reconsiders what he’s about to ask you. Almost.  

“Don’t yet. Come into my office, I want to talk to you.” There was an amused tone to his voice, like there was a hidden joke you weren’t aware of and did not understand. But that was nearly always the case with Mr Afton, everyone said so, said that they dreaded when he was on shift because they couldn’t tell if he liked them or was a hair away from sacking them. And right now, you feel the same. But surely he liked you? How could he not?  

“Yeah, okay.” You try to keep your voice obliging and happy, following the nod of his head for you to walk past him, down the hall and into his office. You’ve been in here before, using his stapler on some leaflets or asking for extra change in the till. It’s always a cold room, hardly decorated and a little imposing, very much in line with the man himself. 

There’s a heaviness in the air that you don’t want to break, so you wait for Mr Afton to ask you to sit, watching him from your seat as he leans against his desk. He’s enjoying this too much, the slightly startled expression on your pretty face, like you have no idea what this is about, like you’re thinking about anything you could have possibly done wrong. He almost believed you.

He half smiles before breaking the silence with small talk. “Been busy today?” He wants this to be slow, but the temptation to just out you prickles at him.

You blink, a little surprised at his casualness, it was out of character but not exactly unwelcome. “Yeah, pretty crazy. We managed alright though.” You hope he’s asking for the sake of asking, not expecting you to recall anything too specific because the shift was a complete blur. 

He hums, a handsome smirk spreading across his face, “Well I’m glad. Chris was supposed to be in today, he called in sick last minute. Which I’m sure had nothing to do with today’s footy match.” You giggle, yeah, Chris wasn’t the brightest for that one. His grin fades as he looks thoughtful for a second. “Some people are so good at lying, it’s insane. Don’t you think?”

Your eyes go wide in suspicion. “Yeah, I suppose so… We all do it sometimes.” You keep smiling in an effort to keep this conversation light. 

“Not you though. You’re too honest, there’s hardly a sick day to be found on your record.” You nod, thinking that maybe this was a compliment, or commendation, maybe he was going to reward you for such good work? His posture then changes as he again grins. “If you were going to lie it must be about something very… serious.” He watches the way you subconsciously shake your head and it tickles him, you really have no clue where this is going to go and it’s just delightful. 

Unable to reach his conclusion you just out right ask. “Uh… what’s this about, Mr Afton? Have I done something wrong?” 

“Undoubtedly.” He continues teasing. ‘Something wrong’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, though it would be hypocritical for him to say so. The glee he’s getting from dragging this out is immense, but he’s just dying to see that cute little face of yours drop when he reveals your disgusting hobby. He sighs, “I found something the other night, you know. Something very interesting.”

Your eyes narrow as you look at him in disbelief, maybe a small part of you knows just from the malice in his eyes that he has you because a sudden dread seizes hold of you. “Sorry- I don’t follow…” You’re confused, he couldn’t know what you’d done, he just couldn’t but if he did… 

“You’ll get there, sweetheart.” He speaks mockingly before slowly standing and walking to the other side of his desk and opening the top drawer, humming a tune as he does so. You watch him fingers tapping against each other in anxiety, you can’t help but notice the heavy looking paperweight on his desk, it’s a cube carved out of some polished stone, the corners sharp.

“This.” His words force your gaze from the object to him, and the small piece of fabric pinched between his finger and thumb. Just continuing to stare at it, it doesn’t trigger anything, until he tosses it down onto the desk right in front of you. 

It’s a scrunchie. A light pink scrunchie, patterned with crusted blood. And then it hits you like a freight train. You can see yourself wearing it, two low ponytails resting on your shoulders that night. People told you how cute they looked on you. How didn’t you notice it was missing… Well, your mind was on other things that night.

You move your eyes to him, goosebumps all over your skin as you mind races. And at seeing your strained expression he laughs, unexpectedly and meanly. “God, your pupils- that is really something.” You look crazed, frantic, maybe even terrified, it was like nothing he’d ever seen yet still achingly familiar, it's frightening in the most delicious way, making his trousers cling to his growing erection. 

“I…” You start but instantly falter, gaze flicking between your boss and this paperweight. The darkest part of you is frightened into planning by this discovery. It’s far from you but you could reach it if you tried, just across the table, you just need to wait until he’s distracted but right now his attention is solely focused on you. You just need to wait-

“You’d never be quick enough.” He cuts through your train of thought like he could read your fucking mind. “I’m not completely stupid, though perhaps scaring you into a corner isn’t the best idea.” His tone is full of ridicule.

“What do you want?” You say hoarsely, too much emotion in your mind for you to think clearly. If he knew what you did -what you are- why are you here? Surely he’d have called the police and by now you’d be in an interview room surrounded by coppers. Surely, they’d have already found your pattern and linked as much to you as they could. But no. You’re here, in his office.

“I’m not here to bargain with you, love.” He chuckles, “I’ve seen where you live, there’s very little you could offer me.” Though he can certainly think of something very sweet you could offer him.

“-You’ve been to my house?” You say slowly, his mocking passing you by somewhat. This was too much to learn at once. 

“I had to do some research. You know, a knife in a bin is one thing. A fella in a river put a name to the weapon. But then,” His eyes are wide with animation as he talks, “I remembered another man in the same river, a few weeks ago, stabbed to all hell. Then I found another… I must say, you’ve done well not to be caught.” 

“A-re you gonna call the police?” Your voice cracks on the first syllable, making the rest of your question quiet.

He pauses in thought, the silence tortuous. “...No. I can’t have them poking around. I don’t want any other unsavoury acts coming to light.” 

At those words you suddenly dawn to a realisation, that look in his eye, that devious glee that at first you thought was just teasing. Was something else. Something very dark. It makes you exhale, an odd and sinister calm settling over you, enough for you to relax your posture in this chair and glace around the room. You know what you’re looking for and find it easily, a missing persons poster pinned to a pinboard just on his left. 

“That kid…” You speak lowly, utterly enthralling him. And he follows your eye-line to said poster, his eyebrows raising slightly. “He’s dead?” The question is pretty sure on your lips, a cruel confidence to them that showed the spark to you he’d been looking for. 

“Probably.” It’s noncommittal, but amused and you can just see the disturbed actions in his eyes. It’s crazy, like a monster in human skin.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” The words are so weighted, they tear aggressively from your throat, an unintentional emphasis that cuts through the room like a razor. And the harshness of his grin is more than confirmation. “You’re a fucking murderer.” You laugh incredulously, disbelief melting away by the second. 

“Takes one to know one.”

[layla4567]

Sanji with a reader who loves to collect trinkets (headcanons)

Pairing: Sanji x GN!reader Warnings: slight mention of bullying, beta read A/N: this is entirely inspired in tinkerbell lol

❀ You recently joined the straw hat crew but still became friends with all its members. You were a very curious person and you saw the world through a kaleidoscope of colors, you appreciated the small things that life gave you. And that caught Sanji's attention.

✿ You had boarded that ship for the first time with a large brown shoulder bag, it was hand-woven and had some colored patches all made by you since sewing was also one of your hobbies. You clung to your bag as if it were a life preserver, no one knew what you kept in there but everyone sensed that it must be something of important value to you.

❀ Everyone was very kind to you, respecting your space, secrets and belongings (well, Luffy not so much since he doesn't understand what personal space is). Ussop was very funny and told the best jokes, Luffy was an adventurous captain who liked to give hugs, Nami was a girl with an excellent gift for drawing maps, Zoro was a silent and serious individual but with a beautiful interior and finally there was Sanji. the ship's cook, a blonde with blue eyes with a tongue dipped in honey every time he spoke. Shameless but sweet flirtations slipped from his lips every time he spoke to you. At first you felt a little self-conscious because of his pet names or compliments, but he never crossed the line and would stop if he sensed that you were uncomfortable.

✿ Little by little you became close to him and you realized that, very contrary to what you thought at first, Sanji was not the typical womanizer who flirted with women to feel more virile and then leave them hanging, no, he was a gentleman. He always offered a helping hand, asked how you were doing and if you liked your new home. You weren't sure if he was like that with all the crew members but something inside told you that he was even sweeter with you.

❀ Your room on the ship was comforting, at first you were offered to share a room with Nami but even though you found her very nice you preferred to be alone. When you entered you saw a large wooden trunk like a treasure chest, and you would definitely place several treasures there, but not the ones that people imagine. For you, your best treasures are those you found in the sand, under a rock, hidden in the grass and in the ground, or even what you found near the seashore. You collected small relics of nature and treasured them as if they were diamonds in the rough. You opened your shoulder bag and delicately and lovingly placed what you were carrying: Sea shells, a piece of old paper that seemed to have something written on it, a stone that shone and seemed to be nacre, etc. Many people would think that you only kept rubbish and collected dirt, but you couldn't explain the value that those objects had and the satisfaction you felt when finding something new.

✿ Your room was forbidden to others, no one could enter and if they wanted to talk to you they had to knock on the door. It's not that you were a grumpy hermit, but you were so afraid of someone finding your treasure chest that you didn't want anyone to even come and look. You had a feeling they wouldn't understand you and would make fun of you like everyone else. Although now the straw hats were your friends and seemed like kind people, doubt always remained installed inside you, you were tired of the mockery and prejudices. You couldn't stand even a mean look

❀ Luffy was the most difficult to convince, with Nami and Zoro you had not had much problem since the first had understood that you had your secrets and the second was not interested in entering your room much. Ussop hadn't been a problem either and Sanji, well, after making some flirtatious jokes about "Why would I come into your room, love? Do you even want me to come in?" He respected you and didn't put a single toe near your door. But Luffy… holy crap that boy moved faster like a squirrel, always from here to there. And when you told him that he couldn't enter your room he started to ask why? like a little boy. You didn't want to give him explanations, so since you couldn't muster patience and you were starting to get frustrated, you exclaimed: "DON'T COME INTO MY ROOM AND THAT'S IT" and you walked away stomping.

✿ Poor Luffy, he was sometimes a little intense but he had no bad intentions, he was simply a slightly impulsive person who expressed his emotions eruptively like a volcano. So he didn't understand why you had gotten so angry if he had simply asked you something normal. Ok, maybe he had insisted too much and should have stopped, but he doesn't know when to shut up. After this little "discussion" things had gotten tense and Sanji, like a good Samaritan, had gently approached you to ask if you were okay: "What's wrong, sweetheart? Is everything okay?" His delicacy and tact when speaking made you smile again and you had almost forgotten why you were angry.

❀ When you returned to your room you opened your chest and caressed the objects, a soft green parrot feather you held in your hands. Your fingers brushed the furry part of the feather and soon you felt better. Those objects were all you had, they were everything to you. Every thing you collected had life and told you a story. They held memories and history.

✿ Apparently the captain of the straw hats was somewhat forgetful because one morning while you were sleeping comfortably in your hammock, Pel thought it would be a good idea to enter your room and wake you up with a smile like he usually did with the others. Luffy thought that the problem had already passed but when you finally felt the fine rays of sun on your face you slowly opened your eyes a little sleepy and when you saw him standing there next to you with a happy face you almost fell out of your hammock. Your eyes widened in horror and you jumped up, shouting for him to leave. Luffy got a little scared and looked at you confused. Your screams were heard throughout the ship and soon the other members were standing in front of your closed door, resting their ears on the wood to hear better. Angry and worried that Luffy had seen your chest, you got off the hammock and pushed him towards the door without giving him time to say anything. You opened it and kicked him out roughly while the others quickly walked away from the door and looked at Luffy in surprise.

❀ After that you locked yourself in your room and didn't come out for anything in the world. You felt angry but also ashamed and then sadness followed. The others looked at the captain with disapproval, they knew him and knew that he was a good person but sometimes he did not mediate his impulses and unintentionally hurt others. At dinner you didn't go out or eat anything, Sanji couldn't allow others to go hungry so after everyone had left the table he went to your room and knocked on the door twice: "Hey sweetie, you're not hungry?" "You haven't eaten or gone out all day." You were surprised to hear the cook's sweet voice through the wood, but you didn't want to leave, not yet. Despite your efforts to keep him away, he wouldn't give up: "Come on dove, I promise I won't come in but if you come with me to the kitchen I'll prepare whatever you want." Reluctantly you wiped away your tears and opened the door, quickly closing it behind you.

✿ Sanji noticed your moist and slightly red eyes and couldn't help but worry: "Oh my love, come here, don't cry anymore" He said while hugging you and caressing your hair "I promise to cook your favorite dish or dessert." You smiled shyly against his clothes and you both headed to the kitchen. The cook loved two things in life: cooking for others and helping people, and he did both things perfectly. He went out of his way to care for the crew and that made him happy. You sat on a stool with a downcast face watching what Sanji was cooking. He concentrated on his task but he didn't take his eye off you either, from time to time he looked at you trying to know what was going on in your mind. "Listen, I know Luffy can be very stubborn sometimes, but he really wouldn't hurt anyone, you have to forgive him," Sanji said. You just shrugged your shoulders, "I understand that you don't want to talk about what happened, sweetheart, and I respect it, but if at any time you feel like talking, I'll always be here" Sanji looked at you lovingly and you saw compassion and understanding in his eyes.

❀ When he finished cooking, he gave you the plate and you ate vigorously, you knew it was rude to eat so quickly and put large portions in your mouth (like Luffy) but you hadn't eaten in a while and what Sanji cooked was delicious. He just looked at you funny and more than delighted that you like his food so much. When you finished eating you felt much better and had the strength to tell what was bothering you so much, you felt that you could trust him and that he would not judge you. An atmosphere so trustworthy and healthy had settled between you that you decided to tell him the truth about your treasures. Sanji listened to you attentively and did not take his eyes off you, sometimes he nodded his head, understanding more about you. When you finished speaking you looked at him worried, afraid that he would say some hurtful comment, but that didn't happen. Sanji smiled warmly at you: "You don't have to fear my petal, your hobby is charming in my opinion, I would love to know more" You were pleasantly surprised by his words, the blonde boy had not only said that he liked your hobby but had listened to you without laughing and now looked at you with what could be said to be… love?

✿ The next day your little conversation with Sanji was a well-kept secret in your heart and his. He felt full knowing that you had trusted him and you were happy to have taken a weight off your shoulders. Of course the others looked at you two strangely since sometimes you smiled or gave each other knowing looks. No one had overlooked the fact that you and Sanji were now closer, some had by chance seen the cook wink at you, place a hand on your back when he pulled out the chair for you to sit down, or even flirt more with you.

❀ Yes, you became closer. Sanji had a positive influence on you. One day he approached you and asked you to give Luffy another chance. His voice near your ear tickled you but you decided to follow his advice. Sanji had become a kind of keeper of your secret and you were happy about it. He had proven himself trustworthy. So you decided to "reward" him in some way, you knew it wasn't necessary but that was what your heart told you. One night when everyone was in their rooms you went to the kitchen knowing that Sanji would be there, he smiled at you like he always did and asked you what you needed. You told him you had a surprise for him in your room. You thought you saw a rosy color on his cheeks but you were distracted by his teasing flirtations. Still he followed you behind. When he entered he felt like he was stepping on sacred ground, he didn't even know what your room looked like. A little hesitant, he stood there not knowing whether to walk or not, but you smilingly grabbed his hand and led him to the chest. You crouched down and he imitated you. You solemnly opened the chest and showed them your most precious treasures. Sanji looked at everything with admiration, you showed him a bottle covered with a cork and inside it there were different types of sand. Then he grabbed an old diary that was damaged by humidity, it was missing pages and had a worn spine. You explained to him that you had found it on the beach one day, you asked everywhere for its owner but you couldn't find it and you decided to keep the object. Everything you found, whether old or new, broken or not always given a new use.

✿ While you spoke with true passion, Sanji looked at you smiling, biting his lip from time to time, happy to hear you speak so animatedly and open up more. You were so focused that you didn't realize his proximity until you looked up and saw his face a few centimeters from yours. Your shoulders bumped into his. You felt his gaze on your lips and you pursed them somewhat blushing. He laughed and said "Thank you for sharing this with me, now I also have a treasure to take with me" and immediately kissed your cheek and then left your room. You still felt that heat on your cheek where he had kissed you. Now I also have a treasure to take with me… you didn't know if he was referring to this moment you two had… or to you.

[kitorin]

OUR SPRING

016. a sight just for us

"ARE WE THERE YET?"

YOUR LEGS ARE BEGINNING TO TIRE OUT, fatigue's arrival has sweat accumulating on your forehead as your breathing becomes unstable as you stare at the way Hyoma's carmine ponytail sways.

Without turning around, Hyoma calls out, still far ahead of you. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Self care day my ass." Though you mutter it under your breath, he chuckles as a response, halting his movements for you.

When he'd texted you to meet up at a park nearby the city, you expected a casual stroll in the park, not a borderline hike. You would've brought a much smaller bag—and a larger water bottle.

"I promise you it's not too long. Hang in there, we'll take a break if you need it." A hand offers his help, and you accept thankfully. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah—." You huff out, slightly embarrassed at how unfazed Hyoma remained, a contradiction to how the summer air relentlessly harassed you with its heat. "Just hot."

But he knows better. "There's no shame in resting. We'll take a break."

A tired nod, and you're fishing through your shoulder bag for your water bottle, hurried enough to almost spill it everywhere. You're not bothered by it though, as you're admiring the scenery; how the trees stretch their coffee coloured arms above you, emerald leaves holding hands whilst permitting some sunlight to shine through.

It's worth it, you think, even if you're sweating uncomfortably.

"Come to think of it, I didn't know this path existed." You're not constantly seeking outdoor activities nor are you particularly into them, but the park was well known enough for a multitude of reasons; one being their nature walks.

But those were outlined with stone steps, while the one the two of you were walking down remained untouched, earth and all. There were supposed to be wooden handrails accompanying the path too, as well as the occasional map adorned with a sign.

You begin moving again, a silent way of telling Hyoma you're ready to continue. "Is this a secret one? I don't think they included it on the website either."

"You're not exactly wrong."

"Meaning?" The sun's gleam was becoming more prominent, as you approached what you'd assume to be the end of the path.

"This isn't one of their nature walks, I just happened to find it one day." Before you're able to question his words, he grasps your wrist, pulls you towards the light.

You'd tried to protest, but it was difficult as you (barely) matched Hyoma's pace.

"Oi—"

To no avail you're ignored, as the two of you rush, probably disrupting a few creatures of the local ecosystem, some dirt being kicked up as he pulls you along. "Just wait."

Not like I have a choice, dumbass.

In no time, the trees standing over you were gone and you're met with the sun blinding you, breeze immediately playing with your hair.

"We're here!"

He releases your wrist, as you ignore the stifling heat discomposing your skin to admire the view.

Your true surroundings were revealed, a small field of grass adorned with a couple of trees, peering down at the park. Cautious, you inch closer to the edge, now noticing people—walking, cycling, jogging, appearing like small beetles hassling amidst the earth. Though the height of the cliff evokes nausea, it was beautiful, how small everything looked; how you could see so much.

"Are you really that unfit?" His teasing tone makes you realise how out of breath you were, as Hyoma holds out a bottle of Pocari Sweat, one from his backpack.

You pant a bit. "I just hate the heat—summer's not my thing." You accept the bottle, taking a particularly large sip from it after squatting down. "I'm surprised they didn't make this place and the route one of their nature walks. It's so pretty. How'd you find it?" It's a hidden gem, you look around and the area's spotless, not a single sight of rubbish, nor any damage inflicted.

"I didn't, Nee-chan did." He joins you, settling down in the grass. "She showed me when I was a kid, and after becoming an idol I've come to love this place more." Hyoma leans backwards, plopping into the soft grass.

You mimic the action, though a lot more hesitant and careful. "So you have an older sister." Your gaze fixates onto the sky, wispy clouds slowly drifting along. "Is she your only sibling?" You turn to see his response; a nod with a grin.

"I love her so much. She's always been there to help me, and taught me things like how to cook or tie my hair. She's so cool, too. I don't know what I'd do without her."

Joy was evident, from the way he spoke, to the beam he donned.

It's not like he was constantly stoic, but right now he was smiling as though without restrictions—a countenance completely different from the subtle and polite one he wore in photoshoots and interviews.

"What about you?"

"Huh—?"

His question snaps you out of it, a silent reminder that you've been staring. "What about you? Do you have siblings?"

"Oh. Nope." You pray that he didn't notice your staring, and if he did you hope he didn't misinterpret it nor feel uncomfortable. "That's why I'm so close to Yoichi and Meguru, since we grew up in the same neighbourhood. My parents were busy so I played with them all the time instead." You sit up, admiring the view once more.

"I see." He imitates your action, leaning back into his arms, palms pressed into the earth behind him.

"It feels sort of wrong to be here." The comment comes out wrong, bordering on the line of discourtesy.

But Hyoma didn't seem to take any offense. "What do you mean?"

"It's you and your sister's place. It doesn't feel right coming here for content."

"Content?"

"You know, taking photos for your social media."

"Oh." You regret speaking immediately when you notice his frown, and your worry still persists even after he smiles again. "Recently we've only talked about our 'deal', I wanted to spend time as friends rather than just business partners. Right now, I'm showing this to my friend y/n, not my partner l/n."

"I thought it'd be nice, it's been a great escape. There's pretty much no one here, I don't have to worry about being watched. I wanted it to be equally comforting for you too, after all, rumours are expected as an idol, you're just trying to live normally."

Lips slightly parted, and heart warm, you study his expression, painted with genuine solicitude, rose coloured irises soft. The definition of your relationship was perplexing; you know you're only there because of a mutually beneficial deal, yet at times it feels like authentic friendship wove the two of you together.

"Thank you, I love it." Say more, idiot. Desperate, you piece the words together hurriedly in your head, not wanting to leave things unaddressed but worried about uttering the wrong words. "But things like rumours shouldn't be expected for anyone. I'm studying and you're simply making and performing music. Just because it's common and expected doesn't mean it should happen, nor you deserve it."

For moment the two of you sit in silence, listening to the wind sing alongside the rustling of leaves.

Hyoma eradicates the silence first. "You're right, I never really thought about it that way since a lot of people tell me success like that comes with a price."

"Then fuck them. I mean there's nothing you can do about speculation, I won't blame people for their curiosity but not harassing someone is basic human decency." You've never actively updated on a celebrities' image to the public, and you have good reason to. Anonymity served as encouragement for some people to behave in such an intrusive manner. "You're just as human as anyone else, just a lot more skilled. And attractive."

"Aaaand that's where I stop you. You were sounding ever so wise til that part. Shut up." He turns, hand reaching to your face for what you'd assume to be a flick to the forehead. You push his hand away (being friends with Yoichi had made you immune to that attack).

"Am I wrong though—?"

Hyoma speaks with a straight face. "Yeah. How about we start off with how good you are at school?"

You roll your eyes. "Anyone can study."

"Not as well as you though."

"It's not like I'm number one in the entire grade." You almost wince at the memories of that one classmate that manages to surpass your score by just a tiny bit.

"Not to mention you have a life���"

"—of watching kdramas and reading books." You chuckle, it certainly wasn't as thrilling as how Meguru or Yoichi lived their lives, but it was your way; one that made you happy.

Hyoma's finger goes to your lip, hovering just above as to not touch you without permission. "At least it's not drugs, reading's good for you anyways, now shush for a moment." He lists off the other hobbies you indulge in on each finger, outlining what makes them hard. "Your personality is great, you're emotionally intelligent, you're really pretty too—"

The final clause earns a burst of laughter from you.

"What? Are you doubting me?"

"It feels weird coming from you. You're surrounded by attractive idols all day, and spend so much time with other ones in other groups. Calling me 'really pretty' after meeting all those stars is crazy. Not like anyone else would agree with you either."

Hyoma becomes silent at the comment. "This place is hideous."

A sudden readjustment in topic has your eyebrows furrowing with confusion. "Pardon?"

"Kawachi Fujien is stunning, a shame really since that just makes this place ugly."

"You can't say that, one being pretty doesn't make the other ugly—"

The moment those words left your mouth, victory pervades his features, a toothy grin, which was quite frankly quite adorable.

"I made you say it! The same applies to you, yeah the people on tv are pretty, but it doesn't mean you aren't. And—" His hand holds yours. "—if no one else has said the same things as me, then that doesn't mean I'm wrong. It simply means you're an undiscovered flower, one that the world has yet to discover and appreciate the beauty of."

Though the unexpected grandeur accompanying his words leaves you speechless, it's not unwelcome—you can't deny the ebullience creeping onto your lips.

"That's why, you shouldn't let anyone nor any self deprecating thoughts get to you, okay?"

His words erased any memory of any negativity you held against yourself. Sure, you can recall how you doubted why'd he choose you for this role, but the insecurities regarding your appearance and the misery they carried were gone.

"Got it. I promise you."

"One more thing."

"Hit me."

"At the end of March, come here with me. Let's watch the cherry blossoms together, away from everyone else. A spring just for us."

That would be nice, gazing upon the sea of pink, out of anyone else's reach.

That's if, if he even has reason to speak to you after this deal of yours, or if it lasts for that long.

You hold up your pinkie. "I promise you that too."

Hyoma's pinkie intertwines with yours. "It's a deal then."

In spite of whether this deal will last until then, and the heat permeating your cheeks, there's nothing but merriment blooming within your heart.

LEGS SORE AND EXHAUSTED, you plop into your chair, absentmindedly drying your hair while texting. Your feet spin yourself around, as you send a final message to Ness before tossing your phone onto your bed.

You're concerned regarding the project, you ditched the gathering and are quite certain Ness wants you dead and has convinced the rest of the group the same. You've the faintest clue on the overall quality of the assignment, but at least you know you did everything you needed.

You're really pretty too—

It's been hours since you guys bid farewell, Hyoma had a family dinner he had to attend to, while you caught the bus home. You ponder a bit, who exactly was he having dinner with? Just his household? His sister would've definitely been there too, right? What about the food? Are there any foods he doesn't like eating? Or does he eat whatever?

You're an undiscovered flower, one that the world has yet to discover and appreciate the beauty of.

Chigiri Hyoma truly is talented, from his graceful execution of his words to the way your memories with him linger within your mind. It was as if he was a character that was birthed from the pages of a romance novel, particularly with how seriously he spoke those grand words. No wonder he's grown in popularity so much since the beginning of his career. To persist in one's mind must be a gift not many possess.

You shrug it off, flipping through your textbook and opening your exercise one, focusing on your priorities for the time being.

FIFTEEN | MASTERLIST | seventeen

PAIRING. chigiri hyoma x reader

SYNOPSIS. school gets overwhelming with constant rumours and accusations, thankfully someone is willing to help. but what happens when this mutually beneficial agreement escalates into something more?

GENRE. social media au, fake dating, idol / actor au

TAGLIST. @saesins, @punkhazardlaw, @silly-ez, @y-sabell-a, @mellozhi, @luvlunazx, @oldest-dream-pdf, @misfits1a, @hoshithinker, @livelaughloveisagiyoichi, @mave-in, @rinsie, @luvcryo, @fabitheraven, @h3xi2g0n3, @yuzurins, @ch3nyan, @jammiycge, @jocynotcute

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[lalasworld2x]

Confetti - Art the Clown x Reader Imagine

You had asked all of your friends and family that would normally be interested in horror movies if they’d like to join you at the cinemas. It was actually for your birthday, but you didn’t really say that. You even offered to buy them dinner and dessert in a desperate attempt to lock in a date. But it turns out everyone was busy or just weren’t interested… That, and some people lived too far away to even ask.

Ughhh this sucked. You had been waiting for this movie for agessss and you wanted to enjoy the experience with someone else, especially on your birthday. It didn’t really bother you going by yourself, but it just wasn’t going the way you expected and that slightly peeved you. Whatever, time for some self love!

You arrived at the cinema and grabbed your snacks quickly. As soon as you sat down in the theatre, you posted on all your socials just how excited you were, really rubbing it in everyone’s faces. After about fifteen to twenty minutes (you just HAD to be there extra early for the best seats) you realised you were literally the only person in the theatre. The ad reel would be starting in a minute, maybe they’re all about to enter? Or maybe someone was just laying down for the moment? If you were truly the only person sitting here then that would feel a little embarrassing… but oh well, nobody needs to know.

Fifteen minutes worth of ads passed by slowly and by the end, you were DEFINITELY the only person sitting there… in that entire theatre…

~~~

The movie was absolutely awesome. You LOVED it. Like beyond love. But the entire time, you had this sinking feeling deep in your chest. As if you were being watched, there was a dark aura in this cinema that only occurred to you half way through the movie. You hadn’t seen or heard anyone entire, must have just been your imagination..

The end credits rolled past and there was no special feature at the end. You stood up and stretched your arms wide with a gleeful grin pressed on your lips. As you turned to exit, a white spot behind you caught your eyes. You jumped back and screamed as Art the Clown stood in front of you now, towering over you from the row of seats behind your own. You scrambled to your feet and dodged the stairs and seats, sprinting for the exit. As you turned the dark corner, he appeared again just in front of the door. You took a double glance back into the theatre in terror - was he not just up there? No time to think, just run. You tried to sprint and dodge past him but he snatched your arm and swung you back.

You gulped. This was the end. Definitely the end. He leaned over, his hand pressed into the wall next to your head. You shut your eyes tightly and hoped this was just a nightmare. A surge of power shot through you and you kicked with all your might, kicking him into the adjacent wall and running for your life outta there.

In a flash of darkness, a massive rubbish bag was secured over the upper half of your body. You skidded to a halt in confusion and were immediately swept up into someone’s arms. Obviously it was Art’s… After a tremendous amount of struggling and screaming and fighting, you gave up, finally understanding this was the end.

~~~

It felt like hours before the bag was ripped away and your vision was able to start adjusting again. You were sat in an uncomfortable chair in a disgusting basement. Candles filled the space, surprisingly creating enough light to feel like early morning hours, even without windows. There were broken down cars, random bits of housing and furniture strewn across the floor, cobwebs galore, and the chattering of birds and rats could be heard.

In front of you was a mini dining table with many candles sitting around a large pink cake. The candles were scented your favourite smell. The cake had the words “Happy Birthday!!!” written on it with little balloons and hearts scribbled in as well.

Heels clicked towards you and out from the darkness emerged Art the Clown. Tears bubbled at your eyes as you couldn’t figure out what to do. Do you scream for help and run away? Do you sit and play along with his game and maybe he’ll spare you? Do you just wait for your inevitable demise?

He grinned at you almost loudly, tilting his head dramatically. He whipped his hands down in front of him, gesturing at the cake. He inched closer, pausing every time you flinched. He would rock back and forth, making extreme facial expressions, pretending to laugh. Eventually he got close enough to pull the second chair out sitting opposite to you and take a seat. He folded one leg over the over and rested his elbows on the table, looking like a smug princess. You stared at him, too horrified to really process whatever the hell was going on.

Soon enough he got bored of waiting for you to do something and picked up the large knife that laid next to the cake. He cut a slice and spun the cake around to face to slide to you. You stared at the cake with no emotion. It was probably spiked anyways. He raised his already tall eyebrows and grinned wider, his hollowed cheeks looking full for just a split second. That small split of an expression was almost adorable, but you couldn’t figure out why.

“I don’t have a fork or spoon,” you spoke plainly. He shrugged his shoulders high, then scooped a handful of cake and shovelled it into his large mouth. He continued to do this until the icing on the cake was starting to melt. Fuck it, why not join him? You were going to die anyways, may as well enjoy cake while you’re at it.

The both of you sat and ate cake for what felt like hours until you were full. He ate most of it, rubbing his stomach and licking his lips as soon as the plate was empty. Somehow this helped calm you down. Maybe now you had just accepted your fate rather than fear the worst.

He stood up quickly and waltzed to your side. He got down on one knee and held a hand out for you to take. His glove was disgusting and his finger tips weren’t much cleaner. Who knows what the hell his hands have been… Oh well, anything to appease him and make you death any less painful. You placed your hand in his own and he stood up at the speed of light. He pulled you to the middle of whatever room you were in and twirled you around. He tried to get you to box dance with him and dip you backwards. The whole scenario was incredibly awkward and embarrassing, but who was there to judge you? You have been kidnapped by THE Art the Clown and you were getting off lucky, just dancing around and eating cake with him. When he finally realised you weren’t entertained, he decided to pull out his black bag again.

Juggling pins, fire swords, a harmonica, a light saber - it seemed like he had every form of performance tucked away in that rubbish bag. He was doing all of this just to see you crack a smile and you couldn’t figure out why. Why did he spare you for so long? Why did he want you to smile? Was he trying to give you false hope?

It didn’t take him long to realise none of this was working either. You were too numb to even pretend to be happy. His shoulders slumped and his black mouth paint formed a long frown. Oh god, had you upset him? Was he finally deciding to just kill you now?

He reached behind him in a dark corner and pulled out a small box. He handed it to you and slipped a party whistle into his mouth. He snatched the mini top hat off his head and replaced it with a black and white party hat. This confused the shit out of you. Seriously, how did he know it was your birthday?

You glared down at the small box covered in bright wrapping paper placed in your hands. It was probably a little bomb. As soon as you would open it, it would explode and destroy the whole building, obviously taking you with it. Oh well, at least it’s a quick and easy death to deal with…

You hesitantly punched the lid of the box, hands shaking relentlessly, and pulled it off with a small ‘pop’ sound. Instead of a bomb, confetti burst out and slammed you in the face. Cute sparkles and bits of paper sprinkled everywhere, glitter covering your front. He clapped his hands loudly, swinging here and there, silently laughing big belly laughs. Inside the box was a gorgeous necklace, shining bright iridescent colours in the little light that filtered the room.

His grimy hands came into your eye sight as he pinched the necklace up and stood behind you, placing the jewellery around your neck and clipping it together. His hands were cold and rough as they grazed the nape of your neck. You looked at the beautiful charmed attached to the jewellery and it reminded you of home, filling you with a warm feeling. Whether this home represented the one that you came from or the one you wish you did, that only mattered to you.

Art rested his chin on your shoulder, raising an eyebrow and smiling wide. This whole time, you couldn’t help but realise Art was the only person that remembered and celebrated your birthday. This realisation was both cruel and comforting. Maybe this situation wasn’t so bad after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Masterlist

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 13 - team as family

Warnings: depression

Word Count: 1.8k (gif not mine)

Summary: Maria and Clint chat about what happened in the mission with Natasha.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

“Clint open the fucking door,” Maria groans.

“I have coffee, the good kind.”

She holds it up like he’s able to see through walls, but she hopes at the very least the wafting smell of the coffee will permeate the door.

“Come on,” she groans, “don’t make me pick the lock. Remember what happened last time? The locksmith didn’t come for a week.”

She waits, hopeful he’s going to come, and that she won’t find him still asleep, naked, as she had so many times before.

“You have thirty seconds, then I’m coming in,” she tells the door.

The takeaway she holds in one hand, moves to the other, as she prepares to find the key he gave her. She’s sure it’s somewhere in her wallet.

It takes another minute before she finds it, but as she goes to put it in, the door opens.

“Were you just waiting until I found the key?” she asks, annoyed, pushing the food into him.

He takes it and doesn’t say anything, letting her close the door behind them.

“Clint, it stinks in here, have you ever thought of opening a window?”

He shrugs, and she opens one without awaiting permission, the heavy smell of sweat and humidity surrounding them.

Clint takes the coffee first, the. opens the food, and pulls out a hash brown, eating it quickly before opening the pancakes she knows he likes.

Even if he doesn’t eat anything else, she knows he’ll eat those.

“Want some?” he asks, mouth full, holding up a folded pancake dripping in syrup.

She shakes her head absentmindedly, looking around at the mess of his apartment.

Maria loves her friend. She wonders sometimes, what he could have aspired to if not for all the childhood trauma.

His intelligence was off the chart, only let down by things he had no experience in, and though she’d seen him do calculations in his head that would baffle half of shield, he couldn’t work out how to keep his apartment in order.

“It’s a different skill,” Clint mumbles, still working his way through the pancake, reading her mind.

“I do what I can when I can.”

She rolls up her sleeves, and starts with the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells her, a look of embarrassment and guilt on his face.

“No, I know, do you care?”

Clint shrugs and turns his attention back to the food.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

Maria nods.

“What am I talking about, you’ve been up since 5, right?”

Finding a clean sponge, she fills the sink with soapy water and starts to dunk the dishes in.

Dumping rubbish in a garbage bag, she throws it to Clint, and gestures around.

“You do that,” she orders.

“We have some things to talk about.”

Glancing at the time, 10:10, Maria lets Clint order himself, then get showered and changed whilst she finishes the kitchen.

Feeling better that he’s not living in a mess, she waits on his couch, and turns on the television, switching until she’s finds some cartoons; not wanting to see the news that shows such a watered down version of the world.

She waits and pulls out the mission report he’d written, the death of Oleg and the return journey home where Natasha had not talked at all, had her worried.

She re-reads the report, wondering what Clint had omitted.

“There’s a mole in shield.”

His voice is serious.

Tired eyes look at her as he towel dries his hair, taking another sip of his coffee, and sits next to her.

“There’s a mole in shield, and I think we’ve been suspecting it for a while but I’ve never had anything concrete. After the mission,” he gestures to the papers, “when he was dead and we were on his way back, Natasha said that he knew about Budapest, she said that he said that “they’re all the same master”. Natasha hasn’t talked in a couple of days, not since we’ve returned.”

Maria nods.

“You have the mission debrief and the earbuds on record too right?”

Clint nods and looks around. He had to hand them in, all the things that Oleg had said, and Natasha’s responses were all recorded.

“I know, there’s a mole in shield and I think it’s Thompson.”

Maria stands staring at him.

“Clint, that’s the director you’re talking about,” she warns.

“I know, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

He passes her the bag of rubbish, and she puts it in the bin.

“Thanks,” he nods, looking at the kitchen.

“Clint, the director can’t be dirty. He’s… the director. If we don’t trust him…”

“Then who can we trust?” Clint finishes, looking at Maria, his face serious.

“Yeah,” she sighs.

Opening the folder, she sighs.

“Talk me through it.”

.

Coulson stares at both of them.

“Thompson.”

“Sir,” Clint starts.

“We have some evidence,” Maria says at the same time.

He puts his hand up.

“Do you trust Fury to be here?”

Clint looks at Maria.

“I think so,” he shrugs.

“Fine.”

It takes a minute for Fury to come in. His eye stares at them, the never unfurling frown seems to deepen as Clint hands him the documents and Maria talks him through the evidence.

“And Natasha, how does she fit in?”

Clint doesn’t know how to answer, feeling guilt that he hadn’t seen her in three days.

“We think he put a hit on her, so that this information couldn’t be found out.”

“Do you think she’s still in danger?”

Clint nods.

“There’s a new recruit, Sharon, she’s been helping, she seems to know about the goings on of the basement. She’s been keeping us updated when she can of people trying to get downstairs when… they shouldn’t.”

“How many?”

“You’ve been putting them on assignment,” Clint says, chagrinned.

Fury’s frown deepens.

“About one a month, but it’s stopped the last month, we aren’t sure why.”

“Thompson.”

The statement seems to be filled with anger.

“What now?” Clint asks.

Coulson looks to Fury.

“World Security Council?”

Fury shakes his head.

“We don’t have enough.”

“Olivia set it up to prove that Natasha was loyal,” he says, thinking out loud.

“Get her.”

Maria leaves straight away.

It takes another twenty minutes before they return.

Olivia looks as she always does, even faced.

“How did you know?” Fury asks.

“That the head of shield was dirty?”

“He’s had an interest in Natasha, and I couldn’t understand why. I think he wanted to know how deep her information ran. He let it go, for a time, used the documentation that I had and your debriefs,” she nods at Clint and Maria.

“I had questions, he couldn’t answer them.”

“So i did my own research.”

Olivia sits, the only one to do so.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” Fury starts, “I’ll take the informations to the WSC but it may just backfire on us. He may still try and go after Natasha, not for information, but to stop her from telling us what she knows, to reduce the fallout.”

Olivia nods.

“I can send a lot of those I think are dirty, don’t post them with her.”

Clint feels it’s lucky to have a former widow on their side. He wants Natasha to have the same opportunities.

He can feel change in the air.

He doesn’t like it.

Maria leaves first, her face one of hard lines.

Coulson next, even though it’s his office.

Then Fury.

Finally Olivia is left with Clint.

“You knew, and this was the opportunity to begin this chain of events,” he states.

“Yes.”

His anger swells.

“So you used her as bait, and used her information as evidence.”

“Yes.”

Clint’s face upturns.

“Do you care about her at all?”

Olivia looks at Clint and raises her eyebrows.

“I think the better question is what are your feelings for her.”

Clint doesn’t have an answer for that.

“Why did you leave the handcuffs with her? And your watch?”

Clint looks down at his hands.

“She told me she couldn’t sleep without the handcuffs.”

He looks at her hands, “do you use handcuffs?”

Olivia suppresses a laugh.

“No, not anymore.”

“And the watch?”

“Time is meaningless if you have no way to count it,” he shrugs.

Olivia takes a breath.

“Natasha is the third widow here. Did you know that?”

Clint shakes his head, trying not to look shocked.

“I was the first. Fury was the one that offered me… freedom of a sense. After sentencing, they realised that I was better helping and not locked up. Psychological warfare was.. Is, what I am good at and they knew it. The missions I designed worked better than their own, so they used me where they could. The second girl. Martha. She was… unstable. They thought that she would be like me. Usable. But she was too…”

Olivia leaves the thought hanging.

“She shot herself.”

Clint shifts.

The heaviness of the conversation making him sit.

“I told Fury, that if another widow came, I would be the one to help her. He agreed.”

Olivia closes her eyes for a moment, then, brown eyes fix on Clint.

“She’s not a puppy to be broken in. She is as broken as they come. I don’t think you understand the extent. So I’ll just warn you this once. Proceed with caution Clint. Widows are dangerous to themselves and others.”

Clint doesn’t know what to do with the information.

“Like you,” he retorts.

“Like me, but unlike me, she has years of deprogramming ahead of her. Why do you think we start with debriefing?”

Clint had just thought it was protocol. His stomach drops. He doesn’t want her to die.

“Do you think she’s at risk? Of…”

“Killing herself?”

Olivia ponders the question.

“No, I don’t think so, but it’s not out of the question.”

“More than likely she’s passively suicidal because she doesn’t know what her mission is, her duty is gone, the reason behind her trauma is replaced with something else and that loss can do things to a person.”

Clint doesn’t know what to say. He wants to help and run away at the same time.

“How do I… help?”

Olivia laughs out loud, it’s not unkind.

“Slowly. Are you prepared for that? By setting her free you set in motion a series of events that probably even you can foresee. I think it was a good choice, Clint. I think you are brave in choosing her, but I also think that there are consequences for our actions for our choices. Are you prepared for that?”

Clint wants to say yes, but the hesitation gives him away. He shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly.

“Then I’ll ask you the same question I’ve been asking Natasha. What do you want?”

.

[synthetictorque]

Hi, I’m a housekeeper. I’ve seen plenty of nicely left rooms, and some utter messes that made me almost cry. For the most part, people are super well behaved and I thank you for that.

However, this job is really taxing. I enjoy it, but a lot of housekeepers are usually quite young or they are older, which can be a lot of pressure on them for health and mental reasons. I’ve had to start using braces on occasion.

It’s a difficult job no matter where you go- and one rule I live by is don’t do what I wouldn’t like to clean up. So here are some things you could try to do, and make a hard job a little easier. Please consider re-blogging this so that others can try to help out too!

STRIP LINEN It saves water, but also it saves time for us too if you strip the linen off anything you’ve touched and leave the stuff you haven’t alone. Towels can be reused, but I would leave a note for the housekeeper to alert them.

ROOM CLEANING Most hotels can offer room service, however, in my hotel this can be added on to 10 rooms already. If you don’t need it, please make it known at the front desk or leave a ‘do not disturb’ sign. If you really need it, make sure you move your stuff off what needs cleaning as we cannot touch it.

TIPS Optional, but after cleaning a room with four kids and yogurt in the tea and coffee bowl, it is nice to see a little tip. I personally will take sealed consumable items like soap or once, a whole box of tea. It’s not much, but it has knocked our toiletries cost way down.

BIG BINS If your bins are full, and you know you’re going to have more rubbish, ask for a large bin bag. We have those. You don’t have to break the rubbish bag because you needed to stuff it in.

CUPS, MUGS AND CUTLERY If you have taken food up to your room, if you have a drink from the bar or glass bottles, if you have dirty mugs- consider who has to take those back. If you have time take your things back to where they came from and try to reuse the mugs and cups.

AND FINALLY, KNOW THE CHECKOUT TIME In our hotel, final checkout time is 12. Please go to the front desk even if you have a card box outside your room, and try to be packed and leave as early as you can. I’ve had days where I have 6 rooms, but no one leaves until 12 and I end up working overtime to finish. Check in time is 3 for me, and having guests want rooms while you’re rushing to catch up can make me incredibly stressed.

These aren’t all going to be doable, or present, but please, please PLEASE consider doing one or more of these for us. Any housekeeper will tell you a clean room can make the last bad room seem far away.

Thank you for your consideration and kindness!

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hobie's Boathouse

The S.S Anne Ark

[Headcanon Concept]

Here it is in all it's Grungy Glory. [Mentions of OCs below - Including my girl Disco-Spider Diane]

About Anne Ark:

The S.S Anne Ark is a modified wide-beam canal boat. Completely off-the-grid, and DIY'd by him, it's Hobie's pride and joy. The Anne Ark is three levels tall - a 'ground' floor, and upstairs, and a locked basement below the deck. The Anne Ark has two 'bedrooms' and one 'bathroom'. Hobie's bedroom is what was once the control room, gutted and converted and the second bedroom was once a small equipment space. Hobie has had Anne for four years, and after years of homelessness as a street kid, he happily calls it his forever home.

The Rooms:

The Living Room - [ Read more about Hobie's Living Room HERE ]

Hobie's make-shift art studio/recording booth/library/cat play area, the Living Room is where Hobie spends most of his time. It features his ratty old couch from Tower Hamlets, a ceiling mic for recording, and Hobie's pride and joy - his jukebox.

Hobie's Workshop

To the left of the jukebox is a hallway that leads to Hobie's workshop, and the staircase down to his locked basement.

Hobie's workshop if full of rubbish and metal that he'll tinker away with for hours. In fact, he made every prototype of his watch in that workshop (and there were many prototypes). Despite what one may assume, it's impeccable in there. He also keeps some gear for protests, as well as somethings he's working on for Spider-punk (barbed wire webs anyone?) OCs: Diane hardly goes in there, blessed with organic webs and cursed with technological incompetence. But sometimes he does invite people like Angel and Ale in.

Outdoor Back Deck

The 1st floor Back Deck houses the main parts of the engine. Hobie maintains and upgrades it regularly, trying out things like clean energy, and emission free designs. ________________________________________________

Behind the cat tree in the photo of the living room, there is a staircase that leads up to the second floor. The stairs open to: Hobie's Bedroom

Covered in army green shag carpet and a king size bed, Hobie's bedroom is nowhere near as put together as his workshop. I mean, the guy uses an amp as a nightstand.

There's usually clothes everywhere, thrifted or hand-made, but there's also a set of bean-bag chairs, dozens of posters, and an old busted-up (but working) TV.

His room as a large window facing his bed, what was once the main window of the boat's control room. The second floor stairs open up into his room, with a glass sliding door to the left that leads to the hallway.

Gwen's Bedroom

Gwen's bedroom is barely that - but she still appreciates it more than anything in the world. Hobie understands how important it is to have your own space when housing insecure, so he wanted her to have somewhere cozy, especially know that sometimes Gwen just wants to be alone. Most of Gwen's stuff his here, and she only keeps her clothes at the Society dorms.

The Decks

Front A hot spot Diane is known to throw raging parties after the band plays, and if you're looking for an encore, head down to Floor 1 and look up - Hobie is known to drop the red banner and play a show or two up there. Or night's off, it's a great place to have a smoke. Back The best place to be. During parties, this is dancefloor. Plus, it's a good place for snogging and looking out on the water. When not in party mode, Hobie cooks most of his food on the outdoor stove and grill. Having dinner out while watching the waves. ____________________________________________ The Colors:

Like Hobie, Anne has a whole spectrum of colors - and it's affected by a whole number of things.

Ranging from black and white to full on rainbow (on one rare occasion - now THAT was trippy), Anne Ark changes color the moment Hobie, or someone else, steps on board.

Sometimes, it can even adopt the art style of those inside - running watercolor when Gwen is upset, or going full harsh-shadow when Noir comes aboard.

Every person has a different color, ranging from yellow for people like Percy and Sacha or pink for Angel.

The Cats:

(pictured are Moto (left), and Pierogi (right)) [Read more about The BoatCats HERE] Other cats he has are: Acid & Viper (siblings), Creampuff (named by Diane) _______________________________________________

FAQ:

What's in Hobie's locked basement?

I don't know. He won't tell me. But it's something that means a lot to him. The basement spans the entirety of the lower-level of the boat.

How many cats does Hobie own?

If you ask, he'll say he doesn't own any. They're free to come and go as they please, and none of them have collars. All of his cats are adopted street cats - either too old, or too weak, or those who just wanted to live with him.

But if you ask Diane, she'll say 5. He's been mentioning bringing aboard a 6th.

Does Diane live on the houseboat?

No. Diane has her own Barbie Dreamhouse - a.k.a an all pink apartment back home in 1294's Harlem. She divides most of her time either there, or at the Black Panther Chapter House she was raised in a block or two away. She rarely stays with Hobie (maybe once or twice a month), and since Hobie messes up her throw pillows and always takes something from her closet, he hardly stays with her either.

Does Gwen live on the houseboat?

Mostly, yes. She has a dorm back at Society, and she sleeps there about 3 days a week. But the rest (including all weekends) is at the houseboat. Does Hobie sail/fish?

Yes, he does both.

What are Hobie's favorite colors?

He hates consistency. But Green, Pink, and Orange.

____________________________________

Yeahhhhh so that's the houseboat. Whenever I mention Diane being on the boat, it's this I'm seeing :) And I just added in the favorite colors thing because why not

Welcome to my incredibly detailed mind palace of Hobie's house boat that does even look anything like the actual concept art lol

Stay as long as you like. Take your shoes off, make yourself comfortable. Hobie's grilling out back and Diane's making the Kool-Aid (sweet as hell for no reason smh).

Now per usual, take this photo of Hobie, and if the police ask about a boat or sumn tell em u aint seen shit ok

Bye.

_______________________ OCs mentioned:

Disco-Spider Diane @mothmothmothmothmothmoth 's Sacha

@thewolfsoul 's Percy

@onmyownside1 's Angel

@spidey-bie 's Ansi

@suchholydebauchery 's Asa

anon's Alejandro

(i think that all I mentioned lol)

[dracoxsworld]

ARRANGED - “Take care of you” - Draco M. X Reader - PART 6

Draco was very busy the next couple of days. He went off looking for a new house for you both to live in. He insisted you be apart of the process, but you wanted to stay home instead. The idea of you living on your own officially slightly stressed you out.

You had always been provided things you needed; not that you doubted Draco couldn’t/wouldn’t provide for you, but things would be a lot more different now. Your mind was still mixed up after all that had happened; you’ve felt completely left behind in life, you felt like you were a background character in your own movie.

You and Draco got rid of all of the things that reminded you of Nicholas. Including a Daily Prophet snippet:

The Daily Prophet

Nicholas Heckons, a past lover of Y/N Malfoy speaks out against her current husband, Draco Malfoy. He claims she’s “brainwashed” and “manipulated”.

He also claims Malfoy is “violent” and “short-tempered” also very controlling of Y/N. Here’s the latest word.

“I feel bad for them both really, Y/N, stupid and naive. Draco will have to get used to that soon, really,” Nicholas Heckons stated to our press.

“I suppose they’re each others perfect match, I’ve tried to convince Y/N that Draco is a load of rubbish, but of course, she cheated on me with him. I wouldn’t expect her to listen to me.” claimed Heckons.

Well there you have it, folks. Are Draco and Y/N a match made in Heaven; or Hell?

“Bloody Git.” Draco mumbled to himself, trashing the magical moving newspaper into a trash bag.

“Don’t sweat it. He’s probably embarrassed.” You shrugged, tossing an old Quidditch jersey of Nicholas’. "It's bullshit. He's a load of bullshit." Draco swore. You walked over to him, crouching to his level, as he was sitting on the floor. You ran your hands through his hair, and smiled at him.

All the anger seemed to slip away from him, he smiled, too.

"You never told me if you found a new house," You stated to Draco. His eyes lit up again, and he took your hand and stood up, pulling you up with him. "I wanted to show you, Y/N. I know you say this stuff causes some stress, but I found one I've fallen in love with, I just want you to be in love with it, too." Draco confessed. You took a deep breath, and looked at him. You nodded. "Well, let's see."

Draco's hands quickly shot down to your waist, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, "Dray!" You gasped from surprise. You could hear his charming laughter. He walked with you over his shoulder to the bedroom door, where he set you down. He motioned for you to go out to the hallway of the manor, you both walked down the stairs and out to the entryway.

One of the employees of Lucius’ stops you both. His dark smile creeps on his pale boney face. “And where will you two be off to?” He croaks.

“We’re looking at the home I’ve picked.” Draco said sternly.

"How do I know you and this blood traitor aren't planning another escape?" The guard asked.

"Are you using your brain? Father has told you all to back off, we've gained his trust," Draco scoffed. The guard balled his fists in anger. "Now, do we have a problem, or do I need to get my father?"

The guard rolled his eyes, and stepped aside. "I am keeping my eye on you, Malfoy."

"That's Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy to you." Draco spat, as he took your hand and drag out out the front door. You finally could take a deep breath.

"That son of a bitch. We've travelled without guards before, what the hell was he thinking?" Draco huffed. "I'm not sure Dray," You sighed. Draco smiled down at you as you walked towards the Manor's extravagant gate. "I love it when you call me that."

You and Draco had apparated to the new home he had picked. It was gorgeous, made entirely out of brick, just like the Malfoy Manor. There was a tall, dark green fence surrounding the home, a large front yard, perfect to decorate with lush landscape, like large trees and bushes. You assumed there'd be a large backyard as well, you already dreamed of having a perfect garden, like Narcissa's. Draco could have all the flowers he wanted.

"What do you think?" Draco asked, smirking down at you, admiring the view as well. "Draco, it's- it's perfect." You voiced. "I mean, we could really build a life here, what did your father think?"

Draco shrugged, his hands in his pockets, looking at the greying-clouds. It smelled like rain. "He didn't react much, I am not even sure why he accompanies me." He admitted. You looked up at him, with affection in your eyes. Draco had clearly lacked a healthy father figure; and he's coming to terms with it and unfortunately, dealing with the aftermath.

When you're a kid, you tend to not notice things you are missing in your childhood. Thing's that are essential, almost nourishing for your growth emotionally. Draco was thrown to be in the Dark Lord's army at such a young age; even before that, forced under beliefs that might've not been his natural and true mindset. These were things you wished you'd realized before. He has a thick wall surrounding him; as thick and protective as it might seem, it didn't take much for it to melt away like ice. His silver eyes were glassy, he seemed stressed. You were hoping moving into your own home; just you and him may help his uneasiness.

"He may just miss having you around," You alluded; not sounding entirely truthful. Draco scoffed. You bit your bottom lip, but he laughed light heartedly. You laughed too, to avoid awkwardness.

"Unfortunately, a family is still moving out, we can't see the inside." Draco said gloomily. You could tell he cherished this home; and you did as well. It was just a waiting game. "Shall we go back to the Manor?" He proposed. You smiled and interlinked your arm in his and nodded. You both apparated back to the Manor.

-

You both walked into the Manor from door to find Lucius and Narcissa talking. They seemed very grave. Lucius looked at you and Draco, with a destructive look in his eyes. "Father." Draco greeted without emotion. "Draco. I've heard from one of my guards you have some sort of, oh; what should I say, Narcissa? Attitude problem?" Lucius recollected. Draco inhaled. "He is the one who gave us a problem." You spoke up. Draco's head snapped in your direction, his arm guided you to be behind him. You reluctantly obliged.

"Bark and no bite, Ms. Y/N?" Lucius chuckled mockingly. "Y/N is speaking the truth, father." Draco stated. His ears were turning red, and a vein in his neck that always pops when he's angry was visible.

"That guard was being a pain in the ass, accusing us of planning an escape!"

"I don't care what he was fucking saying, you must learn respect, Draco!" Lucius' voiced echoed off of the Manor walls. Draco flinched, Narcissa winced at the noise level of his voice, looking empathetic towards Draco and I.

Lucius stayed quiet for a moment. He inhaled a deep breath. "I clearly need to rethink you both leaving the Manor. You clearly aren't ready." Lucius voiced, turning away from you and Draco, facing the fireplace.

"What the hell? You can't keep us here forever. We are not your prisoners." I blurt out. Lucius swiftly turns to my direction and draws his wand, pointing it towards me. "You! You are the one who was venomous to my son's mind!." You drew your wand out as well, but Lucius performed an Expelliarmus charm, disarming you. You gulped and backed up, Draco immediately jumped in front of you, guarding you.

"That is enough!" Draco bellowed, his hand tightly wrapped around the base of his wand. Sparks flew out of Lucius' wand, you immediately recognized that it was the crucio curse.

"Protego totalum!" Draco cried, and blocked the curse.

"Lucius he is your son!" Narcissa bawled, throwing her body onto his arm. He looked down at his desperate lover, begging him to stop the violence against their own blood.

"I wasn't aiming for him, Narcissa."

Lucius lurched towards you and Draco. Draco's eyes were dark, looking up at his father. Lucius promptly shoved him out of the way, Draco toppled onto the floor.

"Draco!" You screamed, reaching out for him, but Lucius grabbed you by the base of your neck, pulling you towards him.

"Crucio!" Exclaimed Lucius, his wand pointing towards you.

"Y/N!" Draco yelled, but it was too late.

It felt like electricity was shooting through your body; you felt like you were on fire, as if a firework had been set off inside of your body. Traveling through each limb, making it excruciatingly painful. Your body jolted to the floor. You tried to scream and bellow in pain; but you couldn't. Your body folded onto itself.

"You son of a bitch!" Draco yelled again, he ran towards you, Lucius had his wand pointed towards him. "Leave her!" He began to say another spell until Narcissa's voice rang across the room, "Petrificus Totalus!"

You flinched, expecting you to be paralyzed, and unable to defend yourself, on top of being in this amount of intense pain, but you heard a large thump to the floor.

You felt so frail, you could barely lift your head up off of the floor, only to see Lucius completely paralyzed.

Narcissa was still from the casting position she was in previously, trying to catch her breath.

"He needs.... He needs time children, please go up to your room. Y/N, dear, are you okay?" She said, all in-between long, slow breaths.

"I don't know.." You admitted honestly.

“Draco, I will take care of you father here, please take care of Y/N.” Narcissa waved you both off.

Draco lifted you off of the floor, bridal style. You instantly cling to him. You look up and see a tear rolling down his cheek. A bruise was forming on his face from where he had hit the floor. “Draco, your face,” You said softly, your hand landing in his bruised cheek bone. “I am the least of my worries, Y/N. Especially right now.” Draco replied. His grip on your tightened. You arrived to your bedroom. Draco gently placed you on the bed.

He quickly went to his dresser, rummaging through what sounded like glass bottles. Draco finally found a small bottle containing a thin, red liquid. He handed it to you. You were still weak, and slowly raised your hand up to grab it.

“What is this?” You asked with a rasp to your voice.

“Wiggenweld.” Draco said, he seemed uptight. “A healing potion.” He added. You nodded and popped off the cork. You brought the bottle to your lips and downed the potion. A warm, numbing feeling went over you; then the numbing had gone away. Your pain was gone, you were no longer weak.

“I feel so much better, thank you.” You bummed to the platinum boy.

Draco seemed to be spaced out. He wasn’t facing towards you, he was instead looking outside of his window.

“It shouldn’t have even happened.” Draco stressed. “I should’ve been to take the curse.”

You shook your head. “Dray, I’m fine.” you had insisted, getting up from the bed, spinning around slowly to show him you’re safe. Draco stepped towards you, and placed his hands on your waist. His silver eyes meet yours. You’re unable to speak, like you’re in a trance.

“Your protection is my responsibility,” Draco began. “From now on, I promise I will protect you, but now I need to take care of you.” His voice was low, it was in a tone you’d never heard before.

“I need you to take care of me, Dray.” You say seductively. Your hands land on his chest, his hand remain on your sides, but are now slowly running up and down.

He looked at your eyes, then your lips. He held you closer to him, tightening his grip. You smiled up at him and stood up on your tip toes and connected your lips to his. It wasn’t quick, and simple like the ones you’ve had in the past. It was slow, and sensual. Draco was hungry for you, his teeth grazed your bottom lip, making you gasped lightly. He took this as an opportunity to slip his tongue toward yours. He backed up up onto the bed again.

You felt goosebumps on every inch of your body. Draco hovered over you.

“Let me take care of you.”

[zablife]

Birthday Gift

John Shelby x Y/N Solomons

Summary: John celebrates his birthday with his bestie, but things don't go to plan.

Author's Note: Part of my Partners in Crime series about John and his problematic bestie Y/N Solomons. Ty to @dreamlandcreations for this idea!

Warnings: language, drinking

“Where have you been? Party started at eight. It’s gone ten,” John stated as he saw the top of your head weaving through the crowd gathered at the Garrison to celebrate his birthday.

“Take a butchers at this, you ungrateful arse!” you shouted above the din of the crowd. As the people standing in front of you parted to make way for the enormous tray you carried, John was finally able to see you head on, noticing something that vaguely resembled a triple layer chocolate cake. However, it was so unstable, it teetered precariously in your small hands and John’s eyes widened as it swayed before him.

“Would you Adam and Eve it?” you said with a wide grin, your pride swelling as you offered your gift.

“I can, it looks bloody awful!” he said with a boisterous laugh, fueled by the drinks he’d consumed in the hours before your arrival.

Arthur turned from the bar and poked his head over John’s shoulder, knitting his brows together and squinting his eyes which swam in their sockets from his own indulgement as he asked, “What’s this, eh?”

“You having a bubble? What the bloody hell do you think it is?” you asked, incredulously.

“Looks like a pile of dog shit,” Arthur mumbled into John’s ear, making them both erupt into drunken laughter, whisky splashing onto the floor as John gripped his brother’s arm to keep from falling over.

You stamped your foot and pursed your lips together, unamused by their buffoonery. “I spent five fucking hours on this!” you huffed, blowing hair out of your face from the corner of your mouth as both hands were occupied. Looking down at the increasingly heavy monstrosity you held and back up at your friend you wondered why you had bothered when this was the thanks you received. “Bloody shame is what it is,” you whined.

“That you dropped it?” John asked, voice dipping into a low and serious register all of a sudden. He scratched his ear, considering how the pathetic looking confection seemed to have fallen from a great height and been crammed back together hastily with fistfuls of icing. He waited anxiously for you to explain as your face grew ten shades of red.

“Dr-dropped it?” you stuttered, temper rising in your throat as you thought of all the time you’d spent in Alfie’s kitchen, covered in flour, pressed up against his disgusting, foul smelling workmen. Your hands were still cramped from holding the icing bag used to decorate it in tiny rosettes the way you’d been shown. It might not be the most beautiful creation you’d ever seen, but you were still quite proud of it.

“Yea…cos it’s leanin’, see?” John pointed as he cocked his head to to the side, attempting to view the cake as it might appear right side up. “And this whole side is pretty much….well, it’s gone, love,” he commented, gesturing toward the left top tier which was missing a large chunk. Your mouth hung open in speechless horror as you realized it had fallen off somewhere along the way, probably food for the rats in the streets by now.

At that moment, Finn walked up, studying you and the unfortunate mess you held in your hands. “Y/n! Is that food? I’m starving!” he drunkenly yelled, lunging for the cake.

Before he made it to you, Isaiah pulled him back by the elbow warning, “Careful, mate. Probably came out Alfie’s bins by the look of it.” Then turning to you with a cheeky grin, he asked “Is that why they call you alley cat, darlin’? That lovely little tail of yours been digging through the rubbish for scraps? Hope it’s not poisoned!” he chuckled.

“Alright, that’s enough!” John intervened, straightening himself. It was alright for him to make jokes, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to wound your pride. “It might look a bit dodgy, but I’m sure it tastes…well, better than it looks,” he gulped, eyeing you and the cake wearily, knowing he’d have to try it now.

You felt the tips of your ears burning as your rage boiled over, vocal chords thrumming as you screamed, “Would you stop rabbiting on about the bloody give and take!” Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, mostly due to exhaustion.

Finn stood motionless, glancing at John in panic. He shuffled forward, placing a hand on your shoulder as he assured you in a meek voice, “I can’t wait to try it.” He gave you a weak smile before stepping away, deathly afraid of the murderous glint in your eye.

“What are you drinking, alley cat?” John asked, attempting to appease you.

“Drop of needle and pin,” you answered, allowing the distraction as you looked around for a place to rest the cake.

As he rejoined the conversation, Arthur asked in confusion, “She gonna sew the fucking thing back together?”, a hiss escaping from between his teeth as he found amusement in his own joke.

“You’re brown bread, you hear me?” you threatened, gritting your teeth together tightly. You’d had nearly all you could take of relentless taunts for one night.

“So long as you ain’t the one bakin' it, sweetheart,” he replied with a wicked grin, raising his glass in a sarcastic toast.

That was all it took for you to snap, fingers raising the edges of the hefty tray as you grunted under the weight. 

“Oh, fuck!” Finn called out, but you were already launching the cake through the air toward Arthur. Even in his state of inebriation, the tall, lanky man managed to duck the flying pastry, his boxing reflexes serving him well.

However, the cake found an unanticipated target as John turned from the bar at that moment with your gin in one hand and a fresh pint of beer in the other. Unable to defend himself, the confection hit him squarely in the face, the weight of it nearly bowling him over in the process. The drinks sloshed out toward you, soaking your new dress in alcohol and you gasped at the feeling of cool liquid running down your cleavage. The room seemed to quiet for a few seconds afterward as John turned to place the empty glasses on the bar and wiped his face with a handkerchief. 

“Y/n?” he called out to you through a mouthful of icing. You didn’t reply, frozen in place with your hands to your face in genuine shock over your outburst. Then the laughter began, a silent shudder against your ribs at first as you attempted to hold it in and then an undignified snort as your amusement grew for the entire pub to hear. 

“You fucking laughing at my brother?” Arthur asked, picking up a handful of sponge and tossing it at your dress, ruining it further.

“You prick!” you yelled and grabbed a handful yourself, attempting to hit Arthur in the face. However, you missed and pummeled his chest, smearing his new tie with hideous brown streaks. As his face contorted in anger, Finn attempted to pull you away, but Arthur was already charging at you with the ferocity of a bull. Although John tried to hold him back, he only succeeded in slipping and sliding in the chocolate icing with his brother, landing on the hard wood floor with a thud.

Soon everyone was covered in unappetizing shades of brown, a sickeningly sweet smell permeating your nostrils as you threw chunks of cake at one another. You took pleasure smooshing a large portion into Isaiah’s face as you asked, “Enjoying the rubbish, darling?” And you couldn’t stop giggling as you noticed an overly intoxicated Finn licking his fingers greedily behind a chair. At least someone is enjoying my efforts, you thought. 

The shouting had long since turned to peels of laughter as the fight devolved into happy chaos. Even Arthur began to smile, until a distant voice began yelling over the crowd in sharp authority.

“Oi! What the fuck is going on?” Your head snapped up to see Tommy standing over all you. He watched you rolling in what looked to be mud as he picked at the bottom of one of his pristine leather shoes with disgust. 

“Tommy, I thought you were in London tonight,” John coughed out, attempting to shake crumbs from his hands. His face looked like that of a naughty child and he quickly averted his eyes, ashamed of his untidy appearance in contrast to his brother’s spotless three piece suit.

“We was celebrating John boy’s birthday,” Arthur added, attempting to stand, shoes skittering to one side as he clutched for the edge of the bar to remain upright. As he tried to smooth his hair back, you hiccuped out a little laugh.

“Y/n Solomons, might have known you’d be here,” Tommy mumbled through clenched jaw, disapproval evident, before announcing, “Everyone out of my fucking pub!” Chairs squealed and feet shuffled as partygoers who had been cheering and laughing moments earlier turned silent, no one wishing to incur the wrath of Tommy Shelby as they exited with haste. 

“Sorry, Tommy,” Isaiah mumbled, his ever present grin permanently faded as he fetched a mop and bucket. As the junior peaky boys began to clean, shooting daggers at you through their eyes, you realized the night had officially ended.

John leaned against the wall outside the Garrison, blowing smoke rings up toward the heavens in the peaceful silence of the evening. Cigar finished and stamped out on the cobblestones, he shoved his hands in his pockets, bouncing on the heels of his feet to keep warm. As he looked over at your disheveled figure, he laughed, “That was some birthday, alley cat. Haven’t had that much fun since I was kid.”

“Is that a thank you, I hear, Barney?” you asked, stamping out your cigarette with the heel of your boot. 

“Yeah, spose it is,” he chuckled. “Tommy’s face was a picture though,” he said, shoulders shaking as he laughed.

“Think he’ll tell Alfie?” you asked.

“No!” he snorted, indignantly. “Who cares about a mess in Tommy's pub?” John asked with a wave of his hand.

“Not the cake, you stupid git, THAT!” you said with a flourish, pointing to the brand new Triumph parked at the corner. 

“Alley cat, what have you done?” John asked, noticing the motorcycle for the first time that night.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, eyes as big as saucers.

“All yours, my love,” you said with a nod.

“No!” John gasped, running toward it and jumping on the seat with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

“Yes!” you squealed, following him. “Just don’t drive it round London,” you said, biting your lip nervously. 

John looked over his shoulder at you with furrowed brow, “Alley cat…” he began in a warning tone, knowing full well how you'd come into possession of the bike.

“Don’t ask,” you cut him off, holding up your hand.

He burst into laughter as you asked, “Does this make up for the birthday cake?”

“Yea, I’d say so!” he replied, stroking the handlebars lovingly.

“Good, then I never want to hear another word about my baking as long as I live!” you replied with a satisfied smirk. 

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

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