#Yeah he becomes like near world record at holding his breath (he had to encourage his babies hunting behavior

[poisoned-pearls]

Hi does the florid family do cuddle piles yes or yes /lh

riddle is an unwilling victim in them. He could be chilling and the coordinated ATTACK by the three of them. If they’re visiting treyjade (who have access to a beach- think the ponyo house) he gets absolutely TACKLED in the water. Riddle became very good at holding his breath after this

[connordavidscamera]

Slow Burning Love | Connor Brashier

A/n: okay this is literally from March and I don’t even remember writing this, but I’m a sucker for friends to lovers so this is what we’ve got.

Summary: Everyone knows that Connor and y/n are more than friends. It’s time they admitted it to themselves

Warnings: fluff, alludes to smut

Word count: 2.5k

***

It’s a familiar thing. Maybe not for everyone, but it’s familiar for me. You know, when you’re in between with someone. You’re not quite a couple, but you’re not just friends. But you don’t want to put a label on it because that gives it the opportunity to be bad. The opportunity to end. So it’s easier to just not think of it as a relationship. Even if you are technically, maybe, kinda, not really seeing each other. Seeing each other and no one else. But you’re not exclusive.

Yeah, that’s what Connor and I have been dealing with for I’d say about six years now. Since we were fourteen years old, and he was dared to kiss me in a god awful game of truth or dare that neither of us wanted to play. But we were pushed into the room with six of our other friends who were far too excited to see us kiss. It was a first for both of us. And I don’t know how it worked, but from there it was kind of an unwritten rule. I was his and he was mine, but we weren’t each other’s. It made absolutely no sense and it still doesn’t, if I’m being quite honest. 

We’ve hooked up a couple handfuls of times. And I can admit that I’ve only had sex with one other guy besides him. It was a one night stand sometime during my first semester of college. The guy only lasted about five minutes and I was forced to get myself off after he left. Connor took every opportunity to make fun of the incident, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it’s because he’s proud. Proud that he’s the only guy to have ever gotten me off. (Four times in one night, during one of our particularly needy fucking sessions.) But since we’ve only had sex five - okay, twelve, but who’s counting? - times, you can’t exactly call us fuck buddies because it isn’t a normal enough occurrence. We’re friends. Best friends. Best friends who have really enjoyed hearing our names slip from the other’s lips in a state of bliss. 

“I think your hair’s brushed now,” Connor says, coming into view behind me. I set my brush on the counter and smile sheepishly. 

“Just wanted to make sure.”

He nods. “I like the dress. But it’s getting a little chilly out.”

“Well then my best friend will give me his jacket, won’t he?” I tease, splitting my hair into three parts so I can braid it messily. 

“Who said I was bringing one?”

I roll my eyes, “You always have one in your backseat. Except for the one time where you had, gasp, two!”

He chuckles and bumps my hip with his, taking up the other half of my mirror to fix his messy hair. “What do you think? Do I look sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and I can’t help but laugh. 

“Always,” I answer because it’s true. “Which perfume?” I tilt my chin toward my small area of perfumes on the corner of the counter. 

“Which one smells like vanilla?”

“They all kinda smell like vanilla,” I tell him. 

“No, it’s like a dark vanilla. It’s kinda seductive.”

I laugh. Seductive vanilla? What is this boy on tonight? “Black bottle,” I say, because even with his horrible description, I know exactly which one he’s talking about. I’ve become well versed in Connor speak over our sixteen years of friendship. 

He reaches for it and pops the cap off, taking a sniff from the spritzer. He nods approvingly, “That’s the one.”

I tie the elastic around the end of my braid and take the bottle from his hand. Spraying myself a couple times. “Is that enough?”

He places his hands on my hips and inhales behind my ear, his eyes closed. If I’m not mistaken, I think I hear a groan escape the back of his throat. “Perfect.” He pulls away and leans back against the wall. “Are we going in your car or mine?”

I shrug, “Doesn’t matter. You’re driving either way.”

“We’ll take mine then. You almost ready?”

“I just need my shoes.” I slip past him and skip to my closet. “You said it was gonna get cold?” I yell from my spot, not realizing that he followed me into my room and is now laying on my bed, phone in his hands. “Yeah. Little bit. So I wouldn’t wear sandals.”

“Pink low tops?” I ask, holding them up to my dress. “They match the flowers.”

He chuckles, “You’re the cutest thing. Yeah, baby. Those look good.” He sits up. “Hey, what mood are we in today?”

“Why?” I grab a pair of no show socks from my drawer and walk over to sit next to him. I set my shoes in his lap.

“So I know what playlist we need for the drive.”

I hum, “I don’t know. What are you feeling?”

He gives me the look. The one that says “are you seriously asking me that question?”

I roll my eyes, taking a shoe from him and untying it. “Tame Impala. I know.”

“What were you playing in the bathroom? Was that Halsey?”

I nod and take my other shoe from him. “Yeah. I’ve been binging her discography again.”

He nods, “Alright, then I know just what we need.”

“Who’s all going to this again?” I ask once we’re in his car and he connects his phone. 

“Honestly? I’m not even sure anymore. Shawn for sure, which means Brian too. I don’t know. My guess, there’s gonna be at least ten of us.”

---

There were more than ten. I didn’t know a good two thirds of them, but Connor was familiar with them which made me feel a little more at ease. But he’s somewhere near the water talking to a couple of guys so I wander, finding my way over to Shawn who’s strumming his guitar by the fire the group had started once the sun set. 

“Leave it to Mr. Rockstar to bring his guitar to the bonfire,” I tease, sitting next to him. 

“Would you expect anything less from me?” He asks with his award winning smile and stops strumming. 

“Absolutely not.”

“You having fun? Where’s Brashier?”

“Talking to some guys over there,” I tilt my head in their direction and Shawn nods. 

“Why aren’t you together?”

“We’re not together all the time,” I say.

“No,” he agrees. “But most of the time. Which leads to my next question. Why aren’t you together?”

I scoff and take a sip of my drink, suddenly wishing I had taken Sam up on his offer when he tried handing me a rum and coke that was definitely more rum than coke. “Because we’re not like that.”

“That’s not true.”

“And how do you know that, Mendes?”

“Because I see the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him. Neither of you are good at hiding it. You’re constantly eye-fucking each other. I’d be surprised if you haven’t fucked already.”

I take another drink, not dignifying him with a response, but he takes it as one.

“You have, haven’t you?” he chuckles. “Man, no wonder he never got laid on tour,” he mumbles that second part. I don’t think I was meant to hear it.

I shake my head, “Whatever. What were you playing before I interrupted?”

He smirks, “You know the song ‘what ifs’ by Kane Brown?”

I nod, “Yeah. That didn’t sound like it though.”

“Well it’s a very stripped down version of it,” he says. “Do you know it enough to sing it with me?”

I glare at him. “Did Connor tell you I could sing? Because he’s an ass and I cannot.”

He nods, “He did. He also showed me a video. You’ve got pipes.”

I gasp, “He has a video?!”

“He has multiple,” he confirms, nudging my leg with his. “Come on, sing it with me.”

I sigh, “Okay. Let me just pull the lyrics up. I’d rather not mess up horribly.”

“Alright. You’ll come in on the second verse.”

“Okay. Play it, Mendes.”

He starts strumming and now it sounds a little more like the song, I’ll admit. I don’t know how he does it, but he can play anything. “You say what if I hurt you / what if I leave you / what if I find somebody else and I don’t need you.” He’s only a few bars in and our crowd is already starting to assemble, making me way more nervous than I should be. But I mean, come on. I don’t usually sing around people I don’t know. “You say what if I break your heart in two then what / well I hear you girl / I feel you girl / but not so fast / ‘fore you make your mind up I gotta ask,” he tilts his head toward me, signaling for me to join in. 

“What if I was made for you and you were made for me / what if this is it / what if it’s meant to be / what if I ain’t one of them fools playing some games”

I take in a breath when the chorus ends and my eyes catch sight of Connor who’s standing in front of us, his phone out, recording. I stick my tongue out at him which makes him smile and do the same, but he doesn’t stop recording. I take another deep breath and look down at the lyrics, knowing that it’s just my turn now. Shawn gives me an encouraging nod and I take a leap of faith, diving in.

“What if the sky falls / or the sun stops burning / we can worry about the what ifs ‘til the world stops turning / or I could kiss you / what if you liked it / well we ain’t ever gonna know unless we try it,” and he’s back in it with me and I think I can breathe again knowing that not everyone’s eyes are solely on me. But I do feel one pair. And they belong to a boy with blue eyes, perfectly tousled hair and a phone pointed only at me. They belong to my best friend. 

My best friend who’s looking at me in a way that no best friend should. My best friend who is making my face burn from his stare. The stare that’s making me rub my thighs together because I’m suddenly imagining those eyes on me while we’re in bed and he’s between my legs, making me feel things that only he can make me feel. 

Damn him for being so so good between my thighs. 

I don’t notice that Shawn and I are no longer singing. Or that Connor’s now putting his phone back in his pocket. I don’t notice that I’m getting up, walking around the fire, determined to get to my favorite blue-eyed boy. And I definitely don’t let myself notice how he shivers when my hand latches to his bicep. 

“You okay?” he asks, his face etched with concern.

“Take me home,” I beg, pushing myself into his side

“What’s wrong?” He places his hands on my waist, staring intently at my face and then down my body, looking for any signs of physical harm, I assume. “Are you okay?”

“Bubba,” I beg again, resting my forehead against his chest. He stiffens. He knows that tone. He also knows that I only use that name when I’m needy. And god am I so needy for him. “I want you. I need you,” I whisper, my other hand tangling in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Are you sure?” He’s still looking me over, making absolutely sure I’m not physically hurt. But then he’s looking around us, probably noticing that most everyone’s eyes are on us - not that I expected anything less. 

“Bubba, please. Please.” I bring his face down and I do something I would never do in public. I kiss him. I kiss him like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do. I kiss him like he’s the oxygen I need to survive, and not to be dramatic, but at this moment, I think he is.

And he kisses me back with just as much fervor. "Okay. Let's go home, baby."

Neither of us bother to say our goodbyes, mostly because anyone we would say bye to already had their eyes on us. They saw everything and you couldn’t mistake the beaming smiles coming from Shawn and Brian as we walked past them, Connor’s arm wrapped tightly around my waist. 

“Wait, Connor.” I press a hand to his chest when we reach the car. 

“What is it, baby?”

God he needs to stop calling me that because I will melt right here before I even get the words out. “I don’t,” I sigh. “I don’t want this to just be another hookup,” I say, my voice coming out just above a whisper.

“I don’t either,” he responds without hesitation.

“You don’t?” I look up at his beautiful eyes that are sparkling in the moonlight. 

He shakes his head before resting it on my shoulder. “I’ve wanted you since I was fourteen years old. Nothing,” he groans, peppering kisses to the side of my neck. “Nothing has changed.”

I gasp when his teeth graze my skin. “I want you. I want you.” He licks a stripe over the bruising spot. “I want you,” He mumbles, pressing his hips against mine so I can feel the bulge in his jeans. 

“Take me home, Connor. Please.” 

“Okay. Okay. Let’s go.” He opens the car door and I slip inside, desperate to get back to my place because I need him. I’m aching for him. And with the way his hand is firmly gripping my thigh the whole drive I wonder if I’ll even be able to make it home. 

He’s barely parked before we’re both rushing out of the car and into my place, his hands on my hips, his lips on my neck. When we finally get inside, he kicks the door shut before pushing me against it. “Baby, I need you to tell me that this is what you really want. Because I can stop now and we can -”

“I don’t want you to stop. I never want you to stop. Please,” I tug on his hair, covering his lips with mine. “Bubba please,” I whine, pulling on his bottom lip. “I want you,” I say for probably the thousandth time tonight.

He groans and grips my hips a little tighter. “You have me,” he confirms. “Let me take you to bed,” he mutters and drops his hands to the back of my thighs, lifting me up.

I squeal, wrapping my legs around his waist. 

“You’re in for a long night, baby.” He grins walking us to my bedroom

I nod, “Promise?”

He smirks, dropping me on my bed. He’s pulling my shoes off and then he’s between my legs, his jeans rubbing against my covered heat, causing me to moan out loud. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” he says. “I can promise you that.”

***

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Connor tag: @gangofhoes @verlaneswiftie13

[the-drakeboys]

Darlin’

Summary: Sam can’t tear his eyes from you. Overwhelmed by everything he’s feeling, and unsure if he can go through with it, all he can do is sit there and look at you, hanging onto your hand for dear life. 

Pairing: Sam Drake x Reader (Oneshot)

Word Count: 1,678

Warnings: FLUFF. Oh, man. This one’s... This one’s fluffy.

---

He called you darlin’. 

And heaven help you, you loved it. He drove you crazy on a constant basis, made you want to tear your hair out by the root, he was a heartache and a headache and never listened to a thing anyone said - but when he called you darlin’, something about it just melted you down until you were putty in his hands. 

For him, it was your eyes. He couldn’t get enough of the looks you gave him. You’d hold him in place with a quiet gaze and he’d forget to breathe just standing there. Your eyes caught him across a crowded room, all that time ago, and from that moment on, it was all he could do to make sure he got to see them again. 

He could sing… Beautifully, actually. But you were the only one he really sang in front of. He sang to you all the time; in the middle of the night, his lips pressed against your ear, his arms around you and pulling you into his grasp. While you were cooking at the stove, his voice bursting with him through the kitchen door and nearly shocking the wooden spoon out of your hands, his laughter warm as you smacked him away with a hand over your heart. He sang for you on every adventure, as your boat rocked over steady waves, as your jeep rumbled through the desert, as your ropes swung you from cliffs to trees to ancient ruins. He sang because you made him want to, because it was easier than saying everything he felt for you in plain words. Because he loved you. 

He loved the way you sunk into his arms after a long day, resting your head on his shoulder and asking him to distract you with something - anything. He loved how you listened to him, how all the history he’d loved all his life seemed to mean just as much to you, seemed to be just as fascinating and exciting to you, as it was to him. He loved how clumsy you were, and how after a stumble, you’d just pick yourself back up and keep going. He loved your wit and your coy smiles and the way you chewed on the ends of all your pens when you were immersed in your work.

He loved how much you loved his family. His brother, and his sister-in-law, and his friend, who had long ago become much more, had become like a father. 

And that night, as he sat beside you at the table with his family, his gaze was stuck to you like glue, and his heart was overflowing. He was overwhelmed by your laughter and your stories, by your scathingly playful banter with his brother, and by the soft-hearted look in your eye as his sister showed you ultrasound photos of their baby on the way; he was having a hard time putting it all together. 

You were so involved, so tightly wound in a trance, with what she was showing you, that you didn’t feel him fighting to tear his eyes away from you. It wasn’t until he touched your hand, his own clammy and warm and… was he shaking?

You turned, letting your eyes land on his. Your heart skipped a beat - what was that look? 

“Sam?” you murmured, your smile tender as he took your hand and held it tightly. “You okay…?” 

He glanced over across the table, Nate giving him a nod of encouragement in your direction as he picked up his phone and pressed record. Sam cleared his throat, watching Elena hurriedly shuffle the photos out of the way and Sully lean forward in his chair, an excited, knowing grin on his face. 

You reached out, your palm turning his cheek until he faced you. “Hey,” you chuckled. “You still with me?” 

He softened then, his nerves buzzing quietly under the surface, leaning into your touch and remembering that it was, after all, you. 

And you were everything. 

“Yeah…” he grinned, pulling himself together. “Yeah, I’m… I’m good.” Slowly, Sam shifted out of his chair, and lowered himself down onto one knee in front of you, his hand still clasped tightly to yours. 

The confusion in your eyes melted away quickly to understanding, and then to joyful panic. “O-Oh my god,” you bumbled. Your breath caught in your throat, looking down at him, feeling him hold tight to your hand. 

Elena could hardly contain herself beside you.

“Darlin’,” he started, his free hand carefully pulling something from his pocket. You felt yourself sink down into the chair at the name, emotion welling up in your eyes as your hand went up over your mouth. “I uhm… I’m not too good with words all the time. I don’t always know what to do, or say. All I know is… there’s no one, on this whole entire Earth, for me, but you. You’re my girl. Where... where would I be without you, huh?” he mumbled, that beautiful Boston accent of his shining through his every word. He held up a ring then; a small, simple, elegant ring that was completely and utterly you.

“Oh my god, Sam,” you sputtered happily, wiping helplessly at the tears streaming down your cheeks. His heart was aching in his chest, beating so wildly that he was sure you could hear it where you sat. 

“So, what, uh… Whaddaya say to spendin’ the rest of your life with me?” he finally asked. 

You wasted no time, falling forward into his arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Warm, happy laughter filled the room in every direction as he held onto you, his words echoing in your ear, “Is that a yes?!” 

“Yes!” you laughed tearfully, “Yes, it’s a yes, are you crazy?!” You pulled back and looked up at him, and in an instant, his lips were on yours. Your arms went around his neck and you kissed him with every bit of joy and passion you had, your fingers curling around the sides of his shirt. 

“Okay, you two, okay!” Nate shouted from where he sat at the table, grinning from ear to ear as you gingerly pulled back and fought off a blush.

Sam wouldn’t ever admit it, but his eyes shone with tears he’d never let drop, overwhelmed by happiness. You both looked down as he gently took your hand and slid the ring onto your finger. 

“Jesus, Samuel, that sure took you long enough, didn’t it?” Sully quipped from the other end of the table. 

“Hey, watch it, old timer,” Sam jabbed back, a grin still ever present on his face as you each stood on your own two feet. You went to sit back into your chair, but Sam just pulled you tightly into his arms, and you happily wrapped your own around his middle. 

“I mean, he’s got a point-” Nate started, stopping as Elena nudged him with her elbow. 

“Alright, guys, I think he’s had enough,” she said, rolling her eyes as Nate laid his arm across her shoulders and brought her into his side. She couldn’t help leaning into him, smiling knowingly over at you as you wiped a few more happy tears from under your eyes. Her hand came to rest over her small baby bump, Nate pressing a sweet kiss to her temple and sneaking a glance at the ultrasound photos on the table. 

“Oh, the hell he has,” Sully retorted, sitting back in his chair and bringing his cigar back up to his lips, “We’ve still got plenty to give ‘im hell for.” 

“Alright,” Sam said, feeling in a charitable mood as you both released your hold on each other, “Name somethin’. I want both of you two off my back for good, so whatever I gotta do.” He reached over, pulling your chair out for you and sending you a sly wink as you sat down. 

The wicked glint that immediately grew in Nate’s eyes worried you. Oh boy. 

“Okay…” he started, watching his brother sit down in his chair next to you. “Why don’t you sing for us?” 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Sam waved away the suggestion, his hand absentmindedly going to hold yours. “...Absolutely not, Nathan, keep dreamin’.” 

The warm conversation slowly faded into the background as you looked around, seeing your family - the people in this world you loved the most. Sully, with his dirty old jokes and the cigar he insisted on holding, even if it wasn’t lit for the benefit of Elena; Nate, with his sarcasm and his heart of gold and his stories of constant near-death experiences; Elena, whose wisdom and loving nature had kept you sane from the beginning and quickly made her one of your dearest friends; and Sam. The man you’d give everything for. The man who had swept you off your feet years ago and refused to put you down ever since. 

You loved them all more than you could say - and now, as your eyes drifted to the beautiful ring on your finger, you realized that now...you’d get to spend the rest of your life with them. 

That you’d spend it in Sam’s arms, hearing him sing and laughing with him in the kitchen and swinging through lost cities together with reckless abandon.

He leaned over then and stole a soft kiss from the corner of your lips, bringing you back to him and out of your haze. 

“Where’d you go?” he whispered, smiling warmly at you and reaching up to brush some of your hair from your face. You just gave a small shrug. 

“Nowhere…” you mumbled. You leaned forward and captured his lips in a slow, loving kiss, feeling him thread his fingers tightly through yours. “I love you,” you spoke into the kiss, feeling your heart soar with him so close to you. 

Sam pulled you close, his gaze stuck on those beautiful eyes of yours, and murmured against your lips. “Love you, darlin’. More than you know.” 

[wickedmilo]

SURVIVAL TIPS | MILO & WILLOW

PLACE: A bookstore TIMING: Way, way back when Milo first became a vampire SUMMARY: Milo and Willow accidentally cross paths, and realise they both have the power to distract each other from their problems WRITING PARTNER: @willcwthewisp​ CONTENT WARNINGS: None

Milo couldn’t remember the last time he had unironically set foot in a bookstore. After graduating uni, it all felt a little pointless. He had books, though they were at his parents’ house, far beyond his reach now. And reading felt too trivial considering the latest developments in his life. Why would he ever need books? What could they possibly have to offer him? But this evening, against his better judgement, he had been struck by the overwhelming urge to go to a bookshop. To steal back a semblance of the normalcy belonging to his previous life. With Harsh’s constant, and unexpected support, he was feeling more in control than ever before. Though his grip on his cravings remained tenuous at best, he figured he was capable of a short visit. After impatiently waiting for the sun to set, he had hurried into town, slipping quietly through the familiar door. The bell above him rang out, announcing his arrival, and the sound caused a wave of nostalgia to wash over him. Maybe he missed this more than he thought. Once upon a time, before he had allowed himself to spiral, he would come here. His mom would find new books for him to study. His dad would nudge him away from the children’s section, towards the classics that were technically beyond his reading level. If it’s easy, then what are you learning, Milo? You need to be challenged. He could still hear his tone, the exact way he would make not being able to choose his own stories sound like a privilege rather than a frustration.  

Drifting through the various sections, taking in the new sounds, and scents he had never been able to appreciate before, it wasn’t long until he found himself standing where his parents used to encourage him to stand. They would search through the shelves, talking amongst themselves to determine which novels were best suited for their son. Even now that he had a choice, he was drawn to the books they had selected for him. Maybe it was a warped sense of loyalty, maybe he missed the simplicity of having every decision made for him. Gently running his fingers along the spine of Great Expectations, he wondered whether Charles Dickens had lived in a world of vampires, and ghosts. Certainly Edgar Allan Poe had to have known about the existence of the Supernatural. It made him want to revisit the tales, search for any hint that might indicate the world had always been this confusing. Finally pulling Great Expectations from the shelf, he turned to walk towards the seating area, completely unaware of the person walking in the opposite direction. He stumbled backwards the moment he saw them, very nearly walking into them. A sheepish grin on his face, he did what he could to hold his breath. Harsh had already warned him doing so would draw attention, but he didn’t see any other option when people got so close. “Shit- I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” 

Willow was to the point of desperation when it came to finding the book she was looking for. For some unfathomable reason it wasn’t available anywhere that she could find online. Maybe it was simply so popular that most sellers had run out of it, but either way she’d ended up braving the trek to the bookstore after hearing they had a copy in stock. Books were one of the few ways she’d managed to stay sane in her self-appointed isolation, filling her head with stories of the outside world that she couldn’t bring herself to experience anymore. But she should have known going out into public once again was a terrible idea, and that became clear the moment she nearly collided with another being. Her eyes widened in alarm at the severity of the close call, already imagining how she could have sent the young man standing in front of her flying through multiple shelves of books.  

“Oh god-” Willow gasped as if she’d been startled at a haunted house, hand clutched to her chest as she took a few, healthy steps backwards to put some space between her and the stranger. “No, no- I didn't see you there either, I’m sorry.” Her nerves had been set on edge by the near run in, and she was doing her best to steady her breaths, trying not to think about the ten million ways this interaction could go poorly if the stranger got too close. “I was just- I wasn’t watching that carefully where I was going, I guess.” A lapse on judgement on her part. She should know better than to walk blindly when she was a walking disaster waiting to happen. 

Milo was already tense, doing his very best to hide it. But it made him feel a little better to hear the stranger’s heart pounding in her chest. Clearly he wasn’t the only person who had been caught so off guard, and clearly he wasn’t the only person so panicked by the close proximity. The relief didn’t last for very long though. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the sound of her pulse served as an unwelcome reminder of how dry his throat felt, the new reality he was desperately trying to ignore. Before he could take a further step back, the woman had done so for him, and he watched her curiously, wondering whether she might also a reason of her own to keep her distance. “Are you okay?” He asked, genuinely concerned for her. “No- I wasn’t looking either, it was my fault as much as it was yours!” He insisted. If he had been more careful, as careful as he should be given his current situation, this wouldn’t have happened. But he was already tired of being careful. Was one evening too much to ask for? One evening of reading books in a bookstore like a regular human being? “I, uh-” He held up his copy of Great Expectations, still holding his breath between sentences as though such a desperate gesture might be able to fix all of his problems. “I was distracted too…”

“Oh- oh, I’m fine!” Willow tried to assure, not wanting the young man to think he’d startled her too badly— even if he had done just that. “Are you alright?” she asked out of politeness. He didn’t seem very shaken, but it was only in her nature to ask in return. Forcing a chuckle, she clutched the book she’d fetched to her chest, as if it could protect her. “I think we’re gonna have to either agree to disagree, or just let me take the blame.” She wasn’t particularly in the practice of letting the guilt fall on someone else when it came to situations that involved herself. “Oh, are you reading Great Expectations?” she asked as she took in the title and cover of the book. It wasn’t one of her favorites- mostly because she’d been forced to read it in highschool, but it was still a classic and staple. In her opinion, it had ghosts that weren’t really ghosts, and that was something she’d been drawn to. 

Smiling at the woman’s insistence that she really was okay, Milo allowed himself to relax as much as he dared to. It wasn’t easy, trying to find a balance. Trying to stay aware of his surroundings, while also staying aware of himself. He could only hope one day it would become a part of his routine, something he did without even needing to focus. “I am.” He answered quietly. He wasn’t sure how true that was, but he sincerely appreciated the question. “I mean, if you want to take the blame I have a track record of avoiding responsibility.” He teased, laughing quietly at the fact that he was being entirely honest now. “I’m not going to try and stop you.” Glancing down at the book in his hands, he stared at the cover for a moment too long. There were so many childhood memories connected to it that it was difficult to look away from. “I guess so.” He grinned, offering her a shrug. “My parents made me read it as a kid… I’m kind of missing the simplicity of that, you know? My biggest worry being how quickly I could get to the end of a book.” Finally tearing his gaze away and looking back up at the stranger, he realised he had yet to introduce himself. “I’m Milo, by the way… So, are you going to tell me what you’re reading? Hopefully something far less cliché.”

Part of Willow was glad that the young man hadn’t insisted on taking the blame as many people were often wont to do. Generally that just resulted in a tiring back and forth until they found some sort of compromise, or forgot what they were talking about altogether. “Perfect,” she settled the burden of blame with a chuckle, her smile still warm. “Glad we agreed on that as easily as we did.” He seemed nice despite her nearly running headlong into him. Her head tilted curiously to the side, listening closely while he spoke of his parents and books. “Oh- well that’s...sweet in a way. And it makes sense.” She could certainly relate to wishing for a simpler time, often thinking of the days she’d been able to walk free without fear of breaking someone in half via telekinesis. “Books are a good way to forget the world for a bit.” They were her favorite method of escaping behind painting. “Oh- I’m Willow,” she replied quickly, a little embarrassed that she’d forgotten to introduce herself in the first place. “I don’t think Great Expectations is necessarily cliché,” she offered politely with another little laugh before continuing on. “But mine’s called ‘Leave the World’.”

Amused by Willow apparently being grateful he was readily allowing her to take the blame, Milo realised he was genuinely beginning to enjoy her company. His smile only growing as she talked about the ease of the decision, it was refreshing not being seen as somebody argumentative, or petulant, even if the context could barely be considered serious. “It was a pleasure discussing business with you.” He replied, feigning sincerity as he caught her eye. Raising his eyebrows as she called his actions sweet, he wasn’t sure he would use that word but perhaps from an outsider’s perspective his explanation could be seen as sentimental. “Yeah, you could probably call it that.” He admitted, absentmindedly tapping his fingertips against the cover of the book still in his hands. “I don’t know… I hadn’t really thought about it. I don’t even know why I came here really, I think I might be looking for something that’s just... impossible to find, you know?” His old life, his humanity... Realising the stranger was right, his smile softened into an open, and unguarded expression. Books were a good way to escape, however briefly. And though there were no hidden doorways here allowing him to step back into the past, maybe a brief escape would enough for now. If achieving one was even possible. Maybe it needed to be enough. “Leave the World?” He couldn't say he had ever heard of it. “I don’t suppose there are any tips in there? I could use a vacation from this place.”

The younger man’s words brought a laugh to Willow’s lips, and she was grateful for the bell-like sound as she reminded herself how few and far between interactions like this had been. Sure- she’d talked to people in her self-imposed isolation, had even seen a few humans here and there, but there was nothing that could replace the actual company of another living and breathing person. “I hope I don’t have a bill coming in the mail for this business talk,” she teased back. Her shoulders relaxing another inch while she let herself slip a little further into comfort. 

The expression on her face took on a more sincere air as her head tilted curiously to the side, a gentle nod of understanding shaking it in the end. “I think...a lot of people feel that way, if we’re being honest.” And she didn’t see any reason not to be. Even ghosts were looking for something that seemed impossible to find. After all, that was why they’d stuck around in the first place. “But I also haven’t met anyone that hasn’t eventually found what they’re looking for. Sometimes you just need help, you know?” That was the job of the medium or exorcist in her mind— to extend that helping hand when someone needed it. “And sometimes the answer isn’t what we expect, but I think you’ll get there eventually.” Another chuckle shook her gently before she gave her answer. “No tips in there unless you’re looking for ways to survive and deal with the apocalypse. But if you’re looking for some ‘vacation’ books I can take you to some of my favorites?”

Milo laughed too, his eyes shining. “I wasn’t going to but now that I think about it my rent is probably due.” He teased, unable to help himself. He could hardly consider their conversation business talk, but he was enjoying it more than he would ever have expected to. Although he liked his time alone, socialising had always come naturally to him. He had no issue with talking to people, getting to know them when their paths somehow managed to cross with his own. He missed this, he missed making new friends. His smile fading somewhat as Willow became serious again, he appreciated her honesty. It made him sad to know what she was saying was probably true, but it also helped him to feel less alone. Sometimes he just needed to be reminded of that fact. “Yeah, I guess you’re right…” He murmured, knowing the sense of relief would be temporary. How long until he convinced himself otherwise? Until his own mind erased Willow’s wisdom? “It’s easy to forget sometimes, you know? Especially when your problems are so… specific.” He admitted, offering her a hesitant shrug.  

A smile tugging at his lips again, the mention of hope was comforting, regardless of the fact that everything felt pretty hopeless right about now. He was more stable than he had been, though still not used to his new life, still close enough to his old one to actively grieve for it. “You really think so?” He asked, knowing his longing would be obvious in his voice. He made no effort to hide it, too distracted by the mention of finding answers, by the sound of Willow’s heartbeat, by the book in his hands still reminding him of his childhood. “I really hope so…” Maybe she was right. Harsh was helping him now, and things were getting better. The progress was slow, but it still counted as progress. “Thank you.” His smile became more genuine as he felt a strange rush of affection for the woman he barely knew. Apparently she believed in him, apparently she was convinced one day he might actually be okay again. “Hm, I think tips on how to survive might be more useful to me than vacation books.” He was only half teasing. “But if you’d be up for the company, I’d love to see some of your favourites.” 

“Well- you’ll just have to send over the prices so I can get a look at them. My sister’s actually better with stuff like that anyway, so I’ll probably pass them on to her,” Willow chuckled. It was true though. Meg had needed to negotiate quite a few contracts along with her manager when it came to her spot as a blossoming celebrity. She’d missed this as well. Even though she’d always been a little more on the quieter side, Willow had always loved seeing a new smile wherever she could find them. Her warm expression shifted into concern another time as Milo continued to speak of his problems. She might not have the abilities to go along with being a proper medium, but she’d still been raised as one, and along with that came a compassion geared towards helping. “Well if you ever need reminding just message me, alright? I’m easy enough to find on the town forums. My full name’s Willow Finch if you want to search me, though.” Maybe she was coming on too strong when it came to being helpful, but it’d always been hard for her to draw that line. If she wanted to help, why shouldn't she make sure the other person knew it without a doubt?  

“Of course I think so,” Willow repeated with another soft smile, already happy to see the smallest flash of hope enter into Milo’s eyes. “I haven’t met a person yet that couldn’t find what they were looking for. Even if it took time. And even if it wasn’t what they were expecting.” The poor guy. She could practically feel the desperate wanting in his voice, could recognize it because she herself was on a seemingly hopeless quest for answers when it came to her own problems with telekinesis. There had to be an end...right? But a smaller voice in her mind reminded Willow that endings weren’t always happy. Nevertheless she brushed it aside, and turned to start on her way towards her favorite section of the store. “Come on- I think we can find some books that fall into both categories,” she finished with a grin over her shoulder. 

Milo continued to smile in response to the joke, leaning into the way this woman seemed able to distract him from his problems, if only for a brief moment in time. He could see she was being genuine, that she actually wanted to help, and he wasn’t used to that. Not anymore.  “I hope she doesn’t take a cut of the check?” He teased, his smile growing as she insisted she was always going to be there if he needed a reminder that all hope wasn’t lost. It was an odd thing for a stranger to offer, but given his life as of late, he didn’t feel as though his gauge on what was normal even functioned anymore. It had been permanently shattered when he woke up as an official member of the undead. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he held it out to her, encouraging her to plug her name and number into his list of contacts. “I might take you up on that, you know…” Why not? What did he have to lose by making another hesitant friend? “Willow Finch… your name has superhero vibes, has anybody ever told you that?” His eyes were shining as he was reminded of who he used to be, the kid who spent his free time split between the comic book store, and the many questionable establishments White Crest had to offer him. He was still very much that person, but nothing felt quite so simple anymore. He only wanted things to be simple.  

His smile fading when Willow insisted he would eventually find what he was looking for, some sense of peace, some way of being content with what he had become, maybe even some level of control when it came to fighting against the bloodlust continually scratching the back of his throat, he was impatient, but he was also happy just to believe that the answers were out there. He would find them, and maybe, just maybe, he would be okay. Surprised when she started to walk away from him, he faltered before hurrying to fall into step beside her, holding his breath as her movement caused the smell of her blood to permeate the air. He didn’t know what she meant by both categories, surely survival books and vacation books were on two very different ends of a spectrum. But he didn’t care, he wanted to understand, he wanted to follow her. Because, for some reason, she made him feel like there was hope, like he existed as more than some miserable outcome, and that was proving to be incredibly rare. 

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @nigeltde-fic donated $25, and requested Sam & Dean & amnesia. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

The gorgon hits Dean in the head and Sam panics because he always panics, when Dean’s bleeding and not responding, but that’s not the worst part. Dean’s bleeding and he won’t wake up, and Sam drives as fast as he can possibly drive--faster--and Sam carries him from the car to the bed and he still won’t wake up, and that’s not the worst part. Sam touches his face and the panic’s become this solid untouchable thing that fuzzes everything else in the world out to weird impossible static, and Dean flinches under his touch and seizes and he’s still bleeding because it’s a head wound, and head wounds bleed like a bitch but Sam remembers Dean telling him when he was fourteen and trying not to cry it’s not that bad, Sammy, it always looks worse than it is, it’s just blood, it’s okay--only it is bad, and it’s worse than it looks. Michael drains out of Dean’s body with the blood like a cracked bottle of whiskey spilling all over the floor, and Michael takes Rowena, and Michael kills all the refugees who were Sam’s responsibility, and Jack then kills Michael--kills Michael, the monster haunting Dean’s eyes and Sam’s dreams gone in a flash--but that’s something Sam can’t look at, right now--because Dean sits up in the infirmary, shocked and blinking and scared, and he says to Sam, “Sam?” but he looks around too and says, “What is this place?” and he says, “Sam? Sam, what happened? Where are we?” and Sam closes his eyes and thinks, no. No.

It’s a week, of taking care of the bodies. Trying to contact any friends they had, who might’ve known them from that other world, who might want to come and stand witness to their burning. Dean helps, because he has two hands and no matter what it seems that an essential part of him wants to be useful, but he doesn’t feel it. Not really. Sam chops wood and sets Dean to building, and Dean does, and sneaks uncertain looks at the strangers who sit miserable in their home, stands just behind Sam’s shoulder during the funerals, says constantly: who are they? what happened? Sam? Sam?

Sam doesn’t know what happened. Cas has examined Dean (Jack wanted to but they didn’t let him, uncertain of his raw golden-grace power), and Sam’s been as gentle as he can with his questions, and they called back Rowena, even, from her terrified flight, and none of them have an answer. Dean knows Sam, and nothing else. Not Castiel, not the bunker, not hunting. Not their mother, and Mary’s mouth trembled as she smiled at Dean, told him that it was okay, that she was sure he’d remember one day. She left again, that night, and Dean sat in Sam’s room and said, “Why can’t I remember,” with his head in his hands, and Sam didn’t have an answer to that, either.

The funerals over and Sam can’t seem to ditch the smell of ash. Burning flesh. Like pork, singed on a barbecue, and it makes him nauseous in the middle of the night, makes him stand over his sink with his gut heaving but he doesn’t puke. He breathes, eyes closed, mouth filling up with spit, and walks the empty corridors of the bunker alone. Mom’s gone and Cas is making himself scarce, looking for some kind of solution, and Jack’s odd and quiet in his room, and the scorch-marks on the concrete floors have long been cleaned up, and Dean--

Dean remembers him. Dean watches him, his eyes pinned to Sam the second they’re in the same room. Dean has his own bed but he doesn’t like it, finds it strange. Too warm, too soft. “Sammy,” Dean says, miserable when Sam leaves him there, but Sam can’t take advantage and he doesn’t know what to do, with this brother who knows him and nothing else.

It wasn’t like this, before. The knowing drained out of Dean slow, little trickles. Words, processes. Forgetting a lamp, surprised by a cartoon. Forgetting his animosities and his histories and his training until he was just--blank. Sweet. Brutal, because he was forgetting himself and Sam at the same time, and even if Sam managed to save himself at the last second with Dean knowing what brother meant--what it meant to them both--it was torture to see it slip away, piece by piece.

It’s gone entirely, now. Sam sits with Dean in the library and puts the tape recorder on, takes notes. “What do you remember?” he asks, putting his miseries aside, and Dean says, “You,” sad, like that’s all that counts. Sam closes his eyes and Dean’s hand closes around his wrist, holding on. His hand is just as calloused as it always was even without the memory that proves the callouses were earned.

“Tell me anyway,” Sam says, trying to smile, and Dean licks his lips, seems like he’s really trying to think.

“We’re from--Kansas,” he says, uncertain, and Sam nods, encouraging. “We--we grew up together.”

“Yeah, we did,” Sam says. He lets Dean keep his wrist. The touch of his skin is--the same. Somehow feels the same. “You remember where?”

Flicker of worry, across Dean’s face. “There was a car,” he says, uncertain still even though Sam brought him to the Impala on the second day when he realized what was happening, and Sam folds over the table, wants to cry.

“Sammy,” Dean says, tender, and touches his hair. He cards through it soft, his hands gentle and knowing, and Sam shudders. He misses his brother so badly he could just crumple into the floor. Could sell his soul. Could just die, miserable here, and hope that when--if--he got to heaven, his real brother would be there, waiting, would say to him crap, dude, took you long enough, and Sam could grab him in tight and hold him and it would mean everything it was supposed to mean, when Dean’s nose brushed his neck, when his hand cupped the back of Dean’s skull.

“I remember you,” Dean says, and Sam pushes away--dinner to take care of, and watching Dean eat and barely picking at his own meal, and the bunker empty, empty, empty. Everything Sam had worked for disappeared, and his one stalwart, his one anchor--

Midnight and his door shoves open, startles him where he’s laying on his back, staring up into nothing. Dean, backlit--but the light white, not red--and Sam reins in his gasp and sits up and says, “What’s the matter?” and Dean comes in and goes to his knees in front of Sam’s feet and says, “Sammy, I remember you.”

He’s staring up, earnest. His eyes clear, green as green even in the dark in here, his focus entirely and utterly on Sam. “I know you do,” Sam says, sore, but Dean grips his arms, shakes his head.

“You don’t,” he says, urgent as a little kid, and it twists in Sam’s belly, makes him look away, but Dean holds him tighter, doesn’t let him get away--says--

“You were so smart, and you were so fuckin’ stubborn--my little brother but I wasn’t in charge of dick, because you’d just get your way no matter what, even if it came a way I didn’t expect it. You and me didn’t get along all the time but we had some stuff--movies we watched, and music we both listened to--and you can’t sing for shit but when you’re drunk you give it a try, and you sound awful but it just makes me happy every time I think about it because it’s when you were happy and I know that’s about the best thing that can happen to me. When you’re happy. I know I--fuck up a lot, and I say crap I shouldn’t say, and I don’t know what it’s about but I remember the times you started to look--shit, like you do now, and it feels like crap but I don’t know how to make it right. Sammy, I don’t know how to make it right.”

Sam feels like crying. Dean’s hand grips his shoulder, touches his chest. “Sam, I remember you,” he says, thick and true, and Sam reaches out and gets a hand on the back of his skull, his fingers sinking into the thick soft buzz-short hair, the warmth that feels right even if nothing else does. “Sam.”

“What else do you remember?” Sam says, aching, and Dean says, “I remember when you came back, but I don’t know from where, and it was like--it was like the friggin’ continents were all upside down and then got turned right side up, and you were pissed as hell at me and I figured probably I deserved it but I didn’t care, it didn’t matter because Sam was here, and I know--Sam, I know I’m not right, I know things might be bad, and I’m gonna try to get right because I know I’m supposed to be your partner or whatever, but I--man, I’m going nuts, because I’m here, and you’re not.”

His hand hurts, gripping so hard on Sam’s shoulder. Sam breathes. “I’m here, Dean,” he says, and Dean says, touching his jaw, sad and clear, “You’re not, you’re not,” and he leans up and kisses Sam then, soft and on-target in the near-dark. His mouth, and his smell--Sam cups him closer, grips his t-shirt and hauls him up, closer, his body warm and familiar and right up against Sam’s, his hands rough and firm, his breathing the thing Sam wants to sync his body to, every morning. Dean kisses him short and quick and soft, pulls back and breathes and does it again, and again, and then shoves at Sam’s shoulders and makes him fall back to the bed and then crawls up, covers Sam’s body, cups Sam’s face in his hands, kisses him melting and sure and with his lip catching chapped against Sam’s lip, and Sam holds him so tight he’s sure it hurts and then pushes him back, a handful of inches to breathe, to think.

Dean looks at him, brow furrowed, close. The light from the hall rims his ear in clear golden light. “The only thing that matters is you, Sammy,” he says, quiet.

Sam feels like his body’s collapsing, in some essential way. Infrastructure, demolished, a cold and dusty ruin left behind. He runs his finger along the back of Dean’s ear, traces the warmth down to the steady, certain beat of Dean’s heart. “Us,” Sam says--corrects--gives up, and Dean slides his hand into Sam’s hair, smiles, and it’s not right, and it’s not the same. Sam closes his eyes and draws Dean in anyway. He’s not here, but he can fake it, for the brother he’s lost--the bloody history that made him Sam’s--for the hope that maybe one day he’ll be here again, pained and grim and inextricable from the blood and meat that’s made up Sam’s life. Dean pulls back after a while, sweet and hopeful. Unfamiliar. Sam smiles at him, and kisses Dean dishonest.

[yusuke-of-valla]

hi, are you accepting writing prompts? would you make numbers 1,3,4 and 10? i love the way you write ♥ ... and can be Bankita? please ;w;)

Thank you! And I finished this just in time since @ren-amamiyaa is back! 

TW for canon-typical violence, Spoiler Warning for P4. No spoilers for PQ2 or PQ1, I just think it helps to have at least played PQ1. 

And finally: I’m sorry for my French.

Prompts:

”You always smile like you’re about to cry

”You hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that”

”I’m going to protect you”

”Wait. Don’t pull away… not yet”

Minato slowly picks himself off the cobblestone road. Tartarus seems to have given way to open cityscape. The early morning fog means he can't see too far beyond his own general vicinity.

"Fuuka?" He calls. There's a sinking feeling in his gut the longer he waits for a reply. "Aigis? Yukari? Junpei?"

Minato sighs. "Great," he mutters. He knows next to nothing about where he is or what actually happened, so the best option is probably to just pick a direction and start walking.

There's a restaurant nearby that looks closed, but there's a menu lying on the table. Minato digs around in his pocket and pulls out a pen, making a note of where he's been. It doesn't take him long to realize that wherever this place is, it certainly isn't built like a normal city. Cities aren't littered with winding roads and dead ends like this place is.

They also aren't this empty. At first, Minato chocks it up to it being early, but the sun doesn't seem to be getting any higher. Nothing's progressing here.

Eventually, the monotony is broken up by someone rushing past him, quickly pursued by a group of what looks like police, and Minato follows them.

The girl is cornered by the police when she runs down an alley. Minato arrives just in time to see the policemen warp into shadows and attack the girl.

Minato wastes no time calling Orpheus to reduce them to ash, though it's a bit of a closer call than he'd like. He really needs to find his friends.

Minato turns to the girl. She's pretty short, and has long blonde hair that's decorated with white flower clips. "Are you alright?" Minato asks.

The girl sorts out her light blue cardigan and the yellow ruffles of her shirt, while replying in French.

Damn it, he should've paid more attention to Mitsuru.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Minato says. The girl repeats herself, then frowning when it becomes obvious Minato is completely lost.

She grabs his hand, looking very intently at his palm.

"Um, what are you-"

She ignores him and heads to the mouth of the alley, checking to make sure the coast is clear. After a minute, she motions for Minato to follow her, even grabbing his arm to make sure he keeps up.

"Where are we going?" Minato whispers. The girl continues talking in French, and guessing from her tone, Minato assumes she's pointing out that he wouldn't understand any explanation she could give him.

"Fine, at least tell me your name?"

The girl smiles. "Je m'appelle Rei."

*

Yu breathes heavily as he defeats the last of the shadows. His companion doesn't give him a moment to rest, charging forward.

"Wait!" Yu pants. "Zen, wait!"

"Hurry up. You're wasting time." Zen snaps.

Yu wants to laugh. Wasting time, doesn't he know it? He's in some sort of shadow-infested Paris, when he should be in the TV World.

The fog is going to come in soon…

Yu shakes his head to clear out his thoughts. Now's not the time. He has to focus on the task at hand, which is finding the rest of the Investigation Team. Hopefully helping Zen with the person he's looking for will help with that- or keep Yu distracted enough from the fact that he has no clue how he got here or where his friends are, no way of contacting them, and the fog is going to come in s-

Nope. Nopenopenope.

Yu steels himself. He's no use if he's panicking.

"How much further is this meeting spot?" Yu asks.

Zen pulls a silver pocket watch out of his jeans and glances at it quickly.

"It's not that far, and almost time. If we make a break for it-"

"And get the attention of more shadows?" Yu says. "Zen, I can't keep fighting these things on my own. I'm sure Rei cares more that you're in one piece than that you're on time."

Zen doesn't object, but he doesn't look happy about it either. He stares at the clock tattoo on the palm of his hand.

"Fine." He mutters.

Yu relaxes a bit.

They take the long way to the meeting spot, midmorning sun beaming down on them. They pass countless posters proclaiming Paris the "City of Love" and encouraging people to "Embrace their love." Yu hears the same snippets of conversation on repeat as they pass crowds on the way to work, almost like a scratched record.

"I love you so much, honey."

"They're perfect for each other."

"I'm so glad that relationships are so easy."

The whole thing leaves a bad taste in Yu's mouth, but he can't exactly put why into words.

They also pass the occasional policeman looking for "loveless outlaws," which Yu takes to mean himself and Zen.

To add a final cherry of weirdness to the top of a cake that's already pretty damn weird, "soulmates" are brought up more than once.

Yu doesn't know what to make of it all.

They arrive at the meeting spot, near a set of stairs someplace relatively free of shadows. Zen checks his pocket watch again. "We're early," he mutters, more to himself than Yu. "She'll be here."

"So why do you have to be so secretive?" Yu asks.

Zen doesn't reply. He just paces back and forth in front of the stairs, absorbed in his own world.

Yu starts folding the map he'd been drawing on an old receipt he'd found on the street into a crane to keep his mind from wandering too much when two figures come down the stairs.

"Zen!"

"Rei!"

The two embrace, but Yu's eye is drawn to the person who came with Rei. It's a boy in a Gekkoughan uniform and headphones.

"Rei, who's this?" Zen asks, echoing Yu's own thoughts.

"He can fight the police, Zen!" Rei says excitedly. "He helped me get here!"

"Hi. I don't speak French, so I can't actually understand what you're saying, but I'm Minato Arisato."

"She said you helped her get here." Yu explains. "Are you a Persona user by any chance?"

Minato's unobscured eye widens. "Oh thank god, someone I can understand. Yeah, I'm a Persona user. Did you lose your friends too?"

Yu nods. "It seems we're in the same boat then. Any clue what's going on?"

"All I know is I was in Tartarus one second, then everything started going crazy, and now I'm here."

"Tartarus?"

"Yeah, you know. Giant tower that appears during the Dark Hour, full of shadows?"

"Dark Hour? Sorry, I don't know what exactly you're talking about." Yu says. "But, the place where we go to fight shadows started acting weird too, before it spit me out here."

"This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder." Minato sighs.

"Then I guess we should probably try and stick with Zen and Rei. I've got a feeling we can trust them."

"Yeah, me too. But neither of them fight, right?" Minato smiles and sticks out his hand. "So looks like for now, we're partners."

"Agreed," Yu says, taking his hand. "My name is Yu Narukami."

*

"Your French is pretty good." Minato says after a battle. Shadows had jumped them at the stairs, so Zen wants to go somewhere more covered to explain. Time isn't passing normally here either, but at least now it's perpetually 8 AM instead of the crack of dawn.

"Thanks. My parents travel around a lot for work, and I picked up a few languages along the way." Yu says. "So, what do your parents do?"

"They're dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Minato shrugs. "It's fine. Some people have 'em, some people don't. It's just how life goes. Do your parents know about your shadow-related extracurriculars?"

Yu bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, no. They're abroad doing business. I haven't heard from them all year."

"So the relationship there isn't great?"

"It's... strictly professional." Yu says after a minute.

"Oh."

"Nous arrivons!" Rei announces.

She and Zen gesture to a café, L'Horloge. There's an entrance in the alley next to it that they slip into.

"Finally." Minato all but collapses into a chair once they get inside.

"What I wouldn't give for some of the shrine fox's leaves." Yu says as he comes to sit down next to him.

"Is that a new way of saying weed?"

"No there's a literal fox that lives at a shrine who we take to the TV World and sells us these weird leaves" Yu explains.

"You buy weed from a fox?"

"It's not weed," Yu sounds annoyed, but he's smiling. "It just restores our energy so we can fight shadows longer."

Minato laughs. "I'm just messing with you. Think your fox is with your friends?"

Yu frowns. "No, I couldn't find her before we left so we went in without her. We don't have time to waste. The longer we take..." Yu trails off.

Zen says something quickly in French that rouses Yu from his thoughts.

"D'accord, desoleé." Yu says, then turns to Minato. "They're going to explain things now."

Minato nods, so Zen and Rei start explaining as Yu translates.

"This is a world where everyone is born with a mark on their palm." Zen says. He and Rei each hold out a hand, showing a clock face and a rabbit, respectively. "Each mark has one exact match, and that's the person you're destined to fall in love with and marry. But as you can see, ours don't match, which means we're not allowed to be together. I'm supposed to fall in love with a girl named Rhea- who I do love, but like a sister."

Rei slips her hands into Zen's. "The person who shared my mark, her name was Yuki. We were best friends at the hospital where we grew up, until she died. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I'm not supposed to fall in love with anyone else. I'm supposed to die, alone."

"Is there anything we can do?" Minato asks. Yu translates the question with the same concern on his face.

Zen and Rei both say something at the same time.

"Uh... repetez, si vous-plait?" Yu asks.

Zen says something, and Rei looks at him angrily.

"What are they arguing about?" Minato whispers.

"Rei just wants to leave the city, while Zen wants to show us to the mayor."

"Why?"

"Apparently since we don't have soulmates, we can prove that the system is fallible. This mayor guy they keep talking about apparently just wants what's best for people, and thinks strictly enforcing soulmate pairs is the best way to spread peace and love. If he sees people without the soulmate marks, he'll realize those aren't the sole definers of happiness."

Minato crosses his arms. "I can see both sides, I guess. Is there any guarantee the thing with the mayor would work?"

"Doesn't seem like it." Yu says. "Still, I'm inclined to agree with Zen, if only because it might give us a chance to find our friends sooner."

"But it wouldn't be that inconvenient to help them get outside the city then find them. At least they'd be safe and we'd be able to move around more easily."

"Yeah, you've got a point." Yu sighs. "Either way, that's a lot of shadows we're going to have to fight our way through."

"Scared?" Minato says. "Tell you what, if we run into anything too big, I'll protect you."

Yu stares at him, then Minato bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. That was so cheesy-"

"I liked it." Yu says softly.

"Really?"

Before Minato can really process that, there’s a bang at the door.

“Odds they just want to use the bathroom?” Minato asks.

“I’ve certainly never been that lucky.”

Zen moves in front of Rei while Yu and Minato prepare to fight. Sure enough the shadows break the door down.

He and Yu manage to fend them off, but then Minato's evoker gets knocked out of his hand. He sees the shadow ready for a second attack and braces for impact.

The hit never comes, however, and Minato opens his eyes to see Yu standing in front of him.

Yu collapses to the ground.

Minato grabs his evoker and rushes over to him. "Yu! Yu are you alright?"

"Y-yeah, I'm-" Yu winces.

Minato casts fire at the shadows, and puts a wall of flames between them. Minato kneels down in front of Yu and pulls him into his lap.

Yu's got a nasty gash on his head, and there seems to be a slightly purple tinge to his skin.

"Shit, you've been poisoned." Minato mutters.

"S-sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that." Minato grabs a cloth napkin from a nearby bin and presses it to Yu's forehead. "Zen, Rei, you guys run."

They don't move.

"Guys, run! We'll be fine." Minato snaps.

Zen seeks to get it and grabs Rei's hand. They disappear into the smoke, just as more shadows break through.

*

Yu feels like he's been stuffed inside of Teddie's costume, rolled down a bumpy hill, and landed in a pile of weapons.

He opens his eyes slowly, and zeroes in on the man making a speech at a podium. Everything seems to freeze in place once Yu recognizes him.

"Namatame," he mutters. Yu pushes himself onto his knees. "Namatame!" he shouts. "Where's Nanako?"

The man looks annoyed to have his speech interrupted. "Who?"

Yu's nails bite into his palm as he crushes his card to summon Izanagi and forces himself to stand up.

"Yu!" Minato calls.

Yu finally registers that there are people here aside from Namatame. He has Izanagi attack the guards surrounding Minato, who in turn summons Orpheus.

With Minato accounted for, Yu turns back to Namatame.

"Now, where is Nanako?" Yu asks as he stalks over to the "mayor"

"I d-don't know who that is!" Namatame whimpers. He keeps repeating himself, and Yu is a second away from breaking the guys nose when he realizes that Namatame isn't lying.

"What the hell?" Yu mutters. The anger that was fueling him dissipates, and Yu stumbles backwards. What the hell is going on here?

"Yu, let's go!" Minato shouts.

Yu follows him in a daze and doesn't even pay attention to where they're going, until he all but crumples onto the street.

"'M sorry," Yu mutters, "I-

"Did not have the energy for that? I can tell."

Minato helps Yu sit up against the wall of a building. “Ok so what’s your deal with that guy?”

“My friends and I are trying to catch a serial killer.” Yu explains. “They kidnap their victims and throw them into the TV World, where the victim will be killed by their own shadow if we don’t rescue them in time.”

“And Namatame is that killer?”

Yu nods. “We managed to pinpoint him as the kidnapper and he… he ran into the TV World with my cousin.”

“So that’s Nanako?”

“Yeah. I only met her this year when I came to Inaba, but she’s become like my little sister. If I let anything happen to her-”

“This isn’t your TV world.” Minato says. “You said so yourself, and besides how would I have gotten here? So whoever that is, he’s not the Namatame you know, and Nanako isn’t here either.”

“I know. I know, I snapped when I shouldn’t have. If the others saw me like that-”

Minato sits down next to him. “Hey, you’re their leader, right? I’m sure they understand you’re under a lot of stress.”

Yu smiles “Yeah.”

Minato doesn’t return the gesture.

“You know.” he says, “you have this thing you do sometimes where you smile like your about to cry.”

Yu’s shoulders slouch. “It’s just I act as their leader, but I’m sure I’d be nothing without them. My friends faced their Shadows, and came out stronger for it, but I never met mine. To make up for that, though I’ve had my friends to help me mature. It’s my companions that I draw strength form in all this, and now I don’t know where they are or if they’re alright.”

“Well, I’m here. You can lean on me too.”

Yu doesn’t say anything, just leans his head against Minato’s shoulder.

Eventually, Minato hears a soft snoring. He moves to get up and leave Yu alone, but a hand grabs his sleeve.

“Wait.” Yu murmurs, “Don’t move away, not yet.”

[1-1snailxd-art]

Elements of Love: Chapter 2 - Found Strength

Ch1 - *you are here* - Ch3

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Type: Elemental Powers au - Short Chapter Fic (3 chapters with a choose your own ending)

Relationships: LAMP

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Remus Sanders 

Warnings: Fire danger, electric shock, major character injury, hurt/comfort, Possible Major character death

Summary:  Roman is having a great time manipulating fire like a professional elemental, but Virgil may not be having the best time with it.

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Patton had successfully ditched his car but was quickly picked up by a passing fire truck as he headed towards the park. Not wanting to seem suspicious, he accepted the firefighters help after explaining that his partners were missing, and he was now heading to the front to help look for Roman’s bike.

Suddenly, there was an explosion ahead and Patton was the last thing on the firefighter’s minds as they sped forward to assist the truck ahead of them. Left alone in the truck, Patton pulled out his phone and dialled Virgil’s number again. The phone rang out and he went straight on to call Roman; praying that this time he would answer.

“Fighting a fire right now, Pats. Can’t really talk.”

“Roman!” Tears pricked at Patton’s eyes at the sound of his voice and confirmation that he was indeed alive. “Where are you? Is Virgil there?”

“Yeah, Virge is here. I think we’re near the Chandler’s property. The whole yard is engulphed and a gas cylinder just exploded. I’m trying to pull the flames back before anything else blows.”

“Wait. I’m here too. Where are you? I can’t see you.”

Patton grabbed a simple mask from the console of the truck and slipped outside; the heat instantly soaking him in sweat. Squinting through his glasses he tried to pinpoint where the boys would have been.

“Hold on. Virge thinks he’s spotted you; I’m going to part the flames.”

Mouth dropping open in awe, Patton watched as the orange flames sizzled away and left a clean path to Roman’s safe zone. Smiling, Patton quickly loosened the nozzle of the trucks water hose and encouraged some of the water to wrap around his body like liquid armour, before he ran to meet them.

Roman held one arm out in focus as he guided the flames back, while Virgil remained securely leaning against his back. The moment Patton was safe, Roman allowed the flames to return and conceal them; dropping his arm in the process and focusing his mind back on the fire ahead.

“You are controlling the fire, Roman. Oh, my goodness, I am so proud of you.”

Roman beamed and nodded his head back towards Virgil. “Sparkles here is helping me. Turns out he isn’t just a lightning thief, but some kind of energy source.”

Patton used a cool hand to brush the sweat soaked hair away from Virgil’s face; brow knitting in concern as he took in his contorted features.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

“Fine.” His voice was strained as Virgil refused to lose concentration for even a moment. “Just focusing.”

Patton wasn’t convinced in the slightest, but he didn’t get a chance to question it as he felt the ground shake when another gas bottle exploded.

“I can’t move the fire fast enough. It has so much in its grasp that it doesn’t want to let go.” Roman groaned; voice becoming more horse the longer he breathed the smoke in. “If Logan was here, he could help shift the winds direction and we could move this thing on in no time.”

“He’s…. Coming.” Virgil strained out as he started coughing again. “ahead.”

“Brilliant!” boomed Roman and asked the fire to lead him to his other partner, “Patton, follow along and I’ll keep you safe… I can sense him now. Let’s go.”

Slowly steering the bike forward; Patton carefully jogged beside and kept a watchful eye on Virgil as he gripped Roman tighter.

 Virgil felt another surge of energy as Roman’s safety zone collided with the air bubble Logan had created. His body ached from being connected to Roman for so long, but he wasn’t going to stop until the job was done.

“Great to see you, LoLo. Guess who learnt to control their element.” Boasted Roman, glowing with pride as Logan moved closer.

“I love you, Roman, but I will not feed that ego of yours.” He placed a quick kiss on his surprisingly dry forehead and smiled, “I am glad to see you are okay though.”

Stepping around the bike, Patton carefully moved his watery armour away so he could wrap cool arms around Logan’s neck and give him a grateful kiss.

“I was worried when you didn’t answer my last call, Lo.”

“I’m fine, Patton. I was simply preoccupied in saving some houses.” Logan turned his gaze to Virgil, who hadn’t moved since his arrival; eyes widening in concern as he reached out to check his vitals. “What is wrong with Virgil?”

“-‘m fine.”

“It’s fine, Logan.” Roman assured, “Virge is helping me control the fire. His lightning power is just energy that I can use to control this.”

“I don’t know abou-“

Logan’s words were lost as another explosion sent the flames arching over the group, and Patton covered himself and Virgil in water while Logan and Roman dispelled the flames.

“We don’t have time for debates,” Roman demanded and fixed Logan with a stare. “I need you to help me change this things direction so the fire crews can move back in and get this thing under control.”

Resetting his stance, Logan focused his efforts on guiding the fire with the winds while drawing oxygen away from other areas. Patton offered Virgil water as he broke into another coughing fit, before laying his hands on the ground to guide the moisture in the ground to put out spot fires. The three elementals remained focused on their task, while Virgil continued to cling to Roman; but he felt something was off. The fire felt happy. Too happy for an element that was currently being put out. Diverting his focus away from Roman, Virgil opened himself up to the fire and sensed the source it was so eager to consume.

Two properties over, a fuel tanker sat concealed by a hay shed; the owner in such a rush too fuel his car to leave, that the hose had slowly leached fuel onto the ground below. The influx of information became too much and Virgil’s body went limp as he lost consciousness briefly; no longer feeding Roman the energy he required to maintain full control. The flames surrounding the group flared and intensified; disinterested in giving Roman such a lavish amount of space now, and eagerly moving to continue burning the tree hanging over the group.

“Careful, Roman.” Patton called, pulling a stream of water up from the ground and smothering the flames above them. “You need to focus on controlling these flames just as much as the rest.”

“I’m trying!” He growled in reply, “but the fire doesn’t want to cooperate anymore. It’s too hungry.”

Slowly sitting back, Virgil rubbed his head as the world came back into focus  and he tried to get his mind and body to cooperate again.

“I need your help, Vee.” Roman begged; holding his arms out to push the wall of heat back from the group. “What’s going on back there?”

“Tanker.” Throat painfully dry, Virgil attempted to swallow and forced himself to speak clearer. “Two places down. That’s what it wants.”

“We should get out of here.” Standing, Patton steadied Virgil’s shoulder as he swayed slightly on the back of the bike. “I don’t think Virgil should be out here much longer.”

Though Virgil shook his head, he accepted Patton’s help to dismount and slide down to the damp ground Patton had created. Logan and Roman strained to move the flames; Roman growling as he tried to get them to comply again.

“It’s okay if this is too much for you,” Patton assured; cooling Virgil’s forehead again with a watery hand. “Your health and safety is just as important.”

“NO!” Trembling, Virgil looked into Patton’s blue eyes with determination radiating from his own grey, stormy irises. “I said I’m fine and I mean it. Just…give me a moment to focus again.”

Eyes softening, the water elemental nodded and turned his focus back to his initial task. Free from his partners eyes, Virgil took slow, deep breaths from the clean air Logan provided. Focusing on the energy around him, Virgil took in the presence of each of his partners; slowly moving from Patton, to Roman and Logan. They were working so hard to encourage their elements; Roman practically dragging the flames back like a cat with its claws in a curtain. The more he focused, the more he felt. Everything was different now he thought of his power as energy, rather than electricity; unknowingly limiting himself from fear and naivety.

He felt the cool flow of the manipulated water and the calming energy of Patton. He felt the strong force of Logan and the winds he commanded. He felt the sheer drive of Roman’s will and the intense energy and excitement of the fire he tried to tame. The earth breathed and buzzed under his fingertips. Energy. Endless and flowing throughout the world around him. All Virgil had to do, was use it.

“You must learn how to walk before you try to fly, lest you die trying.”

Dee and Logan’s words echoed through Virgil’s mind; a reminder of how dangerous elemental magic was. Virgil’s magic was considered especially volatile due to its unknown origins; a connection not recorded in any texts the group had access to. Normally Virgil was cautious to follow their mantra and never pushed himself beyond his limits, but now was a time as good as any to throw caution to the wind and protect the ones he loved.

Digging his fingers into the earth, Virgil felt the energy he held in his chest snake out through his arms and into the ground. Generally, he would release energy and only pull the small amount he needed back, but this time Virgil reached out for the energies he felt and pulled them closer. Energy surged to his hands; what appeared to be lightning crackled and snapped around them and the surrounding ground. It heated his arms and his heart raced as his senses were ambushed by information from the earth, trees, animals, people, fire, water, and air. With his eyes closed, Virgil could see a clear picture of the whole area and the fast-moving fire. It wanted to burn. It wanted to move. It wanted to consume all that stood in its way and leave nothing but ash behind. The winds wanted to go faster. The water wanted to be free. While he could feel what the elements wanted, Virgil had no sway over them; but his partners did. He just had to give them the power they needed to overcome the elements natural drive.

 Opening his eyes, Virgil watched the energy dance around his hands; lifting them up and observing how it continued to jump from the ground and up to him. An idea struck, and Virgil quickly slipped off his shoes and place his bare feet onto the ground; toes sinking into the soft, ashen soil and tingling with power. Shakily raising to his feet, the energy continued to spark in his hands, but Virgil could feel it running up through his body from his feet. A lightning rod of natural energy. Widening his stance to stop himself from tumbling over, Virgil took a deep breath in before throwing his hands forward and guiding the energy to each of his partners.

Air was knocked from Logan's lungs as he felt power surging through him; Roman and Patton experiencing a similar feeling as Virgil sent his energy towards them. Roman's laugh boomed, as his tiresome struggles lifted with Virgil's added power and he had better control of his element again.

"I am back in business, bitches!" the flames curved back as Roman beamed; feeling the fire accepting his push and pull again. "Thanks, Virge!"

"This is Virgil's power?" The air and water elementals spoke in unison as they were stunned to find their power bolstered well beyond their usual ability; heads snapping around to look at their younger partner.

"yeah." Virgil's voice was rough and static from strain and the electricity flowing through him. "Now, turn this thing around!"

 It was strange to have the so much control over their elements. The water called to Patton from a much further range and he could feel the water evaporating and even sense clouds forming in the atmosphere. Logan felt lighter and could sense every breath they all took; including Virgil's rapid and strained breathing.

"Don't push yourself too far, Virgil!" Logan called over his shoulder; using the wind to blow the smoke away from struggling fire crews to improve visibility and air quality. "Your health is just as important."

"Whatever! Just move!"

Patton winced at the way Virgil snapped; something he hadn't heard in months. He didn't dare turn around and followed Logan's lead in ignoring the outburst in favour of getting the fire under control. With the added power, Roman was able to encourage the fire to turn away from consuming anything along property lines; Logan blew the smoke and embers clear of fire crews so they could soak the boarders with Patton's guided water. They seemed to be making fast work of the situation, and the extended range of the two skilled elementals meant that the fire was slowly brought  under control by the fire crews working along the fire front.

While the elementals were focused on controlling the blaze, Virgil was focused on not passing out. He no longer saw with his eyes; instead seeing through the elements and the lens of his partners eyes. The action was excruciating, and he was struggling to maintain the connection between the energy flow and each man ahead of him. Virgil felt like he had been funnelling the energy for an eternity; slowly becoming numb the longer his arms remained outstretched. The energy began moving on its own as he became lost in the void of information bombarding his mind.

"I need this to stop." Virgil thought; fearing what would happen if he allowed the energy to gain too much control over him.

It took some time, but he was able to lock his mind onto the flames alone. Their heat and excitement a focus point for him to connect to Roman; his boisterous and energetic boyfriend from high school. He felt Roman's joy for having control and slowly his impulsive partner came into view; a single figure of clarity in the white blur of his vision. Next he shifted to the cool water that led him to the equally cool and calm Patton. His energy dulled the throbbing in Virgil's head and lowered the temperature of the electricity surging through his body. Despite the strain, he felt calm as Patton came into focus beside Roman. Logan was last and the easiest for Virgil  to resync with. Roman was excitement, Patton was comforting love, and Logan was guidance and safety. He felt Logan in every breath he took, and he felt himself calming as he came into focus. The pain and discomfort was worth it for this sense of connection  and a small piece of Virgil relished the idea that he may be able to do this more often; though under much more relaxing circumstances.

 Body beginning to tremble and vision blurring again, Virgil was thankful to hear Roman's triumphant cries and see him throw his hands up in the air in excitement.

"Woo! Who's the Fire King? I'm the Fire King!"

Dropping his arms in relief, Virgil immediately stopped the flow of energy through his body and gasped to catch his breath.

"Humbling remark, Roman." Running his hands through his hair, Logan gave the other two a tired smile; "It does appear that we have ensured the fire crews have the upper hand, and the wind has naturally calmed down."

"I'm so proud of you three." Exhaustion was just as evident on Patton's face as he smiled back at the two elementals, expression quickly shifting to concern as he turned and saw Virgil sink to his knees. "Virgil!"

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End Note

Hey, so here's another chapter. So sorry it took so long. Real life is crazy busy at the moment and writers block is more like a writers brick that gets thrown at me whenever I try to write something. Anyway, if you enjoyed this give it a like and comment below (or just send a random emoji). I would love to hear thoughts. Only one more week of work and I get 2 weeks holiday. I am not counting down the days at all.

💜🐌

Ch1 - *you are here* - Ch3

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What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary, healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.)

Visit my Ao3 page for more

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

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Tag List (thanks for your interest/support)

@mindscape-blues   @celeste-tyrrell     @thequeensphinx

[brianandthemays]

Love is a Polaroid (Roger Taylor x reader) Part 13

A/N You know what they say!!! Lucky number 13

Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst

Word count: 3.2K

Masterlist

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The rest of the school year went by very quickly. You and Roger saw less and less of each other as school work piled up and as you started taking more shifts at the pub. You still called him but it felt like that night, wet in his house after the rain, was so far away. Like it was in a different universe.  

              “Yeah, I’ll see you soon, babe,” you said over the phone.

              “I’m performing on Friday, if you want to come watch.” 

He sounded so hopeful, and you felt so bad. He began to go into the details of where and when and how he would come pick you up and take you out on a nice date before driving to the venue. It hurt to cut him off.

              “Oh, Rog, I’m sorry… I’m working.” You bit your lip, closing your eyes.

              “Oh, okay… maybe next week.”

              “Yeah… maybe.”

That’s how most of your conversations went now. You couldn’t tell if it was your subconscious putting distance between yourself and him. Hoping maybe that would lessen the blow of what you were planning on doing. Which what exactly that plan was, you weren’t sure.  But Roger certainly noticed your change in demeanor. Freddie made sure you knew that.

              “What have you done to him?” he prompted, following you around the library.

You sighed in exasperation, picking out another book from the shelf. Freddie being friends with Roger was a perk but what you hadn’t intended was them becoming almost best friends. Roger and Freddie hung more than you did with Roger and they told each other everything. 

            “I didn’t do anything,” you told him. “I just… I’ve been busy.”

Freddie narrowed his eyes at you, clearly unbelieving. He knew you like the back of a book, and as not willing to put up with your bullshit.

           “No, you’ve been avoiding, what’s going on with you,” he pressed. You turned away from him and started walking towards another section on the library. Freddie huffed and stomped after you. “So, now you’re just ignoring me?”

You stared at the bookshelf in front of you. Everything that had happened since spring break had been your own fault. You were pushing him away. And you didn’t know if you could look him in the eyes again. His beautiful eyes that held so much love for you. It was all too much, and as usual, any type of pressure brought tears to your eyes.

              “Oh, love.” Fred put a hand on your shoulder, rubbing softly with his thumb. He grabbed the book from your hand and set it down, watching as your crumpled onto the desk in front of the book shelf.

              “I just don’t know what to do, Fred.” You covered your face with your hands.

              “Let’s go get some tea, dear, and we can talk,” he encouraged, taking your hand and carefully walking out of the library.  He led you to a coffee shop on campus, one you frequented with him. He ordered your drinks, having known them by heart, and sat you down in a booth near the back.

              “Now, tell me everything.”  

So, you did. You told him everything that happened on Spring Break, everything that happened before, and the things that were happening now. Your fears, your anxiety, everything that had happened. How Roger had changed, how you had changed. As you started talking you found yourself unable to stop. Until, finally, there were no more words you could possibly say.

              “And things are just so different, now,” you concluded, rubbing your face with your hand. “And it’s my fault.”

              “Oh, darling.” Freddie’s eyes were wide. “You have fucked up.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Freddie!”

              “What?”

              “You’re supposed to be supporting me, that’s what best friends do!”

              “No, I’m supposed to call you out.”

You sat back in your chair, sighing angrily. You hated when Freddie was right.

              “Your problem is you’re leading him on now, if you feel the way you tell me. Then maybe things aren’t going to --”

              “Pleased don’t even say it.” You held up your hand. “I love Roger. I-I think.” You paused, mulling over the words ‘I Love You’ and how much they could mean to someone. And how they were absolutely ruining your life right now.  “I’m just… not the right person for him.”

Freddie rolled his eyes at you. “If you love him, what’s the point of letting him go?” 

You stared at a spot on the table, considering your next words carefully. You knew he had a point as you had considered it yourself many a time.  But, you always came to the same conclusion in the end.

              “Because I want him to be happy.” You played with your fingers. “I want him to be happy more than anything.”   

Freddie laugh. Loudly. So loudly that many other patrons in the cafe turned to look and see what was happening. You shot him a look but he just shrugged. 

               “You must be mad if you think Roger isn’t happy with you,” he chided, shaking his head. 

You blushed, grinding your teeth. “I think he’s settling. When you guys go on tour next year he’ll see.” You sighed and shook your head. “I’m just saving myself the heartbreak.”

Fred shook his head at you, knowing that Roger was perfectly happy with you. More than happy. But only Roger could show you that. Nothing Fred could say would convince you of that and he knew that better than anyone. 

The rest of the week went by with more short conversations with Roger, and more nights filled with anxiety and uncertainty. By the time Friday came around, you were ready to be done with everything, school, your work, everything.

When you finished your shift, you grabbed a cigarette and headed outside. But when you walked out, you were not expecting the site in front of you. Of all the things that had happened that week, this was the last thing you could have ever wanted to happen.             

              “Roger?”

He smiled at you, sliding on the front of his car to greet you. You stood there, speechless that he was there for you. But instead of feeling comfort and joy, you felt shock and resentment. He walked over to you and wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing the top of your head.

              “Roger, what are you doing here?” You asked, pushing him away slightly.  “Don’t you have a show?”

He looked down at you,  slightly confused as to why you had pushed him away, instead of pulling him closer as you usually would. But he brushed it off, smiling down at you.

              “Cancelled it!” he told you, happily. “I wanted to show you how much I love you.”

Ah, Jesus. He’s talked to Freddie. Fuck. AND! He cancelled his show. For you. God, you were already ruining his life.

              “Oh, Roger. You didn’t need to do that.”  You put a hand on your head, feeling the guilt.

              “Love, it’s okay. I wanted to. We haven't seen each other since break!” He took your hand on your head and began to bring it to his lips, but you pulled away from him before he could get the chance

You shook your eyes, furrowing your eyebrows. “You shouldn’t have done that.”  You took a step back from him, looking at the ground. Then and there, Roger could feel his heartbreaking.

              “Can you talk to me, love? Because a month ago you told me you loved be and now…”

              “Roger I--” You stopped yourself and looked back up at him. “Maybe we should go back to  my place.”

So, Roger drove you home. In silence, with tensions high. His hands were tightly gripping onto the steering wheel and you realized that this was the first time in months that you’d ridden in his car without holding his hand. You bit your cheek trying to prevent your emotions from taking over. You hadn’t even started your conversation and you were already on the verge of tears. Typical.

When you arrived, you left the car silently and started inside. You waited for Roger at the front door, walking inside when he reached you. You hurried into the living room, hearing him close the front door before following you slowly.

              “Alright, love, now,--” Roger started but you quickly cut him off.

              “Why did you cancel your show?” 

              “I already told you,” he huffed, putting his hands on his hips. 

You huffed, glaring at him. “But you love performing, I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re performing,” you retorted. “So, why would you cancel it.”

              “For you!” His voice was raising and you turned around. He took a deep breath, moving forward to comfort you. “I did it because I wanted to see you.”

You shook your head, moving away from him again; trying to distance yourself from him, as if that would make this conversation any easier. And even you knew you were kidding yourself. 

This could not be happening. You didn’t want to do this now, but if you didn’t you knew you would never have the guts to bring it up again.

              “Alright, let’s talk about something.” You stared at him, imploringly. “What are we going to do next year.”

              “What d’you mean?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

              “You’re going on tours. You said it yourself, your band is starting to get popular. And what happens to me?” You gestured for him to answer.

              “You come with us! I was just thinking about it! Won’t it be great!” He looked excited now. “Traveling from city to city! We’ve even talked about recording an album!” 

You wanted to be happy for him. You wanted to celebrate and be there for him and support him. But now, it was just driving a wedge between yourself and him.

You frowned. “Roger, I still have school.”

              “You can drop out! We’re already making money! I can support you!”

Your mouth dropped, eyes widening. You shook your head, looking away again. Maybe this is why you were having this conversation. He would never understand your need to prove yourself. To your parents, to the world, to yourself.             

“How could you even say that?” you breathed out. “You know what I’ve had to work to get here.”

              “I know, but you work so hard. You don’t need to,” he insisted, trying to move towards you.

Once again you moved away from him, much to his dismay. “What? And become what my parents always wanted? A perfect trophy wife for you?”

Now it was Roger’s turn to start getting frustrated. His nostrils started flaring, and his arms were tensing. You were now treading on glass, and you knew it.  But he took a moment, steadying his breath before addressing you again.

              “Then stay, and we’ll make it work.” He put up his hands in surrender, trying to end the conversation.

You shook your head. Still afraid to look at him, waiting for the moment when he realized what you were saying. And it came to him. The longer you were silent, the more he realized why things were so tense.

              “I can’t do that…” You swallowed hard. “I can’t…”

              “What are you saying…” Roger’s voice was now scarily calm. “Let’s talk about this. We can figure something out.” You didn’t reply. “(Y/N).” Finally you looked up at him. You realized that his eyes were turning red. “You told me you loved me…” 

And that was it. The wetness forming in his eyes along with his words made your stomach feel like a black hole. Guilt, despair, and anger seeped into your veins. Guilt from knowing this was all your fault. You let your guard down and said things you shouldn’t have and now there was no going back. Despair from knowing that the end was near and there was nothing you could do about that. And anger. Anger from knowing that you could stop this but part of you couldn’t , wouldn’t, for a selfish fear of being hurt again.

              “Roger, I do… I do love you.” Now you moved towards him. You hated seeing him so upset, you wanted to calm him, comfort him. But he stepped back from you this time, and you felt it. The wall, the tear, the break.

              “See you say that, but you’re not willing to fight for it,” he shot at you. The anger he had managed to push down before was resurfacing. The red in his eye only fueling his anger.

              “I’m letting you go because I love you,” you told him. “Because I don’t want to be the reason you don’t enjoy your life.”

Roger laughed humorlessly. “Why do you get to dictate what I enjoy or not?”

              “Because if you go on tour, and you see all the hot girls, and the drugs and the parties. You’ll realize that there’s someone better than me. And I won’t be able to handle you leaving me for someone else.”

Your statement hung in the air. Just sitting there, waiting to settle in his mind. The fear you’d had since the beginning. Him realizing you were to prude, or too shy or just not good enough for him. He pursed his lips, staring at you with such intensity.  

              “Someone better than you?” He rolled his neck. “Don’t you get that I love you. I love you.”

“Roger, I’m not what you want! You said it yourself, to your father!” you pointed out, shrugging.

              “What the bloody hell do you mean?” He asked, incredulously.

              “The day we left you told your father that you didn’t want a family,” you spat, pointing a finger.

Roger scrunched his forehead as he thought about what you were saying for a moment before rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

              “I was arguing with my father,” he argued. “I would’ve done anything to shut him up.”

              “But it’s true, isn’t it? This band is important to you. And you won’t have time for a family,” you replied, waving your hands around.  “I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

              “(Y/N),” He grabbed your hands, his touch sending you reeling. “I love you.”         

              “Roger, it’s been 6 months. We don’t really know what love is.”

He stared at you a moment longer before dropping your hands and stepping away. It was happening. Roger was quitting his fight. This was the end. The end of everything that made you happy for the past 6 months.

              “Well, then… I guess that’s it.”

Hearing him say it made it hurt. Realizing that he was leaving. You were breaking up with him and you were never going to see him again. It hit you like a rock and you didn’t want him to leave. You wanted to grab onto him and make him stay forever.

              “I guess so.” You tried to remain cool, but your voice cracked, and he didn’t miss it. The tears you were trying to hold back were falling a little more easily now and he began to take a step forward. To comfort you like he wanted to. But he stopped, and instead took a step back. “Roger, I just… I just want you to be happy.”

              “Yeah, well do I look happy to you?”

So, you looked at him and no he did not. His face was flushing, his voice was hoarse. And his eyes, those eyes you were so scared of seeing, the eyes you could normally get lost in so easily, were now red and blotchy and angry. But you knew you were not what he wanted, not what he needed. He might hurt now but in the long run, you knew what you were doing was right.

              “I-I’m sorry--”

He just held a hand up, telling you to not even bother continuing. He was shaking now, but his sadness was turning into anger. His arm was flexing, jaw clenching. You could tell he was trying very hard to stay calm.

              “You may not know what it’s like to feel loved or whatever.” His voice was low, coarse, but serious and scary. “But I loved you, I still love you. And you’re to scared to face that reality.” You opened your mouth to say something again, but he ran right over you. “You made me a better person, a person I liked, someone who didn’t need to sleep around to feel loved. And I loved you. So, don’t say I don’t know what love is.”

Then he turned on his heel and started to walk away. And you felt it slipping. Your grasp on him, your connection was failing. You did this. You ruined this. And no matter what it wouldn’t be the same. You followed after him quickly.

              “Roger, please, just…”

              “You know what?” He spun back around to face you. “I’m sorry I cancelled my show tonight. I’m sorry I wasted my fucking gas money to come see you. Because it turns out…” he laughed. “You don’t even want to see me.”

              “Roger, that’s not true.” You grabbed onto his shoulder, trying to pretend there was still some warmth left in him for you.

              “Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, his voice sharp and he shrugged your hand off of his arm. You flinched, feeling as though you’d been slapped, and you took a step back. “Don’t lie to me because that’s not what I need to hear. You’ve been planning this for a while. I could tell.” He shook his head, a cruel smile coming on his lips. “You never wanted to see me, you even cut our calls short. And here I was, thinking you loved me. Turns out, you don’t know what the fuck love is.”

It hurt how right he was. It was like he was reading your mind and telling you all the things you were too afraid to say. You lip was quivering as you listened to him. You wanted to say something, But you didn’t know what to say. So, he just continued.

              “And you don’t even have anything to say to me now,” he scoffed. “I’m sorry your parents were mean to you, and that some douche bags didn’t treat you right, but news flash! We all have problems, and until you learn to get over them, you’re never going to be happy. There is only so much I could have done to help you. And I tried. I did. But obviously not hard enough.” He turned back around and opened the front door but turned back. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. And I hope he deserves you.”

And with that, he was gone. The door shut behind him and all the tears you had been holding back, flooded out. You choked on sobs as you fell to the floor, holding onto your chest trying to catch your breath. Your sobs filled the house, reminding you with every echo what you had done.

What you didn’t know. Was the Roger stood there, forehead pressed to the door, listening to you fall apart. He wanted more than anything to yank the door open and hold you and apologize for everything he had done. But he couldn’t he just stood there and listening as you hyperventilate and cried. He just walked away, driving away from your house and away from the memories and away from the relationship. Away from the girl he loved, leaving her crying by herself, with his own heart shattered.

-_______________--

PLEASE REBLOG, COMMENT, SEND AN ASK AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!!!!!

ALso Thanks to @sweet-ladyy for helping me make this sound right and believable!! 

Tag List: @leah-halliwell92 @angiefangirlworld-2 @zodiacal-dust-and-curls @perriwiinkle @dove-turned-destroyer @16wiishes @queenismyrealdad @blondecarfucker @chlobo6 @wolverinesbeer @onevisionliz @catnissprior-blog @thewinchesterchronicles 

[angrylizardjacket]

self-same mettle

Summary: "I love my sister more than anything in this life; I will choose her happiness over mine every time."

A/N: BIG WARNING; August Reid, who you may remember from the main story, child groom tw, though nothing comes of it he's still creepy and predatory. Okay so I just wanted to write a little something from Oscar's perspective in the High School AU. Let me know what you think!!

{AYDTD}

----

Oscar's always been a romantic at heart, always wanted to be the star of his own Mills and Boone novel ever since he was sixteen and found his mother's stash while hunting for Christmas presents. It had been painfully straight, right when he'd been discovering the delightful world of loving men, but he was invested enough in the romance that he didn't care.

In 2017, at the tender age of 19, he discovers the author Chuck Tingle, and despite the fact that he's technically now a literature student, this ridiculous, gay erotica makes his heart happy in ways he can't quite articulate.

The point is, he knows August Reid, because he's his dad's drinking buddy and fellow professor, but Oscar doesn't think of him much until he takes the man's class. Ash, who's fifteen and who spends weekends at the local art gallery down the road, has always been far more artistically minded, Oscar's always been more drawn to words, but he takes August's Art History class on a whim.

There's a certain draw to the whole teacher/student fantasy, and August looks kind of like an older Richard Madden, still angular and defined, but greying at the temples, the prelude to an extraordinary silver fox. So Oscar let's himself daydream, and take the follow up class, and look forward to the weekends where his dad's friends would come over to smoke cigars and play cards. August Reid was nothing if not polite, always smiling and kind and happy to see Oscar, answer his questions. Oscar knew he was married, thinks he probably has a kid, and so he was happy to keep his daydreams to himself. He thinks there's something romantic about quietly unrequited love.

However, it takes a year, once Ash has matured more, not a lot, but enough to catch August's interest, for the rose-coloured glasses to be ripped off. August takes an interest in her; when he and the rest of their father's colleagues came over, he would make a point to stop and check in with Ash, encourage her interest in Art, both physical and theoretical, and even suggest research for her, or upcoming exhibits he thought she might like. It's harmless, at first.

Talk of art turns to compliments, her taste in things, her outfits, how she wears her hair, the colour of her eyes. Ash seems to start looking forward to his visits, and something about it doesn't sit right with Oscar.

"He's just, Oz he's so cool," she was smiling, blushing a little; she had a crush, it was plain as the nose on her face, "and he said he could get us tickets to the Renaissance exhibit in Glasgow next month, how awesome is that?"

August starts calling her Miss Ashley, a joke that started since she still had a habit of calling him Mr Reid - because she's a fucking highschooler, it's how she's been taught to address teachers - Ash delights in it, straightens her posture a little when he says it. August makes a habit of petting her head fondly when she does. It makes Oscar's stomach turn just a little. August shouldn't be looking at his little sister like that, she's just a child.

Their father seems blind to it, tells Oscar 'don't be ridiculous, he's just being kind' and when he goes to mum, she just brushes him off, insisting that August is lovely, that he's so in love with his wife, and that Ash is just excited to have someone who understood her.

"A little schoolgirl crush is harmless, Oscar, dear; weren't you singing his praises not too long ago?" It's meant with a wink and a nudge, like perhaps Oscar's jealous, but his mother can be so dense; it's not the same at all. He's an adult, and Ash is a child, and yet he's not the one August is giving leering looks to when he thinks no-one's looking.

It's not that their parents don't love them, it's just that they don't particularly care. They're trapped in a loveless marriage, too self absorbed to care about those that can take care of themselves.

So Oscar takes it upon himself.

Oscar's never understood art like he's understood literature, never been able to make it make sense in the same way, but that doesn't matter. The point is, on Sundays, when his father's colleagues come over for tea and cigars and cards, Oscar's started taking Ash to art galleries across the country.

"But August is-"

"It's the impressionists, Ash," Oscar takes her hand with a grin, practically begging her, "come on they have the Water Lilies," he enthuses, and Ash's expression softens.

"I do love the Water Lilies."

Because he can't tell her what he's really doing, because she's sixteen and thinks she knows everything and the idea of telling her that August has any sort of feelings towards her, even if he explains why that's creepy and wrong, is probably the worst thing he can do to discourage her. So he distracts her, and is careful to never mention him if he can help it, or steer the conversation away if she brings him up.

She's his best friend. She's always been his best friend, but in an abstract, sibling sort of way, but it doesn't take long for the two of them to become legitimate best friends. He listens to all the drama of her highschool career, and her ideas for sculptures, and anything else she wants to talk about, and in turn he tells her about whatever he's reading that week, whatever poetry ideas he's been riffing with lately, and complains about pretty straight boys in his lectures.

Oscar may be a poet, but neither he nor Ash could hold a tune to save their lives, and so of course they sing along to Ash's Spotify playlists at the top of their lungs whenever they're driving. There's three weeks where she plays the Hamilton cast recording on repeat, and Oscar finds himself muttering it under his breath in class.

He works nights, and Saturdays, to afford all these day trips, and his family think he's so diligent, studying and working so hard, and on his day off he spends it with Ash. He keeps local for a few weeks, a few months actually, and surprises her with a trip to the West End for Christmas.

She talks about August less and less as time goes on. Though she does ask about it, in a roundabout way.

"Why're you spending so much time with me?"

They're having lunch in the park across from a gallery somewhere in Ireland. Oscar packed jam sandwiches.

"I don't understand this art shit like you do, but it's good to find inspiration from all mediums, you know?" Oscar smiles, takes a big bite of his sandwich, and watches Ash wrinkle her nose.

"You sound so pretentious," she snorted, shaking her head, "but whatever, I'm not gonna complain, you're the one paying."

"And I like spending time with you, biscuit." His voice turned overly sappy, as did his grin, "I love you." Oscar reached out and ruffled her hair, and Ash squawked, batting his hand away.

"I love you too, ya muppet, but if you wanna hang out we can just do something lowkey, or like, close to home."

She takes him at his word, which is good because he's being honest, but she seems content with their routine. Sometimes they go bowling, or to the library, sometimes they go op shopping, or to the movies, but they never miss a week.

She's his cheerleader at poetry readings, his tour guide at art galleries, and his favourite person at all times. His father's a literature professor who stopped truly engaging with her about her love of art once he stopped understanding her, and his mother was a Type A accountant who was just disappointed she wasn't interested in something employable. So Oscar was her cheerleader at art competitors, her enthusiastic student at art galleries, and ends up being her best friend and quietly, her favourite family member.

August asks about her, according to their father, but Ash's brief infatuation with him seems to have died down.

"Do you have a problem with me, Oscar?" August asks almost a month after Oscar's started spending Sundays with Ash, and maybe their father's told August what's happening, maybe he's noticed Oscar glaring at him whenever he saw the professor, but either way, he's so painfully kind when he asks that it's a dead giveaway; August knows something's wrong.

"Stay the fuck away from my sister," Oscar, kind-faced, bright eyed Oscar, snarls. He's 6'3" and never more thankful for his height as he towers over August.

"I'm simply showing an interest in her, she's an art enthusiast, I'm an art professor, don't worry-"

"I don't give a shit; look like the innocent flower but be the fucking serpent under it, right?"

"I don't understand what you mean? Does your father know you feel this way? Does Ash?" And it doesn't sound like a threat, it sounds like a very genuine question, but Oscar wants nothing more than to punch him in his stupid, angular nose.

"Does your wife know you spend weekends ogling underage girls?" Oscar fires back, and August's expression sours considerably, his mouth closed in a tight, humourless line. "Yeah, dad knows, not that he gives a shit," Oscar sneered, "but if you go near my sixteen year old sister again, you smarmy creepy -" his voice dropped very low, expression dark, his hands balling into fists by his side.

"If your father's not bothered by it I don't see why you should be, I haven't done anything wrong, but you're throwing around some serious implications here," August gives a blithe smile, "Ash is an incredible young woman I'm simply encouraging her passion."

"August Reid, I need you to know that I'm not threatening you," Oscar said calmly, "I'm promising you; I'll fucking kill you."

And maybe he doesn't believe Oscar would legitimately harm him, but he sees it's not a fight he's going to win. August leaves Ash well enough alone after that.

At the start of their Summer break, before Ash is due to start her second last year of high school, their father gets a job in England, their mother gets an excuse to leave her loveless marriage, and Ash and Oscar get a choice. Oscar knows without even having to ask that Ash will stick with him. He also knows that in two years, if she's still here, she'll end up studying under August and his father's other creepily complicit friends. Oscar's playing the long game to keep his sister safe when he announces he'll be going to England with their dad.

He lies, says he doesn't mind transferring courses and maybe retaking some classes at this new university, makes sure he's nothing but positive when he talks about the move, and Ash, add expected, joins him. It hurts to leave the life he's building himself, but he knows it's what's best for Ash.

Adjusting to a new life is difficult, and some weeks they don't end up spending Sunday together. Oscar let's himself relax, takes time for himself, and starts to build new relationships, new connections in this new situation he's found himself in.

Here, he didn't have to worry about Ash so much. She was still his best friend, but now she could just be a teenager without a creepy professor leering at her and grooming her. Though quietly, Oscar was just glad she still wanted to spend time with him; she still goes to his poetry readings, still wants to go on day trips with him, and she's starting to get to know his new friends little by little.

Meeting Freddie is like getting hit by a freight train; they're both taking a Creative Industries subject as an elective, and they get partnered together. Freddie is intense and warm in equal measure, a lover of cats judging by the pins on his bag, he's always drawing or doodling something on his notebook, and he writes songs. Oscar adores him from the moment he meets him. He's always busy, always on the move or at band practice, but he seems to like Oscar well enough, so the two of them start having lunch together a few times a week.

Freddie thinks Oscar's selfless when he learns about everything that had happened back in Scotland.

"Picking up and moving your whole life just to make sure she's safe," Freddie shakes his head, "you're a Saint, you know that?"

"She's my sister, I couldn't not do it," Oscar laughs a little self consciously, but Freddie just seemed endeared.

They're messaging almost every day. Freddie sends draft song lyrics and selfies with his cats and Oscar will send bits of poems and shitty angled selfies or photos taken by Ash. They both live busy lives, but they keep up with each other without even trying.

[I've got a cat named Oscar, you know?]

[I didn't actually. You really like me well enough to name a cat after me 😂😜]

[har har I've known the cat longer. sorry to disappoint. 😘]

He's so caught up in his new life and his new friends, and Ash seems so happy with her new school, especially their art program, that it takes Oscar a while to realise how painfully lonely Ash was. She's always been introverted, always focused more on her projects than on the people around her, but when Oscar realises that person she talks most about is her physics tutor, it hits him that she doesn't actually have any friends her own age here. She likes his friends well enough, one even got her a fake ID if she might ever need it, but she had none of her own.

"How was school?" They've been here for about three months, and finally things have maybe started to look up.

"Fine; we're starting sculpture making in art," Ash said offhandedly, rolling her eyes; she already spent time outside of school making sculptures, the idea of being graded on it now seemed trivial, "this one dumbass spent like twenty minutes negotiating with a teacher about whether he can also make a second sculpture for fun." Ash's voice was flat, unimpressed.

"Sounds like someone you'd get along with-"

"He wants to make a dick."

Dick Sculpture Guy turns to Fucking Roger, and Oscar starts to hear more about him, because Roger's always seemingly causing a scene and Ash is endlessly annoyed with him, though she once let it slip that she thinks he's rather hot, and Oscar, though he's never brought it up, will never forget it.

Until he gets a call on Friday afternoon, from Ash, in tears, asking him to come to the school.

She's surrounded by the pieces of her broken major work when he arrives, and there's a tall, dark haired guy checking up on her. This is Brian, the tutor he's heard so much about. He's thankful, but comforting Ash is his first priority.

Brian leaves, and together the siblings piece together her work. The school gets locked at five, and they're there until the very last minutes. Once the bust is sitting up on one of the desks at the edge of the room, Ash sniffles only a little bit.

"I'll paint the cracks gold."

"Kintsugi," Oscar adds, nodding sagely and Ash actually beams at him, "see, I listen to you, biscuit."

He suggests they go to Freddie's gig to take her mind off of it, though it's also because she's been asking to meet Freddie for a while now, but he's always been busy. However, things don't go as planned when not only is Ash's tutor part of the band, but Fucking Roger is too. Fucking Roger who's sculpture exploding made Ash cry.

Ash is adamant she's going to kill him. Oscar doesn't stop her. She disappears around the end of the bar after Roger, while the rest of the band - Freddie, Brian, and some kid called John - hang back.

Ash decidedly doesn't kill Roger, and actually ends up enjoying her night, which Oscar's glad for. That being said, he's a little bit distracted; he's quickly discovering that Brian might be the loveliest person he'd ever met. Brian's an astrophysics student, a guitarist, a tutor, and he took the time to check up on Ash; Oscar hasn't been seriously romantically interested in anyone since high school, and he's only met Brian today, but damn if there wasn't definitely a crush forming.

They play good music, and Ash seems to have a good time, and he tells himself that that's all that matters.

Days go by, weeks go by, the siblings keep going to Queen's gig's, and Fucking Roger turns to just Roger. Oscar messages Brian and Freddie that Ash might have a crush and Freddie sends back a wheezed voice message saying that Roger probably does too, but that he's stubborn as hell and would never be the first to admit it. Something warms in Oscar's heart at that. Slowly but surely, between Roger and John, Ash is finally making friends her own age.

Ash deserves a normal-ish crush on a normal-ish boy, and Oscar will do anything to encourage that crush. So they go to gigs, and Oscar wiggles his eyebrows at her when Roger's got an arm around her between sets, and Ash turns as red as her hair. But Brian's got a hand on his thigh where they're sitting near the door, and it feels weirdly normal, and kind of the best.

To see Ash smiling and happy, everything was worth it. It's all worked out, though he knows he'll never stop worrying about her, not that he'd want to.

[harderandlesspopular]

Day 3: Post-Apocalyptic

The phalanx approaching from the east was a marvel of waving silver. The glaring sun glinted off of the wide silver and black tarp from miles away. The first calls of their arrival had sounded hours ago from the old radio tower. Everyone in town had headed towards rooftops and hills, carrying binoculars and a few even setting out small picnics to watch the approach.

The energy harvesters didn’t ride fast. Precision and care were more important than speed in their line of work. The bicyclists were heroes of the new world. The carriers of energy, the new power plants of a generation. Each turn of the pedals stored power in the batteries they carried. Each hour in the sun captured in the wide silver fabric, the thinnest and most efficient solar panels thus far.

When they had first set out on the roads seven years ago, after the great meltdown, they’d been forced to carry so much equipment the energy was barely worth the toll it took on them. 

Now with their custom welded bike phalanxes, with their mountain-biker guards, and the two-lane-wide solar fabric stretched between them like an odd trampoline, it had become the livelihood of heroes. The New Pony Express, sans ponies. Though there was word that some of the towns down south had a couple of horse divisions as well, it was less efficient than the bicycles, since the wheels were producing energy too.

Ashley was sitting on the side of the Radio tower. Usually they weren’t allowed up there, but the lawmen always made an exception when there were energy harvesters approaching. It was basically New World fireworks. 

Don was swinging his feet beside her, restless. The meltdown had hit him worse than her. His right hand had been burned badly. He’d been close to a power source when it all went to hell. He always just grinned when someone brought up up and wiggled his left hand, saying ‘good thing it wasn’t this one!’

Most people didn’t get it. Some thought it meant he was left handed which, sure, he was now.  He used his left hand a LOT more. But he hadn’t been in the Before. Now, it was something a lot less about necessity and a lot more about Calling.

“Think they’ll be on board?” Don asked into the cricket-filled dusk as the phalanx of harvesters neared their town. 

They could hear them now, the churning grind of hundreds of bicycles, of batteries dragged on broken roads gathering more power with their motion. The restless flapping of the sail-like solar panels. “I mean, they’ve probably seen so many, like… Desperate situations.”

“Town’s not so bad off,” Ashley said, holding the clipboard to her chest. “We’ll have to wait and see. I’m rooting for us Don. A lot of people are.”

“Yeah,” said Don, and drummed his left hand’s fingertips against the beam they were perched on.

The first mountain biker reached them not long after. Ashley saw him coming and clambored to her feet on the beam. Sometimes there were a lot of people waiting with their requests. This time there were only four of them. Ashley and Don, Georgette from up the road (she had a garden that had saved some lives all those years ago) and Madison the librarian. Ashley let Georgette go up to the road first. She even hung back for Madison. Her and Don… They’d wanted to ask for this a long time, but things had always seemed so dire. Now the radios were coming back online, and the hospital had enough healthy bodies to keep the generator charged. Now they were settling back into their lives with energy as a non-standard resource.

It had made things hard for her whole band, though maybe hardest for Don of all of them. He’d really been going places, back when there were places to go for a musician. Now, in this new world…

“Hey ladies,” Said the biker Liaison, pulling up to the side of the road and tugging down the bandanna that covered his face. “Pass over your requests!”

“Panel access for a greenhouse setup,” Summarized Georgette to the biker liaison as she stepped forward. The biker grinned at her, glancing over the request form.

“Energy access for an educational film for the kids,” Madison said, her smile reaching her eyes and her voice both as she passed over the board.

“Um,” Said Ashley, tugging her own facemask higher up anxiously.

“It’s okay,” said the biker. His face was filthy where his goggles and the mask hadn’t covered. There was a new beard growing in, and the wrinkles around his eyes were so friendly as he smiled that she was afraid to dampen his enthusiasm with her request. “I’ve seen it all. Don’t worry.”

He probably has, thought Ashley. She glanced back to Don on the radio tower then passed in her request.

“One night garageband performance,” She whispered, her face heating up at the nature of her request in comparison to the other women. “If there’s enough. I mean… It… There are some signatures so…”

“No judgement,” The biker said, his grin only seeming to widen. “I’m glad. A town that can think about music again is doing pretty well. I’ll deliver them, okay? Make sure to wave to the crew as they pass, they’ve had a hard week’s ride.”

“Sorry,” Muttered Ashley as the biker tore away, calves bulging as he tore back towards the slowly approaching phalanx. “I know you both have actual important things.”

“My educational film is an old Disney cartoon.” said Madison with an air of admission, clapping Ashley on the back. “I just didn’t want to say so in front of my personal hero Georgette.”

“Honestly,” Georgette snickered, turning to grin at them. Her milk-pale left eye and the surrounding scars were her mark from the great change, and she bore them with good humor. “You girls are so bashful. You know I only want the panels so I can set up an automatic sprinkler system again. It’s perfectly nice having some fresh produce growing, but I’d love to laze about some days.”

“Besides.” Said Madison. “It’s not just you.”

“He’s nervous.” Said Ashley, bouncing on her toes with her hands in her pockets. “It’s been a long time since we could… You know. Plug in.”

“You lot were good before the power burned.” Madison said. “They really were Georgette. They did one of the benefit shows for the library, remember?”

“Well, it was very energetic.” Georgette said tactfully. “I remember that much. I think it would do some of the others good. It’s been hard with only hand-crank gramophones.”

“I thought that’s what you were used to, G’ette,” Don said, finally having made his way down to join them. “You know, before all us young folks and our blu ray players.”

“Don’t tease, son, I know perfectly well Blu Ray was for film.” She scoffed. “And I never had to hand crank a gramophone Before. Not that I mind terribly much that records are popular again. Between the garden and the records it’s no wonder you lot tried to put me in charge. I basically turned into the town grandmother at the ripe old age of forty five. Treats for everyone.”

They laughed like she hadn’t saved their lives. They averted their eyes like they all hadn’t been part of trying to elect her their new mayor.

There were only about four hundred people left in their little town. They’d consolidated as much as they could. Done their best to make sure that the empty buildings wouldn’t become significant pest problems--Generally by tearing out what they could and opening them up to both pests and pest eaters alike. But the main drag of downtown was still fairly lively. Most of the folks left had moved in. No more landlords, no more rent. Just the places that hadn’t burned to the ground, and the people who were left.

It was enough that when the phalanx of harvesters arrived cheer rose up from those gathered. It was twelve bikers per panel, with four mountain biking guards for each. This group of harvesters had four panels. Supposedly, when they traveled down the bigger old highways, they road two and two. Ashley had heard that some of the bigger city areas had phalanxes of twenty panels at a time trawling the old highway roads. She’d heard it from the same place they heard most of the news--the riders themselves.

Usually every time they passed few some folks stopped to stay in town awhile and some folks in town joined up. It was a fair system. One that kept their whole corner of the world going. Ashley hadn’t been much good, but even she had taken a tour once, riding at the back right side of a phalanx. It was a community ordeal, and she believed in fairness. Still, though the riders had been encouraging she suspected they hadn’t been sorry that their huffing, puffing slowest pedal churner washed out after one rotation.

“Here we go,” whispered Don, leaning against her side as they watched the ride leader unfold a little step stool from his ride on gear and climb up it. What was left of the town gathered in, listening.

“Only got three requests this month,” The rider called. “Hope that means you’re all doing well and not that those three ladies have a chokehold on the community!”

Laughter followed, and the rider’s grin brightened. She was sweat drenched and panting, but the phalanx always stopped to make the needed announcements before moving forward.

“For the appeal of Georgette Middles, we have a half panel in our pack that tore in a storm two months ago! We can spare it if that will do for your power needs.”

“Perfect for a start!” Georgette called from Ashley’s side. Don pressed closer.

“For the appeal of Madison Allens, we generally avoid films, but since there isn’t much non-standard need we’ll be happy to provide supplementary power to one of your own bike generators for a film. Will that do?”

“Perfectly!” Called Madison, waving with a grin.

Don’s good hand squeezed Ashley’s fingers.

“For the appeal of Ashley Drausser, first, let me thank you for specifying number of instruments needed for powering, that’s helpful, and second we can spare power for a set of roughly half an hour so long as there are no lights necessary. And only if it’s open attendance. Sound good?”

Ashley's mouth went dry. Her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She jammed her fist up into the air in a motion of triumph, and heard a ragged cheer go up through the crowd for her.

“Perfect,” Ashley choked, as Don shook her by the arm in eager, delighted motions. A laugh was tearing out of his throat as he jumped up and down in excitement. Their other bandmates were somewhere in the crowd, she knew.

She couldn’t believe it. She’d thought it was over.

But Dragged Ragged was finally going to be able to play again.

She met up with the Harvester planner after the mayor had given her part of the speech. Had made sure the riders knew where to go for food and water, both for their stay and for their trip. Had ensured that they knew where housing was, and where the bathing house was currently functioning. The old YMCA had seen better days, but they’d gotten the showers up and running and converted all the work out equipment into small scale energy harvesters off their own.

“Garage rock, huh?” said the planner, looking over Ashley’s paperwork again as they ironed out the details. “Gotten to play at all since the big dark started?”

“Only acoustic,” Ashley said. “We’re not bad, but—”

“Not what you love,” the planner nodded. “We’re only staying two nights. So tomorrow?”

“Sounds great,” Ashley said. “We don’t need much light, so please put the movie first? I know it’s for the kids, and our music is probably a little loud for them.”

“Oh I was thinking of making you play at nine am,” The planner snickered. “We’ll put you on at eight. Got a location?”

“Roof of the old movie theater? We kind of converted it into a community space a year or so back.”

“Done.” The planner said. “Better rally your troops and make sure you still remember how to tune, ma’am.”

“Ashley,” She said, her cheeks hurting under her mask from trying to smile so much. “And thank you.”

“Looking forward to it Ashley,” Said the planner, shooting her a wink. They were cute. Ashley escaped, grinning, into the slowly darkening streets. She pulled out her hand-crank flashlight, but she didn’t need it yet. She knew the streets.

She didn’t go to her new home, the second story apartment off of main street, its green paint finally fresh rather than flaking after they finally got around to some aesthetic work three years ago.

Instead she went to her old one. The one she’d lived in all through high school. The one that had been her home before the burnout. Where she had lived with her parents before they were gone. Before so many people were gone, and the power with them.

She’d had a lot of time to come to terms with it. A lot of days spent moving in and out of that old home since. She still felt wistful, approaching, but it wasn’t the raw ache of loss it had been. Especially when she saw the flashlights around the open garage and heard the murmur of voices.

“Dude,” Called Don, the first to see her. “She’s here!”

Saanvi must have set up her drums, because a drumroll started as Ashley approached. It ended with a symbol crash just before Don caught her in a tight, squeezing hug. His left hand was flat against her back, his ruined right pressed against her other shoulder blade still curled.

“Thank you,” He whispered.

Ashley returned the hug fiercely as the crickets and cicadas sang around them, joined by the frogs in the creek near her old home and the distant howls of coyotes.

“We’re gunna have to do some dusting on this gear,” Saanvi warned. “Not to mention pulling out our old outfits.”

“Ooh, I’m gunna have to figure out what to do with the other leg on my old leather pants,” Melvin sighed, gesturing down to his missing right leg. “Like, is it more metal to tie it up or to slice it off? Probably slicing, right?”

“That’s usually pretty metal,” Ashley agreed. “Slicing.”

She didn’t have to worry about changing her old garb. She remembered, vaguely, putting her look together back in the day. Draping on black and patterns in careful tatters. Draping dingy silver and bronze around her body.

She remembered the careful makeup routine. The dark lipstick. She remembered loving her lips. She spared a moment, touching a fingertip to the mask she wore over her ruined lower face. She pulled it down with a slow breath, allowing her bared teeth and the burned, curled remains of her lips to show. She was going to have to to sing. Couldn’t do that behind a mask. She straightened up and faced her band.

They smiled back. Don swung his guitar strap over his shoulder, his curled hand still just barely good enough for him to strum with his thumb. Melvin leaned back in his chair, his one leg splayed out before him and his fingers already picking out notes on his electric bass. Saanvi twirled her drumsticks, her empty eye sockets heavily shadowed in the scant light of their crack-charged flashlights.

“Alright,” Ashley said, grinning as much as her burned face would let her. “Let’s rock their worlds.”

[chiauve]

Algernon - Day 30

(Note: So concludes NaNoWriMo. I wrote 30k words and 54 pages. Thanks to everyone who’s been reading! I’m obviously going to keep writing this, the real goal was to get me writing a little bit every day, but from now on I’ll post complete chapters instead of spamming the tag. This part is all over the place. I revealed stuff early and the thing I was avoiding happened anyway. Oops.)

           "You don't know how tempting it is to avenge myself and start 'stop hitting yourself' him," Great said, curling Jet's forearm.

           Pyunma smirked. "It wouldn't really count as vengeance if he doesn't know you're doing it. Here, lift his arm more to get his shoulder moving."

           "Yeah but I might get some satisfaction from it."

           It will have to wait, Ivan said, once again sitting between Jet's knees, it's been five minutes. Give him a break and then we'll start on the other arm.

           Unlike in humans, the artificial muscle required no exercise to stave off atrophy or blood clots. Jet could hop out of bed and run a marathon regardless of if he'd been in bed for a few days or a few weeks, but his mind continued to only progress when encouraged by his teammates.

           "How's he doing, Ivan?" Pyunma asked.

           Ivan glanced at him and Pyunma didn't miss the annoyance in his eyes. He was growing tired of his position as Jet interpreter. I don't know. I'm staying out of his mind, I've explained this. If anything significant changes I will sense it, otherwise expect him to be the same.

           "Alright, alright."

           They sat through the five minutes in awkward silence, giving Jet a break from forced stimulation. The current rule was five minutes of movement followed by a five minute break. Jet remained still save the occasional clenching of his fists in his lap that he started doing the day before.

           Finally Pyunma's internal chronometer pinged him and he lifted Jet's arm, curling the forearm, lifting the elbow, and rotating the shoulder.

           The arm felt real. Gilmore always rebuilt them as close to their original forms as he could and that included the frame shaped to the skeleton when possible. The artificial skin yielded and stretched and the muscle beneath shifted under his fingers. Granted, the arms solidified under activation of the armor shell and would split into panels in high-speed flight mode, but for now they were as real as possible. There were flaws, or more correctly there weren't flaws revealing the true nature of the body: no discoloration found in real skin, no scars or freckles, and no marks where Jet chewed his knuckles. There was no hair on the arm, or anywhere that wasn't Jet's head, and this was true of all of them, save GB when he wished it.

          The construction of Jet's lower legs was an entirely different story. They looked normal enough when relaxed, but if one looked closely when he flexed it was obvious there were no tightening muscles under the skin; he looked like a doll with a set shape. There was no room with the jet system in there, and a touch would reveal the feel of metal and tubing under the skin.

           Still, Pyunma thought, rotating Jet's wrist, it was amazingly accurate considering Jet had been just a head a few weeks ago. Gilmore and Grant produced a brand new yet customized body that passed as real in a week that was ready for use the moment it came online.

           In this, their withdrawal from the world frustrated him. The Gilmore Foundation had been taking the knowledge gleaned from the weapons of Black Ghost and turning them into medical marvels. Prosthetics that could feel, connecting robotics to the human mind, artificial skin that felt real… All this Black Ghost had in the sixties, and yet were only now becoming breakthroughs in mainstream modern science.

           Cyborgs were being made all over the world, had been for some time, and yet that technology still remained within the control of governments and hidden societies.

           Which was why while they, the 00 cyborgs, went back to their missions, Gilmore began to try to work his way back into the science community. They'd been shunned by the UN, then declared fugitives who hid away in the desert, then pursued, and now…nothing. They were left alone and their records officially clean courtesy of Igarashi.

           Officially, but records did not hold memories like people did, and Gilmore wasn’t going to be able to waltz back into such a tight-knit group without an uncomfortable amount of schmoozing. Fortunately Gilmore was better at that than the cyborgs gave him credit. The last two years indeed found them at least once in scientific conferences where they looked their best and smiled for the elite.

           Pyunma hated it, but it helped Gilmore. And it wasn't a new thing for them, they'd done it all the time back before the UN had disbanded them. It had always been more of a night of standing around Francoise and protecting her from creepy old men without looking like that's what they were doing, with the occasional need to protect Joe or Albert from aggressive older women. This was usually done by Jet who would barge over and proceed to play up his "uncouth street kid" act until they got disgusted and went away.

           Except the time that got him into bed with a nuclear physicist who apparently found this "charming". The worst part was they stayed in contact and he continued to disappear with her whenever they were at the same event.

           Five minutes pinged in his mind and Pyunma set down Jet's arm.

           Reminiscences? Ivan asked.

           "Just some horror stories from better times," Pyunma smiled.

           We are expected to be at the next cybernetics conference, you know that, right?

           GB beamed and Pyunma cursed.

           Joe shuddered awake, his sleep disturbed by an unknown. Even in the safety of their home Joe was a light sleeper, the decades of fighting and horror creeping under his subconscious wouldn't allow him otherwise.

           The room was dark, near black with the curtains drawn, and he switched to infrared to see Jet sitting up in bed on his own, staring at the corner of the room. Joe could see his wide-blown pupils, actually focused on something, and it sent a trickle of cold down his back. He glanced at the corner. There was nothing but the chair.

           "Jet?" he whispered.

           Jet shifted, his movement sudden and wrong, and slowly lifted an arm, holding out a clawed hand to the corner. He was breathing heavily.

           "What are you doing? Did you have a nightmare?"

           It was only when Joe sat up that Jet's arm lowered and he flopped back onto the bed.

           Joe switched back to normal vision and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Jet was asleep.

           "Am I having a nightmare?" he wondered. He turned out the light and lie down, but didn't sleep for a while. Jet didn't move for the rest of the night.

[dianasdabbles-blog]

Pia Wilkinson

"C . O . N . F . I . D . E . N . T

that's me, i'm confident"

May 2016,

The month of birthdays. Pia's birthday is up first hitting us off hard as the 2nd of May rolls around. Continuing our famous day and night tradition involving a whole lot of ice cream.

"Are you readyyy!" Screaming my way through the hallways of Pia's house.

"Hell yeah i am!" I hear her voice coming from upstairs, trailing my belongings up the stairs "Oh my goodness! Kenny!" Pia screams, opening the door just in time for me to make an entrance dropping my bags all over the floor as i turn. "Let the partying begin!" Grabbing my hands we jump up and down, spinning round as we fall down. "You know just because you're staying over doesn't mean you have to bring everything, you live right there" P tries pointing out the window as she slowly catches her breath back.

"Who said there was clothes in there?" Not going to lie, they were her presents it would be ridiculous for me to pack my whole cupboard of clothes when i could just climb through my window besides i only need my pyjama's and a nice set of clothes and that would be us done for the two days! I'm not a person who really cares if they wear the same thing twice in a row unless you completely cover one in sweat till it is a shade darker or even a little bit of sweat but say going to the shops or out for lunch that'll be just fine.

-:-

Birds chirping as the sun slowly rises, coming through the cracks of the un-closed curtains to wake us up peacefully.... How i could only dream of waking up. Instead there was jumping on the bed and music played all night long that soon after we passed out we were straight back up 4 hours later as i gave Pia my presents.

"Can i have it now Ken?" The hundredth time this morning i have been question about the bag of presents slowly teasing her as they sit and stare at her. "Come on Ken, it is 6am on MY birthday. Give 'em to me" Pretending i don't hear as i continue cooking breakfast. More pancakes. "Kenny." Pia sternly commands my attention.

"Mmm?" Not turning to face her, concentrating on not over-cooking the pancakes.

"Ugh. You always do this!" I know she rolled her eyes and now has turned her back on me "Kennedy Everrett why must you do this to me.." Giving me her best pout-y face she can muster up.

"Just let me fin-" Before i can even finish my sentence Pia is up the stairs in her room and back down all in a matter of 10 seconds - okay maybe i'm exaggerating - with the bag of presents but of course she doesn't wait opening up one of the gifts as i hear a squeal of excitement.

"Kenny, i love you i love you i love you soooo much!" Hearing the happiness ooze out of her mouth.

Turning around seeing her hold the Pandora box in her hands as her eyes glow in amazement. So i got her some of the limited element charms that are really cutely patterned and have the element written on the sides of them, even i'm not one for jewellery but these were cute.

Giving her a smile i plonk myself next to her, "I knew you would P" pulling her close to me "Come on are you going to open the rest?" Nodding her head she sets to work, expressing her love for me each time she opens the next.  

June 2016,

My 19th birthday just passed, Pia and i were still on a high even though we still never hit up a club. We made a pact to each other that we wouldn't drink. Even though we have been to house parties, we prefer to stay sober and enjoy each others company rather then make a fool of ourselves and live in shame for the rest of our lives. And of course we wouldn't want our children and grand children and great grand children having to experience the scarring image of us shaking up on some random guy. Yuck.

Nothing has changed since being 19. I don't feel older, nothing has changed. Life has continued on to be the one big scribbly ball of mess it always has been with plenty of doubt and sudden change, second chances and helping people. We are now half way through the year and Pia swears something big is going to change our lives this year. I don't understand where she gets these feelings from, she likes to call it 'her zen' but who knows... Maybe she'll be right.

-:-

"Can you believe he is half way through his World Tour already?" Pia decided to come to training with me today so the drive back was full of gossip of what she found while 'researching'.

"It always goes quick P but i still don't understand your obsession.."

"It's not an obsession" she gasps as if i had just offended her or Shawn. I get it he has some what blessed genes and he has this awesome natural talent that would be great to have but heaps of people are being discovered daily but just something irks me about people so young being this successful so early. 

What have they done to be so well-known? How hard have they worked? Or is it just purely their family has money and has pushed their son into the spotlight of fame and success? I will never know. "He is just mesmerising and so well accomplished already, how does it happen?"

"You already know my answer to that Pia." Grumbling as i grip the steering wheel a little harder.

"You know what Ken? You are too judgemental. Stop being a Debby Downer and just admit that not everyone that is young and successful were bought into fame.." I huff.

"Yes. How else do they become "discovered" and all of a sudden selling hit singles or taking the major roll in a film. nobody just wakes up, goes to an audition or label and poof, magic. All of a sudden they are jumping on a plane doing sold out world tours and fighting of paparazzi? Someone payed big bucks to get them that deal. And besides everyone these days has to look like a god to even be heard." Rolling her eyes, she finally lets the conversation drop but not long after a song of his comes on, and yes i admit it, we both are screaming the lyrics out.

Just because i don't approve of ones path to success, if they are good i will give them the credit but i just enjoy hearing stories of all the hard work people have had to put in to become where they are because who honestly cares about the rich pop princess thinking she owns everything and anyone that comes near her, who can't take no as an answer and when they do get told no they have a public meltdown which ruins their career.

"Hey Ken," P turns off the radio which make me really anxious. "You just got an email from Andrew G. from Island Records." I pull into the drive way slowly shutting the engine off. The colour has drained from her face as i know she knows who Andrew G from Island Records is.

"Which is..." I try to encourage her to say something instead of opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

"W-w-which is" She looks up wide eyes, "Shawn Mendes Manager."

Teaser: Just a little filler to give you the other perspective. Small and quick but i think it'll be enough...

[scriptaed]

paper hearts finale.

♡ genre: angst/fluff

♡ pairing: reader x jungkook x jimin

♡ length: 6.4k

♡ synopsis: It has been nearly a year since you started writing anonymous letters to Jungkook, giving him words of encouragement behind the thin mask of a paper. He never considered you as a possible suspect behind these letters, because you were nothing more than a best friend. And you couldn’t put all the blame on him either, after all, you were too afraid to confess in fear of tarnishing your precious friendship.

♡JK ♡JM

I’m sorry things had to turn out this way, and I can’t help but wonder if things might’ve turned out differently if you or I had been a step earlier or later. Pretty useless thinking, huh? What if I hadn’t accepted your help? What if you never fell for the cowardly girl hiding behind paper hearts? I say that, but here I am writing on yet another piece of paper hoping it’d say the words I should say myself. I guess my last paper heart won’t be a letter of confession, but rather a letter of apology.

I’m sorry about how we ended. Is it selfish of me to say I still wish we had a future together somewhere far off in another universe? It’d be nice if it was in the same universe as us. But that’d only cause us more pain, and so I came to the conclusion that the only thing we need now is time.

I heard time heals all sorts of things; scars, heartache, longing for the unreachable past. Should we test it out? It’s a dumb request for me to make, but a part of me is hoping you’ll keep this paper close to your heart. And maybe if we meet again in the future, when you come back from studying abroad or something, you would show me this silly paper heart and we would laugh at how many things have changed with time. Maybe our hearts won’t hurt so much by then. Maybe we’d forget the memories we shared together, maybe we’d leave each other behind in the past.

But who am I kidding? I won’t forget. I can’t forget. Even if my heart belongs to someone else, I guess you can say this is a small piece of my heart that you’ve stolen from me. Perhaps one day, regardless of which universe we’re in, this paper heart can be exchanged for more than what it’s worth. It’s a big proposition, but who knows what the future holds for us? I mean, I never expected any of this to happen just a year and half ago when I started writing these letters.

God, I’ve gone so off topic. I really don’t know why you wanted one of these worthless papers. I guess a part of me is just trying to drag this out so I’d never have to say goodbye. But all good things must come to an end, right? Thank you for pulling me out of the dumps and giving me everything you had and knew about love. I hope this isn’t the end; a part of my foolish self thinks I’ll see a more experienced, devoted version of you, confidently holding another undeserving girl in your arms. Let’s hope a time like that comes for us soon. I’ll see you later, then.

The words to your lengthy paper heart was still engraved deep into the back of your mind as the years passed by. One year, two years—and still no news from him. Of course, he must have been extremely busy adapting to a new environment and culture within a separate country, whereas you were also exhausted with an overload of classes this year yourself.

Dozens of things had changed since two years ago. You and Jungkook had your own happy ending shortly after his leave. It was a great one and half years spending your time laughing your lungs out with your best friend; but like how life always works, the onslaught of classwork, exams, and chasing of dreams inevitably intervened to cause a momentary break between your relationship with Jungkook. You two were still great—amazing—best friends; the only thing that had changed was labeling yourselves as a couple, allowing both of you to explore your lives together, and yet not always glued to each other’s arms as an item. 

He was busy with pursuing his career as a musician, and you were busy figuring yourself out in college. Maybe you two would tie your future together once again someday in the future when neither of you were so caught up with your own lives, when being nothing more than best friends with a history no longer satisfied you. But as for now, life was your main focus.

The one thing that didn’t change was Jimin’s mysterious leave. Neither you nor Jungkook heard back from him since that day; you didn’t even know if he was back from his studies abroad. And although you had finally let the past become concrete past, the final paper heart you had last written remained lingering in the back of your mind.

There was nothing else you could have said in the letter. It wrapped up the spur of events and heartache from two years ago and ended that chapter of your life as well as it could possibly be closed. But the way that you had left it off, the way you had practically tore out a piece of paper heart which represented your own physical heart and given it away to a boy who was thousands of miles apart from you now, it only made you wishing for more; not necessarily for love—no, enough time had passed for you to focus on possibilities before you which appeared much more likely than something as silly as reconciliation with him—but rather for reassurance.

Jungkook was happy pursuing his career with his best friend by his side, and you were more than happy setting your relationship aside in search for whatever seemed to make your heart gape with an unclosed hole of an unfinished story. But what really struck you hard every night when the rush of the day had gone and passed was the whereabouts of Jimin—was he happy?

“What’re you daydreaming about now?” a familiar voice playfully teased, an arm swinging over your shoulders and nearly causing you to collapse to the ground. You turned your head to, unsurprisingly, find Jungkook shining brightly with a giddy, mischievous smile plastered all over his face. He cocked his head and raised his brows suggestively, “getting coffee? Getting coffee with me? Or perhaps, just me?”

“Get over yourself,” you snorted, laughing and rolling your eyes at him.

“Did I make you wait too long?” he asked, gently pushing you forward by his side with his arm slung over your shoulders.

“Yeah, like always,” you bluntly remarked. You took a deep breath and sighed, feigning disappointment. “Too busy at the studio for your best friend I guess.”

“Oh c’mon! I was just,” he checked his watch, “two minutes late!”

“Well that’s two minutes too late for me,” you chimed, pressing your lips into a whimsical smile. You grabbed the jacket that hung over your crossed arms and pushed it against Jungkook’s chest, causing him to instinctively hold them up from falling to the grips of gravity. His eyes widened and he quirked a brow at you, receiving no answer and little to no time to question your sudden actions when you playfully push him off of you and began sprinting down the streets. “Race you to the cafe!”

“Yah, Y/N! You can’t get a head start! That’s not fair!” he yelled after you, but you were already well on your way to the store just a few blocks down from the ever so familiar convenience store near your house.

Just as you bursted through the swinging glass doors of the small frequented coffee shop, a series of heavy, heaving breaths follow behind you as a pair of arms wrapped around you, tightening to give you a secure, bear hug. The breeze from the usual morning dew and chilly air came rushing through the slowly closing doors behind you, but the warmth of Jungkook’s chest pressed against your back envelopes you and shields you from both the cold and dangers of the outside world.

“You really still think you can outrun me?” Jungkook chuckled under his lightening breaths. He sang his next several words teasingly, “I’m still faster than you even if you get a head start!”

You scoffed at how blatantly competitive he was being, but you were given little to no time to throw some sort of rebuttal when he threw your jacket’s hood over your face, covering your eyes and engulfing your line of sight with pitch black darkness. Taking a step away from you, the warmth behind your back dissipated along with him as he ruffled your hair through the thick cotton fabric of your hoodie.

“Now take your jacket, because I’m parched,” he said out loud to your blinded sight, the loud footsteps of his allowing you to estimate his growing distance from you. “Want me to order the usual for you?”

“Yeah,” you grumbled between your barely parted lips, probably inaudible to Jungkook’s deafened ears as he hummed to himself and practiced for what he would soon come to master in the recording studio.

Pulling the jacket off your face, you ran your hand through your hair in an attempt to smooth down its disheveled state while walking to the corner of the shop to take a seat next to a table reserved for the two regulars. You looked around the cafe to find a few customers with computers and phones sprawled across their tables. 

Everyone was going about their day like usual, but the nagging feeling of something that was missing never left your head. Every day you would enter the store, look around, and scrunch your face in confusion over what could possibly be missing. It was a sensation you often heard as a longing for someone from the past or someone you wished was here in the present… but what was there to long for when they had never been here with you in the first place?

It didn’t take very long before Jungkook was walking towards you with two cups of coffee in his hand, a bunny-like smile adorning his face as he plopped into the seat in front of you and slid your drink across the table towards you.

“One for me,” he chimed, popping two straws through its paper wrappings and sticking them into his and your cups, “and one for you.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled and quickly took a long sip of your drink. The sweetness mixed with the bitterness of the coffee sat on your tastebuds, satisfying their caffeine withdrawals and allowing you to hum in approval.

“Let me get a quick sip,” you heard Jungkook blurt out before the cold, dripping dew of your cup was pulled from the palms of your hand, and the next thing you knew, Jungkook was already sucking through your straw like his life depended on it. “Mm, it’s as good as always.”

“If you’re gonna ‘sip’ literally half of my drink away, then why don’t you just get one yourself,” you pursed your lips and snatched your drink back.

“So I can order my own drink and get the best of both worlds,” he clicked his tongue and gave you two finger guns before quickly occupying his lips with the straw of his cup and his eyes with the less than amusing tabletop, obviously too scared to look up at the glare you were giving him.

“God, sometimes I wonder why I’m even friends with you. How did I survive dating you for one and half years?” you joked.

“What? You want to get back together?” Jungkook pretended to mistaken your question for another. He chuckled at the way you scrunched your nose and abruptly shook your head, but he quickly pouted at you in an attempt to put on an offended face and hide his growing amusement. “You don’t like me? Fine, I guess we’re calling off our friendship too.”

He stood up from his chair only to be pushed back down by your feet as you swung your leg comfortably into his lap like always. “Ay, you know I’m just joking,” you laughed. “I had the time of my life dating my best friend, but I just don’t think we have the time to do that anymore. At least not at the moment, not with our circumstances.”

“Yeah…” Jungkook took a deep breath and sighed, playing with his straw. “Now that I’m busy trying to get signed by a record label and you’re busy with life, there really hasn’t been much time for us to sit down here and just talk.”

“But it was a fun two years,” you smiled. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.”

Jungkook glanced up from his drink to reciprocate your bittersweet smile. His front two teeth peeked from under his up-curved lips as he cooed, “who knows, maybe we can try again some time in the future.”

“Says the one with multiple girls chasing after him,” you scoffed.

“Hey, I never dated any of them!” Jungkook’s eyes widened and he gaped at you as though he was being accused of a crime.

“You’re lucky if none of them happen to be like Yuri.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes at the mention of her name. “Don’t even remind me.”

“I’m never letting you live that down,” you chortled at his response. “But at least you have people chasing after you. I, on the other hand, have zero men lining outside of my house.”

“That’s not true. I offered you multiple blind dates, but you never took them—”

“—only because you kept bad mouthing them and suggesting me not to go on them,” you corrected. “I don’t get why you’d set me up if you don’t even want me to date any of them.”

“No, but I felt bad about our break, because if you think about it, it’s my fault we’re even taking a break in the first place,” he sighed.

“It’s not your fault, Jungkook. We both needed a break. Plus, we’re both still equally happy being just friends. Maybe it’s a sign we need a break from each other and explore other options, yeah?” you softly assured him.

“Yeah, as long as we’re still friends like we are now,” he gave you a lopsided smile.

You mirrored his smile with a wider one, thoughts wandering off to other topics that had been roaming in your head for a while now. “But what if I do end up dating someone? Would you be okay with that?”

“...it’s really your choice,” Jungkook raised a brow at your question, eyes slightly popping open at the suggestion he thought he’d never hear from you. “But none of the people I’ve seen so far deserve you. Or at least I don’t really trust them.”

“So you’re saying I should either marry you or die alone,” you deadpanned.

“No,” he chortled, nearly choking on his own drink. “I’m just saying if I had to entrust you to someone, then I guess Jimin would be the next one on the list… after me, of course.”

“Jimin?”

His name left your lips like a name forbidden to be spoken out loud; you hadn’t said in his name in months. He would occasionally pop up in your conversations with Jungkook and Taehyung, who often hung out with Jungkook at the same studio, but there really was no need to mention him any more than that—no, rather, your heart couldn’t handle the pain of speaking his name outside of your already scrambled mind. Saying his name to others, mentioning and acknowledging his existence only pained you further.

He was like an existence which only seemed to belong in the midst of your dreams and memories like the mirage hidden in between the seams of the fog and rain in a storm raging through the thin, midnight air. Sure, you had gotten over the majority of your broken heart, but the only thing that pained you was knowing the wrongdoings you had inflicted upon him. You wanted to know if he was okay, if he was doing well, if he was madly in love, and if he learned how to love and how to be loved.

And even though you had mentioned your hopes of him meeting another girl who could teach him the things you thought you couldn’t, and as selfish as it was, a part of you hoped that he was still out there thinking of you—because you still thought of him. Maybe not as often as you did back then, maybe not with the same affection and longing as time had dulled those fervent feelings, but you still thought of him. He was still an existence which lingered in the back of your mind, and it was only natural for you to wonder if he held you in the same regards.

“Jimin hasn’t contacted us in two years, Jungkook,” you snapped out of your daze and solemnly reminded him.

“I know. That damn boy… I swear if I see him, I’m going to knock him out or something… I thought our friendship meant more than that,” he mumbled under his breath, hands fidgeting into fists as he eyed his cup of drink as though it was Jimin. 

You chuckled at his behavior, because as much as you had seen him fight with Jimin during those several months of havoc and heartbreak, the months which followed after were much more affectionate. You could tell he really missed his friend even if they never seemed to return his texts.

“Okay, then what if I do end up dating Jimin?” your question slipped past your lips, surprising both you and Jungkook as he lifted his gaze to stare wide eyed at you.

“If he returns?”

“Yeah. If he somehow returns and reconnects with us.”

“...I guess that’d be the best option,” he slowly came to a conclusion, furrowing his brows. “As long as you’re happy and you want to be with him, then I’m all for it.”

“Really?” you chuckled under your breath. “Well, thanks, but all this talk is useless if he’s never coming back. I don’t think he’d want to reconcile with me after all that we’ve been through.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear from him at some point in time. Be it through text, phone call, or even Taehyung, we’ll find out soon. And when he does return, and you get along with him better than ever, then I’d be glad to finally see him have his happy ending. I’ve had mine already. It’s time for his. Maybe I’ll be a bit jealous—okay, really jealous—but just because I’m busy with life, doesn’t mean that I should be holding you back from yours,” he paused to carefully watch the growing smile creep onto your lips. “...and if he doesn’t, then he doesn’t deserve you. I’ll be here even if he isn’t, Y/N. Best friends, lovers, whatever you want,” he gently grabbed ahold of your hand and squeezed it, locking his wide, circular eyes with yours. “As long as you’re happy. That’s all I ever wanted and want.”

“Thanks, Jungkook. Really,” you gave him a smile, softly laughing as you bashfully ducked your head. You peeked under the table to find his leg bouncing up and down, something he always did at a certain point in time you had learned to become accustomed to throughout your years of friendship with him. You snorted, “now go use the restroom.”

“You’re right, I really need to go,” he laughed along with you, letting go of your hand and getting up from his seat. “I’ll be right back!”

And without another word, he disappeared into the halls leading to the restroom at the back of the cafe. You chuckled with your cheeks cupped in your hands and your elbow leaning against the table, watching your best friend waddling his way with utmost urgency into the backroom. But your momentary amusement was cut short when a set of tinkling rings from the small bells tied to the handle of the cafe’s entrance door, your eyes averting to find the familiar back of a boy reciting his order to the cashier.

“One caramel macchiato for me, please,” the boy coolly chimed.

You cocked your head to the side, seeing the small frame of his shoulders, his muscular arms hidden underneath the blue denim jacket which draped over his upper body frame. His skinny black jeans resembled ones which burned brightly in the back of your head, and the soft, blond-gray hues of his fluffed hair struck you as so similar to someone you had once knew that you couldn’t help but get up from your seat.

“I-I really love your fashion sense,” the girl stuttered the first thing which came to mind. Her shifty eyes scanned him up and down, eyes widening in shock over how ethereal and chic the boy standing before her was. Her eyes came to halt, the glimmer in them fading into darkness when they spotted whatever was hanging from his neck. “Ah, I like that necklace too… are you taken…?”

“Hm?” he followed her line of sight and glanced down at himself. He lowly chuckled, a raspy, throaty chuckle which you knew all too well. “Not exactly. My heart’s taken, but her’s isn’t. So I can’t really say I’m dating anyone at the moment.”

“Oh, really?” her eyes lit up once again, and even though you were in no way shape or form associated with the scene before you, a part of you was burning with jealousy. “But it’s halfway open. I know it’s a lock—”

—a lock? Your hands immediately buried itself into the depths of your pocket, fingers doing what it had learned to do out of instincts in the past two years, quickly entangling with the metallic chain of your necklace and rubbing against the key which hung from it.

“Oh, it kind of got stuck like that when I left here two years ago. I thought it was pretty annoying, leaving it half open half closed like that, but I guess it reminds me of how we ended things,” he shrugged, clasping the necklace in his hands as you could see the girl practically melt into a gush of puddles—probably because of his smile or romantic words.

“Since you’re not in contact with her anymore, w-would you maybe want to go—”

“—I’m sorry, but I’m in a rush right now. Can you maybe…” he pointed at the back of the cafe where all the drinks were being made, suggesting her to go off and about on her day as he continued his.

“Oh, yeah! I’m sorry,” she immediately apologized, snapping out of her daydreams and continuing with her duties as the cashier.

Somehow, at some point in time, you had made your way up to the front counter. His fair, soft skin, the ever so familiar edge of his jawline, and the way he held himself up so confidently, weight leaning on one leg and words flowing past his lips like honey; there was only one boy you knew who held all those qualities. Your hand gravitated towards him, hovering over his shoulder but too scared to make the final move when he finally turned around.

“Y/N?”

A pang struck against your chest, your heart rate skyrocketing, and your stomach filled with fluttering butterflies. Jimin was gazing down at you, eyes wide and soft, lips as plump and smooth as ever while they parted and awaited for your answer.

“Jimin…” you finally mumbled.

You could barely swallow the knot stuck in your dry throat as the two of you stared at each other in both awe and shock.

“How’ve you been?” he finally asked, a lopsided smile adorning his lips.

“I’ve been… alright, good, I guess. How about you…?” you stuttered with your words. Knitting your brows and never daring to avert your eyes from his, you choked out the question you had pondered over for the past many months. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Busy,” he simply replied, chuckling at your stammering. He looked over the room, “should we sit down somewhere and catch up?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Here,” you shuffled your way back to your seat, occasionally throwing a look back over your shoulder to check if what appeared to be a mirage was still there—and he was. Jimin softly laughed under his breath each time you glanced back to meet his calming, warm eyes—the eyes which you swore had once and were still gazing at you with utter adoration—and even you couldn’t believe how much time had passed between the two of you.

He was the same Jimin, that was for sure, but he was also another version of himself. He was gentler, he was softer in both appearances and the way he treated others he would once hardly care for, and if you were being honest, you would’ve never thought that this boy was once the renowned bad boy of your school.

“Is Jungkook here with you?” Jimin asked, sitting down in front of the cup Jungkook had left behind a few minutes earlier.

“Oh,” your stomach dropped when you were reminded of the feud between the two. You dropped your gaze and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” he chimed ever so casually that you glanced up to find him gently smiling at you with just one corner of his lips lifted. It seemed like you weren’t the only one who had allowed time to take its toll on you. “So did you two have your happily ever after?”

“Not exactly,” you shrugged. “We’re both busy with our lives and being best friends was enough for us, so we decided to take a break.”

“Ah, all that heartache for nothing?” Jimin joked, cocking his head to the side as he smiled at you in an attempt to make light of the past.

“Y/N! Sorry,I took so long,” you heard Jungkook calling out to you, stumbling from the hall and running up to your table only to stare at the two of you wide eyed. “...there was a line.”

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jimin nodded at him as though it was just another normal day bumping into his friend.

“What do you mean ‘hey,’” Jungkook scoffed, grabbing ahold of his hand and pulling his friend up onto his feet. “I think I deserve more of an explanation than that.”

Jungkook pulled him into a bear hug, patting his back so roughly that you even worried for Jimin’s well being. After a few seconds of tugging and passive aggressive threats, Jungkook released his friend and gave him firm punch against the arm.

“That’s for ignoring all of our texts,” he remarked.

“Ow,” Jimin winced, rubbing his arm as he laughed with his friend.

“Jungkook!” you hissed, threatening that he’d be the one to be punched next if he kept his act up.

“It’s okay, I deserve it. I had to switch my number, but I figured things would’ve been better off if I gave us time apart,” he chuckled at Jungkook’s death glare.

“Are you serious? That’s your reason?”

“Hey, it worked didn’t it?” Jimin laughed when Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you grab a seat and we can all catch up on our lives together?”

“Oh, sure,” Jungkook chimed, but he suddenly halted as his eyes glanced between you and him. He quickly took a step back, holding his hand out as though to defend himself from interrupting something. “Actually, on second thought… I left something back at the studio. I’ll catch up with you later, Jimin. See you two!”

Your eyes popped open and you nearly jumped up to grab his hand when he winked at you, pivoting on his heels and bolting straight out of the store. Now it was just you, Jimin, and the drink Jungkook had clumsily forgotten.

“As dumb as always, I see,” Jimin mumbled, lifting the cup and shaking his head in disapproval.

“We’ve all changed actually,” you blurted out, lowering your voice when you realized how assertive you sounded. “...especially you.”

“Really?” he quirked a brow.

“Yeah. You’re much… sweeter? Soft? I mean I’ve always seen that side to you, but I’ve never seen you act so kindly and openly towards others. It’s a nice change,” you smiled.

“I guess being in another country really does change you,” he laughed.

“It’s hard to think how much has changed in just two years,” you took a deep breath and sighed.

“Yeah, I think someone has told me before that time heals everything.”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Things that seemed to hurt so damn much no longer brings me pain... Decisions we made in the past seem dumber than ever. And all I really remember from back then was happiness and not the typical teenage heartbreak. I guess time really does change things,” you pressed your lips into a forced smile. But if there was one thing that didn’t change, you thought to yourself, it would be just how much you missed him. “Especially the paper hearts. Those seem sillier than ever now that I look back on it.”

“They weren’t silly. I thought they were the most precious things anyone could receive,” he reassured you, eyes crinkling into crescents as he flashed you the smile you had fallen over and over for.

“Really?”

“Yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t have kept it for so long,” he pulled out a familiar piece of partially crumpled paper out from his pocket, laying it on the table for you to see.

Your heart nearly stopped, and yet it was pounding so fast and so forcefully that you could barely contain your mix of emotions: both excitement and shock.

“You really kept it all this time…?” you lightly laughed in disbelief.

“You said I should keep it for the next time we meet,” he stated. “And here we are. I kept my promise.”

“I, actually, um,” you stammered, quickly rummaging through your pockets to pull out the necklace which held the key to the lock hanging around his neck. “I kept this too…”

“I guess we’re both silly romantics,” he chuckled, shaking his head at the sight of familiar items from two years ago laying before him.

“I guess so,” you repeated, a smile stretching from ear to ear.

“...but as you said, both of us have changed.”

You didn’t know what exactly in your stomach dropped, but you knew for sure the agonizing, ever so familiar pain of your guts twisting at his words.

“What do you mean…?” you knitted your brows.

“We don’t feel the same way as we did two years ago. We’re different people now, Y/N. Time really has healed all the pain and it’s given me a chance to change.”

“I guess you’ve learned more than one thing after studying abroad…” you muttered under your breath, trying to conceal the pain which his words brought you.

His eyes were staring at yours, but yours were only glued to the floor in hopes that you’d suddenly disappear from the face of the planet. Who were you to get ahead of yourself? Who knew the second you came face to face with Jimin, you’d be reminded of the little hope which lingered in you the past couple years? Who were you to assume that he’d want to reconcile just because you wrote a dumb letter to him instructing him to do so? Nothing had changed; you were just as foolish as you were before.

“Yeah, I’ve learned lots of things. I’ve thought about what I could have possibly done to change things back then, to make it so that things wouldn’t have gone so awry. To put it frankly, Y/N, I’ve moved on—”

“—I’m sorry, but I think I need to go,” you quickly interrupted him.

Getting up from your seat, you shook your head countless times and apologized for such an abrupt leave before dashing out of the store with your head low and your eyes blurry with tears. Any second longer listening to how Jimin had abandoned your past, how you were the only one still stuck between the past and the present, and you knew you’d be bawling your eyes out. Sure, you had gotten over the past yourself too, but meeting Jimin and seeing him keep all these things you had kept too made you hope for a chance to experience what you couldn’t two years ago. You thought this was the time; the time for him and you to become a thing of the present rather than the future.

You were rubbing your water filled eyes with the back of your hand when you suddenly heard the doors behind you sliding open and closed, heavy breathing and panting between you and the boy who stood just a few feet behind you.

“Y/N, I was lying! I was lying about everything,” he quickly blurted out. “I was just trying to make a point to you. I was hoping you felt the same way as I did the last two years. I thought I wanted to see you make the first move for once, but I didn’t want to see you hurt like this.”

You remained silent, trying to swallow the sobs which threatened to escape your lips.

“I swore I wouldn’t ever hurt you again if I even had the chance to see you when I returned. But I guess I did. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone about it in such a dumb way,” he apologized softly.

Carefully and slowly turning around, you glanced up at Jimin who stood helplessly behind you with sorrowful eyes. “So what exactly was your point…?”

He took a deep breath and sighed, judging by the way he constantly took a step forward and backwards, every inch of him wanted to close the distance between you two and hold you in his arms to comfort you. But there was something stopping him from doing so.

“If there was one thing that I realized after thinking over and over about our past… it always boiled down to the paper hearts,” he explained, eyes softening with urge and guilt for simply watching the sobs escape your lips. “I loved the paper hearts, Y/N. They’re comforting, they’re adorable, they’re heartwarming… but the one thing it never conveyed was its sincerity. Rather than receiving paper hearts, I’d rather have captured your actual heart. I don’t want to read the words, I want to hear the words in person.”

“So my paper hearts were just a replacement for what I didn’t have the confidence to do?” you confirmed the suspicions you had been thinking of all along.

No one had told you the flaw of your notes, not even Jungkook. It was true. Paper was always a thing which allowed humans to create things they couldn’t physically make. In your case, paper hearts were a representation of the heart you were too scared to confess and give to its receiver. What you needed to do was say it in person. Do it in person. Prove to the receiver that they meant enough for you to put your heart and yourself out there all in hopes that they’d reciprocate those feelings. After three years of trial and error, heartbreak and heartache, now you knew what to do.

“I don’t know if I’ve changed as much as you think, Y/N, but my feelings for you haven’t changed. I missed you every single damn day, and when I read your letter, I was hoping for a day like this where a future for us was possible,” he breathily confessed. “I’m telling you this in person, Y/N. I’ve chased and chased, but the only thing that has prevented us, or even you and Jungkook, from happening was the wait for you to make your own move.”

You stood there, gulping and staring at him as you were planning out your next move throughout his confession. You knew what you were going to do already, you didn’t need any more second to ponder over your decision. Tonight you were going to abandon your paper hearts; you were going to let it become a thing of the past. Now was the future you had longed for in the past, now was the time for you and Jimin to become reality, now was his time, his time for a happy ending.

“I like you, Y/N. And even after all these years of dumb choices and worthless apologies, do you still like me?”

Holding back a smile, you took three large strides towards him before throwing yourself at him. Wrapping your arm around his neck and allowing him to lift you up into the air, you planted a large kiss onto his plump lips which enveloped yours with utmost warmth and years worth of longing.

“If my paper hearts weren’t enough to tell you so, then I’ll tell you in person,” you smiled at the dumb, widespread grin which adorned his face. “I like you too.”

Love is unpredictable in its own little way. One day you’d be bawling your heart out to Jungkook, and the other you’d be clutching your chest at the gnawing pain elicited by the tug of war between your best friend and his friend.  Now was the present for you and Jimin, but judging by the funny way with which love works, maybe there’d be a future for you and Jungkook. The only thing which kept constant was your own paper heart.

Be it paper hearts, paper planes, or paper towns, none of them would be worthy enough to replace what it was truly modeled after. A paper plane would never carry the importance of an actual plane which connected people from one side of the world to the other. A paper town would never become a thriving city known to all people across the nations; it would never hold the thousands and millions of residents within its nightly, bustling activities. And a paper heart would never hold the same weight and affection with which your own heart held. 

Hold your paper heart, remember and cherish the past heartaches and blissful memories within the weighty paper, and receive your true heart after years and years of waiting. That’s all you ever wanted. That’s what you learned from the fateful day you crafted this silly concept of anonymous letters folded into little paper hearts. 

Love comes and goes, but nothing will become secreted into the past, present, and future if you didn’t make the final move.

And now, piles of dozens and dozens of paper hearts would come to tell the tale of a foolish girl who inevitably and irrevocably fell for two boys; a tale written down into history, revisited and continued for as long as the future held more paper hearts to be folded.

[thecupcakeconsumer]

Seeing Red pt. 4 - Inspection

A/N: Who’s ready for some well-deserved fluff? Hi didn’t make much of an appearance in the last few, so here’s the Hi/Reader that I technically promised. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (You are here!) | Part 5

Request: Still on @writers-block0o0’s request!!!

Navitgation: Masterlist is here.

Taglist: @writers-block0o0, @imaginesbyemma, tell me if you want to be added!

Summary: It’s hard for you to come to terms with what you’ve done as a member of the Trinity the next day at school. When your boyfriend is concerned, 

Warnings: Flufffffff!!!!! As well as language - “dick wad”, “cock”, “fuck”, and mock mentions of “kinkshaming”. A boy whose girlfriend’s contact name is “daddy”. A little bit of sexual reference, but all in all quite mild.

Word Count: 2,500

Other Notes: Female reader, this is right after the last one! I hope you enjoy.

Technically speaking, your half-brother was supposed to give you a ride to school today.

But given that he had tried to kill you last night, you decided that it would be better to take the walk, leaving a note for him.

Walking to school today, dickwad, you left on the counter, a heart over the ‘i’ in dickwad, before grabbing your bag and leaving out the door.

You hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

You were avoiding people – there was really no doubt about it – but you felt sick to your stomach at just the utter mindlessness of the school day, and how it did nothing to distract you from the events of last night that already felt ages away.

After an irritatingly simple math class, you finally gave up and called your brother.

“Y/N, I-”

“Can you call and sign me out?”

“I’m not home-”

“I know.” I’m glad for it, actually.

“I’ll call.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you hung up the phone, making your way to the office and signing out before finally being free from Bolton Prep.

It didn’t escape your notice that leaving before lunch also meant you wouldn’t have to speak to Shelton, Hi, Tory and Ben.

“I have to talk to her.”

“Hi, no,” argued Shelton, shaking his head. “She’s obviously got to be traumatized.”

But Ben was nodding along with Hi’s words. “We should at least check on her.”

“No, I’m with Shelton. She needs her space.”

“But, I… I miss her,” sighed Hi, absently twirling a fry in ketchup.

“Hi. Do you want to talk to her for that reason, or because you want to know what it is about her that Tory and Ben are leaving out?” asked Shelton, looking him in the eye.

“She almost got shot! If I almost got shot I know you people would be right there.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “If you almost got shot it would be impossible for us to forget because you’d be bemoaning it for days.”

“He’s got a point,” Tory conceded, amused. “Tell you what. We give her her space during the school day, and then after school we’ll check up on her at her locker.”

“Good idea.”

“Agreed.”

“It’s a good plan but I still miss her.” Hi leaned onto his hand, looking dejectedly at the fry that was thoroughly and somewhat grossly saturated and casting it aside. “Concept. You two get together and satisfy my need for cuteness in my day-to-day life.”

“Concept. Shut up, Hi.”

Tory elbowed Ben in the side but did nothing to hide the flush of red that overtook her.

“Come on. What’s their ship name again, Shelton? Bory?”

“You should really stop shipping real people,” he sighed, “but for the record it was Bluenan.”

“Shelton! Don’t encourage him.” This time, Tory expressed the sentiment.

“Don’t worry, I have a square chicken plush,” stage whispered Hi to Shelton, “I’ll show you. It’s called… the Cock Block.”

“Shut up, Hi,” repeated Ben and Tory, now in unison.

“Wow, not even a couple and already in sync! You should either get together or start a boy band.”

He clutched his leg in mock agony as he was kicked.

“All of you are just denying the obvious.”

“Can it, Thickburger.”

“Where is she?” asked Tory concernedly, at your locker with Ben and Hi after school.

Shelton jogged up to them. “She wasn’t in tech. I don’t think she’s here today.”

“She was here this morning.” Ben frowned. “Did she go home?”

“I’m calling her,” spoke up Hi, quickly tapping in the speed dial.

“I have two questions,” murmured Shelton, looking over Hi’s shoulder.

“It’s ringing. Shoot.”

“First of all, why is her speed dial 666?”

Tory snickered as Hi answered, making direct eye contact, “Because of her devillish lovemaking.”

It was a struggle as the other boy choked out his next question. “Why is her contact name Daddy?”

“Oh my God, Shelton, stop kink shaming me!” called out Hi as the phone stopped ringing, abruptly going silent then groaning once sent to voice mail. “Hi, Y/N, it’s Hi. Shelton is kink shaming me and I need you to defend me, daddy. I love you, baby. Please call me back.”

He sighed, hanging up, before redialling the number.

“What if she didn’t go home? What if she was super vulnerable and something happened? What if those Trinity assholes got to her?”

He was concerned for you, and five calls to voicemail later, he finally relented.

“Tory, you have Chance’s number, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll dial.”

“I really hope his speed dial isn’t 666 for the same reason,” muttered Hi without the usual note of humor in his voice, his worry evident just by his tone.

“Nah, I was upset with him last night,” answered Tory, handing him her cell with the volume high enough that they all would be able to hear. “Don’t make it weird.”

“What do you mean? I shouldn’t pretend to be you and tell him to-” the ringing stopped as Chance picked up the phone but Hi continued in his largely inaccurate impression of Tory “-talk dirty to me?”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Look, asshole, I really hate you,” started Hi without explanation, his voice quavering now that he was on the phone, “but – where is she?”

“She? Hold on, who is this? You’re not Tory.”

“Wow. Tell me something I don’t know.” He rolled glassy eyes.

“This is – Hiram, then? Just a second.” Chance’s voice stopped, a rustling on the other end. “I’m sorry, who are you looking for?”

Blinking, your boyfriend retorted, “Who do you think? Y/N, of course.”

“Y/N?” he repeated. “She’s not at the house?”

“The house? School just ended.” Fixedly looking at the other three, Hi added, “Since when has she been home?”

“I don’t know, a while. I called in for her a few hours ago.”

“You called in?”

“Yeah, she asked if I could.”

He frowned. “She called you?”

“Look. I fucked up. She’s not… she’s not in a good place right now. She wasn’t happy about having to call me. Have you tried calling her?”

“Do you think you’re anything but a last resort?”

“I don’t know why she’s not answering you, then. You can check on her if you want. Is that all?”

Tory held out her hand for the phone. “Don’t think you’ll be forgiven any time soon.”

She stopped the call, before fixing the three with something between a grimace and a smile. “Well then. I say she needs her space.”

“You’re the boss,” answered Shelton with a shrug, but Hi wasn’t so easily convinced.

“I’m going to go see her.”

Ben shook his head before relenting. “I’ll take you tonight. After dinner.”

“Romantic boat rides after dark? I can’t believe I have to cheat on Y/N to get to her.”

“Keep it up and you won’t be getting there at all.”

“Okay, okay, shutting up.”

You sat in your room, curtains closed, music on, homework open, eyes puffy, and ice cream container halfway finished.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t healthy for you to eat a pint of ice cream in one sitting at eight o'clock at night, even when someone else was home.

Then again, strictly speaking, it wasn’t healthy for someone to be shot at by their half brother.

Technicalities. What can you do?

Being that your music was on rather loudly, it was no wonder that when pattering against your window started you didn’t hear it at first, and then dismissed it as heavy rain.

That was, until you heard the voice.

“YOU’RE INSECURE! DON’T KNOW WHAT FOR!”

Years of hanging out with Shelton had ensured that the lyrics were immediately recognizable, even if the voice was off-key.

“YOU’RE TURNING HEADS WHEN YOU WALK THROUGH THE DO-O-OR!”

You paused your playlist, feeling the tears you had suppressed for long start to surface as his words reached you.

“DON’T NEED MAKE UP TO COVER UP! BEING THE WAY THAT YOU ARE IS ENO-O-OUGH!”

“Shut up!” you heard from what you recognized a moment later as Chance’s voice.

From the subsequent crash inside the house, cry, and shout of, “What the hell? Did you just throw a rock at me?”, the only logical conclusion you could come to was that the very person serenading you had responded to being asked to stop with violence.

Which, of course, only meant that it could be Hi – not that there was any doubt as to who would stand on the lawn outside, throwing rocks at your window, and attempt to woo you over with a One Direction song.

You opened your bedroom door, wiping away the tears that had fallen, and closed it behind you, rushing down the stairs as the out of tune song continued to meet your ears.

“BABY YOU LIGHT UP MY WORLD LIKE NOBODY ELSE, THE WAY THAT-”

“You’re lucky we have no neighbors!” you called out, socked feet becoming stained by the grass that you trod over.

He pointed at you. “I go through all that and you have the audacity to lie to me? For shame, Y/N, for shame.”

Hi couldn’t continue shaking his head at you for long, though, gathering you in his arms as soon as you were near enough.

“I’m a me-” Your words were cut off by his lips, insistently pressing to yours before he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re a hot mess. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Get a room!”

You stole the one rock that remained in Hi’s hand, expertly aiming it before firing it through the window, senses heightened even as you weren’t flaring, managing to hit Chance squarely on the chest.

The window closed a moment later.

In your boyfriend’s strong arms, as you pressed your head into his chest, you felt the tears that you had barely just managed to wipe away start to fall again, letting yourself cry as the reality of what you had done caught up with you.

“It was horrible,” you gasped out, feeling yourself start to lose control.

SNAP

“I didn’t hear the whole story. Do you want to tell me?”

“You don’t want to know.” You shook your head, wincing as snot got on his shirt. “I did things. Horrible things. I can’t even begin to-”

“Look at me.” Burying your face further into the floral printed fabric, you winced as the hands on your shoulders tried to pull you back. “Please, just-”

He pulled you out and you didn’t get the chance to close your eyes before he glimpsed them.

What must he think of me?

He knows I’m a part of the Trinity, he knows what I’ve done, he knows that I’ve-

When you opened your eyes because you couldn’t bear the silence, he was smiling.

“You look hot with red eyes,” he whispered.

You were torn between disbelief and smacking him. “That’s not true.”

“It’s got something to do with Chance, doesn’t it? This.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you don’t treat it like it’s a gift. You treat it like a disease, which means someone else obviously gave it to you. Considering what Chance has been doing, it had to have been him.”

Smiling, you asked, “Since when are you so intuitive?”

“I’m super intuitive!” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I mean, remember that time when you were super grumpy and I not only diagnosed the cause but also knew exactly how to make you feel better? I’m an awesome boyfriend like that.”

You giggled. “That you are.”

Chance opened the window again. “You’re going to freeze to death out there.”

“Don’t worry, she’s immune,” replied Hi, ruffling your hair. “She’s just so hot.”

If you had ever seen an adult man’s head hit a window sill with any more exasperation, it didn’t come to mind at the moment.

“If you must do this, at least keep it off my lawn.”

He closed the window, and you turned back to Hi, before starting to laugh.

“He’s so over protective,” you drawled sarcastically, “but only when it comes to you.”

“What can I say? I’m just a local menace, really. It’s not my fault. The ladies can’t keep their hands off of me.”

“Yes, it’s hard for them to resist the urge to slap you.”

“What is love? Baby don’t hurt me-”

“No, no, make it stop!”

No, your boyfriend really couldn’t sing, no matter how many times he argued the contrary.

But he could always make you feel better, and that was enough, and when the two of you collapsed in giggles it never felt more natural.

“So, um, see, the problem about living on Morris Island is that I may or may not have had to have Ben drive me here,” interjected Hi, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

You pouted. “Fiiiine. Go see your boyfriend.”

“Buuuuut,” he paused a moment for effect, “my parents aren’t home tonight.”

You gaped a moment.

Then, “Are you propositioning me?”

“What? No, no, no! Unless you wanted to, but – wait, do you want to? No, that’s not what I was – not that I wouldn’t want to, but-” He stopped for a moment, face full red, to compose himself. “I was actually suggesting that we stay up all night watching really crappy chick flicks and eating ice cream. We could even grab Tory and force her into it, if you wanted.”

A laugh threatened to come on at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, Hi’s suggestions always original, but you attempted to keep a straight face.

That lasted all of five seconds before you broke out in a grin. “I’ll get my ice cream and meet you on the boat. Invite Ben for me.”

“Will do!”

“I have the movies,” announced Tory dramatically, opening the door to Hi’s room. “Come to think of it, it’s generally not a good idea to open a closed bedroom door without knocking when you know that a couple are behind it, but I have to ask… what are you doing?”

You looked up from where you were pretty much straddling Hi and trying to shove a spoon into his mouth. “I’m not sure whether the best excuse is the truth or not.”

“Tell her the truth,” piped up Hi, “and let her see what a cruel, cruel person you are.”

“I was trying to get him to try ice cream with a potato chip in it.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, I… I can see that. Th-that’s really interesting. Tell me, is this normal for you?”

The two of you shrugged in unison as you awkwardly rolled off of your boyfriend. “It doesn’t usually go to such extremes.”

He nodded in agreement, adding, “Please say you brought 10 Things I Hate About You.”

“I raided Whitney’s collection. Of course I brought it.”

“This isn’t what my mother would expect if I told her I had two beautiful girls in my bedroom.”

Hi was hit by two pillows in almost perfect unison.

A/N: I couldn’t resiiiiiist that last part, honestly. ^-^ I hope you enjoyed! Leave a little something if you did. Part five is here! 

[salvagedmoose]

Prompt Drabble #01

I’ve decided to start playing around with some dialogue prompts, and I stumbled across one that fit Squidward to a T. [link] Dedicated to @shirohibiki for helping me develop the confidence to share my writing on tumblr for the first time. There’s absolutely room for improvement, but hey, I need to learn to let go.

Pre-relationship squidbob, rated E10+ for Squidward’s general outlook on life. Includes references to “Hello Bikini Bottom,” an episode that everyone should absolutely watch at least once.

It wasn’t the first and it most likely wouldn’t be the last time Squidward had an existential breakdown regarding his merit as an artist. There was something notable about this particular occurrence, though.

Namely, his two obnoxious neighbors were there.

Now, this wouldn’t have been so odd had he been displaying his talents publicly, but Squidward had simply been practicing his clarinet in the privacy of his art room when when the sponge and star barged in on him.

...Alright, even that wasn’t that odd considering their usual behavior.

But when Spongebob revealed the reason for their intrusion, it plucked right at Squidward’s last nerve.

“Patrick thought you might need some help with your dying animal!”

Squidward had already not been in the best of moods. He’d finally been able to line up a a new exhibition of his work, but, like all things in his life, it had been a colossal failure. Even calling it a flop would have been generous. The reactions from what few people he could convince to come had ranged from apathetic to openly hostile.

Having someone come into his own house and criticize his attempts at creative self-soothing was the last thing he needed right now. Thus, his response to his neighbors’ concern was to break down into sobs.

Spongebob immediately put a comforting hand on Squidward’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s gonna be alright. You’re safe here, you can let out your grief. Losing a pet can be one of the hardest-”

“There’s no dying animal, you barnacle-head!” Squidward’s outburst was immediately followed by more sulking. “The only thing I’m grieving is my future as an artist.”

“Oh, that’s it?” Patrick seemed satisfied with the answer. “Never mind then. Come on, Spongebob.”

Spongebob turned and firmly grasped Patrick’s shoulders, looking him fiercely in the eye. “No, Patrick. Our friend is suffering, and it’s our duty to help him through this tough time.” He turned back to Squidward and smiled gently. “Now why don’t you tell your old buddy Sponge what’s got your tentacles in a twist?”

Squidward scowled bitterly. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe ask the people who walked out on my exhibition!”

Spongebob gasped. “That was this Saturday!? Oh, if I’d known I would have rescheduled Gary’s shots!”

Squidward had actually told Spongebob the wrong date on purpose in order to make sure he didn’t come and screw anything up, but that didn’t seem like information he needed to share now. “It doesn’t matter now! Everyone hates my visual art, and even my music isn’t appreciated!”

“That is not true,” Spongebob stated firmly. “I appreciate your creativity and artistic flair every day of my life, and I’m sure there are plenty of other people who do, too!”

“Yeah,” Patrick added, “they must just live on the other side of the ocean or something!”

Squidward grimaced. “Well I wish they’d show up sometime before I die of old age!” Squidward pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes in an attempt to hold back more tears. “I don’t want to fail just because other people have terrible taste.”

“And you won’t!” Spongebob spoke with every ounce of conviction in his porous body. “We just need to find a way to broaden your appeal until those other people show up. Then you’ll have more fans than ever! Now let’s think; what isn’t marketable about you right now...”

Patrick’s hand shot up immediately. “Oh, I know! Is it his frigid, pretentious demeanor?”

“Hey!” Squidward barked.

“Hm, maybe. It’s a place to start, if nothing else!” Spongebob pointed at Patrick. “Pat, go put on a pot of coffee. This could turn into a long night.”

“Aye aye, Spongebob!” Patrick saluted and ran out of the room.

Squidward turned his offended features to Spongebob. “I never said you could use my kitchen!”

“Don’t worry about it, Squidward, Patrick’s got everything under control.”

A muffled explosion could be heard from the ground floor.

Spongebob tenderly took Squidward’s hands in his. “All you need to focus on is your creative growth. Now, let’s start with Patrick’s idea.”

Squidward defensively pulled back his tentacles. “I am not frigid and pretentious!”

“I know that,” Spongebob placated, “but other people might not! Maybe you could work on that by trying to be a little more... open and vulnerable.”

“Are you saying this isn’t vulnerable!?” Squidward stood, walked over to a covered object, and removed the drop sheet to reveal a sculpture of a large-nosed, tentacled figure writhing, attempting to free itself from a mass of stone.

“Alright, maybe vulnerability isn’t what you need to work on right now.” Spongebob paused to take an appraising look at Squidward. “I know! If your problem is being too frigid, we just need to make you seem warmer! Show people the cuddly, inviting side of Squidward!”

Squidward leveled Spongebob with an existentially exhausted glare. “Art is suffering.”

A stiff pause passed between the two.

“...Okay. But that’s not all art has to be! It can be a celebration of beauty and joy!” Spongebob picked up Squidward’s clarinet which had fallen to the floor during his dramatics. “Here. You take this-” Spongebob handed the instrument to Squidward, “-and I’ll take this-” Spongebob materialized his ukulele from an unseen source, “-and we can play around until we find your happy sound!”

Squidward looked down to his clarinet and sighed. “I’m not sure I even have a happy sound anymore.”

Spongebob waved the idea away. “Nonsense! I’ve heard your happy sound before and I’ll help you find it again if it takes all night! Now just come in when you’re ready.”

Spongebob began to strum a bouncy, cheerful series of chords. 

Squidward watched as Spongebob’s eyes fell shut, his entire face relaxed and serene. Even while he felt a certain amount of resentment for the fact that Spongebob had broken into his home, insulted his music, and then decided that he knew more about artistic appeal than Squidward did, he couldn’t help but feel his muscles begin to relax from their tense state. 

As much as Sqiudward hated to admit it, Spongebob had more than a little musical skill. And he really did somehow succeed in projecting his contentment into his music. Heck, this wasn’t even the first time he’d been invited to play alongside Spongebob. Nowhere near it, in fact. While Mr. Krabs’s attempt at making a buck off their efforts had ultimately been a bust, it had given him plenty of opportunities to see Spongebob look every bit as comfortable with his music as Squidward felt on his best days. He could still remember how surprisingly good he felt after their big number near the end of that fiasco.

Spongebob’s eyes popped open long enough to shoot an encouraging wink in Squidward’s direction.

...Hmph. Being around Spongebob really was bad for his heart.

Now that his chest no longer felt like it was being crushed by all-encompassing dread, Squidward was able to take a breath, bring his clarinet to his mouth, and start a simple melody.

Spongebob looked up to Squidward and smiled. “See, there’s my happy Squid!”

A squeak came from Squidward’s clarinet as he internally bristled at being called Spongebob’s anything. Aside from that, though, he was able to maintain enough breath control to gradually become more playful with his contribution to the jam session.

Spongebob’s smile only grew. “Now this is the Squidward the world really needs to see. You sound good, you look good, and most importantly of all, you feel good. I’m so happy to be able to share this with you.”

Squidward was glad his mouth was otherwise occupied, because he had no idea how to respond to that kind of statement. Of course there was an instinct to deny that Spongebob had done anything to help him, but the proof was right there, vibrating through the water around them. He really did play better when he felt better and, well, he was feeling better now than he was before.

Eventually the pair came to a mutual close, and Squidward brought his eyes to an easy gaze in Spongebob’s direction. There it was again. That good feeling. 

“That was... nice.”

“It really was.”

They shared a companionable silence, until Squidward flinched at the feeling of a hand on his own. He’d been so occupied by Spongebob’s encouraging smile that he hadn’t noticed the sponge discreetly extending his arm to initiate physical contact.

Squidward’s hand clenched on his clarinet, but Spongebob’s was steady.

“If you ever need this again, let me know, okay? I’m always here for you.”

Knowing Spongebob’s track record, Squidward didn’t doubt that.

“Um...Thanks.”

Spongebob gently ran his thumb over the side of Squidwad’s tentacle. “You’re a special person and you have so much to give the world.”

Suddenly Squidward was remembering the way their hands had drifted towards one another after that big number so long ago. They’d been interrupted before any contact could be made, but if they hadn’t... what would have happened?

Squidward felt his and Spongebob’s joined hands slip from the clarinet to a comfortably hanging point between them.

What was happening now?

Their hands moved softly against each other, finding a way to accommodate their differing appendages while still maintaining firm, solid contact.

Squidward felt like he should say something.

“Uh... Hey, Spongebob.”

“Yeah, Squidward?”

“...I-”

Squidward’s attempted statement was cut off by sirens, followed by Patrick calmly opening the door to the room he and Spongebob were currently occupying.

Patrick brought his hands together and spoke in a level tone. “Mistakes may have been made.”

Squidward’s hand immediately jolted out of Spongebob’s. “What did you do to my kitchen!?”

“Nothing you need to stop holding hands about! I-”

“I was not holding anyone’s hand,” Squidward lied. “Now explain yourself!”

That very moment, a pair of firefighters entered the room, one holding the charred remains of a moderately sized hunk of metal.

“Excuse me,” the one holding the charred lump began delicately, “but are you the owner of a Primo Cappucino Assoluto E5000?”

Squidward gasped and ran over to examine the object. “Serafina! What happened to you!?”

The one holding the lump lowered his head while his partner took her hat off and held it respectfully over her heart. “She’s frothing milk in heaven now.”

And so Squidward ended up exactly where he began, sobbing dramatically while Spongbob and Patrick looked on, until he gathered enough fire in his belly to whip around to face the guilty party.

“You! Get out of my house, now!”

Patrick quivered with fear. “U-uh, okay,” he stuttered, and then promptly threw himself out the window.

Spongebob approached Squidward and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Hey, it’s okay! We can go pick up coffee ourselves; a change of scenery might help get those creative juices flowing.”

Squidward scowled at Spongebob. “The only thing I need flowing is the water out the door from you leaving!”

Spongebob pulled his hand away. “Alright, Squidward, I understand. You need to have some time to yourself to process your loss. Don’t be afraid to reach out to me, though, I really mean it.”

“OUT!”

“See ya later, Squiddy!” Spongebob waved and daintily slid out of the room between the two firefighters.

Once Squidward had had a chance to salvage what he could from his wrecked kitchen area, he flopped on his couch. He was exhausted in every manner imaginable. He tried very hard to focus on the parts of his ground floor that wouldn’t need massive renovation, and it was then that he noticed a small envelope slipped under his front door.

Squidward picked it up and noticed it was unmarked. Well, his day couldn’t get much worse, so he might as well open it.

It wasn’t difficult for Squidward to recognize the scrawled handwriting on sight.

Dear Squidward,

You’re not a failure.

Love, your number one fan

An amateurish yellow rectangle-and-stick figure was drawn at the bottom of the page, presumably in lieu of a signature.

Squidward sighed for the umpteenth time that evening. That ridiculous goofball really didn’t know how to leave him to wallow in his own self pity. 

...But that didn’t mean Squidward might not take him up on his offer of another casual jam session. Maybe. Someday.

[01littleunicorn]

Day 5: Fear/Encouragement

So a hundred years later here’s my Otayuri week submission ^^ I know I’m doing the prompt of day 5 on now day 7 but with almost no computer time, this is what you get :P It’s now 2:30 am and I haven’t had the time to beta read it, so please excuse the probably numerous mistakes. Also the romantic subtext is really subtle as I really went for a more friendship kind of approach. Hope I didn’t derailed too much. So anyway here it is and I hope you like it :3 OTAYURI WEEK 2017 - DAY 5: FEAR OR ENCOURAGEMENT Title: By your side (shitty title is shitty) Author: 01LittleUnicorn Word count: 1790 words Rating: General Warnings: none ---------------------------- The sound of the blades scraping the ice, resonated in the rink as he was holding the last move of his routine. Panting and out of breath, Yuri was suddenly called back to reality by the charming voice of coach.  - YURI! Come here now, you’re done for today.  Following Yakov instructions, Yuri started skating back to the exit of the rink. His gaze fell upon the two lovebirds, who were too busy cuddling each other to notice it was they’re turn on the ice. Currently, Victor was leaving some supposed-to-be-discreet kisses on his lover’s neck, making the latter giggle and blush.  Yuri couldn’t help but groan at the sight that had became way too frequent.  - Hey Katsudon! It’s your turn on the ice, so get your ass over here and start practicing like the rest of us!  His yelling did finally get the attention of the two lovers, and Yuuri quickly responded with a smile and thank before getting on the ice followed by his coach, doubling as fiancé.  As he got out of the rink, Yuri was immediately accosted by Yakov, ready to give his critics.  - That was good, but you really need to watch it near the end. You get exhausted way too quickly and your jumps become kind of sloppy. We can not let that happen in competition! Remember what Lillia told you about…  With a sigh, Yuri completely stopped listening to Yakov rant, turning his attention to Mila and Georgi who were talking further away. By the look on the drama king’s face, she must have still been harassing him to know who that mysterious blonde girl he was going out with was. It’s been a few months already but Mila still wouldn’t drop the question.   - YURI! Are you listening?!  With his eternal look of not-giving-a-fuck, Yuri simply responded without looking at his coach,  - Yeah, yeah… same as ever, good start and middle, watch the end, don’t forget your body will start changing, going for the gold again, etc.  Yakov simply sighed before adding  - Well if you know it start showing it. You’ve got the talent Yuri but you still need to work.  The competition isn’t going to get easier you know…  With a simple nod, the young boy turned his attention on the ice, where the Japanese man was practicing his routine, barely hearing the older man leave while telling him to go get changed.  As he was fixated on the other skater’s moves, Yuri was suddenly surprised by a mocking female voice.  - So Yurio… checking out the other Yuri? He’s taken you know…  - Shut up Mila! He grunted back, and stop it with that stupid nickname, my name is Yuri!  He really hated that nickname. At first it was just used by Victor, Yuuri and the former’s close circle, but in the last months it seemed to have spread like wild fire. Now almost everybody around him was using it and he was getting really sick of it.  The young girl simple shrug it away with a move of the hand,   - Bah it’s easier that way… Anyway, what do you think of Yuuri’s program? Pretty impressive no? Victor is really driving him forward!  At the same time, said Yuuri had just finish his routine and was greeted by a huge congratulation kiss from his overjoyed fiancé.  - Well maybe it could be if they were less busy sucking each other’s face all the time, snickered Yuri.  Mila turned to face him, a smirk on her face.  - Jealous are you?... she added.  Half disgusted, half offended, Yuri turned around rolling his eyes, and added with disdain.  - Yeah as if. But you know, I could say the same about you and that Italian chick…  He added that last part with a sneer and, as she turned red from embarrassment, started heading to the changing room.  But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Yakov, Mila and the others were saying. Everyone was really upping their games for this competition, and Yuri knew this year would be even more difficult than the last. Yuuri had really worked a lot on his anxiety problems and his already impressive program was gaining in precision. Victor was very motivated to come back to the ice and win back his world breaking records. Even Georgi was working thrice as hard on his routines, probably having gained new motivation through his new girlfriend.  Among all that, Yuri was really feeling the pressure on his shoulders from the skating world and the media. In his first year in the senior division he had already won the gold medal, so everyone was expecting of him to do just as good to show it wasn’t a lucky win. And Lillia wouldn’t let him forget about puberty coming to hit him in the face with changes to his body and adaptions to come.   All of these factors had him really worried about the soon approaching competition. Of course, Yuri would die before he let anyone in St-Petersburg know about this.  He finally got to his locker and automatically reached for his phone.   Two missed calls from Otabek.  With a smile, Yuri dialed him back, still picking his things up. He and Otabek hadn’t seen each other since the GPF but they had kept contact through skype, texts and phone calls. They were talking almost everyday and Yuri had to admit, he felt nice having a real friend around.   Otabek picked up after only two ring.  - Hello Yuri.   - Hey Otabek! Glad to see at least one person still remembers my name... he added with a little sarcastic smile.  He could hear Otabek’s sigh on the other side.  - I see they're still using that nickname?  Yuri let out a puff of anger.  - Of course, they are!   He started rummaging more aggressively through his locker, throwing some things on the bench behind him.  - And it's gotten even worse since Katsudon started training here... I really don't get why I'M the one who should lose my name when I’VE been here the longest! It's fucking unfair! He then slammed the door before leaning against the locker. Thank god Yakov and Lillia didn't start using it too.  There was a silence on the line, before Otabek’s voice was heard again.  - I know how much you hate when people call you that but... it’s not the only thing bothering you right now, right? He then added in a more worried tone. What's going on Yuri?  Still leaning against the metal door, the young man simply sighed.  - Nothing...  This time the silence was way longer and Yuri knew Otabek wouldn’t fall for that. His friend was a man of few words but his silences were really speaking. After a few seconds, Yuri gave up and finally opened up.  - It's just.... It's just that I feel a lot of pressure from everyone... and it's not like I'm worried or anything but... but what if... what if I'm not good enough...  That last part was so muttered it was barely audible.  - You are good enough Yuri.   No hesitation, no pause. Otabek’s answer was short and simple.  - But...  - You've always been good enough, he interrupted him. Way more than enough actually.                                                                                                                             Yuri wasn’t sure how to answer. 

- Look I know I have talent but... but I'm... 

- Worried about your body changing? Yuri nodded even though his friend couldn’t see him. Don't be.   - Why?...  - Because it's not your only strength. You've always been a warrior at the core... so don't stop fighting now.  Yuri was at a complete lack of word, a rare sight to see. After a few seconds, Otabek’s voice came up again, hesitantly.  - Yuri?  - Yeah... wow that's pretty profound man.  He then let out a little laugh, not really knowing how to react. Well returning the compliment would already be a start.  - And you know you're pretty talented too! Still can't figure why JJ was the one getting on the podium.  The little jab at the Canadian skater was just to easy. Otabek let out a small laugh.  - Well we can both agree on this one.   - Hum... Otabek, I....  - Yes?  Yuri started panicking. He had spoken without really thinking. What was he going to say? What did he want to say?  I miss you  I want to see you again  I think I...  - Nothing. Just thanks for the pep talk... and for, you know, believing in me.  He found himself blushing and was happy the Kazakhstan’s man couldn’t see him right now.   - Anytime, Otabek softly answered.  Noise from the other room suddenly caught Yuri’s attention. He would have to hang up soon.  - So, hum... I gotta go so...  - Say Yuri?  Otabek’s answer came at the same time and Yuri was suddenly curious.  - Yeah?  - Hum... Well, I was thinking of taking a break for a couple weeks and... since your birthday is coming soon I thought that... maybe, I could come to Russia and we could celebrate it together?  Yuri’s reaction was immediate - Really?!? That would be awesome!!!  He almost couldn’t believe what he just heard. That was amazing news.  - Glad to see you like the idea.  - Of fucking course, I do! I can wait to show you around all the best places!  His energy suddenly rose up again and he was getting all excited.  - Great… It's a promise then.  Yuri’s heart suddenly skipped a beat at Otabek’s words. What the fuck had just happened?  - Well I'll let you go now, the latter continued, don’t want to keep you too long.  Yuri simply agreed, still feeling rather confused. - Yeah...  I’ll talk to you later?  - Of course, Otabek answered. Goodbye Yuri.  - Bye Beka...   Yuri then hung up the phone, with a slight smile on his lips.  Otabek was coming here. They would finally be able to see each other again and Yuri just couldn’t wait. That was really the best news he had received in a while.  His phone then buzzed in his hand. It was a text from Otabek.  Good Luck!   It was followed by a Thumbs up emoji.  Yuri smile only grew at the sight. He finished picking up his things and headed out of the changing room before Yakov came to get him out himself.   His worries weren’t completely gone, but it was nice knowing Otabek would be there to cheer him on. It really made a difference to have a friend by his side.  On the way out, Yuri took another look at the encouragement text and smiled fondly. Now he was really looking forward to the next practice!