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ittybittyfanblog · 2 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 10

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, family issues, generational trauma, self-growth, personal issues (and dealing with it), hurt and comfort, hmmmm…. let’s leave it at that for now :) A/N: Final chapter, guys! Thanks so much for reading <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Oh, what the hell—since when do you cook?”

“Bitch,” you laugh, nudging past them, the ceramic pot still steaming in your hands. “Do you want the risotto or not?”

The scent of garlic and pecorino permeates the air as you stand in front of the small foyer of the duplex where your friend—questionable, at the moment—lives. Your most recent culinary masterpiece, deemed safe (enough) for public consumption, rests between your hands in silent offering to the skeptic figure who’s barring you from crossing the threshold.

It’s still warm, and you’re not one to brag, but you think you’ve outdone yourself with this one. Not that it matters—everybody’s a fucking critic these days.

“Risotto?” Khol parrots in disbelief. “You don’t show up in forever, suddenly you’re all cuoca straordinario or some shit. Get out of here with your Mario ass–”

“Don’t mind them,” Anna interjects from behind your biggest hater, all cheer as she plucks the pot from your hands. “This smells amazing, actually. Come in!”

With that, she vanishes inside, leaving you and Khol alone in the doorway. You give them a knowing look.

“Oh wow,” you remark, all mock surprise. “You live together now?”

Khol rolls their eyes, already tired of you. “You missed the biggest arc of the last five months, but yeah.”

You step inside, and right away, something feels… different. It could partly be due to how much time has passed since you last visited, and it’s clearly still their place—the brooding industrial-emo aesthetic remains intact, still suspiciously close to resembling the lair of an angsty comic book antihero on acid—but it’s been overtaken by bits of boho-chic scattered all over the space.

Where there was once nothing but charcoal, vinyl, and concrete, there are now textures. Colorful woven throws drape artfully over the arm of the leather Eames sofa they won off a Craigslist bid. Tasseled pillows have multiplied across every seat surface like some kind of fabric-based contagion, while pothos vines dangle lazily from macramé hangers, stretching towards the moody Edison bulbs like they’re trying to escape the existential crisis of living here.

And then there’s the rug. Oh god, the rug.

A comically massive tufted ‘Flower Power’ rug sprawls across the center of the room, a swirling explosion of pinks and oranges—a final, cutesy fuck you to the apartment’s formerly depressing atmosphere before Khol’s new roommate staged her cheerful coup.

It should’ve been a hilarious sight, like a chaotic school art project where every kid picked a different medium to color and refused to compromise. But somehow… it works?

Against all odds, the goth cryptid and the hippie gremlin have found domestic equilibrium.

“Love what you did with the place, Anna,” you call out, toeing off your shoes at the door. “It doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old’s fantasy bedroom anymore.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Khol laughs, shaking their head. “As if you’re one to talk. Last time I visited, you still had that stupid-ass sofa. Is it still there?”

You sniff haughtily. “Excuse you, but that’s a custom piece. You wouldn’t get it.”

"Alright, you two," Anna says, leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, one hip propped against the frame. "Both of you have terrible taste in decor. Now, I have a fabulous Prosecco to pair with the risotto." She tilts her head, shooting her partner a pointed look. "Khol, darling, be a dear and grab the crystal from the cupboard?"

"Whipped," you sing as Khol, predictably, does exactly as told. They don’t even bother with a comeback, just flashes you a lazy middle finger over their shoulder as they disappear from view.

You grin, shaking your head. The moment stretches into something easy, comfortable. It’s nice—being here, bantering like no time has passed. You let yourself sink into it, tugging off your beanie as you cross the room.

The creaky couch welcomes you like an old friend, and you flop down unceremoniously, stretching your legs out, rubbing your feet against the oversized monstrosity of a rug that is... honestly, pretty fucking comfortable, actually.

Anna follows suit, settling beside you with far more grace, tucking one foot under the other.

She watches you for a moment, expression warm but slightly inquisitive. “We haven’t seen you in a while.”

You exhale, tipping your head back, staring up at the beams on the ceiling. "Yeah, sorry. Been a little out of it these past… couple of months, I guess."

Anna makes a quiet noise, something between understanding and acknowledgment. "You’re doing okay now?"

The easy answer sits on your tongue—yeah, of course. An automatic response, a reflex built from habit. Another front to put up, another lie to slip behind.

But you’ve been working on this. So instead, you take a breath and say,

"Not… really."

The words feel foreign, heavy, but oddly freeing as they leave your mouth.

Your gaze flickers to the side table—framed photos of Khol and Anna, smiling, sunlit. You don’t linger.

“I mean, better now compared to, maybe, a few weeks ago. I’m getting there.”

Anna’s brows lift slightly—not in surprise at the sentiment itself, but at the fact that you admitted it out loud. There’s something thoughtful in her expression, something softer around the edges. “Good. That’s good.”

You can tell she means it. Maybe even more than you expected.

"Yeah."

There’s a brief lull. You catch yourself tugging at the edge of your cardigan—a nervous habit you never quite broke. The warmth of the apartment is settling in you quite comfortably, but there’s something about sitting still under Anna’s gentle scrutiny that makes you restless.

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable clink of glass, followed by a muffled, “shit.”

Anna exhales, long-suffering. “I don’t know why I even bother buying nice things.”

“‘Oy,” Khol’s voice carries from the other room, “get in here and help. We have, like, seven things to carry.”

You take that as your cue, trailing after Anna into the kitchen. Between the three of you, it’s quick work—bowls of warm, brothy risotto in hand, glasses of white wine balanced carefully between fingers.

By the time you step back into the living room, Khol is already dropping onto the blue accent chair near the window with all the dramatics of someone who’s worked far too hard for far too little.

You settle into your usual spot, Anna beside you. You don’t touch your food. Your appetite’s still in remission, though it’s been steadily improving lately.

Khol notices. “Now, why the hell aren’t you eating?” They shoot you a side-eye like you’ve personally offended them. “I knew it. You put something in this, didn’t you?”

“Jesus, Khol,” Anna sighs, exasperated, already two spoonfuls in. “Your diet was literally gas station burritos and eight-pack Coors before I moved in. You’ll live.”

She pauses, though, casting you a look. “Don’t get me wrong—this is really good.”

“Ha,” you retort as Khol prods suspiciously at a floating mushroom. You glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“Alright, alright.” With an exaggerated sigh, Khol finally takes a bite. They chew once, twice—eyes narrowed in concentration, acting like some hard-ass seasoned judge from Top Chef. You can practically see them digging for something snarky to say—until, begrudgingly, they nod.

“Shit. This is actually pretty good. Who are you?”

You preen at the praise.

For a while, there’s nothing but the quiet clinking of spoons against ceramic, the occasional satisfied hum. It’s… nice. Comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in what feels like forever.

You’ve missed this.

Missed being here. Missed being with people.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the last few bites of risotto, Khol angles their head toward you, their curiosity piqued. “How come you’re free today? You on leave or something?”

You swirl the drink in your hand, watching the light catch on the amber surface before answering. “Oh, I quit my job.”

There’s a beat of silence. You don’t know what reaction you were expecting, but Khol just blinks at you. "Huh. Finally."

Anna looks mildly more concerned. "You quit?"

You nod, stretching your legs out beneath the coffee table. “Yeah. The OT was getting ridiculous, and they had me working night shifts again. That was kind of the last straw for me.”

Khol grunts in agreement. “Good fucking riddance. That job was killing you.” They pause for a beat, turning serious, contemplative. “You’re not hung up about it, are you? You’ve been bitching about that job for ages.”

You exhale through your nose, staring at the rim of your glass. “Yeah, no. I’m glad I left.” The words come easily, and they’re mostly true. But still—there’s something about suddenly having all this space, this aimless in-between, that makes you antsy.

A thought strikes you, and you glance up. “Hey, you know if Marion's still looking for someone to work part-time at the bistro?”

Khol raises an eyebrow. "You looking to apply? It’s minimum wage, just telling you in advance."

"That’s fine," you assure them. "I just need something on the side. I’m doing freelance work right now, I just want something to fill in the gaps."

Anna perks up at that. "I think that’s a great idea. I can hit up Marion later, but I’m pretty sure they’re still looking."

Khol stares at you, and for once, they don’t have a quip lined up. No sharp-edged humor, no quick banter—just a quiet look of something almost foreign on their face. Pride. Maybe even relief. You’ve worried them. The realization jars you like a pebble dropped into a clear pond, sending ripples through the stillness of your self-imposed isolation. You hadn’t meant to, not really. It wasn’t like you deliberately wanted to disappear... But you did, didn’t you? You let the days blur into weeks, then months, telling yourself naively that no one would notice if you just—vanished for a while. Five months, to be exact.

You press your lips together, clearing your throat against the tightness creeping in. “Thanks,” you say, quiet but sincere. “Really.”

Khol snorts, and the moment shatters. “You can show your thanks by knocking ten percent off the cocktails when we visit.”

You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Get me the job first, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Anna grins, raising her glass. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

––––

You get the job.

You stand in front of the fogged-up mirror, dragging your palm across the wet glass. The reflection that stares back is warped, smudged—half-formed, half-there—but unequivocally yours.

A month ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that with certainty. Back then, the figure in the mirror had been more ghost than person—distant, spectral. Fractured. Someone you watched from the outside, not as a host of the flesh you inhabit.

Now, though, the pieces are starting to slot back into place. Some are still missing, and others don’t quite fit as they once did. You doubt it will ever return to how it was… But slowly, a familiar shape is coming back into focus. More than the shadow of a woman, but you. Time moves like water carving through rock—gradual, barely perceptible, but steady. Inevitable.

The shifts are diminutive. A morning where you wake up feeling less crushed by the weight of grief in your chest. An afternoon where you suddenly break into laughter, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard it in weeks. A quiet night where you go to bed without feeling like you’re stuck frozen in an endless loop of wishing, waiting for the impossible.

You’re here, alive. Present. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, you’re doing more than just holding on.

(You think he’d be proud of you.)

And the thought doesn’t leave you aching the way it used to.

––––

“You think I can handle taking care of another living thing? Like a plant?” You ask Maru, glancing at him lounging by the window, right where a sliver of afternoon sunlight spills across the floor. “I mean, I raised you well enough, I think. But you’re pretty self-sufficient anyway.” Maru looks unimpressed. His tail flicks once—dismissive, uninterested—before he returns to grooming himself, utterly indifferent to both your question and your sudden enthusiasm for gardening. “Well, if your dad can grow plants in that dungeon he calls a base, I’m sure I can manage,” you mutter unconvincingly. “How hard can it be?”

–

By the middle of the second week into your little project, you begrudgingly admit that your tiny repotted begonia isn’t exactly thriving. You don’t want to be a pessimist, but the (browning) margins seem to curl inward—more than they should, if the reference pics on that “Indoor Succulents” blog you’re subscribed to are anything to go by.

You eye it dubiously, trying to stay gung-ho about the whole thing, forcing yourself to look up care tips again. It’s just a plant. Not rocket science. So you do the research, gather more supplies, and give it another shot. You reposition it closer to where the sun lands—earning a disgruntled hiss from the sunbathing feline—and sprinkle a careful amount of water just beneath the leaves, closer to the root. Then you lean back, waiting, tapping your foot impatiently like it’s supposed to just... fix itself.

–

The next few days pass with you watching it more than you’d care to admit—checking, hoping, second-guessing yourself.

You narrow your eyes at the leaves, more russet than Inca Flame red, still hanging limp like a sad testament to your lack of skill.

But you keep at it, because you’re nothing if not stubborn.

–

A single flower has bloomed.

You stand there, spray bottle in hand, caught in quiet awe at the metallic pink sprout peeking through the foliage. It’s small, delicate, barely more than a bud, but unmistakably there—nestled among heart-shaped leaves that, for the first time in weeks, look alive. Brighter.

A faint smile tugs at your lips. It’s not groundbreaking, not by a long shot. But it’s something.

The fragile blossom clings onto dear life, stubbornly seeking the sun rays, inching toward the warmth it needs to grow—larger, stronger.

You can’t wait to bear witness to it.

––––

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up in this situation; all you could recall past the sweat blurring your vision is the memory of being in front of the reception desk, pen in hand, scrawling your name onto the sign-up sheet for beginner boxing lessons.

It’s not… something you planned on doing, really. You’d been showing up for the past week, trying to convince yourself that fitness was something you could get into. Something you could stick with. But this one’s more of an impulse decision, fueled by a mix of post-workout endorphins and the misplaced confidence that sometimes follows after an extra few—unpremeditated!—minutes on the elliptical.

It all started with a casual glance at a flyer taped to the wall beside the water dispenser.

GET TOUGHER, FASTER, STRONGER! SIGN UP NOW!

The cheesy tagline stared you down as you were in the middle of refilling your teal green AquaFlask. And for some dumb reason—sheer curiosity, definitely not because it reminded you of a certain someone—you thought: Why not?

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you’d marched straight up to the nearest staff at the counter, credit card in hand, and asked to sign up. Now, as you stare at the buff woman currently goading you to hit harder, reality sets in and you feel a little lightheaded. Even slightly delirious.

“Up, up–” your trainer urges, somehow not even remotely out of breath, despite being thirty grueling minutes into the session. Meanwhile, you’re standing there, red-faced and sweating like a fucking pig. “Keep your arms up at all times, alright?”

You pant, nodding weakly, fixing your posture. She gives you an approving nod in return.

It’s part of the whole self-improvement thing, anyway. Pushing yourself. Fitness, jazz, and all that. You’ve never had much inclination for sports or anything remotely physically taxing, as far as you can recall.

…Or maybe that decision was made for you the moment you tried out for volleyball in high school and took a spike straight to the face. A memory so humiliating, that your brain did you a favor and buried it deep in the recesses of your mind.

But things are different now! You’re trying new things. You’ve done wall climbing, aerobics, even pulled a hamstring attempting HIIT Tae Bo. And if getting punched in the face is the next step in this… wellness journey, then, well, so be it. You’ll take it with a brave face and, hopefully, minimal bruising to both body and ego.

You slog through two sets of combos and thirty jab-straight-hook-uppercuts, punching like your life depends on it. You’re wheezing like an asthmatic child, and you’re about one bad punch away from toppling over.

Then, mercifully—

“Okay, that’s enough for today.”

Oh, thank god.

“You did good,” she tacks on, flashing you an encouraging smile, like you didn’t just spend the last half hour flailing at the focus mitts with all the grace of a wrecking ball.

You stare at her, unconvinced. Did I? Because from where you’re standing—wobbling, really—you’re pretty sure you looked closer to an overstimulated toddler throwing hands with gravity, but sure. It must’ve been in the fine print, to segue in a little positive reinforcement. Probably to keep people from bolting after the first session.

Not that you’re planning to. No, of course not. You’re just... reevaluating some things. Like your life choices. And your capacity to lift your arms tomorrow. As you trudge your way out of the yoga-studio-turned-boxing-area, still gulping for air and very aware of the soreness settling into your limbs, someone calls out.

“Hey! Wait up!”

You turn your head, blinking in confusion. A guy—mid to late twenties, give or take—jogs up to you, looking offensively too fresh compared to how you feel. “Oh, hi. Sorry, do you mean me?”

He laughs as he slows to a stop, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Yeah, you. I saw you training with Coach. Just wanted to say—you’re improving.”

You blink. Wait, what?

A wave of mortification rolls through you. Shit, you didn’t know you had an audience. “Uh—thanks, I guess?”

You shift your weight awkwardly, clutching your boxing gloves tightly against your chest.

His grin turns sheepish, as though he realizes how that might’ve come off. “Fuck, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I swear, I wasn't, like, watching the whole thing or anything.” He makes a vague gesture to his left. “The studio’s right in my line of sight when I did my TRX reps. Hard not to notice.”

You force a smile. “Ah, yeah. Figures.”

“I’m Byron, by the way,” he offers, sticking out a hand.

Now that you get a proper look at him, you notice he’s got this kind of… geeky charm going for him. Curly hair, sleepy brown eyes behind round, rimless glasses, and shy boy-next-door vibes—except for the fact that he’s jacked.

(Honestly? Work.)

You give him your name, still smiling awkwardly. You’re about to wave goodbye and turn away when— “So, what are you doing later?”

Um.

You hesitate. “I’m, uh… heading straight home after this?” Your voice comes out a little more uncertain than you intended, mostly because you’re not really sure why he’s still talking to you.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he replies quickly, glancing down like he’s suddenly nervous. “I just… thought I’d ask if you’d wanna grab coffee sometime?”

Oh.

It takes a moment for the question to fully register. The first thought that pops in your head is: Wait, how does he know I’m a barista?

… The second thought is one of pure disbelief. Holy shit, did I just get asked out? At the gym? By the Temu version of Peter Parker?

Your face burns hotter than it did mid-workout, caught completely off guard.

“I—woah, um.” You stumble over your words, eyes quickly darting away from him. “Sorry, I already have… a boyfriend. If—if that’s what you’re leading up to.”

You say it like a question. He picks up on it.

“You don’t sound too convinced,” he comments with a light chuckle, shaking his head. “If you’re not interested, you can just say that, you know.”

A prickle of irritation flares up, followed by something sharper—something that stings. You push it down. “No, he’s just… not around.” “Ah.” He clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Long distance?” “…Yeah.” You have no idea.

He shrugs, undeterred. “Alright, no pressure. We could always just hang out as friends, if you want.”

I… don’t think I do. “Um, maybe?” you answer instead, forcing out a laugh.

“Oh, come on,” he says, his grin widening. “You can even introduce me to your boyfriend,” he emphasizes the word out, “when he gets back. Does he work out? We could all hit the gym together.”

Social anxiety is afraid of this man, you think belatedly. Unfortunately for him, you’re the very embodiment of what fears him.

You’re so out of your element that all you can manage is, “He boxes too, actually.”

“Yeah? He any good?”

That gets an involuntary snort out of you. Unthinkingly, you say, “Could probably beat you up.”

Byron laughs, startled but amused, shaking his head as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright—message received.” He flashes you a wide smile. “Well, if you change your mind about the coffee, I’ll be around.” He jerks his chin toward the pack fly by the corner. “There, usually.”

Okay, nerd. Despite yourself, you can’t help but find the whole thing slightly hilarious. Then again, you find humor in the dumbest things. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You offer him a quick, half-hearted wave, trying (and failing) to mask your embarrassment with an exaggerated, too-casual show of nonchalance. It’s so painfully awkward, you can feel yourself internally dying from the cringe of it all.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and start speed-walking away, practically running back to the safety of your personal space.

Smooth.

––––

It’s another relatively easy night at the bistro. You’re on the last two hours of your shift, and you’re carrying a single glass of roseberry mule to serve at table four. As you round the corner, you catch sight of a student, glasses perched low on her nose, completely absorbed in a thick coursebook on Programming Languages. Papers are scattered across the table, and she looks to be utterly engrossed in her readings, unaware of the world around her.

You don’t want to bother her more than necessary, about to set the drink down on the only clear space—by the iPad propped up on a tablet holder to her right—when something red catches your attention.

A familiar pair of crimson eyes stops you dead in your tracks.

For a moment, you feel like you’re suspended in time. The sharp memory of a similar instance where you’re in her place, and he’s there, keeping you company while he’s polishing a gun burns through your brain, and you don’t–you can’t think—

You stand there, rooted to the spot, wide-eyed and unmoving. Then, the girl’s gaze shifts to you, and a hot flush spreads across her cheeks, betraying her surprise.

With swift fingers, she locks the screen with a quick flick on the power button, pulling you away and breaking you from the echoes of the past.

“Oh, shit,” she giggles, a nervous edge to her voice. “That’s embarrassing.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself back to the present moment. “No—no, don’t worry about it,” you chuckle weakly, setting the drink down beside her with shaky hands. “Cute guy, honestly.”

That makes her giggle louder, her eyes bright with an almost conspiratorial glint. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

Fuck—you can’t breathe.

––––

The night hangs thick with stifling heat, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock as you catch your breath, your broken moans too loud in the heavy silence. The sheets cling to your feverish skin, damp and uncomfortable, as your body moves in a rhythm that feels unnatural now, but still—but always—familiar.

Your chest rises and falls in shallow, rapid breaths as you force the draconic toy deep inside you. The heat, the fire—it licks at your skin, making your whole body yearn for more. To chase more of the feeling, to chase more of the memory of him.

Errant strands of hair stick to your forehead, your chest flushed and burning, a quiet throb spreading through you with every friction, every desperate movement.

Your body aches, a relentless thrum urging you to push deeper, to find something—anything—to fill the gaping hole inside you, a wound you’ve tried to stitch shut over months, now threatening to tear its way open again, once more ripping from the seams.

A sharp pressure builds inside you. Your body stretches too far, too much, struggling to take in what it can’t quite handle. It burns in a way that hurts, but you need it. You need to feel more, to fill the emptiness, to grasp at something that feels real.

“Yours, yours–” you tremble, desperate. “Yours. Just yours. Please.”

You lie in the wake of it—pleasure fading into something heavier, regret creeping in like a shadow, waiting as always.

“I miss you,” you whisper in the dark. You always do.

You try to ignore the pull of it, the sharp descent that comes with the high.

You were doing so well.

But it’s fine. You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

The words swirl and echo in your mind, until they’re swallowed by sounds that ring hollow. You let the moment wash over you, sinking beneath the weight of the tides, where sorrow and longing blur with the fleeting warmth of what you can’t keep.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another chance to try again.

For now, you let go of your grip on the fragile raft of sanity you’ve built, painstakingly, for months on end.

Tonight, you let yourself drown once more in the somber depths of loneliness and despair, confined within these four walls that feel—once more—like a penitentiary.

––––

The plane begins its slow descent, and through the window, the world comes into view—large swathes of land interrupted by winding roads that seem to follow no rhyme, nor pattern. A river glints faintly beneath the fading sun, while the sky turns a dull blue, a washed-out slate, streaked with the last embers of daylight.

Below, the small city stirs.

Tiny specks of color flicker to life, lanterns strung along the streets like beads on a thread, marking the season, an ending, and the inevitable turning of time. A chill hangs in the air, the wind whipping past you from the half-open window of the taxi, sharp and crisp in a way that you can only find in the province.

Your hometown.

It all rushes past in a blur of light and shadow, an eclectic mix of old and new—some buildings unchanged, others unfamiliar, as if they’d sprung up in the years you’ve been away. It’s been a while since you last came back, long enough for the roads to feel... foreign, almost. Though muscle memory stirs when the car takes a turn. One you could have easily navigated even with your eyes closed.

Only your sister lives here now, her and her family—a couple of hundred miles far. Far enough to feel like another world, yet close enough for the past to catch up the moment you lay eyes on the old two-story house tucked away on the quaint cul-de-sac of this suburban neighborhood.

The residential property was left to her, scrawled onto the title in an act of generosity, perhaps. Or maybe as a weight your mother never intended to carry, something meant to anchor her eldest child while she carved a different life for herself elsewhere. Free-spirited as she is, she left with the ease of someone shedding an old coat, slipping into the shoes of another, barely a glance over her shoulder.

But houses remember. And as you step out of the vehicle, your feet meeting the rough asphalt that once belonged to your childhood, you wonder if they remember you too.

"Maru, Maru!" Your five-year-old niece cries the moment she spots the grumpy feline peering through the mesh of his portable prison.

"What—no excitement for me too?" you tease, ruffling her hair. She giggles, scrunching up her nose.

"Auntie, hi! Hi!"

You snort at her enthusiasm, setting the carrier down. The second you pull at the zipper, Maru springs out, landing with a soft thud before stalking off with his usual air of disdain. Your niece shrieks with delight.

"Ah! Cat!"

"Well, there go the chances of her socializing with her brother," your sister remarks dryly from the doorway, sauntering closer. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," you greet, hoisting a handful of paper bags. "Where do I dump these?"

She eyes the bags. "Any of those for me?"

"You have three kids, and one of them insisted on a Lego set. Do you know how much those cost?" You shoot her a flat look. "You’re getting socks."

"Wow, stingy." She huffs but takes some of the bags anyway, hitching one onto her hip as she grabs your other hand-carry.

You step inside, and the house greets you with a riot of lights and color. Plastic tinsel and bright string lights drape across every visible surface—along the bannister, around doorways—leaving no space untouched by the festive chaos. A Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, nearly buried beneath an avalanche of baubles and sentimental ornaments collected over the years.

The room feels swallowed by the exuberance of it all, an almost overwhelming jamboree of holiday cheer.

It’s gaudy, excessive, and completely over-the-top, but beneath it all, the bones of your childhood home remain unchanged—familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. The Narra wood floors are still scuffed with the marks of time, there’s still the distinct tang of turpentine mixed with waxy resin and citrus you’ve long since associated with home, and the odd decorative masks still line the far wall, their painted expressions frozen in mid-celebration.

Your eyes land on the canvas floater above the mantel—a whimsical cross-stitch of three women flying kites, their stitched dresses rippling in imagined wind. You remember it well, though you never quite understood why your mother had chosen that particular scene to painstakingly sew into existence. Still, it belongs here, another piece of the house's patchwork history.

Your gaze shifts to the couch, where Andrew, your sister's husband, is sprawled out, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone.

He flicks his gaze up at you, offering a half-hearted wave before turning back to whatever has him so absorbed on the screen. Beside him, your three-year-old nephew is perched on his knees, bouncing with energy as he mirrors Bluey's movements on the TV with exaggerated enthusiasm, his tiny arms flailing in childlike glee.

You sigh inwardly, rolling your eyes. Typical.

“There’s a few more hours before dinner. Want to hang out in the kitchen while I roast the ham?” She asks casually, setting down your bags by the foot of the stairs. “Actually, scratch that—you’re in charge of the punch.”

“You just want a head start on the drinks,” you tease, the banter flowing easily between you. “Hey, where’s the little squirt?”

She points toward the small crib, near the island counter. “She finally stopped crying, thank god. Don’t wake her up, or you’ll be the one in charge of putting her back to sleep.”

The two of you slip into the kitchen, where the air already carries the promise of dinner—cloves and brown sugar blending nicely with the lingering scent of citrus. A tray of ham sits on the counter, prepped and ready, the scored surface glistening under the fluorescent light.

Your sister pulls a bottle of Luisita Oro Rum and Agimat Gin from the second-to-last cupboard and places them on the counter in front of you.

"Go ham," she quips.

You give her a flat look. "You think you’re funny.”

She shrugs, unfazed, and turns her attention back to where she’d left off before your arrival.

The two of you fall into a natural rhythm, the kind that comes from years of cooking together. You work your way through cans of Del Monte, the metallic clinks filling the space as you drain the syrup and dump chunks of mixed fruit into the large punch bowl.

Your sister leans against the counter nearby, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the oven door, as if sheer willpower alone could make the meat cook faster.

In the background, the soft drone of the TV drifts in from the living room, punctuated by your nephew’s occasional giggles.

There’s no rush, no need to fill the silence with anything more than the occasional clang of utensils against glass and the low humming of kitchen appliances. The day is winding down to a close, and for now, everything is alright.

“So, Mom called,” she says casually, one arm braced on the counter as she leans in, glancing at you. “Kept calling, actually.”

“Mm.” You reply noncommittally, shaking the last can’s contents into the crystal bowl, watching as the fruit chunks bob lazily in the pool of alcohol.

“She’s worried about you.”

You don’t answer.

“She was. She is.” Her voice shifts, more serious now. She watches you closely, noting your lack of reaction. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten around the can opener, but you pull your gaze away from the bowl. “I know.”

She sighs, resigned, already familiar with this song and dance. Familiar enough to know there’s no winning this one, not tonight. Not anytime soon. “I am too.”

You blink, before looking away. “Oh.”

And maybe she does worry—your mother. But any hope of truly knowing is swallowed by the chasm between you, the one that keeps your conversations at surface level, never breaching the depths beyond.

Your body, born from hers, perhaps more alike than you realize, might have been brought into this world with the same pains that she’s carried. The pains of separation. The unresolved hurt of being unwillingly removed from your person—her former husband, your father—and that if you and your mother were closer, you could have opened up about your own situation. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel like a ship that has lost its ballast, drifting endlessly in the same turbulent seas for the longest time.

But you are your mother’s daughter, and she is her mother’s daughter. There is the truth that the women in your family are not the best communicators, nor do they wear their hearts on their sleeves. So you were born mute and overly sensitive. Pain drips from you, unnoticed, like a purposeless leak in the heart. You’ll carry it with you until you die.

“But you look… okay,” she observes, cocking her head. “Are you okay?”

You swallow. For the same reason you compare your mother to a storm you can't outrun and your sister to an intermittent drizzle, you find it easier to admit, “I haven’t… been okay for a while.”

Not wanting to bring the mood down, especially on a day like today, you quickly add, “Things are better now, though.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Could be a little more specific there, but I’ll take it.” She gives you an exasperatedly fond look. “You let me know if that changes anytime soon, ‘kay?”

Your lips quirk in the faintest semblance of a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

–

It’s ten minutes before midnight.

You’re leaning against the island counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, nursing a glass of the fruit punch (though it’s mostly gin, with the teensiest amount of fruit), watching your sister’s family at a distance as they eagerly wait for the clock to strike twelve. The blinds of the large living room window have been pulled up, giving an unobstructed view of the sky, ready for the first firework to light up the dark.

For a moment, you feel like an outsider, watching through a lens, as if you’re not quite part of the scene. There’s a strange sense of detachment—voyeuristic, almost—as though you're peering in on a private, intimate moment.

Your sister cradles the infant in her arms, and that all-too-familiar pang stirs to life—the same one that always does when you look at her.

You can't quite place what you're feeling, exactly. It’s tumultuous, and it’s complex. Andrew’s practically dozing off in his seat, and you see your sister shake her head in mild annoyance. Your nephew, fighting to keep his eyes open, starts to fuss.

Something tightens inside your chest.

“Andrew,” she hisses, startling the man awake. He blinks, disoriented, before spotting their son and the early signs of an explosive tantrum.

He sighs, and pulls the boy closer to him. “Hey, hey, little guy. Look at the sky. In just a couple of minutes, the lights are gonna go boom-boom.”

Your nephew sniffs, his eyes blinking up at him as he processes the words. “Boom-boom?”

“Yeah! Just like the one we watched on TV!”

The kid’s face visibly perks up at that, bad mood quickly forgotten. “Boom-boom!”

You watch as your sister’s gaze softens, and a small smile replaces the earlier frown on her face.

And in that instant, you understand.

You look at your sister and, for a brief moment, all you see is a wretched mirror of yourself. She is all of your fears, all of your failures, and all of what you could’ve been rolled into one. Barely in her mid-thirties, and yet already carrying the weight of a family: three kids, a husband who feels like a faded echo of your father—a man who didn’t quite measure up, who never did, and just as unreliable.

You feel the suffocating weight of it all, of being tied to a place that’s meant to be a home but feels more like a tomb, marking the passing of dreams unrealized. She’ll grow old here, buried in the same soil you both sprang from, fading into the landscape of this town that swallows its own.

You look at her and you almost feel the repressed pain of missing the last semester of college to give birth, the lament of a missed opportunity that life has stolen from her.

You feel her pain as if it’s yours. You feel it in the marrow of your bones—her blood flowing through you. “3…” You look at her, and it feels like seeing someone bound, held down by an anchor around her foot, unable to break through the surface of freedom. You look at her and you see dreams once aglow, reduced to cinders. You look at her and see—

She glances up at you.

Oh. “2…” In the fleeting moment where your eyes meet—eyes you two share with your mother—you feel so small.

Just a kid. Shortsighted and unfairly dismissive. Too blind to see your sister’s quiet victories, too selfish to admit you’ve diminished them just so you could feel less alone about your own failures. A child grasping for meaning, unfair in the ways only children can be. “1…” And in the fraction of a second before midnight, it's as if you’ve been doused awake.

You see her anew—what seemed like monotony is really the bedrock of stability; tenacity in place of routine. An almost single-minded doggedness to make something out of this life. You see the steadfast strength she possesses, the kind that gets her up every morning, to face the world and all its demands without question. With purpose.

You see resilience. Compassion. Traits that you’ve always lacked, that you’ve long resented, the same traits your mother never learned to embody.

And now you see your niece in her arms, born from this, and you name the indescribable feeling that dwells in you—borne from the pure look of adoration in your sister’s eyes for her youngest daughter—as envy.

You know, with utmost certainty, that she will be okay, because she has your sister as her mother, and she is so, so loved.

As you watch them, something inside you shifts—a deep, aching realization.

You see… home. Something you've always longed for but never truly found. “Happy new year!” The spell breaks. The two of you startle at the sudden eruption of fireworks, the distant chorus of car horns blaring from the streets outside.

Your niece and nephew jump and shriek, their laughter ringing through the room, celebrating something they barely understand but find joy in anyway. The baby in your sister’s arms lets out a wail at the commotion, and she is soothed instantly with murmurs of soft assurances. Her father struggles upright—then, with no small amount of effort, leans forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

The image before you is far from perfect, but it’s theirs.

“Auntie, auntie!” The little rascals cry out in unison, their voices overlapping in excitement. “‘appy n’year!”

A breathless, almost pained laugh escapes you. Still, you smile as you respond with your own, “happy new year!”

You’re tired—tired of running, of measuring yourself against the ghosts of your past. Tired of carrying the weight of a childhood that’s left you with more questions than answers, of making excuses for wounds that should have healed long since. You've spent so much time mourning the growing pains, the irreparable, that you never stopped to see what’s in front of you.

This moment, this realization, feels like the final missing piece in the fractured puzzle of who you are.

The new year arrives, marked by the crackle of fireworks and the loud cheer from your family.

This time, you won’t hesitate. You’ll choose to embrace the change, both good and bad, with open arms. With the quiet resolve of someone finally ready to move forward.

You lift your gaze just as a brilliant burst of red explodes into the night sky, its iridescent glow bleeding into a softer silver before fading into the dark.

A warmth settles deep in your chest—bittersweet, but steady. A quiet peace.

Happy new year, my love. . . . . . . .

. . .

The air at the threshold of Vagrant’s land is restless. Volatile. A hazy distortion ripples through it, folding and unfolding, like a lost mirage—an area of transition between worlds. Porch collapse, he calls it.

Sylus has stood here countless times, watching the way this anomalous disturbance twists the very fabric of this reality, how it flickers in and out of form, erratic. Impossible to predict.

It had taken him longer than he likes to admit to understand the phenomena for what it’s truly worth. Not just an alternate space caused by some spartan energy field. Not just any other protofield. But a thread. A connection. A door.

A fault line between realities, an entryway that hums with the possibility of you.

Since the moment the idea took hold, he had thought of little else. It has consumed him in every waking moment; his entire being seeming to bend toward a singular purpose—getting to you. He had torn through endless streams of data, followed every unstable pulse of energy, mapped its fluctuations down to the smallest inconsistency.

Nights bled into days, and days bled into weeks, until he can no longer keep track. Not that the passage of time meant much to him at this point.

He’s worked tirelessly through the stillness, through the storms of uncertainty, through the aching silence left by your absence. Ever since you’ve exchanged your temporary goodbyes.

He had measured everything he could—the unstable frequency of radio signals streaming through the interstice. He had traced the influx in real time; recording the rate of deterioration, isolating the waveform, and filtering out outside interferences.

But for all the data he gathered, for all the precision in his calculations, the core of this phenomenon remained just out of reach. His knowledge on the matter is rudimentary at most. He could waste years observing for abnormalities, trying to decipher how its presence has disrupted the very threads of this universe, but the why and how of it all will still elude him.

Still, theory matters less than function. He doesn’t need to understand the full depth of it. He only needs to harness it.

It’s a gamble.

Contrary to whatever reputation he’s earned for himself, Sylus has never been one to play his cards recklessly. He deals in certainties, in probabilities stacked in his favor, in risks that—while dangerous—are still within his grasp to control. He has never been the type to leap without knowing where he’d land.

But this is different.

He has never needed to, before. Never had a reason to throw himself into the unknown with no assurance of survival, no way to predict the outcome.

He had no reason to—until you.

Now, it matters less whether or not the odds of his survival are abysmal, that he has no precedent to follow. That your world might reject him entirely. None of it matters. Because if the choice is between staying and never reaching you, or plunging into the great, endless unknown—

He’ll take the leap, every time. Without hesitation.

He’ll leave this world behind, step beyond the edges of everything that has ever defined him, and venture into lands unseen, uncharted. Unknown. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side. If he’ll make it there in one piece. If he will make it there at all.

Sylus has never really questioned why he’s the anomaly in this world. The curiosities of his existence are yours to ponder. After all, he finds that he doesn’t care much of the answer as much as he cares about being with you.

Because wherever you are—that is home.

He takes a step forward, and the universe dissolves into a blinding light.

Sylus wakes to the sensation of weight.

Something presses on him heavily, sinking into his limbs like gravity itself is wrapping around him for the first time.

The ground beneath him is unfamiliar, uneven—tangible in a way he’s never felt before. His fingertips press into the damp earth, leaving the faintest imprint, yielding beneath his touch. The scent of soil rises around him; a rich, bitter brown.

This world does not recognize him, yet it cradles him like its own all the same.

Above, the sky erupts.

Fireworks split open the night, streaks of color exploding and dissipating in an instant—too fleeting to hold, too bright to ignore. A flashbang of incandescent reds and fluorescent greens, followed by bursts of crackling gold and shimmering silver scatter into tiny pinpricks before fading into the darkness.

The air is heavier here, denser in a way that feels almost… alien. It clings to the contours of his new form, seeps into his lungs with every breath.

And oh, how it burns. Not in pain, but in its sheer presence. It rushes into him not as mere oxygen but as something real. Something palpable. He’s lost in the sensation.

He exhales. Then winces.

Immediately, he feels it—the weakness. The brittleness of this new body. Gone is the invulnerability he once wielded so effortlessly, the certainty that nothing could touch him unless he allowed it.

That certainty is gone now, stripped away the moment he crossed the threshold.

He is flesh and bone. Finite. Mortal.

A lesser man might have feared it.

But in the middle of this empty field, miles away from civilization, Sylus can only laugh.

He tips his head back, reeling from the sheer impossibility of it all, eyes tracing the brilliant display above—as if committing it to memory, a coronation of sorts. Of existence. Of arrival. Of a life finally his own.

Reborn. And for the first time in his existence, he is alive.

––––

It’s summer—the summer that marks two years since he left.

Two years. It’s enough time to feel the weight of it, but not enough to make the events feel like something that happened a lifetime ago.

The seasons cycle once more, as they always do, pushing time forward with a steady, indifferent rhythm. And with that change comes a familiar pang—a bittersweet ache, neither grief nor regret, just the weight of knowing that nothing stays the same. Mono no aware.

You’re closer to thirty now, and the thought doesn’t terrify you as much as it did before. Your hair’s in a pixie cut—short and sleek, although the edges are a little ragged from the half-assed trimming you gave it a few days ago.

It would have made you feel stupid, once upon a time, for trying out something drastic for a new look. Instead, you just take it for what it is—one more thing you did because you wanted to. Like the rest of the choices you’ve made over the past two years. It’s yours. Uneven, impulsive, maybe a little questionable. But yours.

It’s liberating. Even if it makes your head look like a pencil.

The voice—the one that picks at your face, your body, your thoughts, everything down to the last imperfection—never really shuts up. It’s quieter now, easier to ignore, but it still lurks in the background, waiting for an opening, a moment of weakness. Maybe it always will. Maybe that’s just the price of being human.

But you don’t fight it anymore. You don’t let it drag you down to a breaking point. You carry yourself differently now, you'd say. No pep in your step just yet, but you don’t feel the need to drag your heels either. Literally and figuratively.

The change has come in waves—sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh—but it’s there, marking you, marking the passage of time. Just like the earth, just like the seasons, you’ve shifted and grown. And perhaps that’s enough.

The sky is ablaze now, a deepening canvas of pinks and purples as the sun sinks lazily to the west. The fiery orange light spills through the large windows, bleeding into every corner of the room, and the world outside seems to slow, caught in the hour before dusk.

You’re behind the counter, wiping down plates with the kind of ease that comes from repetition, the motion so ingrained in you that it barely registers anymore. It’s all routine—the rhythm of it, the quiet hum of the bistro, the clinking of porcelain. The air is thick with the sticky smell of warm pastries, and it’s the sort of evening that feels almost liminal. A moment suspended in time.

You hear the soft tinkling of the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer.

It’s a soft, unassuming sound, barely noticeable against the evening lull. You swipe your hands across your apron, turning on instinct, your mouth already forming the usual greeting.

“Hi, welcome to—”

The words die in your throat.

It’s a slow unfolding—almost a gradual realization that stretches across the seconds like the last rays of sun dipping beneath the horizon. He stands in the doorway, a figure outlined in gold, and his presence fills the space between you, no barrier that separates, and it feels... impossible. Unimaginable. Inevitable.

His height is the first thing you notice. He’s taller than you expected, and you know he’ll tower over you, even at a distance. His hair is dark now, the color of midnight, almost—not the silver you once traced with your fingers in your mind. The cut is still similar to what you’ve always known it to be, though a little more unkempt, as if he’s lived in this body long enough for it to take on its own wear.

Then his eyes. The red is gone—no longer the shade of crimson that used to see right through you, those sanguine pools you once loved. In its place, a stormy grey, deep and impossibly expressive, pulling you in like an undertow. The color is striking, alien in its own way, yet there’s a warmth buried beneath it—and the familiarity of it tugs at you.

Even with the changes, even though you’ve never met the person standing in front of you, you’ll know him anywhere.

There’s a shift in the room, a subtle, yet unmistakable change in the air. It’s as if the whole bistro has drawn in a breath—and you with it. Time stretches thin, each passing second expanding into what feels like an eternity.

Your eyes lock—and for a moment, nothing else exists.

It’s as if the world has shifted off its axis. Or, perhaps more accurately, it’s as though a piece that’s always been missing has finally snapped into place.

Something settles in you, something foreign and indescribably familiar at the same time.

Sylus smiles.

“Hello, my love. Have I kept you waiting?”

It feels like home.

____

“Now I found myself this kind of love, I can't believe it I'll never leave it behind I thought I'd never get to feel another fucking feeling But I feel— This love, this love, this love Oh, I feel it.”

End A/N: So this is done! Wow! I'm kind of proud of myself for writing something this long in the span of, idk, three months? Basically, the entire duration of my "vacation" back home. Now with another term and a busier schedule coming up, I really wanted to finish this series before life catches up to me. *sobs* Anyway, I'm so, so happy about the reception of this fic, and you've all been so sweet :') Again, thank you for reading! I'll see you in the spin-off, or whatever shit I put out next haha <3 Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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allpiesforourown · 6 months ago

Note

Binghe would go crazy for body pillows if he ever ended up in a modern world.

Now I'm just thinking about modern bingyuan and binghe makes his own custom body pillow after his best friend.. shen yuan visiting and binghe is like "fuck I better flip it over and hide the sexy side where he's wearing lingerie and blushing... no wait it would still be weird for me to sleep with a body pillow of my friend even if he's fully clothed in the picture.." so just before sy opens his bedroom door binghe throws a blanket over the pillow

Shen yuan just sees a covered lump on binghes bed and binghe hurriedly pushing shen yuan out of the room in a fluster and shen yuans like oh my God. Binghe has a girlfriend and he didn't tell me about it.

He's happy for binghe. Really. Seriously. 😐🙁😕😐😒

Shen yuan being jealous of a body pillow of himself is such a funny thought

#svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #bingqiu

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aloesarchives · 1 year ago

Text

JJK Drabble #2

Tw/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Fluff, Fluff Brainrot, Domesticity, Family Man Toji, Usage of Wife and Mom, JJK Oc added

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Reader: Female, Usage of Wife and Mom

AU: Modern/"Toji Lives" Au

(A/N): I'm back! Well, kinda of. Long story short, dealt w/college stuff and had a health scare that kept me away from writing. Also had a mini burnout too. More is explained here!

Thinking about Toji taking up crocheting and knitting because he saw how expensive yet cheaply made certain items like blankets are made. So he buys a simple set to try it out, following Youtube tutorials and watching videos for ideas. Once he masters the basics, Toji is LOCKED IN once again. Making full on hand-made blankets, scarves, hats, mittens/gloves, stuffed animals, covers/cases, bags, scrunchies, even damn rugs. Anything you ask him for, he’ll make it. This ends up being very practical to Toji because he saves so much money by just making them at home himself. It has to be the premium, natural, good quality type. Organic cotton, wool, cashmere, alpaca/llamas, silk, linen, mohair, bamboo, hemp, all of that. Tell him about polyester or something and he tells you to put that shit back. He buys the premium yarn nearby, locally, or gets them imported internationally. Gets every and any colors because he never wants to be limited when making his projects.

There was a throw blanket you wanted for the couch but it was expensive and the size was a lot smaller than you hoped. The next day, you come home to see Toji making it for you. The same color but better quality and inexpensive, and it was the size you wanted too. You were happy and amazed that he made it within a day. Living off your praise and approval, Toji just makes everything. Since he can’t get carpal tunnel or arthritis, his hands and wrists never get tired from working. Though, his posture does get bad and his back aches from being hunched over. The blanket in your bedroom with Toji? He made that shit with fucking love and care. He actually made multiple ones depending on the weather and season.

Man has even made throw pillows, regular pillows, water bottle cases, table cloths, coasters, bags, cushions, and made your own curtains. I mentioned before that everything in your home was either made, customized, or renovated by Toji. This stays TRUE because almost all the pillows and blankets in the house are his creation. The blankets and pillows that cover Megumi and Tsumiki’s beds? All Toji. Both pillows and blankets match each other and are in respective colors for the two. Megumi has one at his dorm because it gets cold over there and he hates sleeping in the cold.

If you are a stuffed animal fiend, like me, you ask Toji to make you any stuffed animal you want. Definitely make squishmallow dupes for you if you asked him. In your personal room/office, there’s a pile of stuffed animals in the corner from Toji that you pluck one from the pile and hold it while relaxing or walking around the house. The ones he loves to make are bees, dragons, whales, dolphins and dogs. And they’re so soft and huggable, you squeeze them all the time. Toji just grins to himself knowing the things he makes brings you and the kids happiness.

Toji “Anything my wife wants, my wife gets. No questions asked” Fushiguro

It’s normal for you to come home to see Toji crocheting/knitting away at something. You either find him in three places at home: the engawa in front of the courtyard and garden, the family room with the shoji doors open, or in his personal room/office. Mostly, he sits outside sitting on the engawa working away at something. It makes him work better, or so he says. Makes his own needles and hooks because of his big hands. Megumi still has his crocheted stuffed puppy when he was younger, still going strong even though it’s been worn down from love. Tsumiki has all the Sanrio characters knitted/crocheted as gifts from Toji.

Tsumiki always wears her hair up in a ponytail, Toji makes her scrunchies in her favorite designs and colors. Her favorite cardigans and pullover sweaters that keep her warm during fall and winter were made by Toji because he wanted to try making outerwear. Luckily it worked in his favor. Tsumiki asked Toji if he could make her a tote bag because she needed a bag for outings. She comes home from school one day to see three of them in different sizes. She has those cute little flower keychains on her school bag and outing bags too because she asked Papa Toji for them. The massive white and blue circle rug in her room is from Toji.

Megumi’s winter scarf, earmuffs, and hat are made by Toji too. Megumi will never admit it out loud but he appreciates that Toji made it for him. They keep him and he doesn’t feel the wind chills nipping at his face. Megumi also appreciates his dad for making his stuffed animals. I’m projecting here but Toji made a set of plush stuffed animals after his shadows. His divine dogs, all of them. Megumi keeps them on his stuffed animal net in the top corner above his bed. Megumi wears a jacket and hoodie made by Toji all year round because of how versatile they are. In general, they’re Megumi’s favorite clothes to wear too.

Thinking about asking Toji to make a present for Nobara and Yuuji on their birthdays. You asked Nobara what her favorite color and style was while Yuuji said he wanted a new hoodie. Toji makes them pretty fast and the two are in love with their gifts. Nobara is wearing her bag EVERYWHERE, and I mean, EVERYWHERE she goes. Yuuji, like Megumi, ends up loving his hoodie that you always see him wear when he’s in casual clothes. Since Nanako and Mimiko grew up with Megumi and Tsumiki, one of Nanako’s cardigans and a pair of her socks are made by Toji while Mimiko only has a random plushie Toji made for her when she was younger because Suguru had to clean the other one.

Not me thinking about how Tsumiki, Megumi, and Mayumi(JJK OC) baby blankets are handmade by Toji himself with their own individual design and patterns. Megumi and Tsumiki’s are still in good condition even though they were lovingly used by the two throughout their whole life. Their baby hats, socks, and certain outfits were all made by him. He keeps them all in individual boxes to not lose them. Gets sentimental and nostalgic that you catch him staring as he holds the small clothes in his big hands. Reminiscing about Megumi and Tsumiki being babies and small children, now realizing that they are growing up before his eyes.

God, all of it is thoroughly well knitted and crocheted that people thought you bought it from a store. “No, actually my husband made it for me. Isn’t he skillful and amazing?” Your friends and co-workers lowkey ask you if Toji is willing to take commissions for them. They’ll pay for it obviously but they want good quality home-made items Toji makes which gives you an idea. You asked Toji if he considered making orders for other people besides his family. He did think about it but he said he would get overwhelmed when receiving orders and packing them up. You asked him if dealing with the orders and packaging them would help him change his mind. So you unintentionally set up a small business with Toji. His shop consists of blankets, bags and baskets of any kind, pot holders, rugs, coverings, and pillows. It runs where one week is for receiving orders, one month is for making them, and another month to send them out. Making a spreadsheet/list for Toji to show what he needs to make. Probably gets finished with all the orders in two weeks or something.

For some reason, Toji wears eye-glasses when he knits and crochets. You don’t know why but it makes him more handsome that your brain rots/short circuits every time you see him working away. He got you all flustered and down bad it’s insane(but absolutely valid). But you don’t understand why he would need them since he already has better vision and eye-sight than 99% of the population.

“Honey, since when do you need glasses?”

“I need it so I don’t strain my eyes when working on them?”

“Can you, like, squint? You already have 20/10 vision. You don’t need glasses when you have superhuman vision, Baby.”

“Doll, just because I have good eye-sight doesn’t mean my eyes aren’t as sensitive. My eyes are still bugged by light, shit hurts and gives me headaches. Anyway, can you pass me the blue yarn in front of ya?”

Megumi and Tsumiki always see you with their Toji. You’re chilling and minding your own business with their baby sister napping away while Toji is working away at a rug because he is bored. Even though he’s been doing this since they were young, the two still can’t get over how their dad can make a king-sized blanket(start to finish) in four hours. Or when they come home from school and see Toji finishing up on a big and long green dragon, turning to Megumi and Tsumiki asking them, “Do you two think your mom would like this?” Or they could be chilling then Toji asks them to try on the projects he finished to see how they look. Tsumiki and Megumi are his main critics, you are too but you aren’t bothered by certain details to criticize Toji’s projects so he leaves it to the kids.

Mayumi(JJK OC) is chilling by Toji as he’s working away, either sleeping away or playing with her stuffed animals close within sight. Being the three year old she is, she sometimes hides underneath the unfinished blankets and pops up from under to surprise Toji. Papa Toji gives his iconic DILF chuckle that has you GEEKING and GIGGLING like a damn school girl when you get the chance to hear it every time. He just pats her head, calling her a little rascal or princess, then resumes.

I’m projecting once again but you know those cute crochet dolls? Like the ones with the big black eyes, big head, small body, and no mouth? Toji made those of the entire family. There’s one of himself in his iconic black compression shirt, white sweatpants, and kung fu slippers. He added a little scar too where his mouth would be. Then there is your’s, all pretty and pristine with your iconic outfit. Toji getting your colors and features down to the bone. Next is Megumi and Tsumiki, literal carbon copies of their real versions. Toji said Megumi’s hair was the hardest part to make lol. Then Mayumi’s doll is later added once she’s born. The mini Fushiguro Doll set sits on the top shelf of a pristine black display case, next to the tv, in the family room.

He’s the type of guy you wouldn’t expect to be good at a skill like this then later found out he’s an absolute master and god among men. Toji doesn’t parade around craftsmanship because he knows how some guys have fragile egos. But he won’t shy away when people ask him about his work. Pulls out his phone to show people the things he made with two needles, one crochet hook, and a shit load of yarn.

Satoru, being the shitter he is, tries to tease and bully Toji about it. To which you reprimand and scold him for it. But Toji doesn’t care about dealing with his antics because it’s a practical skill and keeps him out of trouble. Then you remind Satoru that his winter scarf he always wears was made, the one you gifted him for his 18th birthday, was made by Toji at your request. Satoru never wore any scarf because he thought you made it for him. But for you to tell him Toji actually made it for him, Satoru shuts himself up and doesn’t shit on Toji anymore.

Toji loves it when his family uses/wears the things that he made. Usually wears a goofy smile or grin on his face to conceal his prideful yet satisfied self, knowing his creations are appreciated and loved by his family.

Tag List:

@luqueam @ploylulla @tqd4455 @wolywolymoley @captainbabybear @ravenswife

Tag List(@ w/ no links):

@szillx @g0th1xac1d @SleppyAnn @kneelarhmstrung

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a66-1 · 1 year ago

Text

starving.

Simon x Fem!Insecure!Reader.

Part 1 | ???

TW: Talk of ed's, negative self talk, low self esteem, bad mouthing (from reader to herself, comes with the territory) cursing, self harm. i tried not to be too descriptive with the reader, so EVERY insecure girlie who reads this feels seen. (these tw are for the whole thing, im pretty sure this is gonna be a series)

a/n: hey. if you need help, dm me. ill talk to you if you need it :). (also i made my banners. if you want one dm me! i make them for free, just with credit :)) NOT PROOF READ

i hope your doing okay honey.

Stepping out of the shower, the towel around you just big enough to touch ends is slipped around yourself. Showering is getting harder. You can barely stand glancing at the mirror now.

You dry yourself off, and hand the towel back up. You can do it, just walk past the mirror to grab your clothes.

You take the steps past the mirror, and turn your back to the mirror to change. Slipping your bra on, and it squishes the skin on your back and you grimace.

Once your dressed, you turn back around. The nagging voices are just waiting to pounce. I mean, what? You used to be so skinny.

You used to be pretty.

You decided to let your hair air dry, and you walk into your bedroom. You had work today, but you really wish you didn't. It was a bad week, you'd skipped 3 meals in the last few days and you know what your therapist would say.

'The progress you've made, hun. You can't go back now.'

The bad days are getting too close to each other now. You used to have at least a week between them, but now it's barely 48 hours. Maybe being off medicine isn't working good anymore.

Maybe you're no good.

You throw in a big hoodie, one that covers you, and some sweat pants, glancing at the big mirror in your room.

You can't stop analyzing yourself.

There's not one good thing on you is it?

Fuck.

The rest of the day was spent at your stupid 9-5, with your stupid boss, in your stupid, lonely life. Christ, being off anti-depressants is really hitting you hard. Everyone at your job is stupid and today every customer who wants to blow you ear off about how you kids these days, by the end of the day, your so tense that your shoulders are aching.

You got about 30 minutes left at this off-brand kroger store, when a big, big ass man walks in, shoving a mask with a skull print on it on. You curse to yourself, you really don't want to have to call the police for a robbery, you just want to go home.

To be honest, if he had a gun, you'd be half tempted to let him shoot you-

"Ma'am?" A heavy British accent came from your right. You turn your head, and scan his few items. You don't bother with the how are you's and you sigh.

"It'll be 16.84." You drag your eyes to his, and he reaches to his pocket, pulling out..

A wallet. What else were you thinking?

He hands you a twenty, and you hand him his respective change. He bags his own items, because honestly, you seem like the only worker in the store. Your face is written with exhaustion, whether it be from this job or something else, and the guy notices.

"Have uh... A good day." He nods to you, and walks off.

You purse your lips, and sigh, closing your cashier, because fuck finishing today. You're too close to a breakdown, and you're not trying to let anyone see.

You drive home, your hands tight around the wheel. You know it's a bad idea to be driving this emotional, to the point you wonder what would happen if you swerve your car into a tree.

You won't do it though.

You need to get back out there. It's why you stopped taking your meds.

You promise yourself that tomorrow you'll go out, and at least get a one night stand, you want need, anything.

Once home and in bed, you scroll and scroll and scroll. Doom scrolling is too common on these longer nights. You have a pillow tucked into your arm, and your hand squeezes it every time that pang in your lower chest rings out. Loneliness, you think.

You always scroll through your old friends instagrams or snapchats, seeing their nice bodies and nice boyfriends. You've been so nice and kind and karma should be on your side, but it always failed.

Especially after your last boyfriend.

Your friends say to wait.

To wait.

But waiting is getting harder. Days are getting longer, and your head seems to spin more when left to its own devices. Why do you have to wait?

Your looks.

Your personality.

Who'd wanna be seen with you?

You flip your phone over, and shove your face in the pillow, your breathing staggered.

You fell asleep late, that night. The tears brought you to exhaustion.

woah why did this take 2 tries to write.

be waiting for pt.2

TRUST FINALS ARE SOOM COMING TO AN END and summer i will be STEWING TRUST!!!

Taglist!

@i-am-hungry-24-7

thank you for all the support. drunk simon blew up and im crying bc i came back after a 2 year hiatus and i wasn't getting the same feedback as usual so to finally seeing people enjoy my work again makes me feel great. <3

sorry simon wasn't in this part much. you gotta know the reader first tho, right?

bye babes..

-a661

#simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon fluff #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost #simon riley call of duty #simon ghost fluff #mw2 ghost #call of duty x reader

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months ago

Text

nothing but my jacket on

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'jacket'

all of my holiday drabbles will be from the bear hugs universe. many of them could probably be read standalone, but will make the most sense and be enjoyed best if you read that first!

rated e | 797 words | no cw | tags: modern au, slice of life but make it sexy, consensual somnophilia, frottage

🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥🧥

Eddie hangs his jacket by the door as he quietly locks it behind him.

The house is silent and dark except for the light above the stove.

He rarely has to be gone this late, but when he is, Steve makes sure to leave his dinner in the oven, a light on in the kitchen, and the bedroom door cracked to welcome him home. He isn’t that hungry tonight, the loss against UConn is a hard one to swallow and he barely got over the anxious energy of the locker room before he left.

He decides to shower first, then maybe he’ll be hungry enough to eat.

When he walks into the bedroom, he’s met with a snoring Steve, asleep on his stomach with a pillow squeezed to his chest, hair a mess, and-

Eddie breathes out slowly.

Steve’s wearing Eddie’s custom Bruins jacket from their first year playing.

All the players got one that year. It’s surprisingly soft and comfortable for something that looks like it was meant to be worn for semi-formal events.

It has Munson across the back above the spiked B, and 86 on the sleeves, with a yellow stripe along the bottom hemline. Eddie keeps it in the closet because he doesn’t feel right wearing it when he doesn’t play for the team.

It looks really good on Steve, though.

Even with the drool hanging from his mouth. Maybe even especially because of it.

It’s a reminder that they made it here, through years of separation, through every conflict they had to face individually and together.

Steve wearing his jacket feels like a full circle moment because it is.

Eddie strips down to his boxers and throws on whatever sweatpants are sitting on his side of the bed. He can shower in the morning; He wants to get in bed with his soon-to-be husband and hold him.

He curls around Steve as much as he can, kisses the back of his head, and closes his eyes.

“Hey,” Steve rasps out.

Eddie opens his eyes and smiles as Steve turns in his arms to face him.

“Hey, baby.”

“How was the game?” Steve’s eyes are heavy, but his lips are curled up in a soft smile.

“Not great. Lost 5-2. Got some work to do before we face them again in a couple weeks,” Eddie pecks Steve’s lips. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Missed you.”

Eddie melts. “Missed you, too. Go to sleep, sweet boy.”

“Mkay,” Steve says as his body relaxes against Eddie’s.

Eddie can feel that Steve’s naked under his jacket, not even wearing underwear. He probably had every intention of fucking Eddie when he got home, but he’s clearly too tired.

His fingers trace the number on the sleeve and Eddie lets his mind wander.

He thinks about Steve riding him while wearing his jacket. He thinks about Eddie being fucked hard, face in the mattress. Steve claiming him while Eddie’s name is on his back. He thinks about pushing Steve against the wall, eating him out until he can’t feel his legs.

His cock is hard, twitching against Steve’s hip. Maybe if Eddie moves a few inches to the side-

“You can,” Steve slurs out.

Eddie’s face turns red.

“‘S why I wore it.”

It would be a waste if Eddie didn’t, right? Steve’s giving him permission. It’s the exact amount of steam he needs to blow off to fall asleep.

He ruts forwards, and the friction of his pants and Steve’s hip against his cock is perfect. He bites back a moan as he picks up the pace, in a rush to get there now that he realizes how much he needs this.

Steve hums, but doesn’t say or do anything to help, already so close to falling asleep again.

Eddie buries his face into Steve’s hair, whimpering into the mess of it, hoping it’ll contain as much of the desperate noise as possible. He’s leaking through his boxers already, close enough that even the tiniest change in pressure will probably send him over the edge.

He reaches his hand down, cups his length through his pants, and squeezes.

He shakes through his release, eyes roving over the visible parts of ‘Munson’ on Steve’s back.

“Love you so much,” Eddie whispers.

There’s no response, but he didn’t expect one. He slides his pants and boxers off with one hand, throws them off the side of the bed to take care of in the morning.

He knows he should get up and shower, or at least wash the drying cum from his pubes before it turns into a disaster.

But the exhaustion that overtook Steve is now sinking into his own bones.

He closes his eyes, breathes in the smell of Steve’s mint shampoo, and drifts to sleep.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie holiday drabbles #steddie events #bear hugs universe

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syeren · 1 year ago

Text

“How they would comfort you” — JJK MEN HEADCANNONS.

GENRE: Fluff, mix of comedic comfort, overall comforting auras <3

________

GOJO

gojo is so unserious please

if we’re talking about teenage!gojo, good luck.

atp you gotta help yourself with your own comfort because HE would do anything and everything to make you one of two things:

angry or trying to be angry at him but end up laughing

“Please?”

“No.”

“C’mooon—“

“I said no.”

Gojo lets out a huff in annoyance, mimicking the same movement as a child as he juts out his lower lip. “You’re no fun.”

You gave him a look, a look of pure disbelief and awe as your own boyfriend was throwing a tantrum. During your shift at work, it was obviously not the best. With customers blazing in with drink orders that stacked to the bottom of the sticker, spill-mishaps, and that bitchy manager of yours… You opted to vent to Gojo in hopes to ease your mind. Well… You had hope, atleast.

“I’m literally having the shittiest day and you—“

He cut you off, widening his eyes largely while staring into the depths of your soul. You had stopped talking as you also stared him down, not wanting to back off from the silent fight of eye contact. Copying him, you too enlarged your eyes with tears threatening to prick themselves close.

“What are you doing?” You asked him, still holding the eye contact. Without blinking, Gojo responded back in a monotonous manner.

“Looking.”

“For what?”

“I dunno.”

“You’re hopeless.”

The fight continued on, seconds passing as both of your eyes reddened from the lack of moisture. The air felt chillier, and any gust of air that passed both of your pupils would be deadly to this competition. You swore silently you wouldn’t lose this battle, and intensified your gaze with your eyebrows furrowed. Upon doing that, however, the sight of Gojo’s unblinking eyes and silent tears rolling down his cheeks was definitely a sight to see. You stifled a laugh, not wanting to ruin your opportunity to win until you let it out. Your shoulders shook as you giggled loudly within the bedroom, wiping the tears away as Gojo returned the same enthusiasm.

“W-Why the… Just why?” You asked, still heavily confused about the whole eye contact competition, but finding it ultimately amusing. You calmed yourself down, letting out the occasional breathless chuckle.

“I would rather you let out happy tears than sad ones. So, turns out I won anyway.”

“Fuck you.”

________

NANAMI

the BEST comforter, hands down

tbh i’ll say this honestly rn,,, i wasn’t a big nanami fan previously but even i would tell this man would be sooooo great at making you feel better

puts YOU firsthand, no objections

if you end up objecting tho, then he will take matters into his own hands

“I can take care of myself, y’know?” you stated firmly, trying to push off Nanami’s strong grasp around your arms. The man in question simply heard you cough once, and deemed it as a sign of you getting sick.

He let out a gruff sigh, not responding to you with words but through his actions, hoisting you up easily by your thighs and carrying you to his king-sized bed.

“One cough and you think this is the end of the world!”

“That one cough can end up making you think that the world is ending for you,” he retorted back, placing his hands on his hips as he finally situated you onto his bed; the plush duvet covers instantly swallowing you whole.

“You always think you can handle yourself,” he continued, pulling the duvet covers up and gently lifting your head from the pillow, fluffing it up a bit before placing you back down. “If you really want to try and take care of yourself, I will not dismiss that… However…”

He crouched down beside the bed, balancing on his haunches as he smiled softly at your tired expression.

“… At least let me aid you a tiny bit, love.”

________

MEGUMI

this hoe istg

hoe in a loving way by the way, pls don’t track me down

BUT! since this boy is SO nonchalant and passive, however he has that certain side to him that makes him so welcoming and warm. it’s charming, to say the least.

it’s like he knows you and your quirks so well that you didn’t even notice them at first

You and Megumi were walking hand in hand down the busy street of Tokyo, Harajuku, in hopes of finding the cute café you were eyeing a couple weeks back. You were astounded, of course, but Megumi was getting a little antsy of not being able to locate the café you had your sights upon.

“We’ve been walking for ages,” he sighed, matching his pace beside you through the busy streets. You gave him a look before flipping your attention back to the map on your phone, staring hard at the complicated details provided.

“No wait— Ahh! Maybe we take a left over here?” you said, turning abruptly which caused Megumi to be swallowed by the crowd. You whiplashed your head to the side to locate him, but to no avail, he was gone from your side.

A slight rise of anxiety started to bubble up in your chest until warm, slender fingers laced around your own. Peering up, you saw your boyfriend instantly by your side once more, leading you through the crowd wordlessly. Never once did he loosen his grip, it was firm and gentle. A tiny squeeze of his hand alerted you to look at him again, to which a little smile was plastered on his face.

“Hurry up. I found the café you were trying to find.”

You didn’t notice the same café’s address was in his phone’s search bar, though.

________

YUJI

LORDDDDDDD

golden retriever boyfriend right here

so undeniably understanding and prioritizing to your needs, no wonder he looks up to nanami a lot

i feel like he’d be the type of boyfriend who would go through a spontaneous, yet step-by-step routine to pamper you

You were over at Yuji’s house, unwinding and relaxing while playing on his PC. Well, trying to unwind and relax, but the stupid game you wanted to try out wasn’t going so well.

“Fuck!” you screamed out, running your fingers through your hair and tugging at your scalp. “I got the same character pull again!”

Yuji peeked over at the screen, apparently this game had a gacha system implemented in it. Certain number of pulls have a higher chance of a guaranteed character, but you weren’t so lucky.

“There’s no hope…” You groaned out, slumping back in your chair as Yuji inches closer to the screen. He eyes the character displayed on it, annoyingly mocking your very state.

“Can I try?” he asks with a wide, toothy smile.

You huffed out a sigh, glancing over back to the screen briefly before back at him. “I only have like… One pull left, but knock yourself out.”

He excitedly moves his body closer, instantly clicking on the character banner you were trying to get and watched the pretty hues of blues and yellows swirl around. Tiny sparkles littered the blackened screen, before—

“Is this a good character?”

Huh? You adjusted your torso once more and sat up to look at the screen to see the desired game character you’ve been wanting to get. This entire time, now gotten from the lucky hands of Yuji.

“Huh?!” you exclaimed loudly, eyes wide at the sight before you. There was no way that he pulled the character you were ogling over— One you spent your hard earned in-game currency on as well as losing every single time.

“I’m guessing he’s good! Judging that reaction of yours—“

“Fuck off,” you said with a distasteful tone, but a wide smile playing on your lips.

________

an; so basic but so cute 🫶

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x reader

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starlightrosess · 8 days ago

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ Red Light, Red Flag

summary: After an exhausting day filled with brutal shifts, crushing disappointment, and the threat of eviction, you finally break—and make the call that will change your life forever.

word count: 1,663 words

tags: angst, poverty, workplace exploitation

credits: @sisterlucifergraphics, @k1ssyoursister, and @cafekitsune for dividers

𖦹 CHAPTER TWO

‎‎‎‎➤ YOU EYE DOWN THE CREAM CARD IN YOUR HAND, flipping it over and reading the number over and over. Hideki is already asleep, his head resting in your lap. You picked up a nice hot meal in celebration of the money you won from that strange guy. You could win more money by playing games…

You sigh. That has to be too good to be true. You slide the card into your pocket and grab the nearby pillow to lay down on. There’s no way you could really win more money like that. You’d probably get trafficked or kidnapped by calling that number. So you close your eyes and slowly drift to sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You slowly open your eyes to the alarm on your phone going off. Hideki is already awake and shuffling around the small one-bedroom apartment you share. Hideki is always good at waking up. He never complains, throws a fit, or whines. Honestly, most days, you’re surprised to have such a well-behaved little brother.

No—Hideki is more than just your brother. He’s your kid.

You smile softly at that thought. Hideki is basically your son at this point with how you've been raising him.

Once Hideki has his uniform on, he leaves the bathroom and gives you a soft smile. He quickly throws a jacket on and grabs his bag, slinging it over one of his shoulders. As he slips his shoes on, he says one thing before he leaves for school.

"Don't work too hard today."

Fuck. That hurt.

You drag yourself out of bed and grab your uniform that’s hung up nicely against the hook on the wall. You have to leave extra early today to help open the café at your first job. It gets you 30 more minutes of time on the clock, so it’s worth it. It’ll add up… eventually.

Your first job is at a small but popular café on the edge of the city’s business district. You’re supposed to just be a cashier, but you end up doing the work of just about every title there is. Including—but not limited to—taking orders, running drinks, cleaning spills, bussing tables, replacing napkins and other supplies, and even helping with prep in the back when the line gets too busy.

Which it always is.

There is no time to rest. You’re on your feet for 6+ hours every day. You barely eat and only survive on leftover coffee and pastries the baristas let you snatch before they’re tossed out.

Your manager is also awful. She watches everyone like a hawk. No phones, no leaning, no bathroom breaks over five minutes long. You wear the same sneakers you’ve had since graduating college three years ago, and the soles are so thin now they’re just one sharp rock away from tearing completely. Hell, even the uniform you wear is slightly too big since it’s a hand-me-down from a past worker. You couldn’t justify the 40,000 won they’d deduct from your first paycheck for one that actually fits.

Speaking of pay, it’s honestly awful. You get paid less than minimum wage because they claim you make most of your money through tips. But the tips are split evenly—even with your manager…

Lastly, the customers. They have to be the worst. You’ve never been so mistreated in your life before this job. You get office workers with no patience (they expect 10 different coffees to be made in under five minutes), college students who snap their fingers at you when you can’t hear them over all the noise, and rich old men who call you “sweetheart” in a way that makes your skin crawl.But you smile anyway… you have to.

Once 1 PM hits, you clock out of your first job and take the bus across town to the next one.

It’s a cramped family restaurant tucked between a music store and a pharmacy. The place always smells like fried chicken and garlic, and once you open the doors and enter, it feels like you’ve stepped into a sauna.

You're the dishwasher— the only dishwasher.

Every night, you wash a mountain of dishes. Greasy pots, sticky spoons, plates covered in who knows what. Your fingers are always pruned, and you’ve burnt yourself on the hot water more times than you can count. There’s never any air conditioning back by the sink, so you’re soaked in your own sweat by the end of the night. Especially in the summertime.

Your apron is stained with food and oil. Your back and feet hurt from bending over the sink for so long, and lastly, the dishes just seem to be neverending.

The owners are kind enough, but they never pay you extra. They’re struggling to keep the business afloat as the town keeps expanding. People are less and less interested in supporting local spots when they can walk two blocks and get fast food that’s “just as good.”

Then one of the head cooks—the owners’ son—brings you another mountain of dirty dishes. He sighs before speaking.

"Just a heads up, we're cutting hours next week. You're off the schedule." He speaks softly.

You freeze.

"Is it... permanent?" You ask.

"Dunno, just can't afford the labor costs right now, things have been rough. Hope you understand."

You nod your head slowly, "Yeah, right. I understand."

You don't understand, but what are you going to do? Cry in the back while you still have so many dishes to clean. The owners son looks at you with pity for just a moment before he walks away.

You finally clock out way past midnight. The fastest way home would be by train, but the last one’s already gone. The buses only run once an hour at this point. So the only real way home is walking, as always…

You used to jog home when you first started working here, but that’s no longer worth the energy. Your eyes wander from store to store, zoning out—it's the only way you survive the walk.

Then—sharp pain. You hiss and lift your foot. You tripped over your own feet and hit the ground hard.

"Ow..." You mutter. You check the bottom of your shoe. You’re lucky it was only a rock and not a nail that pierced through. You pull the rock out, revealing a fresh new hole.

Fucking, great.

You look up, brushing yourself off, and your eyes land on a small gacha capsule machine. The keychains inside are from various shows—one of them being your little brother’s favorite.

You glance at the price. 5,000 won.

You have the money… but if you want to eat for the next few days, you need to save it. Tears prick at your eyes. God, how you wish you could just give Hideki everything he’s ever wanted.

Eventually, you make it back home. You close the door behind you and toss your things to the floor next to the blankets—your “bed.” Hideki gets the apartment’s only real bedroom.

Just as you’re about to collapse after this soul-sucking day—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You groan, already having a guess who is at your door this late. You pad over to the door and open it to see your landlord there.

"Rents late again," He says with that same too-nice smile. Like this is just routine and not like your world is crumbling around you. You nod your head softly at his words.

"I can give you one more week, but after that, I can't anymore," he adds on

"Right.." You reply softly before closing the door.

You then collapse in front of the door, tears welling up in your eyes. A week? How the hell are you supposed to make this months rent up in a week..?

Your hands digs into your pocket, and something hard brushes your fingers. You pull it out.

That same cream-colored card.

“If you want to make real money… call the number. You’ll be invited to play more games.”

That strange mans voice echos in your head. You slowly flip the card over and look at the number. You then pull out your phone and dial the number on it. A few games couldn't hurt.. could it. You place the phone to your ear as it rings. When it picks up you speak,

"H-Hell–"

"Thank you for calling. To confirm your participation, please state your full name and date of birth." A voice cuts you off. You're caught off guard but give the voice said information.

There is a brief pause before the voice replies, "Thank you. A vehicle will arrive at your location within the hour. Please do not bring any personal belongings. This call never happened."

The call ends. You let out a shakey sigh before standing up. You make sure to leave a note out for Hideki and take the time to rest before leaving your apartment.

It's somehow even colder than it was before as you wait outside. You suddenly see a black car pull up in front of you. The car door opens, and you slowly crawl in. Everyone else in the car is asleep already. Your eyes look at the drivers, and your heart fills with dread.

They were dressed in pink hazmat suits, their faces hidden behind black masks marked with a white-outlined circle.

You were so fucked.

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴘʀᴇᴠ. ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ || ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 years ago

Note

Might be weird to ask but petplay? I just think certain COD men *cough cough* soap *cough cough* would be esp good as dumb puppies y'know?

COD petplay headcanons

Little do you know anon, I enjoy petplay, so this is no weird question at all. And you are so right. Petplay COD be upon ye.

Ill be going on holiday all of next week, so if you guys are fine with shorter replies i can write some on my phone, let me know what you think.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Soap is such a good pup, kind of a brat sometimes but its because he wants your attention. You’ll catch him crawling around with your clothes in his mouth or half crawled under the kitchen table, his lower body still sticking out as he chews on something he shouldn’t be chewing on.

Whines loudly and paws at your leg for attention any time you aren’t paying attention to him. Can’t you see how good he’s being? How tempted his tummy is when he rolls onto his back? Don’t you wanna rub it?

The type to crawl around in a jockstrap, a harness, a collar, a puphood and pup gloves. Don’t forget the plug with a tail attached so he can wag so prettily for you, or so it can wag all over the place when he’s feeling playful.

Sadly, you’ll have to punish the poor pup on the regular, he makes a mess and can’t keep himself from humping your leg or crawling onto the furniture to lick and bite at you. Its not unusual to find him humping pillows in your bedroom, whining for you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Hes more calm than the others, but don’t expect that means he’s less of a troublemaker. Will steal your keys or your clothes and hide them under the bed, or under his dog bed so that you can’t leave. Will chew on your belts and throw your laundry all over the place.

A whiner too, has this warbled pathetic sounding whine he lets out when you tell him to stay still and quiet so you can work, but settles down if hes allowed to wrap around your feet. It always ends up with him chewing or licking your ankles though.

Wears a getup similar to Soap, with the jockstrap, harness, hood and gloves. Likes how it makes him dependent on you as his master to take care of him. Sometimes he just gets home from a mission, puts on his hood, and lays down with his head in your lap to calm down from the day.

Tries to be more sneaky when he’s horny, like subtly grinding into the floor or his dog bed, or sitting down and wiggling in his spot so he can move his plug around inside him. You always catch him though, since he starts that warbly whine when he gets close but can’t finish without you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

The most well-behaved pup, think like a well-trained military dog. Always standing straight on all fours, back straight, head lifted, and chest puffed out. He soaks up any praise you give him with a gruff bark and a small wag.

Doesn’t regularly whine, is more of a barker or growler. He growls the most if there are other pups around that try to get close to you or play with him, as he’s always standing on guard in front of you. You always have to muzzle him around other pups cuz Ghost does nip at times, especially when other pups are acting up and he needs to correct their behavior.

Tends to do play either fully dressed in his military gear, just a tail strapped to his belt and a customized hood with his skull paint. Or fully naked, only wearing maybe a harness, a spikey collar, his hood, his tail, and a cockcage unless you need it off.

If Ghost is in the mood, you’ll invite other pups over (unless you are poly and have multiple partners who are pups) and Ghost will assert himself as the alpha amongst them. This is where you take the cage off him so he can push down the other pups and take them. He will always arch his back for you though, or roll onto his back and spread his legs with a tiny barely audible whine for you.

Gary “Roach” Sanderson

A very quiet pup and doesn’t act up much, tends to be more on the chill side. Hes even allowed in the furniture since he wont mess it up like others, and likes to curl up beside you with his head in your lap.

When hes feeling it though, like if you’ve been apart for a while, he might start growing antsy. Crawling around in front of you or sitting right by your feet and letting out tiny barely audible whines. It always ends up with him pawing at your knee and looking at you with the most lethal puppy eyes ever.

Doesn’t wear as much gear at the others, I don’t think he would enjoy the gloves that make his hands unusable, and the hood might feel too restrictive to him. Instead hed just resort to walking on his knuckles, wearing a headband with ears, and maybe wearing a belt with a tail on top of his boxers.

A licker, he doesn’t say much, but you will know he’s truly in the mood when he starts licking you all over. Licking at your hands, your legs, your torso, slobbering all over your pants and crotch until you open your belt and give him what he wants.

Phillip Graves

Another troublemaking pup, a brat. Rips up pillows and gnaws on your belts and wallet. The type you have to play tug of war with for your belt as he growls and yips, wagging his tail and drooling on the floor.

The kinda pup you’ll have to spank and punish in other ways, not out of this world to put him in a cockcage or crate for the night if he’s acted out way too much. He enjoys it very much though, so it’s nothing he hasn’t asked for himself. Graves has probably come up with some of the punishments himself.

Hes fully geared up, hood, gloves, tail and all, except he wouldn’t wear a jockstrap, just fully naked expect for the pup parts. Hes not always wearing a cage as its only for punishment, so you can catch him grinding against stuff sometimes.

The most effective punishment for him is overstimulation, laying him across your lap and jerking him off until he’s whining and writhing and shaking, where after you’ll let him cuddle against your chest after cleaning him up, praising him and giving him good aftercare.

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pilarleon · 2 months ago

Note

hi :) wcif the bed & the throw/pillows pls? post/774893028415537152/im-having-such-a-good-time-with-this-sim

Hi! the bedding you can get it here Red Nile - Bedroom | Patreon

and the pillows here Joyceisfox | 正在创作 SIMS4 Custom Content | Patreon

#sims4 #sims 4 cc #sims 4 custom content #ts4 simblr #cc finds #wcif #wcif friendly

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f4unlette · 4 months ago

Text

𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑐𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑑

⌗ bake for other people, like family, friends, colleagues

⌗ watch mukbang videos, informative documentaries about internet phenomenons, history (political, fashion) crime or strange occurrences

⌗ listen to new music and learn more about the artist or the band itself, make new playlists

⌗ watch a gameplay on youtube or play childhood nostalgic video games

⌗ learn new makeup styles, hairstyles and build outfits based off of different fashion styles

⌗ get a homemade manicure

⌗ create your own website (ex. carrd)

⌗ deep cleaning: making your bed, doing laundry, going through a pile of clothing, throwing away old/expired makeup products, de-cluttering, cleaning the bathroom, deep cleaning the kitchen and the pantry by throwing away expired products, cleaning bags, boxes, wallets and pencil cases, changing the aesthetic of your bedroom

⌗ gardening or taking care of house plants

⌗ learn more about certain species of flowers, animals, subjects (like astronomy, philosophy, sociology, biology) and take notes

⌗ make a shopping list for necessities (food, cleaning supplies, hygiene necessities) and wishes (makeup, clothing, collectibles) on paper and by making pinterest boards and sections

⌗ re-watch old nostalgic movies or series (comedy anime like azumanga daioh, lucky star, nichijou, gakuen handsome and saiki k, horror/thriller and comedy movies, novelas)

⌗ read a book, whether it’s classic literature or a comic book

⌗ studying: watching videos, taking notes, reciting out loud

⌗ take an everything shower with music playing. from skincare, to hair care, brushing teeth and body care

⌗ skincare: do a face mask and a gua sha massage, learn more about your skin type and how to take care of it

⌗ make handmade gifts:

customized cds/playlists

paper crafts: stickers, bookmarks, collages, keychains with shrink paper, decorated envelopes (drawings, glitter, paint, gluing things like buttons and lace, 3d open envelope drawings), scenery stands, fake food and objects, strings, drawing posters, paper stars, paper crowns, flower bouquets, realistic camera;

clay crafts: vases, boxes, plates, bowls, spoons, jewelry holders, cups and mugs, charms, rings, playhouses, paint palettes, animal sculptures, candle and incense stands, lighter cases;

crocheting and sewing: hats, gloves, scarves, plushies, keychains, pillow covers/pillows, bags, cup stands, book cases, water bottle bags, pencil cases, creating new clothes out of old ones, mixed/leftover fabric rugs or blankets.

bracelets: patterned, beaded, with a string and buttons;

other: door handle hangers, painted wooden spoons, painted tiles, painted tea bags, pins, painted rocks, decorated journal cases, soap making, altoid wallets, decorate your phone case, hair wraps, decorate a photo frame, recycle an old candle (seashell and can candles), flags, window beads, hair accessories (decorated headbands, hairpins), decorated sunglasses, soda tab friend, bleached t-shirts, surfboard necklace, washi tape, gift baskets.

gift ideas

diy ideas when you’re bored

clay crafts ideas

cinnamon roll trinket box (just really wanted to share this one, it’s absoluty adorable ♡)

⌗ try out a new sport: ex. badminton, volleyball, dance, swimming, tennis, basketball, martial arts, athletics.

⌗ do pilates or a 1980s workout, play just dance or do a karaoke session

⌗ play a board/card game (monopoly, trivial pursuit, uno, cluedo, guess who)

⌗ take a walk and explore your surroundings

⌗ write down new recipes you haven’t tried yet including the necessary steps to make them and make a grocery shopping list of everything you need

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moonchildreads · 2 months ago

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small town

Chapter 27 - Kids in America

IN THIS CHAPTER: Independence Day, fun fair shenanigans, and Chrissy gives everyone a fright [5.3k]

WARNINGS: explicit eating disorders, parental abuse and unhealthy food related behaviours (specifically mentioned but not described: binging, purging and starving oneself) [if you've seen st4, you know what this is about], friends trying to help a friend with said eating disorder but they're not therapists so keep in mind that everyone is just trying their best, brief discussions of grief/mourning and PTSD

A/N: happy late valentine's day, pookies! hope you enjoy your present <3 someone asked me to be added to the taglist and i can't find who it was, let me know if it was you! (if it wasn't you and you still wanna be added, also let me know lol)

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

Bright lights, the music gets faster Look, boy, don’t check your watch, not another glance

Friday, July 4th - 1986

Dottie’s first Independence Day in the sleepy little town of Hawkins, Indiana was a very interesting experience. As someone who had never had a backyard until very recently, she was delighted to see that the holiday provided her neighbors with a chance to throw garden parties for their extended families, their heads popping up over the fence to say hello to her and her Dad who had willingly chained himself to the little grill he had splurged on when they first moved into their new house.

The decadent smell of meat and veggies sizzling on the grill, the sounds of children laughing and running around playing with sparklers, glasses of lemonade and cans of beer being passed around to be shared with loved ones - it was, all in all, the perfect picture of the so-called American Dream, and Dottie was enjoying the festivities thoroughly, only a tiny bit sour at the fact that her Dad would be leaving for Florida for almost two weeks the following Monday.

It wasn’t the fact that he was leaving what was upsetting her, more so that she couldn’t join him because she’d made a commitment to cover Donny’s (now postpartum) sister’s shifts until she left for college, and she tried to never make promises she couldn’t keep. Sticking by her own personal code of honor meant that James would be spending the first half of his trip in stuffy conference rooms and the second half resting by his parents’ pool while Dottie stayed back in Hawkins and served countless freshly baked pizzas to increasingly impatient customers.

The joys of adulthood, she thought grimly, before deciding it could always be worse. She could be Gareth, who was currently stuck bagging groceries while everyone else was enjoying their hard-earned day off.

“I think you may have overdone it, Dad,” Dottie said, noticing the amount of food sizzling on the grill.

“I didn’t want you to go hungry while I’m gone,” James joked.

“You say that like we both don’t know you’re gonna eat all the leftovers by Monday.”

“Are you calling me fat?” he said, inflating his belly and rubbing it dramatically; she fondly rolled her eyes at him. “Actually, I was just thinking - maybe we could invite the Munsons next year. I’m sure Wayne knows a thing or two about grilling, right?”

“Yeah, that- that’d be nice,” she said, feeling sheepish. “I’m sure they’d appreciate the invite.”

On Monday afternoon, Eddie had brought up an interesting point. They’d been cuddling on the pillow-filled seat under Dottie’s bedroom window watching the rain drip down the glass when he announced that their first monthiversary was due the following day. His theory, as he relayed it to her in a theatrical fashion that was so endearingly Eddie, was that since they’d confessed their feelings to one another after the party fiasco, the first time they’d said I love you to one another had been after midnight, and thus, on June 1st.

Dottie had initially been surprised he was so into the idea of celebrating their first month together and after a bit of prodding, she’d gotten the truth out of him: Eddie had never thought he’d be in any kind of relationship long enough to even reach a monthiversary. And so, after dropping their very suspicious friends off with the excuse of getting home before the oncoming storm hit them, the pair headed towards their spot at Lovers’ Lake where Dottie gifted Eddie a homemade mini cake - triple chocolate, much to his delight. They’d shared an ungodly amount of sugary kisses on the back of his van and, on the ride back home, Dottie decided that she’d tell her Dad about Eddie being her boyfriend once he returned from Florida.

There was no need to tell him earlier, she reasoned, just in case he wouldn’t let Eddie stay over anymore while he was out of the house. James wasn’t a horribly strict father but if she could save herself from any uncomfortable conversations involving her still very new sex life, she would take any chance she could get.

“You going to the fair tonight? Heard it’s gonna be packed,” James asked, jostling her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, Donny’s picking me up later. I’m kinda iffy on it, though.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Gareth said people complained that last year’s fun house was for babies so they got a spookier one this year and I’m not really into that.”

“It’s a fun house, not a haunted house. How bad can it be?”

“It’s circus themed.”

“And?”

“You know I hate the circus!” Dottie argued.

“You aren’t scared of the circus though, you just hate watching the animals,” he reasoned.

“Well, yeah,” she said, angrily. “I’ve seen Dumbo, I know what they do to them when people aren’t looking.”

James let out a snort and went back to his grilling, thinking of the little Dorothy who begged to watch the “flying elephant movie” only to then become the world’s biggest circus hater. Later that night, waving at her as she got into Donny’s car - and noticing she was wearing an old roomy red romper Margaret had worn during the early days of her pregnancy with the same child who was now donning the outfit - he had never been more aware that his baby girl had fully blossomed into an independent young woman.

He knew that if it were up to him, she would never have to leave the nest. If he had his way, they’d continue with their comfortable daily routines until the end of time; she’d always come to him first for advice or a hug, and he’d always be the doting father whose entire world revolved around the life he had helped create. But James wasn’t stupid, and he also wasn’t mean enough to clip her wings for his own comfort’s sake.

They’d never spent more than a couple of days away from each other in Dottie’s entire life. Maybe this upcoming trip would be a blessing in disguise. Maybe they’d both learn something about themselves by the end of it. As Donny’s car pulled away from the driveway and Dottie leaned over her friend to wave goodbye through the rolled down window, a father could only hope that he had prepared his baby for whatever the future threw her way. And, if everything else failed, they both knew he would always be there with his arms open to catch her when she fell.

“Okay, where to next?”

“Can we sit down for a minute? I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby!”

Eddie Munson’s stomach was fine. It was always fine, because he was 1) a teenager who loved shovelling junk food into his mouth like there was no tomorrow, and 2) he practically had no gag reflex as discovered one very enlightening night at The Hideout, but his friends didn’t need to know that. No, all his friends needed to know was that he felt sick and they could hop onto the next ride while he hung back with Dottie, who was already rubbing his back like a dutiful nurse ready to tend to her patient. Once they were gone, he figured he could reveal the truth to his girlfriend and they could sneak some kisses behind the darts booth. Easy peasy, like his Grandma used to say. Or not.

“We could go sit down near the stage,” Jeff suggested, his usual heart of gold shining through. “There’s supposed to be a show soon, maybe it’ll be good.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Donny said. “My mom went to get her nails done yesterday and overheard the Mayor’s wife say they’re doing a tribute for the people who died last year.”

“What happened last year?” Dottie asked, curiously.

“The mall fire I told you about,” Eddie said. “The one Dustin, Erica and Mike were in, that happened today last year.”

“Ah, yeah, I forgot about that,” she nodded, deep in thought before mumbling to herself. “Kinda get it now.”

“Get what now?”

“Mike,” she simply said, and Gareth motioned for her to explain further. “I talked to Nancy earlier this week, she mentioned Mike is being like… super weird lately. He was supposed to be in Cali by now but the only plane ticket they could get was for this weekend so he’s locked himself in the basement for days. Their mom is getting worried.”

“You think he’s having a hard time because of the mall fire?” Donny asked, crossing his arms on this chest.

“Maybe. Who knows what they saw in there? He could be thinking about that because it’s the anniversary.”

“That happens to soldiers sometimes, y’know? They relive things,” Jeff said. “My Dad told me he knew this guy who would start crying whenever his wife made popcorn. That the sound reminded him of guns going off.”

“Well, that isn’t a depressing thought at all,” Gareth said sarcastically, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Why do you think I’m such a pacifist?” Jeff said, grim smile on his face.

“Dustin’s coming back this weekend, right?” Eddie asked the group at large; Dottie nodded in response. “Maybe we should go hang out with him so he doesn’t turn into a hermit like Wheeler. We could play a one-shot or something.”

“I’m in,” Donny said. “I’ll give him a call when he gets back, see if he’s feeling up to it.”

“If we’re not gonna see the show, d’you guys wanna get on the Paratrooper?” Gareth asked.

“Why don’t you go check out the fun house while Dot and I go get some food?” Eddie said. “Still kinda want to sit down for a sec.”

“Meet us by the picnic tables after?” she proposed to the group.

With arrangements in place, the boys quickly got lost into the crowds as they hurried to get in line for the fun house. Eddie put his arm around Dottie and started guiding her towards the other end of the fair where the food stands had been placed this year, cozying up to her without a care in the world as to whether people saw them or not.

“You didn’t actually feel sick at all, did you?” Dottie asked with a mischievous smile on her face.

“Well…,” he grinned, knowing he had immediately been caught. “Would you be mad at me if I told you I lied ‘cause I wanted to make out with you?”

“Hmm, good question. I guess it depends.”

“On?”

“Are we still getting food or not?”

“Pfft,” he scoffed, wrapping both arms around her and squeezing tightly. “Of course we’re gonna get food. What kind of boyfriend do you think I am, huh?”

“Stop it, Ed!” she laughed, thrashing around and trying to escape.

“Accusing me of letting my girl go hungry like I’m some kind of asshole, you’re gonna pay for that,” he argued playfully while still dragging her towards the food carts.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she begged. “I won’t do it again, I promise!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you go,” he said, finally getting into the queue leading to the hot dog stand. “But only if you pay your fine first, you fiend.”

“You’re so corny,” she said fondly before grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. “I’ll go find somewhere to sit before the guys get here. Can you get me-”

“Fries with ketchup on the side? You got it, princess,” he said knowingly, kissing her again before she disappeared behind the booth. “Don’t go too far!”

Dottie walked around the picnic area in search of an empty table but found them all to be overcrowded, as if everyone had chosen that exact moment to grab a bite before the show started. From the lawn where they’d set up the tables, you could see the stage they’d built just for the occasion and, off to the side, the Hawkins High School marching band, patiently waiting with their instruments in hand to start entertaining the growing crowd.

Absent-mindedly, she watched them get into position while wondering just how many people in the cozy small town she’d grown to love had spent the last year in mourning without her paying any mind to it. She thought of Mike, Dustin, and Erica, far too young to have witnessed tragedy. What had happened to them? What things were they still seeing behind their eyelids every time they went to sleep? Was that why Mike had been holed up in his basement all week instead of hanging out with them? Did the fireworks waiting to be set off behind the stage remind him of the gates of Hell opening up as the flames consumed the building he and his friends barely escaped from?

Dottie shivered at the image and quickly turned around as music started playing in the distance. She fully intended on going straight back to Eddie and finding a nice patch of grass to sit on and indulge in their shared food but the sight of someone standing in the darkness between two booths made her stop abruptly. Narrowing her eyes to see better, she realized she recognized that strawberry blonde hair swaying in the warm breeze and began walking towards the secluded area.

“Chrissy?” Dottie called, trying to catch her attention to no avail. “Chrissy, is that you?”

Weaving through groups of people heading towards the stage to catch the show, she approached her friend in a rush, happy to see her after almost a full month of zero contact yet concerned because of her strange behavior. Dottie called her name again once she reached the stands but Chrissy never turned around. She just stood there, unresponsive, her back to the crowd as she faced the edge of the clearing leading to the woods.

“Chris? It-it’s me, Dorothy. You remember me?” Dottie said, a little bit spooked.

She lifted her hand, confused as to why Chrissy was not even acknowledging her presence when she’d always been so kind to her before. Slowly so as not to startle her, her fingertips brushed Chrissy’s bare shoulder while she called her name one more time; upon contact, the blonde’s head was immediately thrown back as her body became lax, falling in slow motion before she passed out right into Dottie. Acting on reflex, she managed to wrap her arms around her friend but could not stop the fall in time, both of them careening onto the floor and hitting the grass with a heavy thud.

“Oh god, are you okay?” Dottie said, still holding the blonde close while feeling for a pulse.

“Dottie?” Chrissy said, mouth dry. She felt damp in her own clothes, like she’d ran a marathon and only now noticed the cold sweat on her skin. “What- what happened? I don’t remember-”

“You passed out on me,” she replied, lifting herself up onto her elbows. “Are you okay? Do you need water? I’m gonna go get you water.”

“Wait, don’t go!” Chrissy grabbed her arm to stop her movements. “Please, don’t leave me alone, what if I pass out again?”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. I’m- I’ll stay,” she nodded. “Um, lay- lay down and lift your legs. Here, against the wall like this.”

Chrissy nodded and lifted her pink sneakers to rest her feet against the warm metal booth wall without letting her friend’s hand go. Her skin was clammy and pale, her heart rate erratic and the circles under her eyes even darker in the shadows that surrounded them. Dottie sat behind her, cushioning her head with her thighs and rubbing calming circles with her thumb on her friend’s shoulder. Slowly, Chrissy’s breathing returned to normal as they stayed there, listening to the band playing in the distance and waiting until danger was seemingly out of sight.

“Are you feeling any better now?” Dottie asked, softly.

“Yeah, thank you,” she smiled, but her eyes remained fearful. “This… this is going to sound insane but - I think I was hallucinating before I passed out.”

“Have you eaten anything lately? Maybe your blood sugar is low.”

“Yeah, I had some fruit earlier. And a smoothie,” Chrissy said.

“When was that?”

“Um, breakfast, I guess? I gained some weight during the holidays so I’m on a diet. I’m so hungry,” she chuckled before she realized what she’d just said. “But I’m okay, seriously, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Don’t worry about you? You need more food than that, you can’t eat just an apple and call it a day!” Dottie said in disbelief. “Come on, I’m getting a soda in you right now.”

“No, please, I swear I’m okay!” she pleaded, suddenly agitated. “I’ll have some soup when I get home, I promise.”

“You just passed out standing here, it’s a miracle I even saw you in the dark! You need food now, Chris, not when you get home in a few hours.”

“Please, Dot. You don’t understand, my Mom will kill me if she sees me eating anything from here.”

“She doesn’t have to find out,” Dottie said, helping her into a sitting position. “We can hide in Eddie’s van, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Oh, no, am I ruining your date night? I’m so sorry, I’ll just go-”

“You’re not ruining anything, we came as a group. It’s not a date,” she reassured her. “And even if it was, I can’t let you go like this! You’d be worried if it was me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, but-”

“No buts. Just let me help you out like you’d do for me. If anyone asks where you went, just tell them I was the one feeling sick and you took care of me for a bit. Nobody needs to know. Not your Mom, not Jason-”

“Oh, god, Jason,” Chrissy groaned, throwing an arm on her eyes. “I forgot about him!”

“What, he’s here?” Dottie said, craning her neck to see if he could spot him nearby.

“No, no, it’s… ugh. I’ve been avoiding him all week. I saw him with his friends by the teacups - that’s why I was here when I passed out, I was hiding from him. I must have gotten winded from running away or something and, you know…,” she gestured vaguely.

“Why are you avoiding him? Did he hurt you?”

“No, actually I hurt him.”

“What?”

“I broke up with him,” Chrissy explained in a tone that could only be interpreted as annoyed. “I just have too much going on right now. I have no time to see him with all the training I’m supposed to do before the preseason starts. And, well, he didn’t take it well. Like, at all.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Dottie snorted. “He’s trying to win you back?”

“No, he, like, refuses to accept that I broke up with him. Says it doesn’t count because I didn’t say it to his face.”

“Oh my god, you broke up with him over the phone? Chrissy, you dog!”

“I know, shut up!” they laughed together. “I know it was mean, I just didn’t want to see him cry, okay?”

“He cried?!” Dottie cackled loudly as if they were having a sleepover in her bedroom and not sitting in the dark between two food stalls. “I’d say I’m sorry but you don’t look too sad.”

“I’m not,” she said truthfully. “I mean… I don’t know, he isn’t a bad boyfriend. He loves me and he really tries but I just can’t deal with my Mom, him, getting ready for college, everything at the same time. It’s too much right now. And I keep having these horrible nightmares that just feel so real. I just needed a break, that’s all. It’s not his fault.”

“Well… maybe avoiding him is not doing you any good either,” the brunette reasoned. “It’s definitely stressing you out if you have to actively hide from him. I’m sure if you told him everything that’s going on in your life, he’d understand.”

“He’s going to think I’m losing my mind.”

“Welcome to the club, sweet cheeks,” Dottie palmed her face sarcastically, making her snort. “Look, it doesn’t have to be now, okay? Just think about it for a while and do what your heart tells you to do. Preferably after we get some food in you, please.”

“You’re so pushy sometimes,” Chrissy said kindly.

“I know,” she grinned in return. “Come on, let’s find Eddie and borrow his keys.”

Upon standing up, Chrissy’s legs didn’t even get the chance to wobble before Dottie was throwing an arm around her waist to help support her weight. Feeling equal parts thankful and embarrassed, she let herself be carried through the picnic area as they both scanned the crowd for the tall metalhead that had orchestrated the beginnings of their friendship. They found him standing on his tiptoes trying to spot a familiar face, hands and cargo short pockets full of goodies to share with friends.

“Hey, Chris!” Eddie said when they got near him. “When did you get back from up North?”

“Hi, Eddie! Uh, last weekend,” she said. “Sorry I haven’t called, I’ve just been so busy training and everything.”

“Ed, can we get your keys?” Dottie asked. “Chrissy isn’t feeling well and there are no free tables here where she can sit.”

“Yeah, sure. They’re in my back pocket,” he turned around and popped his butt out so Dottie could grab them for him. “You okay?”

“I’m better now, thank you,” the blonde said. “I passed out and Dot caught me, thank God she was there.”

“You passed out? I can go get you water if you want,” he offered, following the girls towards the parking area.

“I think she needs some sugar,” Dottie said. “Did you get any sodas?”

“Yeah, in my pockets,” he jiggled his foot a bit in the air to demonstrate how full they were. “I didn’t have enough hands for everything.”

“Sorry I abandoned you back there.”

“It’s okay, Chrissy needed you more.”

Once the trio was safely tucked in the back of the van, Chrissy filled Eddie in about what was going on in her life and, as expected, he reacted similarly to his girlfriend when it was revealed that Jason had indeed cried over the phone while getting dumped. He was much less insistent on her talking to her now ex-boyfriend to sort out their issues, but he still remained fairly supportive of her choices as he had always been.

Dottie picked at the basket of fries as Chrissy and Eddie talked, carefully paying attention to her friend’s eating habits. She had initially accepted the cold can of Coke Eddie had offered and taken a promising sip from it, but after that it remained untouched, condensation forming a ring on the floor of the van. Chrissy ate a total of two fries with no ketchup, and only took a tiny bite out of Eddie’s jumbo pretzel when he said that salt would help her blood pressure go up after passing out. Dottie knew this was likely much deeper than just this new diet her Mom had put her in and wasn’t really sure how to approach the situation gently. There was no need to, however, not when Eddie was three steps ahead and not willing to take no for an answer.

“You don’t like ketchup?” he asked her, shoving a fry into his mouth.

“No, I do, it’s just… I’m not feeling well,” Chrissy lied, rubbing her stomach. “I’m still a little dizzy.”

“You should drink more, the sugar will help,” he pushed, but not unkindly. “I can get you a different one if you don’t like Coke.”

“Sorry, I… I know I’m being weird,” she said, embarrassed.

“Chris, no one here is going to judge you for eating junk food. It’s a fair, it’s what you’re supposed to do at these places,” he patted her knee. “You can do whatever you want.”

“It’s not that simple, Ed. My Mom will literally kill me if she finds out.”

“You’re 18. You’re moving to Ohio in a few weeks. Fuck what your Mom says, you’re practically skin and bones. Just eat the damn pretzel, please.”

“You don’t get it,” she muttered, eyes beginning to fill with tears she’d been hiding for a lifetime now. “My new uniform doesn’t fit. I- I know I gained weight during the holidays, but it wasn’t that much. She must have gotten the wrong size on purpose because it’s so small. I’ll never fit in it.”

“God, Chrissy,” Dottie said, leaning to pull her into a hug. “I’m so sorry, she shouldn’t have done that. Can you exchange it for a bigger one? You can use my address for the delivery so your Mom doesn’t find out.”

“I called them already, you can’t send it back because it’s made to order. I have to get a new one or alter it, and my Mom already said she’s not helping me.”

“I can alter it for you! We can call my aunt for advice, she’s a great seamstress. I’m sure she’ll know what to do, we’ll figure it out!”

“It’s so unfair,” Chrissy said, her jaw tight. “I’m working out for hours every day, I’m barely eating, and I’m still not losing enough weight for her. I’m just so… so angry all the time!”

“Good! Get angry!” Eddie said. “We’ve been friends for months and I haven’t seen you eat more than three bites at a time. You deserve more than this, sweetheart. It’s okay if you’re pissed off, we’re not judging.”

“You also deserve to be healthy,” Dottie said. “And sometimes, healthy means sharing a basket of fries with friends. Do you think you can do that today? For us?”

Ever since she’d come back from her trip, Chrissy felt like her life was rapidly spiralling out of control. No matter how much she tried to hide it, the years of starving, binging, and purging to be followed by constant verbal abuse within the walls of her own home were finally catching up to her. She’d spent the last week eating cabbage soup and drinking herbal teas and weight-loss smoothies and she was so tired.

She was tired of everything, of the expectations placed upon her, of the persistent burning in her throat, of having to lie to her boyfriend, to her friends, to her doctors, to her own father. But most importantly, she was tired of the ever-present pang of hunger at the base of her stomach, and about feeling guilty of both getting rid of it or forcing herself to sleep the pain away.

With more anger than she’d ever allowed herself to truly feel in her entire life, she leaned over the basket of fries to reach for Eddie’s jumbo pretzel. Her friends watched in awe as she ripped apart a big piece from it, dunked it in the little cheese sauce container next to it and shoved it in her mouth, letting out a happy moan at the taste of the first appetizing food she’d had in forever. Without missing a beat, she grabbed the Coke can from its place on Eddie’s van floor and hurriedly gulped half of it, a stray drop escaping the side of her lips and falling onto her waiting hand under her chin.

“Goddamn, Chris!” Eddie exclaimed, clapping wildly for her.

“That was awesome,” Dottie said, eyes shining with delight.

“It felt awesome,” Chrissy said, both proud and shy at the same time.

Two booming hits to the side of the van made them all jump in their spots, a familiar nasal voice loudly ringing from the outside before the back doors had even been opened.

“If you guys wanted to go make out somewhere, you could have - oh,” said Gareth, clearly stunned to see Chrissy inside. “Hi?”

Still holding the can of Coke mid air, she opened her mouth to say hello when a huge belch came gurgling from the depths of her throat. Gareth, Jeff, and Donny stood there, completely shocked as the blonde turned to look at the only other girl present, both of them instantly dissolving into a fit of giggles as soon as they locked eyes with one another. Dottie enveloped her again in a tight hug and Chrissy returned it, feeling more like herself than she could ever remember being.

“You three joining the party or what?” Eddie said, scooting to make room.

“We thought you guys had ditched us,” Jeff said, climbing in while holding another basket of fries, a big plastic cup of fresh lemonade and a corn dog with mustard on it.

“Sorry I stole them away,” Chrissy smiled at him. “I was feeling sick so they’ve been taking care of me.”

“You okay?” Donny asked, dropping a huge funnel cake with powdered sugar and a popcorn bag in the middle of the circle for everyone to grab.

“I feel much better, thank you.”

The boys quickly got into a dramatic retelling of the contents of the fun house, which according to Gareth was for babies but still miles better than last year’s. Dottie and Jeff were discussing what ride they wanted to get on next while Donny and Gareth were sharing bits of funnel cake, commenting on the pros and cons of the different rooms inside the fun house they’d just visited when Chrissy felt movement next to her.

“Hey,” Eddie said, voice low to keep the conversation to follow as private as he could.

“Hey.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything on your own, y’know?” he said, leaning to grab a few pieces of popcorn. “We’re here if you need us. I know we’re not, like, cool or popular or anything, but we take care of our own.”

“I know, Eddie. Thank you,” she said, pulling him into a hug that conveyed how much trust she had in him and how meaningful his words were to her.

“What are we hugging for?” Jeff asked, passing his half eaten corn dog to Dottie who took a bite with gusto.

“The power of friendship,” Eddie replied theatrically.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Y’all wanna hotbox the van in the name of friendship?” Gareth said, pulling a little metal case from his pocket.

“Yes, please, I haven’t smoked in forever,” Chrissy said, snacking on a long fry.

“Fuck yeah, man, let’s do it,” Donny said as he relaxed against the walls of the van.

“You wanna go to the Ferris Wheel while they smoke?” Dottie proposed to Jeff, the only other non-smoker in the group.

“Come on, we’re not kicking you guys out so we can hotbox the van,” Eddie said, stretching behind Chrissy to shove her shoulder lightly. “We’ll open the windows, we’re not animals.”

“We can still do the Ferris Wheel later though,” Jeff said. “Should be fun.”

“You guys wanna go to the photobooth later too?” Chrissy asked while Gareth tightly packed a joint.

“There’s a photobooth?” Dottie said, instantly down for the new plans. “Do you think all of us can fit in together?”

“Definitely not, but we should try anyway,” Donny laughed.

It had never been easy for Chrissy to rely on others, and it wasn’t going to be easy to start now, but for these friends, her first real friends, she was willing to try. Besides, Eddie was right. Just a few more weeks and she’d be in Ohio, away from her overbearing mother and starting a completely new life, meeting new teammates and attending classes that actually interested her for once. She could only hope that these friendships she was beginning to develop would accompany her until her last day in Hawkins, and possibly even beyond that.

Freedom was so close, the finish line in sight. She just had to keep moving forward, one step at a time and victory would be hers. It was a shame, really, that she didn’t know someone else was quickly gaining on her on the inside track.

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