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hxney-lemcn · 16 days ago

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Best Friend — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: you find Daisuke different job, dodging a bullet that would've taken his life.

tw: mentions of pony express again (ew)

a/n: this was not planned, and I'm not entirely motivated, but there's not many Daisuke fics so I'm kinda left only one option :/

wc: 1.1k

Master List

Part One | Part Two

“How about this one,” You asked, showing your screen to Daisuke. Electrician apprentice read at the top, the requirements listed below. “I know it isn’t the most exciting, but you’d make good money.”

Daisuke eyed it for a few seconds, “It’s basically what I’d be doing for Pony Express.” “Exactly,” You nodded eagerly. “Except you wouldn’t be floating in space, who knows where for…how long was it supposed to be again?”

“Like…a year and some months,” He replied back, expression darkening slightly at the thought.

“Yeah, no way,” You grumbled, reading through the rest of the job listing. “Look, they’re open to no experience, it's perfect!”

“You think they’ll actually hire me?” He asked, brown eyes looking at you anxiously. “I mean I have nothing that makes me stand out.”

“Only one way to find out,” You shrugged, clicking on the apply button. “Besides, are you saying my resume skills suck? I made you look like a 5 star option even with your lack of experience.”

“Isn’t that lying though?” Daisuked questioned, resting his head on your shoulder as you filled the form out for him (he chipped in when you didn’t know something).

“No,” You hummed. “Lots of people don’t have experience, but they gotta put something on their resume.”

As you finished, you glanced down at him, “You wanna go through with this?”

“Yeah,” He nodded with a sigh. “I really don’t wanna go to space.”

“Hmm,” you hummed again, resting your head on top of his as you hit submit. “You should tell your mom before she does anything.”

“Yeah,” He agreed. “I just don’t wanna think about it right now.”

“I know,” You murmured, allowing him to play with your fingers. “But the longer you procrastinate the more likely you’ll become an express worker.”

“You’re so responsible,” Daisuke groans. “How do you do it?”

Letting out a short chuckle, you respond, “Anxiety. And right now I’m anxious I’m gonna have to say goodbye to you, which is why we’re filling out job applications right now.”

“I love you,” He mumbled, nuzzling into your neck.

“I love you too, silly,” You murmured back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

…

You were sitting in class when you noticed your phone light up. Daisuke’s smiling face popped up, he was calling you. Glancing up to the professor, they seemed busy enough to not notice you, so you opened your messages, typing a quick message,

What’s up? I’m in class rn

babygirl: YOU’LL NEVER GUESS QHAT HAPPENEF babygirl: oh babygirl: srry, txt u later babygirl: love you 🫶

okay! Love you too you goof <3

It was hard for you to shake the silly grin off your face for the rest of class. Daisuke always managed to make you feel like a lovesick fool, heart fluttering at every little thing he’d do. He had you kicking your feet and twirling your hair. Yeah, you were totally in the honeymoon phase, but you were enjoying every moment of that.

When you got out of class, you went outside to a quiet area on campus. Pulling out your phone, you sat on a bench and quickly hit the call button. You didn’t even get to hear the ring as Daisuke answered right away, cherrily shouting your name.

“What happened?” You asked with a smile. “You seem pretty excited.”

“I got the job!” Daisuke exclaimed, not waiting a second to tell you the good news.

“Whoa! Congrats!” You exclaimed back. “Wait, which one?”

“The factory one where I’d operate a forklift,” He replied, you could hear the smile in his voice. “My mom actually approves too.” “That’s amazing,” You felt super giddy. It felt like you had dodged a major bullet.

“Yeah,” He sighed. “It’s all thanks to you, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t mention it,” You shrugged, glancing up at the pink and yellow sky. Your classes always run later on these days, you couldn’t wait to go home after this call. “You’re my fr- boyfriend, I’ll always have your back.”

“You done for the day?” Daisuke asks absentmindedly.

“Yeah.”

“Come over?”

“Sure.”

…

“Thank you so much for helping Daisuke,” His mother gushed with a stressed smile. “You’re such a good influence for him. I couldn’t ask for a better partner for my son.”

“O-oh, of course,” You stammered, feeling flustered at the compliments. “He means a lot to me, I’m glad I could help.” Nodding at her politely, you walked past, heading towards Daisuke’s room. Knocking on the door, you heard his cheerful voice tell you to come in. Entering, you set your backpack by the door, plopping yourself on his bed.

“How were classes?” Daisuke asks, glancing at you from over his gameboy.

“It was fine,” You shrugged, stretching out to relieve some stress. “Nothing new.”

“Hmm,” He hummed in acknowledgement, beating the level he was on before turning the device off. “Wanna sleep over?”

“Sure,” You nodded, and Daisuke plopped himself on top of you. Ever since you started dating he had become incredibly more touchy, always touching you in some way, whether it be holding pinkies or laying on top of each other like a weighted blanket. You didn’t mind though, it was comforting, and you were a bit clingy too so at least it was mutual. Like clockwork, your hands started to run through his hair causing him to release a pleased sigh.

“Should we watch a movie?” You asked, glancing over to his stack of dvds.

“But you’re so comfy,” Daisuke whined, snuggling further into your chest.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, but made no attempt to move, instead changing the topic, “When do you start your job?”

“In a few weeks,” He mumbled. “ ‘m kinda nervous about starting a serious job, but it's better than the alternative.”

“You’ll do great,” You tried to comfort. “I just know it.”

“I think you're biased,” He grumbles, tilting his head up to make eye contact.

“Maybe just a bit,” You smiled, pinching his cheek lightly. “But I’d be a shitty partner if I didn’t encourage you.” Daisuke watched you fondly, he’s not sure what he did to deserve someone like you.

As you both laid in his bed, soaking in the other's presence, everything was alright. Neither of you know just how much of a bullet Daisuke had missed, the ship he was fated to join if he were to work at Pony Express had gone missing. When the news broke, the both of you couldn’t help but be horrified. What if that was the ship he joined? Not to mention the news of Pony Express going bankrupt, if Daisuke went as an intern it wouldn’t have gone far.

Daisuke and his mother were even more grateful that you managed to find him a different job. Even if he didn’t enjoy it, it was better than whatever happened to the ill fated crew of the Tulpar.

#mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwashing daisuke #x reader #mouthwashing x reader #daisuke mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing daisuke x reader

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loveanddeepspacefanfic · 16 days ago

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Sylus: living with you

Sylus x reader

🔞🔥🔥🔥🌸🌸

Sylus is like a brother! Synopsis:

He and his mom moved into your house. Your dad married his mom, so now you’re all living together, like it or not.

He’s old enough to be an adult but still stuck repeating his senior year of high school.

You’re in your second year of college and laser-focused on it, leaving boyfriends, parties—everything—aside.

He’s the opposite, always skipping class, coming home drunk. Most nights, you find him throwing up in the bathroom after some party.

In some ways, you hate him. Living with a guy like this—reckless, cynical, and a complete womanizer—is something you can barely stand.

***

One rainy day, your bus doesn’t show up. Your dad’s car is still in the shop, and there you are, sitting in the living room, desperately trying to call someone for a ride, but the cell signal is down. Missing class isn’t an option.

Sylus walks in from school; he has afternoon classes and usually gets home just after dark. He sees you, holding his helmet in hand, since he just got back on his motorcycle.

The room is dimly lit, with both your parents cozy in their bedroom, watching Netflix and enjoying the chilly weather.

—What’s up, sis? Something wrong? —Don’t call me sis! Stop being a jerk. My bus didn’t show, and I need to get to campus — you say, eyes fixed on your phone screen. —With that pout, I thought maybe you had a fight with your boyfriend. Oh wait, you don’t date, right? Annoying little nerd. —Shut up! If you’re not going to help, just leave me alone!

You move to the window, checking if the rain has let up, mainly to avoid looking at him. Sylus heads to the kitchen, pours himself a drink, and takes a sip with a smirk, setting the glass down on the table with a little thud.

He swings by his room, grabs another helmet, hesitates for a moment, and decides to approach you again.

—I’ll take you. Grab your stuff. —And who said I want to go with you? —It’s that or suffering in the rain. —I don’t need you! — you shout.

Fuming, you grab your bag, stuff it into a plastic bag, and storm out. Just before stepping through the door, you turn and yell:

—I’d rather walk in the rain than go with you!

Behind the door, Sylus swallows hard. He knew you were bold, but he didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.

You step into the rain, walking quickly, knowing there’s a chance that jerk might try to follow. Gritting your teeth, you hold back tears. The fury you feel at having him in your home, along with his mom, is overwhelming.

His cologne lingering in every room, his clothes and socks scattered everywhere, and his alcoholic mother trying to meddle in your private life—it’s enough to drive anyone mad.

Suddenly, you hear the rumble of his motorcycle. You pick up the pace, practically running. The headlights draw near as Sylus revs his engine and cuts in front of you.

You freeze to avoid getting hurt, your clothes and hair already soaked from the rain. Water pools on the asphalt, making your feet shiver with cold.

—Stop acting so stubborn and get on the motorcycle! Now! — he yells through the downpour.

—I don’t need you!— you shout back.

Sylus, losing his patience, gets off the motorcycle and picks you up with an unsettling ease, setting you firmly onto the seat. Startled, you adjust yourself, realizing how drenched you are.

— I’m taking you to that damn college. —No, I won’t go! I can’t sit through class completely soaked. —Then what do you want? Head home? The rain’s getting worse, so make up your mind already.

You hesitate, dreading the idea of your dad seeing the two of you arriving together. In your mind, Sylus is exactly the wrong kind of company. You’d promised your dad you’d keep your distance from him. Left with few options, you try to think fast.

—Just take me anywhere. You’re always skipping class-don’t you know somewhere decent where I can wait until it’s time for my classes? I don’t want my dad knowing I missed class. —Geez, so many conditions! Fine, just shut up and hold on!— he says, handing you a helmet.

You put on the helmet and try gripping the motorcycle’s side handle. But at the first speed bump, you instinctively reach for him, afraid of falling. Without meaning to, you place a hand on his chest, feeling his defined build and his heartbeat, which is racing.

He seemed tense, different. The feeling of his chest under your hand makes you swallow hard. You manage to pull your hand away, finally distancing yourself.

Sylus suddenly takes a sharp turn down a dark street. You know he’s into some questionable things, and it’s hard to imagine anything good coming from this.

But he surprises you. He parks in front of a small wooden cabin. It’s at the beginning of the road leading to the hills, a popular spot for tourists this time of year.

—What is this place? Some run-down shack?— you say, taking off your helmet and stepping off the motorcycle. —No! Believe it or not, it’s an Airbnb. I rented it earlier. It’s Friday, so I booked it for the weekend with some friends. —This is the kind of dump you hide out in on weekends with those lowlifes? —That’s none of your business, sis. —Don’t call me that!— you yell, raising a hand toward him.

Sylus catches your wrist mid-air, and the two of you lock eyes. He growls for you to get inside. For the first time, you decide to go along with it and step into the cabin.

Inside, you see it’s actually a cozy loft. The rustic decor gives it a warm, comfortable vibe—a hidden paradise behind the look of an abandoned wooden house.

—See? Not bad inside. From the outside, sure, it looks abandoned, but it’s cozy, clean, and the soft lighting’s just perfect.

You look at him in surprise. You’d never heard him string together so many coherent words before.

—You can go now. I’ll call you when it’s about time for me to finish class. —Your phone doesn’t have any signal. Remember? —Oh, right. Then come back around 10 p.m. You can go now. —You want to be alone by the highway? People will notice someone’s here because of the light. —When did you get so sensible? —Just don’t want to be blamed if something happens to you,—he says, mockingly.

You realize you might already be with the most reckless guy in town. Sylus has always been known to hang around with the worst guys. You swallow hard, suddenly aware you’re in a cabin in the middle of the woods with a guy nearly six and a half feet tall.

You sit on the bed, hugging your bag, unable to hide your discomfort. He notices your unease, snatches the bag from your hands, and tosses it onto a small table.

He pulls up a wooden stool and sits, facing the fireplace. The chill is settling in, so he starts a fire with surprising ease.

Silence hangs in the air for a long moment before he clears his throat. Still with his back to you, arms crossed, he begins to speak.

—Even though you hate having me around, I’ll take this chance to tell you some things. —If it’s to say something stupid, don’t bother. —I was against it— he says in a rough, intense voice. You huddle on the bed, deciding to listen. —I was against the marriage. But my mom was head over heels for your dad. I get that it must be hard, having two strangers in your house. —You don’t understand— you murmur.

Surprised, Sylus turns, glancing back at you. He sees that you’re far more hurt than he’d imagined.

—I understand more than I’d like to—he insists.

You realize you never really knew Sylus’s full story, so you take a chance, trying to start a conversation.

—How long have your parents been separated?

—My parents didn’t separate— he says, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

You feel a jolt of discomfort but can’t bring yourself to ask anything further.

—My dad died when I was a kid. —I didn’t remember that. I’m sorry— you whisper.

—That’s not the point. The point is, my mom remarried almost right away—to a jerk. And I hated seeing that guy in my dad’s house— Sylus says, a deep bitterness surfacing.

—Sylus, please... I don’t want to dig into that. You’re getting upset!

Sylus tosses a few sticks onto the fire, taking a deep breath before looking back at you.

—Don’t worry. One night he drank too much and tried to hit my mom. I defended her, and he ended up falling down the stairs. Got what he deserved, you know?

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of each new detail he reveals. Despite everything, you’re starting to understand a bit more about what shaped his personality. For all his wild ways, he truly does protect his mom.

—There’s no need to be scared.

—How could I not be? You always seem involved with strange stuff. Your mom’s always getting called to school. Your friends are the worst. And now… you’re basically confessing you had a hand in your stepdad’s death.

—It was an accident, annoying little nerd. —This time just won’t pass… We hate each other.— you say, almost to yourself.

Sylus glances at you and, for a moment, considers how you’d react if you knew he’d slashed the bus tires so it wouldn’t pick you up for college. That he’d rented the cabin with the plan to bring you here. What would you do if you knew it was all intentional?

—Why are you smiling? —Doesn't it cross your mind that I might like you?

A jolt runs through you. Deep down, you’d suspected this conversation would come up eventually.

It was obvious from the way he’d sometimes look at you out of the corner of his eye. It was more than clear that he wandered around the house in a towel on purpose, or wore so much cologne just to get your attention. And it was obvious he hadn’t accidentally opened the bathroom door while you were in the shower.

That look wasn’t accidental. Nor was his tone when he teased you. The truth was, it was all very obvious, but you fought not to see it—because he was the last person you’d choose. The worst possible option.

Sylus steps closer and touches your face softly. He lifts your chin, tracing his thumb over your lips. You turn your head abruptly, avoiding his gaze.

—Are you ignoring me?— he whispers. — ...

Sylus takes your hand and slides it under his shirt, forcing you to stand in front of him. Shocked, you try to pull your hand back, but he grips your wrist, making you feel his rapid heartbeat. You close your eyes and grit your teeth, holding back any reaction.

—That night you took care of me when I was drunk… I wasn’t entirely out of it. You felt my heartbeat. You looked after me so our parents wouldn’t wake up. —What is this, Sylus?— you say, your voice trembling. —I think… something good came alive in me that night.— he confesses— My heart hasn’t beat the same since.

You swallow hard, trying once more to pull away, but this time he pulls you into a hug. The warmth of his body brings you an indescribable feeling of comfort. Slowly, you place your hands on his back, shyly returning the embrace.

—Stay with me. —Are you crazy? —I’ve always been— he whispers, his voice low and rough.

Sylus slides his hand through your hair, tilting your head back gently.

He kisses you intensely, and you can’t resist as his tongue meets yours.

With surprising ease, he lays you down on the bed, kissing you all the while as he slips off his black jacket, tossing it aside.

You try to push him away, but there’s no strength behind it. You want him—you want that scent of his on every inch of your skin. He trails kisses down your neck, whispering random words between them.

You murmur, half-heartedly trying to stop him, but he’s lost to the desire to have you.

He sheds his shirt in one swift motion, pulling yours off as well. Sylus leaves a trail of kisses over the exposed skin of your chest.

Before long, he removes your bra, pressing you against his chest, savoring the sensation.

He presses his body against yours, making you gasp into his mouth.

You feel his desire against your stomach, realizing there’s no turning back.

Your hands slide over his chest, helping him undo his belt.

With a hungry movement, Sylus lets his hand slip down, feeling just how ready you are for him. He growls against your ear, seeking your gaze for approval, desperate to end the torment.

You nod, and he enters you, filling you completely. His size makes you moan against his lips with each thrust.

Sylus alternates between slow, deep movements, bringing you both to a climax like two people starved for each other.

Sweat drips down his face as he bites your lower lip, savoring your last moans before collapsing beside you.

You both lie there, breathless, wrapped in each other’s arms. He kisses your forehead, whispering in your ear, his voice still rough:

—This isn’t a fairy tale… but if love exists, I think it must feel a lot like this.

#love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #sylus x reader #sylus smut #lads x reader #lads smut #nie.writes #sylus x mc #lads sylus

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uneditedidiot · 1 year ago

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this love is ours - jamie tartt x reader

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary: after officially starting to date Jamie, the media figures out who you are. Judgment comes in from all places - news outlets, social media, family members - but Jamie puts all that doubt out of your mind. based off the song ours by taylor swift. features appearances from Keeley and Roy.

word count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, angst, fluff social media bullying & hate, reassurance and comfort from Jamie

A/N: This could technically be part two to gold rush but you don’t need to have read that one to understand what’s going on in this imagine. Hope you enjoy!

Seems like there's always someone who disapproves

They'll judge it like they know about me and you

And the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do

The jury's out, but my choice is you

Even on a beautiful Saturday afternoon out on the Richmond Green, you and Jamie somehow attracted the attention of a few invasive paparazzi.

“I thought the hat would be enough,” said Jamie, pulling the brim of his ‘icon’ hat further down his forehead.

The two of you walked off quickly down the path, keeping the photographers and their bright flashes at your backs.

You couldn’t help but giggle, tugging at his hand in yours. “Jamie, you wear that hat everywhere. People recognize it pretty easily.”

“I’m not the only person in the world with this hat.”

“Maybe not, but you made it popular.”

He sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.” He smiled at you. “Well now that we’ve left those annoying arseholes behind, what do you want for dinner?”

“Keeley invited us over for a couples night with her and Roy,” you reminded him. “Remember? We talked about it with Roy this morning after your training.”

“Nah, the granddad has a tendency to ramble on with ya about random stuff so I just thought ya were chattin’ with him.”

“Yeah, I was chatting with him about dinner with him and Keeley, which you agreed to, by the way, even in your post-workout haze.”

Jamie grumbled like a little kid. “Ugh, but I’d rather just stay home with you, get pizza or some takeout, and make out on the couch.”

You lifted your head up to his cheek to kiss it. “And we can do that – tomorrow night. Which is a night we didn’t agree to have dinner with Roy and Keeley.”

That seemed to satisfy him for the moment and the two of you made your way back home to your shared house.

“I’m going to go shower, babe!” he called as he headed upstairs.

“I’ll be here!” you called back.

You kicked off your shoes by the front mat and strode into the kitchen to grab some water. As you filled a glass from the filtered pitcher from the fridge, you scrolled through your instagram.

After making it official with Jamie, the two of you had decided to keep it quiet in terms of posting on social media. You’d told close friends and everyone at Richmond. Jamie’s mom and stepfather obviously knew, since it had been at their house that you’d made things official. But your family hadn’t taken it quite as well.

Being from the States, your family’s only impression of Jamie was the Richmond matches they streamed and his arc on Lust Conquers All, which hadn’t painted him in a flattering light. Of course, Jamie freely admitted that he was an all-out prick on the show and had publicly and privately apologized to those he had hurt while filming. But your family couldn’t exactly see past it. They were protective of you and worried about what Jamie might do in the relationship.

Thankfully, Ted and Beard, who knew your parents quite well, had reassured them that Jamie was not the person the media portrayed him as. This had seemed to quell their anxieties about their kid dating a superstar footballer with a notorious reputation for being a (as your mother so kindly put it) “man-whore.” But you, as well as everyone around you, knew that Jamie had changed.

Now the instagram comments you saw as you scrolled on your latest post of you and Jamie getting brunch together were of similar nature.

There were a few comments from your friends at Richmond – Keeley had commented, “I love you both so much and you are too cute together!” Sam had said, “the queen and king of Richmond;” while Rebecca put it plainly, “you are the best people and these photos are my new favorite of you both.”

Despite the many loving and supportive comments from friends and now people who had deemed themselves ‘fans’ of you (which felt quite strange, as you were merely the head physical therapist for the team and didn’t do anything that warranted ‘fans’), there were a good handful that were not quite as kind.

One person had written, “Jamie’s back in his pretending to be monogamous era - wonder how long that will last.”

You shook your head. You knew who Jamie had become and this wasn’t a phase for him. You scrolled on.

Another comment caught your eye. “Ew who are they? Jamie is way out of their league.”

And then more continued to pop up.

“Fuck them.”

“Why do they even bother? Jamie is going to dump them in like a week bet.”

“What are they wearing?”

“Jamie and Keeley will forever be endgame.”

“I liked it better when he was with Keeley.”

“Whatever happened to celebrities dating out of their league? This person is clearly a big step down for him.”

It was a rabbit hole of discouragement and darkness. And even after you exited out of Instagram trying to shake off the hate, more seemed to appear as you opened twitter. You’d been tagged in numerous disgusting tweets from multiple accounts.

“Go die no one likes u.”

“Why is your face like that and why does Jamie like it.”

“I bet he thinks of Keeley when they fuck. Lol I would.”

“You’re literally nobody and the fact that Jamie Tartt of all people is dating you is really pathetic.”

You shook your head, exiting out of twitter with a huff. You tossed your phone on the other couch cushion. It was difficult seeing so many people who thought they had a right to comment on your relationship saying such things on the internet. You knew coming into this that dating Jamie would be difficult in terms of hate on social media, but your fears were resurfacing.

Jamie wouldn’t actually believe all that stuff said about you. You knew that. But what if other people you knew saw it and agreed with it? What if you had to start dealing with people in real life saying that? Were you not good enough to be dating someone like Jamie?

The self-doubt began to creep in, like a mist slowly dragging itself over a hill. Your thoughts began to spiral.

You recognized the anxiety beginning to escalate and decided to watch something to distract yourself. You turned on the TV and tried to tune out the online ruckus.

About a half-hour later, Jamie came barreling down the stairs.

“Babe, Keeley just texted - I think we’re late for dinner,” he said, rushing to put on his shoes.

“Shit!” you cried, slamming the TV power button and quickly going back over to do the same as Jamie.

You both grabbed what you needed and quite literally ran out the door to Jamie’s car which was right next to the gates of your home.

As you sprinted to the passenger side door, a white light suddenly blinded you from beside the front gates.

It was like they appeared out of nowhere – two photographers with large lenses. And they were yelling your name.

“Hey, what’s it like to be with someone who clearly can’t commit?” one laughed.

“Getting tired of this one already, Tartt?” the other bellowed.

“Just fuck off!” exclaimed Jamie, waving his hand at them. “This is private property! Fuck off!”

You jumped into the car, shutting the door as fast as possible. You watched as Jamie flipped off the photographers, who took the last few pictures they wanted, and trudged away.

Jamie closed his door with more force than necessary and buckled his seatbelt. “Arseholes.” He turned to you, putting his hand on your leg gently. “Are ya okay?”

No. No, you weren’t okay. After reading through all those hateful comments and then being berated by paparazzi not just for pictures, but also with hurtful questions didn’t help your self-doubt. It seemed to be bubbling up from below into your heart.

But you didn’t want to ruin the mood more by admitting you were not okay, so all you could do was nod.

“Don’t let them get to you, alright? I love you and nothing’s gonna change that,” confirmed Jamie tenderly. His hand slid into yours.

Neither of you let go all the way to Keeley and Roy’s.

“Heya!” greeted Keeley from the front door as you and Jamie exited the car.

You forced a smile. “Hi, Keeley.”

“How ya doing, Keeley?” grinned Jamie. He gave her a big hug, and then you gave her one, too.

“Just peachy,” she replied, holding the door open for the both of you. “Roy’s inside getting the chicken all prepped. I think he’s trying something fancy tonight - chicken cordon bleu!”

“That is fancy,” you agreed. “He’s really upping his chef skills.”

“I’m not buyin’ that,”Jamie joked. “He’s making beans on toast.”

“Have some faith,” you nudged him playfully.

“I’ll put my faith in nothing until that chicken cordon bleu is sitting on my dinner plate.”

“You two are so cute,” awed Keeley as the three of you made your way to the kitchen.

You swallowed the lump in your throat at the comment, feeling sweat on your palms.

“Ey, if it isn’t the granddad himself!” cheered Jamie. “Making us something fancy, are ya?”

Roy was bent over the kitchen counter, slamming a meat tenderizer into pieces of flattened chicken. He turned with a scowl on his face and gestured at the younger man with the meat tenderizer.

“I’ll be flattening more than this fucking chicken if you keep that up, Tartt,” he growled.

“Aw, I’m terrified,” mocked Jamie.

“Stop it, you two,” ordered Keely good-naturedly as she kissed his cheek. “No one is flattening anything else ‘round here — especially body parts. Right, Roy?”

“I certainly wouldn’t be happy about it and neither would they,” Jamie chuckled, nodding his head at you.

Your smile was tight. You tried to make things light hearted as you wrapped an arm around Jamie’s bicep. “Yep. That’d be…tragic.”

Jamie peered down at you with a questioning glance. He knew something was up, but didn’t want to push it in front of Roy and Keeley.

Keeley gave you both drinks and you all went to sit outside on the patio as Roy finished up cooking in the kitchen.

Jamie and Keeley launched into immediate conversation and you tried your best to keep up and add things in here and there, but you were unusually quiet. Your mind kept drifting back to what you’d read online and what the paparazzi had screamed at you.

It was an endless circle of disappointment in yourself, anxiety, and self-consciousness. This infinite loop of darkness continued to crowd your mind, taking up all the space inside. A storm seemed have come into your psyche and it was doing a number on you.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket as Jamie and Keeley chatted about the towels in the locker room at Nelson Road.

Puzzled, you checked your texts. It was from your mom with a link to an article from a tabloid website.

“This doesn’t seem like a good thing, honey. What are you doing with a celebrity like that?”

That was the message your own mother had sent you about Jamie. You internally groaned. Then you clicked on the article. The headline was atrocious: HOW LONG WILL TARTT’S NEWEST FLING REALLY LAST? The pictures associated with it were from that very day on Richmond Green with you and Jamie walking hand-in-hand, clearly trying to outrun whoever was taking the photos. And then the worse ones – the paparazzi from outside your house had sold the pictures to this tabloid. They were grainy and ill-lit and had been very obviously edited. They had added weird width to your arms and even your head. The caption was “Tartt’s Partner has Gained some Weight!”

That was it for you. The dam had broken.

Tears were already spilling over by the time you’d suddenly stood from your chair and raced to the bathroom.

Both Jamie and Keeley called your name after you, and Roy had said it, surprised, from the kitchen as you rushed past.

You closed the door quietly, but didn’t have the willpower to sit anywhere else but on the floor next to the sink. You sobbed into your hands as silently as possible, but that didn’t work for long.

“Babe?” came Jamie’s voice through the door. “Babe, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

The desire to be alone was rapidly replaced by the need for Jamie.

You opened the door slowly, still seated by the sink. You kept your blood-shot gaze away from his for a moment as he stood there in silence.

When you looked up a moment later, your heart broke at his worried expression. His hands were shaking slightly.

“I’m just…overwhelmed,” you admitted hoarsely.

Jamie got down on the floor next to you, patting the space between his legs and reaching for you. You shuffled over to sit in his lap, your legs swung over one of his, arms going around his body and face sliding to nestle in his neck.

His arms wound around you protectively, rubbing your back and rocking back and forth slightly.

“Why are ya feeling overwhelmed, love?” he wondered gently.

You inhaled shakily, your face still buried in him. “I just…I’ve been getting a lot of hate comments and mean tweets lately. And then those paparazzi incidents today were awful and then my mom just texted me saying things like ‘why are you with him’ and ‘you shouldn’t be with someone like that.’ Then there was a link to this article that had pictures from today and they’d edited me to look horrible.”

Jamie sighed, his voice soft. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m truly so sorry. People are arseholes.”

“Why do they hate me so much?”

“They hate what they don’t have. They see us happy and they’re miserable, so they want to make us miserable. People throw rocks at things that shine.”

You moved your head off his neck so you could look him in the face. You smiled through your tears. “Did you just quote Taylor Swift at me?”

“I did,” he smiled. “But I’m not kidding. Media is fucked up. People on the internet are fucked up. They’re bored and feel the need to stick their stupid opinions where they’re not wanted.”

“It’s just so frustrating.”

“I know. But what matters is you and me. That’s it.”

“You’re right. You and me. That’s it.”

Jamie smirked mischievously. “Besides, they’re probably jealous you get to sleep with a hot footballer and they don’t.”

You laughed. “Jamie, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m not sleeping with Roy.”

Jamie laughed in return. “Oi! Ya don’t need to be an arsehole about it.”

You gazed happily at him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And I promise, forget all that shit. If you’re ever feeling this way again, just talk to me. I’ll make sure to let you know that all I need is you and you alone. This love is ours. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

You pressed your lips to his for a sweet kiss, feeling much more reassured.

“Now come on,” Jamie encouraged when he pulled away, “I’ve gotta see if Roy actually can cook.”

“I think he can, Jamie.”

“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”

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ayyyy-le-simp · 7 months ago

Text

Hey pookieesss 🤭

Happy Final Bad Batch Eve. I’m totally not crying.

All day I’ve seen final goodbyes and sad edits. And so to help ease the nerves and anxiety, I come here with some hopefully funny shenanigans. Featuring my beloved Mami again.

My mother has very little knowledge on Star Wars (which relatable, im still learning). And so I’ve asked for her to give me her thoughts on The Bad Batch characters!! I call this ✨ pre-game comfort ✨. Writing this two hours before midnight (it’s 10pm where I live).

Enjoy <33 and everyone thank my beloved mother!! (Spanish lines will be translated, blue print is me)

“I already told you, Rambo.”

“Was he ever shirtless?”

“Unfortunately no.”

“Damn.”

“He’s a 7/10 though.”

“That’s the one who died, right?”

“Pobrecito.” (Poor thing.)

“Cómo se llama?” (Whats his name?)

“Tech.”

“Ahh okay. He died the same way Bucky Barnes died.”

“Bucky Barnes didn’t die though. He came back as the winter soldier.”

“Exactly. And who’s that mystery clone guy?”

“I think that mystery clone is Tech.”

(Guys she supports our delusions.)

I’m typing this on my phone at the moment, and for some reason, tumblr isn’t letting me type under pictures and it’s literally annoying me and I’m too lazy to made separate posts, but stay tuned. But I might make another version on my tiktok 🤭

ANYWAYS

Moving onto Crosshair

“He reminds me of your dad. Bald and tall.”

(I showed my mom the scene of Crosshair sitting by himself in the cafeteria)

“Ay pobrecito.”

Moving onto Wrecker

“He reminds me of Drax. From guardians of the galaxy.”

“I think he would like Pitbull.”

“MR WORLDWIDE!”

“I literally love him.”

“Quién? Wrecker or Pitbull?” (Quién means who)

“Wrecker.”🤭

“Estas loca.” (You’re crazy.)

Moving onto Echo

“What happened to him?! Why does he look gray?”

“He needs to eat some red meat. Get some blood in that skin. That’s some low iron.”

“Yo le daría carne asada.”(I’d give him carne asada.) [steak]

“Echo? Like the movie Earth To Echo. I like that movie.”

Moving onto Omega (my literal daughter)

“She looks like her name would be Estella. Or Estrella.” (Estrella means Star in Spanish)

“I like Omega. It’s a cute name.”

Moving onto Phee

“I like her, she’s voiced by Wanda Sykes. I like Wanda Sykes, she’s funny as hell.”

“She really liked Tech.”

“She and Tech deserved better.”

“In my mind, Tech is not dead, he’s happily married to Phee.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I know.”

“Pobrecita, she didn’t see him around.”

Moving onto Cid

“Isn’t that the puta that snitched them out?”

(Puta means bitch)

“Yeah.”

“Hm. She’s a witch for that.”

BONUS:

CAPTAIN REX✨✨

“…”

“Que guapo.” (How handsome.)

“…”

“RIGHTT.”

“But he’s a captain?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh no. I can’t go cheating on my Captain America. America’s ass. He’s the only Captain in my life.”

“He can be your space Captain. Space’s ass.”

“Space’s ass.”

OKAY THANK YOU FOR READING THIS 🙏🏽🙏🏽PRAYERS FOR THE FINAL EPISODE IM SCARED GUYS WE NEED A HAPPY ENDING 😭 😭 🙏🏽 I NEED THEM ALL TO BE WELL AND OKAY AND SAFE OR ELSE I’LL BE A MILITARY WIFE IN MOURNING

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freedomfireflies · 2 years ago

Note

Girlllll that stranger texting part two was 🫠🫠🫠🫠 can’t even put it into words. Please give us part 3😫

iFall for Harry pt. 3

“…hello?”

“Hi.”

One word. That’s all he has to say and instantly, you feel your face grow hot.

You don’t know what you expected him to sound like. Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten that far. But this one word alone already has you on edge.

You swallow the massive lump in your throat, forcing your confidence as you straighten up on the couch. “So…how’s your heart doing, Grandpa?”

He laughs.

God, he laughs, and the sound of it rolling through the speakers makes your legs about shake. It’s deep. Yet somehow warm, and you feel as though you’ve won some sort of lottery for making him laugh like that.

“It’s bad. I’m in real bad shape,” he teases back, giving you a chance to hear his accent in full.

Of course he has a sexy fucking accent. “I’ll make sure to have Life Alert on standby.”

Another laugh, and you start to smile. “Thank you, I’d really appreciate that.”

Now, your head tilts. There’s something on his side of the call that’s throwing you off. It sounds like some sort of…echo? Far away and hollow, and you can’t tell if it’s just your shitty cellphone or if there’s something wrong.

“Are…where are you?” you ask, suddenly worried he was dumb enough to take this call during his meeting.

If he was in fact in a meeting at all.

“Bathroom,” is all he says, and there’s a certain airiness to his voice. “Wasn’t, uh…wasn’t gonna make it much longer without calming down.”

Calming down? Calming down from wha—

…oh.

“Ah,” you whisper, suddenly a tad nervous as you’re reminded of why he wanted to call in the first place. “My bad.”

He chuckles again, and you chew on the inside of your cheek. God, why does his laugh sound so…pretty?

“Trust me, there are worse ways to go.” There’s a bit of shuffling on his end and you wonder what he’s doing. “All right, Cheese Girl. Let’s hear it. Tell me about yourself.”

Your eyebrows lift. “You…uh…okay? I’m…I’m twenty-six…I work in marketing…and I can make a mean quesadilla.”

You can almost hear him smile. “Wow, I…you know what? That actually all checks out.”

“Well, thank God,” you retort with a grin. “Okay, your turn.”

“My turn,” he repeats as he seems to think. “Well, you already know I’m twenty-nine…uh, I work in entertainment, and…I make really good soup.”

“Soup, huh?” Your smirk as you settle back into the cushions. “And…entertainment? Like…like what kind of entertainment?”

There’s a pause before he says, “Oh, you know. Like…people pay me to…perform.”

You blink. “Perform? They…oh. Like, they…okay. That’s…well that’s…hey, you gotta make a living somehow. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking in an attempt to clear your rambling. You suppose that’s not…the worst job he could have. Although it does explain…a lot.

“Oh, you think I…uh, yeah. No, yeah. That’s…what I do.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, well…now you know I’m not some loser in his mom’s basement.”

You smirk. “And I am not some ninety-year-old man.”

“Well, you don’t sound like a ninety-year-old man, but your personality says otherwise.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Gramps,” you retort. “All right, well then what do I sound like?”

Again, there’s a moment of silence followed but a tad more shifting. “Uh…honestly? Kind of fucking hot.”

Instantly, your cheeks flush and you look up at the ceiling as if to avoid him somehow. For fuck’s sake, say something. “Well…that was nice. Thanks. So do…you.”

…smooth.

He exhales an amused breath. “Thanks.”

The call grows quiet as you pick at a loose string on your pants. “So…is that all you wanted to call for? Just to…make sure we are who we say we are?”

You hear him suck in a quiet breath. “…do you think that’s all I called for?”

Nope. “I don’t know. I mean…exchanging a couple of fun facts doesn’t exactly make us friends. We’re still…strangers, you know? And maybe you’re not some pre-pubescent loser playing video games, but I still don’t know you. And you don’t know me.”

“I want to,” he says, so simply and so sure that it makes your lashes flutter. “I mean, I kind of feel like I already do. I know you make really bad jokes. And I know you must be smart to be in marketing. And I know that you gave me a fucking boner.”

You pull your lip between your teeth and bite back a laugh. “Well, that’s really all there is to know about me, anyway.”

He hums. “And…I know we could probably save ourselves a lot of trouble by just…saying who we really are, but…I kind of like it like this. I like that it’s not about who we are to the outside world…but about who we are to each other.”

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “No matter what we look like or what we do…it’s just…us.”

“Yeah…”

The thought does occur to you then. In fact, all of the thoughts occur to you. Talking to him on the phone doesn’t just erase the possibility of the truth. And there are so many possibilities.

Like…what if he thinks you’re ugly? What if you think he’s ugly? What if he really is some loser you can’t trust? What if he’s disappointed by who you really are?

The truth is you can’t trust what you can’t see.

And yet…you trust him.

And you don’t know why.

“Well…what else do you want to know, then?” you murmur, and he takes a breath. “I’m an open book.”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I mean, I could always ask you what you’re wearing again but I believe we already established that you’re wearing clothes.”

You smile. “A tank top and sweatpants.”

He goes quiet. “…oh. That’s…okay.”

“Problem?”

“No, just…now I have a mental picture. And it’s…nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Again with the throat clearing.

Your eyes roll playfully. “How’s that boner doing?”

“Not good. Not good at all, actually. It won’t go away, so…I don’t believe I will be returning to that meeting.”

You can’t contain the amused expression on your face as you prepare yourself to ask the question you know you can come back from.

“Would you like some help with that?”

Faintly, you hear him curse, and it makes your ego soar. “Uh…I mean. You know, I don’t wanna put you out, or anything. I can…I’ve done this before, so I can just—”

“Oh, come on now,” you purr, doing your best to weave some seduction into your voice. “That wouldn’t be fair, would it? I mean, you called me…got me all worked up…and now you wanna do it yourself?”

“Fuck.” More shifting. “Don’t…easy over there, okay? I didn’t…I didn’t actually call for that, I just…I wanted…you know, I wanted us to get to know—”

“I know,” you say quickly. “I know, but…I don’t mind.”

He takes a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

“Shit, okay…well, I have one condition.”

“Oh?”

A longer pause this time as your heart begins to race.

And just before you can burst, the rough cadence of his voice rumbles through your speaker:

“I don’t come alone.”

Your eyes widen. “I see.”

Thank God.

“Yeah,” he murmurs before you hear the distinct sound of a belt. “So put the phone down somewhere close, ’cause I’m gonna need both your hands.”

Fuck. “Okay…”

“And I think maybe we play a little game,” he continues before you hear his belt. “You wanted to get to know each other, right? Well, I can’t think of a better way, so I’ll make you another deal. For every secret you tell me about yourself…I’ll tell you exactly what to do with those pretty fingers.”

You’ve gotta be fucking—

“No secrets? No touching,” he says. “And vice versa. You ask me anything you wanna know…and I’ll give it to you.”

Your chest is heaving as soft pants slip between your lips.

Sure, the premise is rather juvenile but his voice…his fucking voice is like sex, and you find yourself quickly falling into a lust-induced haze.

“Do we have a deal?” he whispers, and your thighs squeeze together.

“Yes,” you just about whine. “Yes, that’s…that’s fair.”

“Good,” he hums as your eyes fall shut. “Are you ready?”

Your voice is small and weak as you nod feebly. “Yes.”

“Then let’s get started.”

~ iFall for Harry pt. 4* (the fourth part to this!)

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask!

Tags:

@jerseygirlinca

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan #harry styles blurb #harry styles request #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #iFall for Harry

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1000roughdrafts · 9 months ago

Note

hey! if you take requests, i’m just wondering if you’d consider a sister winchester one? maybe her at 18? i love your writing so much, and i’d really love something like a hurt reader/dying reader?? something super angsty ahaha

Oh, for sure! Angst is my favorite! (as I'm sure you can tell by the word count lol) sorry it’s taken me like 3 years to get to this 😞

A/N: this was meant to post 2/28/24 because I wanted to ease into coming back with an every other week posting schedule BUT I’m just too excited and antsy for that lol also it’s set in Season 1, Episode 1

Thank you by the way!

Title: Please Wake Up

Warnings: swearing, graphic description of injury and illness, blood angst, hurt/dying reader, depiction of medical procedures, takes place in season 1 episode 1 :)

Word Count: 5.8k

Being third born after two boys, Y/N always felt like she had big shoes to fill. Despite her best efforts to impress the man, she never really formed a bond with John. Her next role model was Dean, who became more of a father to her than John ever was or could be.

Until her eleventh birthday, Dean did her hair into pigtails every day, partly because he hadn't learned to do any other hairstyle but mostly because he thought it was the cutest on her. He'd pack her and Sam's lunch with snacks he'd bought from vending machines and even pretend to take her on hunts because he knew she wanted to be exactly like him.

When she wasn't learning about monsters and guns with Dean, she spent time with Sam. He'd help her with her homework or play board and card games. They have as much in common as Y/N and Dean. Neither Sam nor Y/N got along with John, and neither remember their mothers.

Y/N's mother was a woman John met in Nebraska three years after the boy's mom died. The affair only lasted a night, but to his surprise, he heard from her again six months later with the news that they had a baby girl on the way. John was shocked and heartbroken. He couldn't bear the thought of bringing another child into the life of hunting.

John kept his distance, adamant that Y/N would be better off without him, and when another three months of silence went by, he figured that Y/N's mother came around to see it his way. Unfortunately, her pregnancy was complicated, as was the birth, and it turned out that having Y/N is what killed her.

When John got the call, he had half a mind to let the state take custody of little Y/N. Indeed, they would provide her with a better life than he could. John decided to meet her at least, and when he laid eyes on her perfect little face, he couldn't bring himself to abandon her.

Y/N was barely sixteen when Sam left for college. While she was proud of him for putting himself first, it broke her heart for him to go the way he did. She missed him more and more every day, often keeping Dean up at night with her sniffling and crying. After a while, he would get into bed next to her when the tears started and sing Hey Jude while playing with her hair to help her fall asleep. That went on for another six months before she finally started to fall asleep without crying.

For her seventeenth birthday, Dean came across a necklace he'd wanted to get for her since Sam left. From his wallet, he took out the only picture he had of the sibling trio, representing the single moment of their life where John treated them like regular kids, and using his pocket knife, he carved around their heads and bodies to match the exact size of the locket, smiling proudly at himself when it fit perfectly.

Now at eighteen, she stands next to the Impala while Dean lugs their bags out, drops them into the trunk, and slams it shut. He heads for the driver's door but stops when he realizes Y/N hasn't opened hers yet. Eyebrows raised, he twirls a finger in the air as if to say, 'Let's get a move on.'

"Are you ever gonna teach me how to drive, Dean?" she asks. "I mean, you've got to, you know?"

"No, I don't. Get in," Dean says. She does so with a huff. Dean checks the mirrors before backing out of their parking spot. Turning to Y/N, he says, "Besides, as long as I'm around, you don't need to," but softens his face into a smile when he looks at her. "Cause there's no way in Hell I'll ever let you drive my car."

Y/N lets out a soft chuckle. "It doesn't have to be this car, Dean!" She rolls the window down, letting the cool breeze hit her face. "What happens if we get separated and I'm being chased by… I don't know, something that has super speed, and my only way back to you is to steal a car and -"

"Stop. First of all, you should know that I'd never put you in that kind of danger," Dean says, disgusted by the mere thought. He lets out a long sigh. "I'll teach you," he says, looking at her gleaming smile. He tries his damnedest to see her for the adult she's becoming, but he only sees the happy baby in pull-ups he used to feed marshmallows and jello to on a motel room floor. "Just… not yet, okay?"

She scoffs, "Most people learn to drive when they're only fifteen. I mean, you took me to freaking Vegas with a fake ID for my birthday, for fuck's sake!"

"I said not yet, Y/N!" he says, shooting her the 'dad look' he's been perfecting since she was four.

"Fine," she grumbles. She clasps her hands, "So I was looking through news articles, and there seem to be vamps in the next town. Should we be on that?"

Dean clears his throat and needlessly adjusts the rear-view mirror. "Actually, kiddo, we're on something else right now." He keeps his head straight but glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. Whispering, he says, "We're gonna go get Sammy."

Y/N's eyes widen as her head whips to look at him. "What?"

He keeps his eyes on the road, "yeah, uh, with Dad missing... we could use the help," he says, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"But Sam's at college!" Y/N scoffs, "he wanted out!"

"He abandoned us!" he shouts, shaking his head at himself when he notices her shoulders tense. Her eyes peer into her lap, where her hands lie folded. “Look Y/N/N, I just… I can't shake this awful feeling that something is wrong." He waits for a response from her, but she only nods with thin lips. She tunes him out and focuses on the wind hitting the window. "I gotta make sure they're okay," he says softly.

Over the years, Y/N has learned to trust Dean's intuition, but right now, it just feels like he's being selfish. She opts to stay quiet, even if it makes a long drive longer.

Y/N jolts awake at the sound of the trunk slamming shut. She takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She doesn't see Dean next to her, so she scans her surroundings through squinted eyes, hoping for a clue about her whereabouts. She finds a gas station receipt in her lap and flips it over to see the scribbles of Dean's handwriting telling her to 'stay put or else.' She rolls her eyes, crumpling it into a ball to throw it into the backseat.

She hears the voices of two familiar men, one of whom she hasn't heard in two years. Her heart races, and she fumbles with the seat belt, trying to unhook it with shaky hands. She jumps out of the car and turns in time to see Dean leaning on the back of the Impala.

"It's a law school interview," Sam says, "and it's my whole future on a plate," he glares.

"Law school?" Dean asks with a smirk. Y/N walks over to stand next to Dean. He shoots a quick, acknowledging glance her way. Sam's eyes shift between Dean and Y/N, softening when they land on Y/N, "so we got a deal or not?" he asks flatly.

Dean says nothing but lightly nods his head. Y/N runs towards Sam, nearly knocking him over with a hug.

"Y/N/N," he smiles. Pulling her even closer to him, he wraps his arms tightly around her back and kisses the top of her head. "I missed you," he whispers.

"I missed you, too," she says, her eyes welling up with tears. Sam looks at Dean just in time to see him press his lips together with an 'I told you so' in his eyes. Sam shakes his head, squinting at Dean just before he lets go of Y/N.

"Kay, I gotta put a bag together," he sighs, "I'll be right back."

He turns to head for the door, and Y/N doesn't take her eyes off him until he disappears into the building. She blinks her eyes and turns to face Dean. He pushes himself off the back of the car and silently heads for the driver seat.

Sam and Y/N sit in the car at a gas station while Dean heads for snacks. Sam opens his door but quickly looks over his shoulder to check on Y/N. This is when he notices the box of tapes sitting next to her. Intrigued, he shifts in the chair and asks her to hand them to him. Y/N is hesitant because it's hard to say how Dean would react, and she's always hated being in the middle of their fights but does so anyway. Sam rests his tongue between his lips as he takes the box from Y/N. Stretching his legs out of the car, he rests the box in his lap to filter through them.

"Hey," Dean says from behind the Impala, his mouth wrapped around a candy bar, "either of you want breakfast?" he asks, holding a soda and a bag of chips.

Y/N waits for Sam to answer first. "No, thanks," he says, glancing Dean's way momentarily.

"I do," Y/N smiles.

"So how'd you pay for that stuff? Three of you still running credit card scams?" Sam says, going back to looking through the cassettes.

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career," Dean says, putting the gas nozzle back into the pump.

Y/N chimes in, "Besides, all we do is apply," she shrugs, "it's not our fault they send us the cards."

"Yeah? And what names did you write on the applications this time?" he asks, swinging his legs back inside the car and closing the door behind him.

"Uh, Burt Aframian," Y/N answers. Dean gets into the seat, handing Y/N the drink and chips. "Thank you," she chirps.

"And his son Hector," Dean adds, "scored two cards out of the deal."

"Sounds about right. I swear, man. You've gotta update your cassette tape collection."

Dean frowns, nearly offended. "Why?"

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes, and two," Sam holds one up, "Black Sabbath? Motorhead?" he says, dropping them to grab another, "Metallica?" he laughs, "It's the greatest hits of mullet rock," he says as Dean rips the Metallica tape from his hand with a glare.

"Well, house rules, Sammy." Dean pops the tape into the player with a tight smile, "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cake-hole," he says, dropping the empty case into the box. "Isn't that right, Y/N?" he smirks into the rear-view mirror and smiles when he sees her roll her eyes.

"You know, Sammy is a chubby twelve-year-old," Sam scolds, "it's Sam, okay?"

Turning the volume up, Dean cocks his head to the side, "sorry. I can't hear you. The music's too loud," he says with a slight chuckle.

Crashing a crime scene where police are still investigating is just another Saturday with Dean for Y/N, but seeing Sam's eyes widen at the box of Dean's fake IDs calls attention to how out of the norm this life is. Dean makes wise-ass comments to the cops, as usual, and Sam stomps on Dean's foot. Dean responds by smacking Sam's head as they bicker on the way back to the car, but Y/N can't help but grin from ear to ear.

Even when her brothers are arguing, Y/N couldn't possibly be happier. Today is her first hunt with both of her brothers and the first time in far too long since the three of them had been together for any reason.

They make their way to find Amy, who they learn is the girlfriend of the victim from listening to the cops on the bridge. They stop her while she's putting up missing posters, and after lying about being distant relatives of her boyfriend, they ask if she'd be willing to answer some questions to find him.

… "It's kind of this local legend," Amy's friend says after a few minutes of chatting. Massaging her thumb with her other hand, she continues, "This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." Dean glances over at Sam and Y/N, who listen intently, "Well, supposedly, she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever."

At a local library, Dean searches the archive page for any murders on Centennial Highway with no results. Sam shoves Dean's chair, and when it rolls back, he scoots his chair to the computer to take over, earning him a slap from Dean. After replacing 'murder' with 'suicide,' a news article pops up.

"This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river," Sam reads.

"Does it say why she did it?" Y/N asks, scooting her chair closer to Sam to try and read the screen.

"Yeah," Sam says.

"What?" Dean says with raised eyebrows.

"An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing." Sam lets out a breath, "both die," he says in a whisper.

The air grows thick around them, and Y/N frowns. "That's terrible," she says, shaking her head.

"'Our babies were gone,'" Sam reads, "'and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch."

"Hmm," Dean points to the picture on the screen, "that bridge look familiar to you?"

They hit the bridge at nightfall. Crickets sing to water drumming against the rocks as it rushes under their feet. The clouds hang low in the sky, giving the air around them a haze.

"So," Dean says, peering over the bridge at the water, "this is where Constance took the swan dive," he says, leaning against the rail next to Y/N.

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asks in disbelief, looking over at Dean.

"Well, he's chasing the same story, and we're chasing him," Dean shrugs, turning to walk down the bridge.

Sam turns to follow. "Okay, so now what?" he says, forcing a breath through his nose. Y/N walks right next to him, still scared to let him out of her sight.

"Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while," Dean grumbles.

Sam stops walking, "Dean," he says, raising his hands before dropping them. "I told you. I've gotta be back by Monday."

"Monday," Dean says, pivoting to make grueling eye contact with Sam, but only turns his body enough that he's still facing the bridge's railing. "Right," he says, shaking a finger, "the interview." The bridge creaks under him as he turns the rest of the way.

"Yeah," Sam nods.

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Dean says, shifting his weight between his feet. "You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?" Dean asks, the animosity growing with each word.

Sam shrugs, "maybe. Why not?"

Dean's voice roughens, "Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know the things you've done?"

Sam takes a few threatening steps toward Dean, "No, and she's not ever going to know," he scowls.

"Well, that's healthy," Dean sneers. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later, you're going to have to face up to who you really are," he says, turning around to continue walking.

Sam huffs, "Who's that?"

"You're one of us," Dean shrugs, a hand gesturing towards Y/N.

"Hey! Leave me out of this," Y/N grumbles from ahead.

"No," Sam says, speed walking towards Dean, "I'm not like you," he says, turning around as he stops in front of Dean. "This is not going to be my life."

Dean keeps his jaw tight. "Well, you have a responsibility to..."

Y/N feels the tension rising and tries to plead with them to stop arguing, but they ignore her. "Guys!" she shouts again.

"To Dad? And his crusade?" Sam scoffs. "If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like! And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her," he shakes his head, "Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back."

Dean grips Sam's shirt and swings him around and against the bridge's railing with a clunk at Sam's weight against it.

Y/N flips around and runs to their side, "Dean, what are you doing? Are you crazy?" She panics. But Dean continues to ignore her as he glares at Sam.

After a long, breathless pause, Y/N shouts again, "Dean!"

The misty air is still between them, and even the wind seems too frightened to move. It's as if the world is put on pause.

Dean's eyebrows raise, and he keeps a firm grip on Sam's shirt. Under his breath, he says, "Don't talk about her like that."

He throws Sam's jacket from his hands and takes a few stabilizing steps backward in one movement. Y/N runs to check on Sam, who shakes her off with an "I'm fine" that sounds muffled compared to the pounding of her heart. A few tears escape her when she looks over at Dean walking away from them, but she doesn't realize she's crying until the taste of salt hits her lips.

Her eyes return to Sam, shaking her head in disgust that Dean would treat him like that. She knew it had been rough for Dean since Sam left for college, but hell, it's been hard on her, too, and she's not throwing anyone against the side of a bridge!

Dean halts, “Sam. Y/N!” he calls. Y/N turns with a full-body glare, but her eyes widen when she sees a woman in a long, white dress standing on the bridge's railing. The woman looks over at them, and Y/N can see the resemblance to the picture of Constance. The woman's hair and dress sway in the wind, and she keeps her eyes on them as she allows herself to drop from the ledge.

With a grunt, Sam rushes to the railing to look over it for her, Dean and Y/N not far behind him.

"Where'd she go?" Dean barks.

Breathless, Sam pushes out an "I don't know."

The roar of the Impala's engine turning on startles them, their bodies whipping around just in time to see the headlights flick on.

"What the-," Dean says.

"Who's driving your car?" Y/N asks.

Without taking his eyes off of the car, Dean pulls his keys from his pocket and jingles them, stealing Sam and Y/N's attention to them in unison. The engine revs, drawing back their wide eyes to the Impala. The tires squeal as the car begins to speed towards them.

"Y/N, go! Go!" Dean says with a hand on each of his siblings, spinning them around to run in the opposite direction. Dean presses his hand firmly on Y/N's back as they run, keeping himself between her and the car. They run as fast as they can until Dean can feel the Impala's breath on his ankles, and he guides them towards the bridge's railing.

Y/N's heart feels like a brick in her chest, weighing her down at the thought of jumping over. "I can't," she says in a breath, and all in a split second, she feels like her feet are cemented into the bridge's planks as Sam jumps over. "No!" she screams as Dean grips onto her arm, pulling them both over the bridge.

Sam hangs from the ledge of the bridge, shouting for Y/N as her screams are washed out with a big splash. "Y/N!" he calls again from the back of his throat, climbing up the bridge to get on his knees. He looks over the bridge, scanning for Y/N and Dean, calling out when he sees his brother, "Dean! You alright?"

"I'm super," Dean grumbles with an outstretched thumbs up. Lying on his back, half submerged in the muddy water.

"I can't see Y/N! Where's Y/N?" Sam panics, and when the words hit Dean's ears, he springs to his feet in a second. He whirls around in a circle as he searches for her.

"Y/N!" Dean shouts, wiping mud from his face. He paces around, "Y/N, where are you?" he yells, half-expecting her to pop out from behind a bush to scare him.

The world spins around him for a moment, utterly void of sound aside from a ringing in his ears as Dean tries to comprehend what is happening. He closes his eyes tight, shaking his head to clear away the fog that covers him. They open onto the water, catching the moon's glimmer reflecting off something. He runs towards it, hopping from rock to rock until he finds Y/N's broken locket stuck in algae. Dean picks it up with shaky hands, recalling how her face lit up when he first gave it to her. She'd be devastated to see its state now. Fear spills down him in an icy chill.

His head swivels around in search of her. Tears, that he refuses to let fall, poke at his eyes when he sees her lying face down in the water, a bloody rock next to her.

“Y/N!” He shouts, rushing to her. He kneels to pull her out of the water by her shoulder, turning her over so that her back rests against his knee. "Y/N!" he yells again, and when she doesn't respond, he grabs her by the waist and hoists her over his shoulder. He grunts, shifting his weight before jogging for the shore. "Sam! I got her!"

"Dean! Is she okay?" He calls out as he sprints down the side of the hill to catch up to them. The brothers reach the shore simultaneously, and Dean drops to his knees to gently set Y/N on the ground in front of him, Sam following suit.

"Come on, be okay, be okay, be okay, be okay," Dean pleads softly, placing two fingers on her neck. His heart is beating so hard that he can't tell if it's her pulse he's feeling or his own. "Sam, I can't feel anything," he says. Dropping an ear to her mouth, he adds, "And I don't think she's breathing."

"Call 911," Sam demands, ripping his jacket off to tie around Y/N's bleeding head wound. He quickly inspects the rest of her body for any bleeding before placing a hand on her chest. Looking up at Dean, who stands frozen, Sam puts his free hand on Dean's shoulder, "now, Dean!" he shouts, shoving him.

Sam tilts Y/N's head back, checking again for a pulse, a breath, a twitch, a shudder, anything that meant he wouldn't have to perform CPR on his baby sister. He places his hands on her chest, one over the other, pausing in case her heart miraculously started again, but all he feels under his palms is the stillness of Y/N's wet and cold chest.

Sam begins chest compressions, and the tears he'd been holding back rush out uncontrollably when he feels her ribs break under his palms. It makes him want to pull away, but he forces himself to continue. Dean watches in wide-eyed horror as he gives the 911 operator their location when asked, keeping his free hand pressed against his forehead.

"Anything?" he shakily shouts at Sam after what feels like hours. Sam ignores him, counting out loud until he hits thirty again. He stops compressions to blow a shuddering breath into Y/N's mouth, watching her chest rise and fall before delivering another. "Hello! Is anybody on the way? My sister is dying here!" Dean shouts into the phone, but all that meets his ears is static.

"Dean," Sam says with a heavy breath, beginning compressions again. "You gotta take over," he says between breaths.

Without question, Dean drops his phone to the ground as he falls to his knees next to her, "come on, Y/N," he pleads, ignoring the burning in his knees as he places his hands together on top of Sam's. Sam leaves his hands under Dean's for just one compression before pulling away.

"Okay, that's ten. You've got twenty more before breaths," Sam says before they count out loud together with every push into Y/N's chest.

Dean is growing tired by his third round of compressions, but the sirens in the distance electrify him, giving him the energy he needs to continue.

His face scrunches up as he musters the emotional and physical strength to keep going. Sam hurries to his feet, "don't stop, Dean, you're doing great!" he says with a palm at him.

"Don't stop," Dean repeats mindlessly, "don't stop."

Sprinting towards the paramedics, Sam waves his arms, shouting, "Down here! We're down here!" before he knows it, a group of professionals sprint down the hill, the gurney in tow. One takes a story from Sam as one tries to pull Dean away so the other two can take over caring for Y/N.

"No, I can't stop!" he cries, which grabs Sam's attention, "don't stop," he nearly whispers, hands pumping into Y/N's chest.

Sam rushes over and lowers himself to Dean's level. "Dean, let go. It's okay, they'll take it from here," he says, grabbing onto Dean's hands to pull him off of Y/N. They watch the paramedics in shock as they cut the shirt, bra, and pants off of Y/N, inspecting her skin. The first responders put what look like stickers with wires attached to them onto her chest and pull out the AED, telling everyone to stand clear before delivering a shock with a beep. Then, there was a pause and the silence that follows is deafening. Nothing. They check for a pulse and call clear again, shocking her. Then, nothing. Again.

In the hospital's hallway, Dean tries to tune out the surround sound of constant beeping. His elbows rest on his scraped and bloody knees with his head held in his hands. He rocks back and forth, battling with himself. He sheds tears both out of fear for his sister's well-being and of guilt that he did the very thing he promised her he wouldn't: put her in danger.

The clacking of Sam's shoes pulls Dean from his homemade mental Hell. Dean lifts his head, quickly wiping his eyes before grabbing the cafeteria coffee. Sam's familiar smell of motel soap and deodorant washes away the torturous smell of hand sanitizer.

"Thanks," Dean mutters, taking a sip of the coffee before placing it next to him on the cold tile floor.

Sam's eyes are red and puffy. Dean struggles to comprehend how Sam doesn't even try to hide the tears coming down. He often admires his brothers ability to wear his heart on his sleeve, though he'd never admit it. He wonders who he's being 'strong' for in this moment because it's certainly not himself.

Clearing his throat, Sam pulls his pants up slightly at the thighs before sitting on the bench next to Dean. He glances up at the ceiling momentarily, waiting for the announcement to end before asking, "Any news yet?"

Dean shakes his head. "No," he says in a raspy voice, forcing his eyes to look up and down the hall. "Excuse me," he says, standing to interrupt a nurse before she can enter a different room. "Would you mind helping us find whoever we need to talk to for an update on room 221?" he asks, gesturing to the door he hasn't been able to even look at since arriving.

Her eyes flutter to Sam, then the door, and back to Dean before she somberly nods. "Of course," she says, setting her pen back onto the clipboard as she turns to head in the direction she came.

Dean wants to return to his seat, but his body feels like an anchor. He sucks in a sharp breath. His shoulders tighten into his neck and with weak arms his hands fall to his hips. He hangs his head, clenching his teeth and pulling his face to suppress the tears. Sam jumps up to Stand with Dean, placing a hand tightly on his shoulder.

"She'll be alright," Sam says, not fully believing himself, "she's a Winchester; she has to be."

Dean quickly straightens himself out because damn it, he's the one that's supposed to be taking care of his younger siblings - not the other way around.

"Sam and Dean Winchester?" a deep voice echoes the hall and they whirl around to greet the doctor. Dean quickly slaps the tears from his face. "I'm Dr. Ferguson," he says, holding his arm up to shake hands with Sam, then Dean. "Let's go somewhere more private to talk."

"We're good here," Dean spits.

"Very well," the doctor sighs, looking down the hall behind him. He shuffles them closer to the wall and out of the traffic flow. "Well, while we were able to restart her heart, I'm afraid your sister has sustained a substantial injury to the head," he says, "the trauma caused the tissue around her brain to swell quite rapidly, and well, we have her on a ventilator, but," he lets out a breath, "we haven't seen as much progress as we were hoping for. She's technically in a coma right now, but we hope to see her come out of it in the coming weeks."

"Weeks?" Dean bellows.

"Yes, I'm afraid that's standard recovery time for an injury of this magnitude. Although, we'd be having an entirely different conversation if not for your quick thinking in the field," he says with a tight-lipped smile, eyes jumping from Dean's to Sam's, "it's a long road to recovery, but this is a good start."

"And what happens if she doesn't wake up?" Sam asks.

"We will do everything in our power to ensure that doesn't happen," the doctor nods.

"Thanks, doc," Sam croaks. "Can - can we see her?" he stutters.

"Of course," he says, pushing the door open with his fingertips, "go on in," he says.

Sam immediately notices Dean's hesitancy when they exchange a glance, so he nods before taking a few steps into the room. He covers his mouth to stifle a sob when he sees his little sister with a tube down her throat and one in her nose. When he's close enough, he reaches for her hand and sits in the chair beside her, startled by the sound of the door shutting. Dean slowly enters the room, but keeps his distance.

Dean feels like the air is void of oxygen and tells himself to pull it together enough to stand by her bed. "Hey kiddo," Dean says to Y/N with a shaky breath. "God, please be okay," he says, forcing a smile as he grips onto her hand.

The two sit with Y/N for days, only leaving for bathroom trips and snack runs, but when one goes, the other stays, and when one is napping, the other is awake. Dean has grown slightly more self-composed but is still anxious as they stay by her side, even when the nurses come to deliver medications, chart vitals, or empty her catheter.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says, clearing his throat.

"Yeah," he replies, keeping his eyes on Y/N.

Sam looks down into his hands, "about my interview-"

"Wait, what?" Dean says, cutting him off, "you're still gonna leave after all this?" he shouts through a clenched jaw. The chair scoots back in a screech as he quickly brings himself to his feet, "you don't wanna be here when she wakes up?" he asks, aggressively gesturing at Y/N.

"Dean, we don't even know if she'll wake up," Sam quivers.

"Man, you are a piece of work," Dean shouts, shaking his head.

"If you would've let me finish," Sam growls with narrow eyes, "I was going to say that I called earlier… to reschedule it," he sighs, looking back at Y/N, "they were very understanding of the situation."

"Oh," Dean says, turning on his heels to face away from Sam. He swipes a hand down his face, shaking his head when his eyes open to the white walls of the hospital's room. "Look, man, I'm sorry," he says, palms open and facing Sam. "This just has me on edge."

Taking a few steps towards him, Sam holds back the urge to get nasty with Dean, telling him he's not the only one feeling 'on edge' about their sister's condition. Instead, he raises his palms and softens his face, "Me too. Believe me."

By Thursday, Y/N had graduated from a ventilator to an oxygen mask. Though still needing the feeding tube, she's shown glimpses here and there of the Y/N they know and love, but overall, she struggles to remain conscious. The doctors are calling it a 'Minimally Conscious State' and "completely normal with this type of recovery."

On Saturday, Sam heads out for food from a local restaurant at Dean's request - something about them having good pies - but Sam has a sneaking suspicion that Dean needs some time alone with Y/N, and Sam could use the fresh air anyway.

Sitting in the chair beside her bed, Dean holds one of Y/N's hands in both of his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry I failed you, Y/N," he cries. "I should have been protecting you," he whispers, letting the tears fall freely now, "but instead of doing that, I got you into this mess."

Looking up at Y/N's face, he swears he sees a tear slip down her cheek. Despite being convinced he's imagining it, he reflexively draws his hand to wipe her tear away, gasping when it comes back wet. His heart races as he gently stands to get beside her in the bed. "Shh," he coos, wrapping his arm around her.

His eyes fall shut, and he's transported back in time to the almost seven-month period where she would only fall asleep if Dean were right there in bed next to her. Through tears and voice cracks, he sings Hey Jude in a whisper, occasionally reaching over to wipe her tears away.

"I love you so much," he whispers. "I don't know how to live without you," he says, his tears turning into sobs. "Please wake up," he cries, arm wrapped tightly around her, "I promise I'll teach you how to drive if you just please wake up."

~~~~ If you liked my story, please remember to heart, comment or reblog. Or if you'd like, you can add yourself to a tag list here if you wish :) Thank you for reading!! :)

Everything Tags <3

@wayardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks @signrunsavestheday @flamencodiva @roseblue373

Dean <;3 @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-from-outer-space @ellewritesfix05 @cluz1babe @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone @idksupernaturl @fandom-princess-forevermore @stoneyggirl @chaospossum @nachofriess

Sam <3 (not including the tags already above :) ) @fangirlxwritesx67 @immafangirlmess @sizekinkshawty

#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #supernatural fandom #supernatural fan fic #little sister Winchester #angst #supernatural dean winchester #sister!winchester #3rd person pov

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youngtomhardy · 7 months ago

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single no. 3 ‘kiss kiss bang bang’ is out now 💋💥

this one might be the most important part of the MM2 story. this song was born the night i died. you can literally google ‘michael medrano kiss kiss bang bang’ and find the night i conceptualized this song — and the whole era really.

grief is incredibly hard to process, especially when it’s sudden and swift. i was in the room with people i thought were going to change my life forever. i wasn’t exactly poor growing up, but my family struggled for as long as i can remember. i moved 4 times, my dad worked his ass off and we still couldn’t afford to live somewhere comfortably. this caused turmoil and constant instability in my household, which in turn led to some really traumatic times i wish i could forget.

so when you end up in this kitschy club with incredibly successful and wealthy people, you suddenly feel wow… the struggle is over. i’ll finally get to take care of my family. they’ll never have to abruptly move again or live under a landlord who won’t even fix a broken fridge. i can take care of myself and everyone i love — i can have it all. and i’m about to sign the paper that puts it all in motion.

i remember my creative director at the time kept telling me to “never forget how incredible” i am. over and over again. going as far to call me “the next weeknd”. it was in that moment, high off of a shroom pill, i knew they’d killed me. my project was dead. and before i could wrap my head around it, i found myself sitting in the corner of a dingy karaoke suite watching it all end in slow motion. in my mind, i like to pretend it was more of a penthouse suite decorated to look like a humble, midcentury modern dream. they did go all out and get the most expensive suite anyway, as they always had.

the next day, everyone goes silent on me. texts aren’t replied to anymore. resources are cut off. album plans gone. the mystical “sylvia” i’ve been told so much about had vanished. it is probably the most devastating heartbreak i’ve gone through right next to my mom initially rejecting me once i was outed… a story for another time.

so i sat down in my tiny hometown apartment. and cried. drove to literally nowhere screaming at 3 am. praying that maybe they’d come back around and save me. but no one was coming — i was in free fall. alone again and so suddenly, like a rug pulled from under me or gunshot to the head. after months of the endless spiral, i got back to working a regular part time job, hating this life i was once again trapped in. but one day, after all that grief welled up inside me, i started writing again. and writing. and writing. and writing. i’d never been so angry in my life. i’d also never been so fucking determined. and now, here we are. 3 years later. 3 singles deep into MM2. and so much has changed.

never did i think id be sitting in the middle of hollywood in my new apartment, typing this and pulling and all-nighter to get the music video out to over 100k fans listening to me every month. my little guy abel laying next to me while my partner hacks away at editing.

i might not have the deal yet. i might not have the money or the team yet. but i woke up from the nightmare one day and you were all right there in front of me. i love you all so much and i hope you love this song as much as i do. MM2 is coming and i hope you’re ready, because i finally am.

#michael medrano #indie pop #new music #tumblr diary #kiss kiss bang bang #pop music

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myriadlabrynth · 4 days ago

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Misc Kiridai Random Ramblings/Headcanons

These were catching dust in my files. I wrote most of these years ago but never got around to posting them. I still agree with them for the most part.

Hanamiya

Likes visiting second-hand bookshops since he tends to find more obscure novels.

May dabble in learning foreign languages in order to read certain works in its original language, in order to get the full, nuanced context he may not get from a translated copy.

Early bird.

A light sleeper.

Enjoys logic puzzles or games from time to time, things that get his mind working.

I’d like to think that Hanamiya and Hara tag-team with their respective committee positions, considering their “line of work” with the roughplay, I would think holding down both the disciplinary and health committee would be useful, at least internally at Kiridai anyway.

Furuhashi

Huge fan of organic scented candles, (he can tell which ones use artificial scents); He frequently lights one up during the evening. He only likes ‘natural’ scents, none of those pungent dessert scented ones, though he doesn’t mind the ones that smell like toasted bread.

Early bird.

Prefers more “monotonous” or repetitive work. The kind of tasks where he can work in silence and sort of zone out. He can just work in peace, organizing a myriad of books in the library or watering each of his flowers. The lack of inconsistencies or thought required is therapeutic for him.

Enjoys going on early morning strolls through the park. Usually alone but at times, with his younger sister. The woodsy ambience is refreshing, especially when there’s the smell of rain from the previous day. The two of them are often drawn in by unwalked trails. He holds his sister’s hand whenever they reach unlevel ground that they have to climb up or down.

Occasionally falls asleep to videos of soothing sounds like thunderstorms or gentle water; doesn’t always need it, but if he’s feeling restless one night, it’s there.

He’s the type where something usually has to affect him for him to care about it, he’s not really one to put himself in other people’s shoes.

Hara

Dislikes mint chocolate ice cream, though he never tried it, just sounds disgusting(the type who think it’s like eating toothpaste(spoiler alert: its not))

A night owl.

Guilty pleasure is soap-cutting videos. He once tried to cut some soap himself, but long story short, it's a good thing he is part of the health committee.

One reason he enjoys music games at the arcade is because he loves the moment where he zones out/goes on auto-pilot but his fingers unconsciously play perfectly anyway(if you’ve played rhythm games, you know what I’m talking about)

My headcanon for Hara’s eyes changes a lot, but at the moment, I think Hara just has regular/average eyes. Originally grew his hair out for the sake of avoiding eye contact. He gets amused seeing people speculate just what exactly is underneath his bangs, when in reality, it’s nothing special.

A repeat from my intelligence analysis, but I do believe Hara’s grades don’t reflect his intelligence, and that he's way smarter than he let's on.

Yamazaki

Sort of a Mom-friend, to an extent***. He’s a friend who worries too much and a tad of a stick in the mud, it’s why he isn’t good at scheming.

Night owl.

Loves trying out international cuisine. Won’t tell anyone, but he enjoys a mukbang here or there(which piques his interests in non-Japanese food)

His tolerance for spiciness is out of this world.

Huge dog person. Tries to resist waving at every dog he passes when he is hanging out with the rest of Kiridai, though he occasionally caves in, earning a snicker from Hara(who doesn’t mind greeting the dogs)

Being the youngest sibling means that he takes great pride whenever he is older than someone. As shown when he called Kuroko a brat, even though Kuroko is only a year younger.

I get "I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid" vibes from him.

***In Kurofes, Fujimaki actually says “... mother-like/like a mother” when describing the way Yama scolds his friends and is like the "straight-man" of the group, so is it even a headcanon lol,

Seto

He sleeps because he can/wants to sleep, he doesn’t stay awake if he doesn’t need to be. The ending shot in season 3 which showed Kiridai at the park, shows Seto yawning, probably because it was a casual outing, aka something not that important. We’ve seen Seto where he is perfectly awake, if it's something he deems necessary.

Not really an early bird or night owl.

His body knows when he HAS to get up, so the way someone tries to wake him up doesn’t matter. He doesn’t budge when Yamazaki kicks him because he knows he’s not a starter. On the flipside, he wakes up immediately when Hanamiya just calls out to him, because he is being added into the game, so he has to get up.

Sleep pranks don’t work on him, like drawing on his face. He’ll wake up before it happens. (Hara is on the team so of course he has to be aware)

Similar to Furuhashi, in his frequent walks, he likes treading through unknown territory.

He prefers basic espresso coffee, but doesn’t mind if there’s a dash of chocolate or even peppermint if he’s feeling adventurous(overly sweet drinks that are like 75% cream/chocolate/whatever are a complete no no though)

Not a headcanon but I still can’t believe it's canon that Seto plays online games.

I was reading the stats again and its still kind of funny that kiridai has a better teamwork stat than even shutoku and yosen (which makes sense but I will never get over kiridai's team synergy)

#kirisaki daiichi #kirisaki daichi #kiridai #kuroko no basket #knb #hanamiya makoto #furuhashi kojiro #hara kazuya #yamazaki hiroshi #seto kentaro #knb headcanons #kiridai analysis #posting this for the handful of people who would still care in 2024 #was writing something for them and just can't get enough of the team's structure its so good and fascinating #if i'm going to do one thing its pull out my copy of kurofes for reference

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wordsbyrian · 2 years ago

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Meet the Culers - Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary/Request: @dying-to-live-living-to-die "Ona x USWNT!Reader where R goes with her back to Spain for the holidays & ends up getting interrogated by Ona's national teammates"

A/N: yea, I don't actually have anything to say, enjoy the fic.

Every year since you joined the USWNT, and they found out that you prefer not to interact with your family during the holidays, you’ve had to deal with them fighting over who you were going to spend Christmas with.

This year is different though because you had sent them a mass text saying that you were going to Spain with your girlfriend this year.

You hadn’t given them any more information than that so now you’re fielding calls and texts from them trying to force you to tell them who your girlfriend is.

Your team moms, Alex and Kelley, had taken this the worst because you usually told them everything. You not telling them you’ve had a girlfriend for a year and a half already was pretty shocking to them.

Which explains the phone call you're currently having in the middle of Manchester airport.

“Can the two of you stop yelling at me for a second,” you say, waiting until they’re silent to continue, “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you guys, I knew you would react like this.”

“How do you want us to react, Y/N/N,” Alex asks, “Two days ago, you didn’t have a girlfriend and today, you’re darting off to Spain with her.”

“Well, to be fair, I did have a girlfriend, you just didn’t know.”

“You’re proving my point for me, Y/N,” she says.

“Listen, Y/N,” Kelley cuts in, “You have to understand where we're coming from.”

“No I don't,” you cut her off, “Once again, you guys are treating me like a child and in case you've forgotten, I'm not.”

“Y/N.”

“No, seriously, who do you guys think I went to Switzerland with?”

There’s a moment of silence as the older players take in what you’ve said.

“You went to Switzerland with her,” Alex asks, “Like last month when you went to Switzerland, you were with her?”

“I mean yea. We went to see her brother.”

“You’ve met her brother,” Kelley asks, trying to wrap her head around it, “Things are pretty serious, huh?”

“I’d say we’re serious, she is taking me to meet the rest of her family.”

You hear both of them sigh, seemingly having a silent conversation on the other end of the line.

“Okay, Y/N/N, here’s the deal,” Alex says, “You can go to Spain but you text us when you land and you text us at least once a day.”

“I was going to Spain whether you said I could or not but I agree to your terms,” you tell them, “The plane’s started boarding, text you later, bye.”

You hang up before they have a chance to respond, grabbing your stuff and moving to stand in line with your girlfriend.

“So we’re pretty serious,” she asks, smirking.

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your eyes, “I’d say we’re pretty serious, Ona.”

A few days later, after having spent a couple of days with her family and exploring both her hometown and Barcelona, you and Ona find yourselves seated in Estadi Johan Cruyff watching some of her national teammates play.

The way that they move together is one of the best things you’ve ever seen. And if we’re being honest, it makes you jealous that your team, both national and club, are nowhere near that efficient.

Barcelona dominates the entire match and by the final whistle blows, the score is a stunning 7-0 for La Blaugrana.

This is when your day took a significant turn because instead of watching the game and heading home like had originally been the plan. You’re sitting in a restaurant with a significant portion of the Spanish national team because Ona had been spotted by her teammates.

So there you are sitting in the restaurant with Ona’s hand on your thigh doing your best to follow the conversation in a language you are barely beginning to understand.

For the most part, you aren’t struggling too much. There’s a lot of talk about the game and everyone’s holiday plans and even a moment where you hear Irene Paredes ask Ona why you’re wearing shorts, to which she just gets a head shake in response.

It isn’t until dessert that the interrogation you’re expecting starts, except the first question isn’t one you’re expecting.

“What’s your zodiac sign,” Patri asks, kicking it off.

“Uh, Cancer,” you say, watching confused as she nods seriously.

“What do you want to do when you retire from football,” Mapi asks.

“Probably do some writing for TV or film, it’s what I was studying in college.”

This seems to be a good enough answer for the older woman because she nods as though you just told her the secret of the universe.

“How did your family react when you told them that you have a girlfriend,” Panos questions.

“Most of my family is dead and the ones that aren’t are better left unmentioned,” you say seriously.

“What about your American teammates,” Sandra doubles down, “Morgan and O’Hara rarely let you out of their sight.”

“I think they took it pretty well.”

Ona glares at you, “You spent 30 minutes getting yelled at over the phones before our flight and before that you turned your phone off for days after telling them.”

“That was because I didn’t feel like answering 1000 questions,” you say casually, “Besides any reaction that didn’t involve them dragging me back to the States is a good one.”

“Why would they have taken you back to America? Do they not like Ona,” Alexia asks glaring at you.

“It's not that. They just think it’s normal to treat me like I’m 14, not 24.”

Somewhere to your left you hear something mumbled and while you don't understand every word, you do recognize the Catalan words for 14 and years, so you respond anyway.

“Yes, I am aware that I look like an overgrown 14-year-old.”

That gets a couple of laughs from the gathered Spaniards and when you see Pina’s cheeks heat slightly, you immediately know who made the comment.

The interrogation slows down after that and it’s not long before your group finds itself walking the streets of Barcelona.

You and Ona are near the middle of the group, your arm around her shoulders, speaking to each other softly.

When she mentions that she’s a little cold, you do your best to avoid the eyes on you as you remove your hoodie and hand it to her, revealing the tank top you have on underneath.

This is apparently the final straw for Paredes who grabs you by the shoulders from behind, spins you around, and starts speaking to you in rapid Spanish.

After standing there staring at her blankly for a few moments, you decide to tell her what she should already know.

“I have no clue what you’re trying to tell me.”

She stops for a moment before she speaks again, this time in English.

“It’s 15 degrees (Celsius) out and you are wearing shorts and a tank top, why?”

“Well,” you begin, “I’m pretty sure it’s like -10 Celsius in my hometown right now and they probably have at least a meter of snow on the ground so this is actually pretty nice for me.”

While Paredes stomps off muttering something about crazy Americans, you’re dragged off by Mapi and out of the corner of your eye you can see Alexia doing the same with your girlfriend.

“Escuchame loca,” she says, “I’m starting to like you but if you hurt Ona. I’ll kill you.”

This, unsurprisingly, is not the first time you’ve been threatened over a girl so you take this in stride. It’s not even the first time you’ve been threatened over Ona this week, She has a very large Uncle who is definitely not as nice as she made him out to be.

All of that being said, you have no issue pretending to be scared as the blonde centerback promises violence against you should you hurt her friend.

Eventually, the night draws to a close; you and Ona are in the car headed back to her parent's house.

Barely bothering to take your eyes off the sights outside the window, you speak.

“Your teammates aren’t that bad,” you tell her.

“Really,” Ona sounds shocked, “Mapi wasn’t too mean to you at the end?”

“No worse than your uncle.”

“Tio Josep isn’t scary, amor,” she says, “Besides I think your teammates will be worse.”

You pause for a moment, strongly considering the possibility.

“I think I’m gonna just keep you away from them,” you tell her seriously, “Especially Alex and Kelley.”

“Good luck with that.”

#ona batlle imagine #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #womens soccer #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #muwfc imagine #muwfc x reader #espwnt imagine #espwnt x reader

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hippolotamus · 11 months ago

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Hello friends, work has been kicking my ass and I am soooooo behind on tags. I am slowly but surely catching up and looking forward to reading all the things! So, small confession... I've been reworking pieces of come close (let me be home) so some of the snippets might look familiar from before. Hoping the writing beans will soon allow me to make new words. Until then, have this Eddie and Christopher moment before the first ball (all prev snippets here) 😘

“This awful, cursed thing— Argh!” Eddie drops the ends of his bowtie in frustration. It’s not like he even wants to attend this wretched ball tonight. Least of all to placate his mother.

It would be different if he were going as someone who could casually stand in the background, sipping lemonade and observing his surroundings. If only it were that simple. Instead he’s expected to not only be there, but socialize, dance, and interact with potential partners. How is he meant to choose who he’ll spend the rest of his life with – someone to care for his son – based on how well they can perform the quadrille or regurgitate meaningless facts? It’s utter insanity.

“Daddy?” The timid voice reaches out from behind him.

Eddie turns to see Christopher hovering in the doorway, watching intently. The welcome sight is enough for the weight of tonight’s expectations to fall away, finally allowing him to breathe. He goes to his son, picking him up and drinking in the surprised sound.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Christopher’s nose scrunches in amusement at the endearment before he gets a very serious look on his face. “Can I come with you?”

“I wish,” Eddie huffs out a humorless laugh. “It would make things way more interesting. Although, honestly, I’d much rather stay here with you.”

“Why don’t you then?” Christopher blinks owlishly behind his glasses.

Eddie envies his youthful ignorance for not yet understanding the pressures and politics of adulthood. He sighs and rubs his temple with his free hand, trying to think of an explanation that isn’t an outright lie. With everything that’s happened in Christopher’s short life, Eddie always strives to be honest with him.

“Well, because,” he stretches the words out as his brain continues to configure them into an acceptable arrangement. “I– promised your abuela I would go.”

Chris nods thoughtfully, seeming to accept the answer he’s been given. But, of course, he’s always been more perceptive than Eddie gives him credit for.

“Is this because Abuela wants me to have a new mom?” His voice is quieter, the tone colored with hesitation. Eddie wants to somehow pull him closer, to carve a space beneath his ribs to keep him safe.

“Not a new one, exactly. You know that no one could ever replace your mother. This would be someone else to love and take care of you.”

“But I thought that’s why we have Carla,” Chris protests.

Eddie chuckles at his son’s logic and thinks he might be the one person who could match wits with Helena Diaz. “You’re right. She does both of those things. Carla loves and cares about you very much. It’s just… your abuela has some different ideas. She’s a little stuck in the past sometimes.”

“Okay.” Christopher grins brightly, removing any traces of his serious persona. “Then I hope you have fun and find someone nice for us.”

“Me, too, bud. Me, too.”

Eddie’s brought back to reality when his valet announces the carriage is ready. He presses a kiss to Christopher’s temple and gently sets him on the floor. “Be good for Carla?”

“I’m always good for Carla.” Christopher proudly puffs out his chest.

“Of course. How could I forget?” Eddie teases. “I must be remembering a different little boy that got covered in mud while playing and had to be scrubbed clean.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “One time,” he mumbles.

Eddie snorts as he jogs down the staircase, hoping in vain to burn off some of his nervous energy that’s returned. His cloak is nearly arranged when Christopher calls from the upper floor.

“Daddy! Your tie!”

Right. Eddie sighs and makes a final attempt to knot the material together in front of the hall mirror. Miraculously he makes it in one pass this time and turns with a flourish so Christopher can make his assessment.

His son beams down at him with a toothy grin. “Be good for Abuela!”

Eddie responds with an exaggerated bow, drinking in the giggle that floats down. He snaps it up, like something he could keep in his pocket. A protective barrier from whatever he might have to face tonight. With a heavy sense of dread sitting like a stone in his stomach, Eddie waves goodbye and walks outside to the carriage. As he steps up to the plush, velvet, forest green bench, he wishes it felt less like marching to the Tower of London.

“Ready, sir?” His driver asks from the front.

No. “Ready.”

tagged by @malewifediaz @hoodie-buck @daffi-990 @your-catfish-friend thank you loves!

no pressure tagging @disasterbuckdiaz @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @vanillahigh00 @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @apothecarose @jesuisici33 @callmenewbie @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks (she posted a new chapter of shifter fic so go check that out!) @exhuastedpigeon @lemonzestywrites @thewolvesof1998 @steadfastsaturnsrings @weewootruck @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @messyhairdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @maygrantgf @statueinthestone @indestructibleheart and anyone else who wants to share 💖

#long snip today #because i crave validation #plus eddie and chris are just the best #buddie wip #fic: come close (let me be home) bridgerton #hippo writes

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necroromantics · 11 months ago

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🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 7. // (masterlist)

Toby stood frozen on the front step of the familiar quiet blue house. It was late into October, and a small pumpkin laid by his feet at the doorstep. He took a sharp inhale and knocked hard on the front door. Shortly after, the door creaked open to reveal his mother, who took a moment to process who she was looking at. Toby smiled awkwardly at Connie as he stood still, hands tightening onto his backpack straps. His mother quickly pulled her boy into a warm hug, choking back a relieved sob. As she pulled away, her hands cupped his cheeks, with wide eyes. Toby closed his tired eyes for a moment as he breathed in the smell of her perfume, and rested his head in her hands.

“I was worried sick,” Connie whispered.

“I told you I’d come back, mom. No need to be dramatic,” Toby shrugged his shoulders as he entered his childhood home once again, sighing with relief. It was good to be back, as much as he hated to admit it. Connie called out for Lyra, who was doing homework in her room. Toby could hear his sister groan in annoyance from her room as she shuffled down to the livingroom. He quietly chuckled to himself at the sound. He was glad to know she was still around, and safe. As soon as Lyra’s eyes met with Toby’s, her face contorted into an expression of anger, as she stomped up to him and began to whack him over the head.

“Hey! Ah, fuck- Quit it!” Toby yelled out as Lyra continued to smack him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind Toby?!” She shouted as she fought with her brother.

“Jesus, alright! Lay off! I’m sorry,” The boy said through a playful laugh as he grabbed his angry sister's wrists and put a stop to the altercation. He looked at her, and she glared daggers back at him, before the two broke out in smiles. They hugged for a moment, Toby patting Lyra on the back.

“Where did you go? We went to the police but they said they don’t do anything about runaways,” she asked.

“Uh, well. I first went to Alabama, visited Tuscaloosa, then I ended up in Mississippi. But I ran into some issues there… And I just wanted to come back home,” Toby fiddled with his thumbs as his gaze met the floor. Lyra and Connie glanced at each other, shocked to hear about the boy's journey.

“Well, you came back at a good time. I have dinner cooking,” Connie spoke out, clapping her hands together, happy to see her son was safe, and quietly hoping he was going to stay.

“I’m not all that hungry, I’ll be in my room,” Toby said, still averting his gaze from theirs as he turned to head into his old bedroom, brushing them off. He was tired, it had been a long journey walking, hitchhiking, and bussing back home. And he had been through so much since he had left. His family could tell something was bothering him, but they both knew it was best not to pry.

As his overworked body hit the clean, comfortable bed, he sighed out in relief. His bedding was unstained, washed. His room smelt like air freshener and home. The lights were off, the room only being lightened by the evening skies which were quickly darkening. It provided enough light for the boy to make out everything in his room. It was exactly the way it was when he left. He looked up at the ceiling, at the dinosaur-shaped glow in the dark stickers which had faded with time. There was no water damage, no mold. Everything was fine.

Toby thought how funny it was how he had been on the run this entire time, how he couldn’t find a place that he fit into. He had tried to settle down in Alabama, but ended up in Mississippi, and he ran from there as well. It was just like his life as a proxy, never staying in one place for too long. Always running from something. Always the boy who can’t escape.

He had survived so much, he had seen more than the average person would in their entire lifetime. He was alive, as much as he had been on that hill with Jack, and yet he was consumed with misery. From the moment he became branded with the mark of a proxy, he had been shown things, made to understand everything wicked. And here the boy lay, trembling with the sickness and fear of a thousand dying, because he knows. Because he has seen things not meant to be seen. Because he understands.

He felt terrible, ridden with the sense that he had done something unforgivable. And he had. He had slit the throat of mothers, and decapitated fathers. He looked at himself in the reflection of a dying child's eyes, and felt nothing. His hands had been coated with the crimson blood of hundreds — he had committed atrocities. Through it all, Toby had long forgotten how senseless death was. Long forgotten how precious life was. It didn’t matter to him; nothing mattered to him. He had been programmed a long time ago to not care about anyone, or anything. It was the way it had to be. He had no other choice.

Toby laid there quietly, listening to the sound of the clock on his wall tick away mercilessly. The sound nearly drove him mad. He covered his ears, but he couldn’t escape the noise. The hands continued to turn, the gears snapped. The ticking went on for an eternity, it drilled into his ears, crawled into his chest and into his gut. Toby grew irritated, fidgety. Jumping to his feet, he ripped the clock off of his wall, and threw it to the ground with a frustrated yell. He repeatedly battered it with his fist, his anger choking him. The protective glass cut into his hand as he continued to punch into the clock, eventually grabbing the remains and hitting it hard against the floor until it was nothing but broken parts.

The sound alerted his sister, who had been listening from the other side of the wall, in her own room. She slid into his room, flicking on the light, to see her little brother sitting huffing over a shattered clock, his hands cut and bleeding.

“Seriously, what has been going on with you?” She pestered, standing over the furious boy.

“What's up with everyone always on my ass huh? Do I gotta explain myself to you too now?”

“You worried us to death Toby, you owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” he shouted out, causing Lyra to scoff at his attitude.

“You know, you’re really starting to act like Frank,” she said, storming out of his room. Toby screamed out at her, throwing the broken clock at the door she closed hard behind her.

Toby sat on the floor by his bed, placing his head between his knees, muttering pleas to just let him go back home, to the old world. Back to the world he spent so long getting perfectly adjusted to, the world he had earned his place in. Where he had been braver, stronger. He sniffled to himself, listening as his bedroom door opened once again, not looking up.

Lyra, without saying a word, sat beside her difficult brother. She had a makeshift first aid kit in her hands, as she placed it on her knees, and opened it up. Her soft hands lifted up Toby’s, which he had previously injured on the glass he shattered, and began to treat his wounds. In a sore apology, he stayed silent as he let her patch him up. He felt the warmth of her hand as she squeezed his.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Lyra. I watched you die,” Toby spoke quietly, sadness seeping from the cracks in his voice.

“You know how many times I thought dad was going to go too far one day and kill you?” She said as she continued to work at her little brother's cuts, “I was 16 years old, just preparing myself to attend your funeral some day.”

Toby raised his head, and stared at her as she continued.

“I don’t know what you’re dealing with, that's your issue,” she held his hand in hers, “Just do us both a favor and take care of yourself, okay?”

Finished with her work, she stood up, and turned to make her leave.

“Lyra, I've killed people,” Toby blurted out, causing the girl to stop in her tracks, and slowly turn back around to face her brother.

“It started with dad, and then I would just- Just wake up in abandoned cabins or a forest with blood all over, and my hatchets. I would kill families, junkies, maybe other criminals. I’ve killed so many people, Lyra, there's so much blood on my hands and no matter how hard I scrub, it won't come off, and I’m just a kid. I’m just a kid and I’ve seen and done things no kid should, Lyra. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

He rambled, confessed so quickly he barely had time to catch his breath through the words he spoke. Lyra stood still for a moment, before kneeling in front of him. She ruffled his hair and smiled worriedly.

“For moms sake, put a reign on your imagination,” She said, before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Toby sat silent on the floor, his bandaged hands picking at the carpet under him. His face was young: a pale complexion marked with sunspots and moles. But his eyes had bore witness to things no seventeen year old boy should see. He was knowledgeable about all things terrible, and the horrors he had committed had taken over him. It was all he was, and his crimes too, had been taken from him. There was no murder here, no bloodshed. A ruthless killer, now only a boy. He held on tightly, so desperately, to his past, that pieces of it remained under his nails as he clawed. It lingered, like having one foot in the door, too afraid to let it close. Toby remained sitting beside his bed, letting the darkness of the approaching night overtake the last bit of light dancing on the roof of his room. He choked back a suffocating desperation.

Back in the old world, there was a quiet sense of understanding amongst him and the others around him. There was a twisted sense of brotherhood, like soldiers in war, or hounds from the same junkyard. From the moment Toby had awoken in the strange new world that surrounded him, he had been alone. Nobody in the boy's life could begin to understand, and it seemed as though anger was the only one that stuck around. It nipped at him, sinking its teeth into his throat until it drew blood. Toby had then made the wretched decision that he didn't need anybody else, and that it was him against the world. He needed to be tougher, better, stronger. He needed to be so terrifying that nobody would dare mess with him. He needed, desperately, to get back any sense of power he had left behind in the old world.

He leaned back, tilting his head up to face the ceiling, and squeezing his tired eyes shut. Exhaustion ran through him, the gravity dragging him down, but he couldn't stop yet. Toby opened his eyes to look up at the stickers plastered on the roof. The same stickers he would look up at as a young boy. They called out to him, burned holes into his mind.

‘You’ve seen this all before,’ they called out.

‘You’re getting weak,’ they beckoned.

‘Look at what you've become.’

Toby’s breathing became heavy as the weight pulling him down began to suffocate him. The world was spinning around him, and he felt as though he were falling straight into an abyss that swallowed him whole. He told himself to get over it, to stop being so sensitive, and he beat down any humanity left within him. Violence wasn't his second nature, it was his first. From the moment he clawed his way out of his mothers womb, that boy was made to fight. Toby was built from metal and kerosene. Everybody in his life watched mortified as he left behind nothing but char everywhere he went.

It was written from the start. He fought against his creator, his father. He fought against his savior, The Slenderman. He fought against himself. There wasn't a moment in time where he considered anything but war, and maybe that's what did it. Toby had heard time and time again that his stubbornness was going to get him killed someday. Sitting on the floor, back in his childhood home, he had quietly hoped that he would be put down like a dog soon. Despite his rage, he knew there was no escaping who he was. That boy was built to hurt others, trained to come out on top by any means necessary. The perfect weapon.

Throughout the next week, Toby kept to himself, rarely leaving his room. He didn't want to see his family, or eat, or go outside. God had turned a blind eye to his sin, but also his suffering. Toby knew that he could not be saved like Jack, or effortlessly move on like Tim and Brian. He found solace under his covers, rotting away in his bed. He was supposed to be dead. The boy knew he had overstayed his welcome, and it was finally catching up to him. Jack’s words filled his head. There was nothing more anybody could do to help the lost cause of a boy, who decided to tough out his retribution alone in isolation. That way, nobody could see how small he had become. Nobody could see that the perfect weapon had begun to rust and crack.

There was a soft knock on his bedroom door, before it creaked open. Toby laid still hidden under his blanket, facing the wall, and pretended to still be asleep so that the familial intruder would quickly make their leave. To his dismay, his sister spoke out.

“Hey weirdo, I was going to go to a pumpkin patch with some friends tonight, but they ditched out on me.”

Toby squeezed his eyes tight and remained still, dreading her next question.

“Do you want to come with me instead? It’d mean a lot.”

The boy cussed silently to himself at his sister's request; ‘it’d mean a lot’ circling in his brain. Giving no reply, he continued to lay silently.

“Just think about it, okay?” Lyra said, taking her leave and closing his door.

Back in his lonesome, Toby tossed the covers off of himself and sat up, looking out of his bedroom window. The trees were painted a collage of oranges and yellows, like a raging fire dripping from the reaching branches. The sun was shining down, as it always had. Leaves had begun to rot, and fell gently down onto the ground, creating piles across the backyard. He stared out at the scenery for a moment; the daring boy kept fire in his eyes. He thought back to his sister's request, and let out a melancholic sigh. That cruel autumn, in the season of no war, Toby wanted nothing but to be left alone. He watched as an old crow perched itself atop a shaking branch. Everything was in motion there, in the land of the living. Toby kept one foot in a grave, he knew he should be dead, he knew his insides were nothing but rot and maggots burrowed inside his head.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump at his window as a small bird flew into it. Toby snapped out of his own dreadful thoughts, and jumped, his heart racing, and hand at his side to retrieve the hatchet that wasn’t there. He leaned forward to peer out at the ground below him, and watched as the bird laid there, twitching in pain. Quickly, the boy jumped out of bed and still in his pajamas, rushed out of the backdoor and into his yard. He stood silently over the bird, which had broken its wing. Toby knelt down over it, and watched quietly for a moment. He thought that there was no use trying to save it — he wasn’t a martyr. His clean hand reached for the tiny bird who was half-alive, and his fingers wrapped around its neck. Toby swallowed as he tightened his grip, squeezing as hard as he could until he crushed its trachea.

“What are you doing?”

Toby quickly dropped the bird, which had now succumbed to its death, and snapped his head over to the alarmed voice. His mother stood a few feet away, her eyes wide and mortified.

“Nothing mom, it was dead when I found it. I- I was just cleaning it up,” Toby brought himself to his feet and averted his gaze from Connies, as he rushed inside.

The boy leaned over the bathroom sink, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, as he scrubbed ruthlessly at his hands. The stench of death never left him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of the blood which stained every crack and crevice on his merciless fingers. It seemed as though he was losing his mind once again. No matter who preached hope and forgiveness to him, no matter the forgiveness he sought, Toby knew that he would find himself there, in the backyard of his childhood home, wringing the life out of a helpless little bird, again and again. And he didn’t know how to stop.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Toby walked into the living room, to steal a glance at his sister who was watching a Halloween movie on TV. Her earlier request to go to the pumpkin patch once again overtook his thoughts. At the very least, it was an excuse to get out of the house. Toby didn’t want to look his mother in the eyes after what had happened. He couldn’t stomach telling her what he had become; though out of that house, it was something he took pride in, almost as if it were a badge of honor or strength.

“Lyra, are you still up to go to that pumpkin patch?”

Toby looked over at his sister in the driver's seat. He hadn’t listened to a single word she was saying, though she smiled when she talked. His stomach was tied in knots. The entire car ride, Toby was waiting for something to happen, up until the moment they reached their destination.

It was a chilly evening, and the skies had only begun to darken, still offering a fair amount of daylight. Out in the country, there was a crowd of people who had taken the time off to buy pumpkins, climb hay bales, and explore the haunted corn maze. There were stray children running around and laughing, teenage couples arguing over who had lost who in the maze. It had been awhile since Toby was around this many people. He felt entirely out of place. Though nobody knew the boy, Toby felt as if they had all come to the conclusion that he was fundamentally different from them. Something feral, dangerous. And he was. He thought to himself that it was in their best interest to avoid him like he were a diseased mutt anyways — for their own sake.

Lyra made her way past the people, and Toby followed beside her. She walked over to the large variety of pumpkins which had been laid out for purchase, and began examining them.

“Should we do pumpkin carving this year?” She said, raising an eyebrow at her brother. Toby shrugged. Lyra put the pumpkin down, and looked around for a moment, before heading for the hayride, which was boarding groups of people. The two rushed over as Lyra called out for Toby to hurry, before there was no room left. They hopped on to the back, squishing their way in, and took a seat. Struck with the cold air of late October, Lyra’s cheeks were flushed red.

Toby held his hands in his lap as he sat silently, looking out at the countryside scenery around them as the horses began to pull the wagon. As they rode past the corn maze, Lyra nudged at her brother who was sitting across from her.

“We’re doing that next.”

The family which sat next to the siblings talked amongst themselves, planning with the children which costumes they’d choose for trick’or’treating. As children, Toby would stay indoors on Halloween night, while Lyra would go out with friends. He would eat all of the candy she didn’t like. Toby glanced up at his sister, who was beaming at the horses as they walked along the wooded path. She had always liked animals. The boy wondered how she would react if she knew what he had done.

A light breeze rolled past them, gathering golden leaves which had been loosely hanging from branches. One of the leaves had gotten itself caught in Lyra’s hair, which she hadn’t noticed. Toby smiled to himself as he held back a snicker. He leaned forward and picked the leaf off of her, which gained him a strange look from his sister, to which he responded by flicking the leaf at her.

Once the ride had come to a stop, the evening skies had quickly turned pitch black. The area was lit by lanterns and yard lights which illuminated the patch with a warm glow. Lyra yanked her brother's arm, dragging him over to the maze with an excited look in her eyes. As they stood on the edge of the entrance, Lyra turned to face him.

“Alright, stay close. I don't want you getting lost,” she teased. Toby rolled his eyes with a smile as he walked close behind his sister. The two adventured into the dark labyrinth, Toby made a mental note of his surroundings. He had never been good with directions as a boy, always stuck confined to his home, but as a proxy he learnt quickly how to find his way around the forest he resided in. It proved useful as he watched Lyra make wrong turns, circling back to where they came from.

“We were already here,” Toby groaned. They were lost, and Lyra was too stubborn to listen to her little brother's direction.

“Okay, well, we’ll go this way then,” She argued back. Toby sighed to himself as she confidently walked down a path he knew they had already been down.

He could hear other groups of people talking amongst themselves from other sides of the corn walls; though he couldn’t see well through the darkness of the night, he knew how to utilize his other senses. Toby continued to walk behind Lyra as he tuned in to a passing conversation. Somebody had mentioned something about a faceless man. At least, that's what Toby had heard. In all likelihood, they had said something entirely different. But the possibility was enough to make the boy feel dizzy, sick — as if the eldritch parasite had followed him out into that maze. He kept his eyes to his feet as he walked, focusing on every sound, every breath he took. The world felt like it was spinning, his heartbeat quickened until it was beating like a snare drum in his chest. Toby’s breathing got shallow as he stopped in his tracks and looked up. Lyra wasn’t in front of him anymore. She wasn’t anywhere, and he couldn’t hear any more passerby conversations. He was completely alone in the twilight depths of the maze, and he didn’t know where he was.

Toby turned around, trying to pinpoint his location.

“Lyra?”

He stared out into the black abyss in front of him, wondering if the tall, faceless abomination would suddenly appear. Toby squeezed his hands tightly, his knuckles turning white. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath as dread overtook him. He almost felt as sick as he did back in Alabama. And nobody was coming to save him. The boy gritted his teeth and shook his head, heading back down the way he assumed he came from. It was only a minute of aimless wandering before he heard the sound of people chatting and laughing together. Toby continued towards the direction of the voices, until he saw the figures walking ahead of him. They seemed to have just entered the maze, which means the entrance was close by. Toby eyed his surroundings for a moment, still unable to figure out where he was.

He awkwardly followed behind the group, fighting with himself to ask for the directions they came. For years, he had been taught that if he couldn’t figure it out on his own, then he was better off letting himself die. And then, for a moment, he thought back to that fishing trip with Tim, and the nights spent on the porch of the cabin in Mississippi with Jack. Toby swallowed his pride for the first time in a long time, and caught up to the people in front of him.

“Uh- hey. I uh, I was just wondering which direction you guys came from. I lost my sister and-” Toby stumbled over his words, half preparing himself for a fight.

“Oh! We came from that way,” a girl spoke, pointing behind him, “and if you go left you should find the entrance.”

He looked at the girl for a moment, before awkwardly thanking her.

“No worries at all, I hope you find your sister!”

Toby exhaled heavily, having held his breath, as he made his way down the path the helpful girl had pointed out for him. Soon enough, he saw the lights from the pumpkin patch peer out from over the tall corn stalks, and found himself at the entrance. As he stepped out into the casual assembly of people enjoying themselves, he looked around for any sign of his sister. His eyes darted around, before landing on a terrible, horrifying, sickening sight. Toby couldn’t believe it. He nearly felt like throwing up.

The boy bitterly walked up to Lyra, who was standing by the exit of the maze, talking to a guy who was clearly flirting with her. Toby glared daggers at the man who appeared to be a few years older than him as he approached his sister's side. Lyra broke away from the conversation she was having as she turned to her brother.

“Oh, there you are. Did you get lost or something?” Lyra asked.

“Yeah,” Toby grumbled, still eyeing the man who was now standing around awkwardly.

“So this is your brother?”

“Mhm, we got separated in the maze, I guess,” Lyra put her hand on her brother's head, which the boy swatted off.

“Who’re you?” Toby said, his brow creasing as he spoke words of violence which matched his dark, glaring eyes. He had always looked out for his sister when they were young. Toby had spent so long trained to protect his family against his father, it had leaked out into his thoughts of the world as well. With everything he had witnessed as a proxy, he knew better than to let anyone get too close.

“Mark,” he said, sticking out his hand. Toby looked down at Mark’s hand with a hint of disgust, and then over to his sister who was smiling uncomfortably.

“Oookay then. Well, I gotta get going. It was nice meeting you,” Mark said, pulling his unshaken hand back in, and heading off with a wave at Lyra, which she returned before turning around to smack her brother over the head.

“What the hell was that?” She whispered angrily.

“Nothing, let’s just go home,” Toby shoved his hands into his jacket pocket as he left for the parking lot.

The ride home was quiet as they drove down the desolate country roads. Toby looked out the passenger window, staring into the night which enveloped the distant forest. The silence was suffocating. He didn’t know if Lyra was mad at him or not; he didn’t really care either way. Lyra, frustrated at the stiff atmosphere bubbling in the car as she drove, turned on the radio. Toby fussed to himself as he was made to listen to boy bands and overplayed pop music, and sank into his seat, pressing his head up against the window he continued to stare out of. He didn’t care for Lady Gaga or Pitbull; he didn’t want to listen to Black Eyed Peas. It was the type of music his sister would always blast on her boombox stereo when her friends were around. He listened as she quietly muttered along to the lyrics of the song and watched her reflection in the window as she nodded her head along to the beat. The last time they had a moment like this, it ended with her dead, and him with blood on his hands. Toby stayed silent as he tried to fight against his motion sickness.

Lyra looked over to her brother who looked as if he had too much on his mind and reached over to turn the music up. She matched the volume as she sang out alongside the singer, stealing glances at Toby who sighed with annoyance, nudging him to join along. Toby tried his best to ignore his sister's pestering; he wasn’t in the mood for this. As his luck would have it, his rejection only strengthened her resolve as she cranked the music louder, and sang louder to match.

Toby sat himself up straight from his slouching position and looked over at his sister who was dancing along to the song as she drove. She nudged him again as Ke$ha came on.

“Come on! You can’t not sing Kesha with me,” Lyra pushed, speaking loudly over the blaring music. Shaking his head at her wild demands, Toby gave in and shyly started to mouth the lyrics, which Lyra responded with a beaming smile as she continued to sing out. As the chorus chimed in, Toby began to sing along too, and nod his head along to the beat. He tried his best to fight against the smile creeping up on his face, but couldn’t help singing alongside Lyra as the pair shouted out together. The whole world stopped for those two as they drove down the city streets, harmonizing horribly to the boy bands and overplayed pop music.

The two siblings laughed together as they entered the quiet house, throwing off their shoes.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight, dork. It's good having you back home,” Lyra said as she patted Toby’s back and left for her bedroom. The boy smiled to himself. For once, he had a good day.

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