#decided that this would be the gifset a few weeks ago but never got around to making it

[hisirdouxcasperan]

Milo Murphy's Law episode 3A: The Doctor Zone Files ↳ A gif(set) for every episode of Milo Murphy's Law (5/73)

[mysteryandnonstopfun]

content creator tag game

I was tagged by @willsilvertongue back in 2021 to play this awesome game. I am probably very delayed in doing it, but here we are ˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ RULES: answer the questions and then tag 10+ other creators to answer the questions!  first creation and most recent creation of 2020: To make this more interesting, here is my first gif set of 2020 and here is my last current gifset. I have improved, but I'm never going to let go of Swanfire. one of your favourite creations from 2020: Back in 2020, I felt that I had nailed it with this one, especially the typography part, but now that I take a look, it could have been better. Special mention to this one a creation you’re really proud of: This one has a special place in my heart. That's why it's my current header. a new style you tried this year and a gifset that uses it: I'm not proud, but I was really into the saturation settings; they were cool back in the day, okay? A lot of my gifsets had them. My favorites were this, this, this, this and this. Special mention to this one because swanfire

your favourite colouring: I used to be the worst at coloring, but from time to time I did a good job. How? I'm not sure; I'm always playing around with Photoshop. Loved this, this, this this this this and this. Spacial mention to this because swanfire, it always swanfire with me.

a creation that took you forever: I'm the most chaotic creator you will ever meet, so most things take me forever. A few examples are all of the ones for Swanfire Week because I love my babies and always want to do my best, but I don't always nail it. Example 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and i could keep going but let's keep at it. your creation from 2020 that received the most notes: my cuties. It was probably a case of timing a creation you think deserved more notes: I think all of them had the right amount of notes. Of course, I wish all of them had more, but it's okay a creation with a favourite scene/quote: Fun fact: the other day I was talking with @wehavegotthedreamersdisease about this quote and how I made a gif set with it a long time ago. It's funny how things come back to you in weird ways. Also I needed to do this one. a new fandom you joined and a creation you made for it: That was the year I got into Astro, and my favorite edit I have done for them is this one. a creation you made that breaks your heart: The first time I decided to gif Bealfire's death, I was crying the whole time I did it. It was kind of therapeutic. a ‘simple’ creation that you really love: Probably this one a creation that was inspired by another one (add both your creation and the one that inspired it!): I loved the quote and i had to use it. the inspo / my edit a favourite creation created by someone else: I love everything made by these awesome girls @elphabasthropp @odjnsons @doontpanic @neverfindmegone @heatherfield some of your favourite content creators from the year:  2020 was way too long ago; but I'm sure all the people above

I'm not going to tag anyone to do it because I know it’s kind of late, but maybe if you want to do it for 2024, it would be awesome— but don't feel pressured.

Let's normalize answering messages years later.

[aerialworms]

hello dear mutual! I have a question. I'm no longer in the fandom but I like watching from the sidelines. there was a poll asking if destiel will still be made canon and my question is: how. isn't the prequel planned about the parents? I would love an explanation cause I don't understand. thank you so much!!

Hello there friend!! I'm happy to explain, I love rambling about this batshit show so much!

So yes, the prequel is about the parents, but I'm not sure how much you know about it so here's a little primer: from what I've seen, it's actually Dean telling the story of how his parents met and fell in love, presumably while he's up in Heaven post-finale (y'know, where Cas is also supposed to be). Jensen and his wife Daneel are executive producing, and the prequel is being showrun by Robbie Thompson, known for writing such episodes as Goodbye Stranger (the crypt scene my beloved!!!!!!), Meta Fiction ("What makes a story work? Is it the plot, the characters, the text? The subtext?"), and Fan Fiction (the musical ep! With Sam teasing Dean about destiel!). So from the get-go everyone was like 👀 because Robbie has always been a destiel-positive writer! Plus, apparently, Daneel's favourite character is Cas, so it would make sense for them to bring Cas back if they (and Misha) wanted!

Please bear in mind that I haven't actually watched any of the prequel, i've just been living vicariously through my dash. People who have actually watched it/know more than me please feel free to add on/correct me!

So, to my knowledge, the reasons people are thinking they might make Destiel canon in the prequel are (in no particular order):

a) A few weeks ago there was an episode that had Gabriel (as played by Richard Speight Jr) as the MOTW and also had a background cameo from Rob Benedict in a very bad wig (unclear if that was Chuck or not), and there have been quotes from (i think) Robbie saying that they're only having cameos from OG SPN actors if it's relevant to the story they want to tell (and since the Rob cameo was not explained or plot-relevant people are thinking they're possibly going to do a Chuck won scenario? It could turn out that he was never actually defeated in 15.19 and now Dean has to show up to fight him again (and get Cas back?? maybe??))

b) In that same episode, there was a scene where Mary and John look at a picture of some dude who'd given them a clue or talked to John or something - it was Dean! So he's alive again, briefly, in the 70s. Could be time travel, could be he's escaped from Heaven. So if Dean is around in the show, whether just as narrator or as a character in the story, he has the potential to go rogue and look for Cas, or be telling the story to Cas up in Heaven. In either case, there is the potential for canon destiel, if they (Jensen, Daneel, Robbie, Misha, etc.) decide they want to do that.

c) Jensen has said various things at cons recently which are kinda 👀, including that he'd have been happy to keep going on SPN for another 6 years, and, most recently (this weekend), which I think sparked the poll you were talking about - that if Dean and Cas reunited Dean would say "Hey, can we talk about that goodbye a little bit?" and then joked that nah, it would be more like "hey, buddy, good to see you, old pal" but THEN said "I don't know, maybe we'll get to see that, that would be interesting" (Here's a gifset of him saying that if you're interested)

Also this:

[ID: Tweet from Toni @JensFloofHair.

JENSEN WANTS TO FILM A NEW ENDING FOR SUPERNATURAL, THE ONE HE HAD DREAMED OF. ABOUT A 2 DAY SHOOTING, HE SAYS.

Misha: I mean, you have the Impala.

Damn right, nothing stopping them!!

#JIB11 /End ID]

It's no secret that Jensen Did Not like the finale, apparently Eric Kripke had to talk him into it and he still makes salty jokes about it even now. Add the fact that he got someone else to film the confession for him because he wanted to have a record of it, and has said they cut out key parts of his performance in that scene (which is why the editing of it is so janky). So it's possible that he intended for there to be actual reciprocation in that scene and, well, now he's got the reins. He could do it if he wanted!!!

d) The prequel finale - airing next Tuesday, Jack help us - is titled "Hey, that's no way to say goodbye". Which was already kinda 👀 before the con this weekend, but combined with Jensen saying Dean would say "can we talk about that goodbye a little bit?" is um. Look I don't wanna get my hopes up. But also........ 👀👀👀

I think the prevailing theories at the moment (from what I've seen on my dash) are that either:

a) They're baiting us to keep interest in the prequel (I trust Robbie but I don't really trust Jensen, so this seems likely)

b) They really are gonna bring Cas back, either as him being the one Dean is telling this story to up in Heaven, or using that Rob Benedict cameo to retcon the finale and make the show about breaking free of Chuck's control for realsies this time (which hopefully means Cas actually showing up and not being explained away in one line like the finale)

Like I said, I don't wanna get my hopes up because I don't quite trust Jensen. But. Given Robbie Thompson showrunning and Daneel loving Cas and Jensen dropping all these maybe-maybe-not hints. If they DID make destiel canon. I would not be surprised.

Well maybe a little bit but in an "I can't believe I was right" way.

[cal-kestis]

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl​ [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.  

“Where are you?” He screams.  

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated —  the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!

[bobfloydsbabe]

OC Bingo ask time :::

When did the spark of inspiration hit you for your OC's (Willa or Augusta or both)? When did the moment of clarity strike where you had the 'alright we're doing this' moment? Was it a moment while watching it the first time, thinking back on the source material, a song that hit just right?

And if that's not how it works for you, how did your OC's come to life?

((Don't feel obligated to answer if you don't like the question - or you can answer a completely different question on something you want to gush about and pretend I asked that instead 😂))

Hey friend! I promised the answer this ages ago, but Uni has been kicking my butt, so my apologies for the late reply. Get ready to read a novel 'cause your girl's got some shit to say.

Willa

How Willa came to exist is actually a pretty good story. Quite a few years ago, now there was an ask game going around where someone would send a face claim, and you had to make an OC on the spot. Someone sent me Teresa Palmer, and Willa was born. Here's the original post. I had just started watching Chicago Med from the beginning, and Jay had just been in an episode, so it seemed like the right fandom and pairing. I was invested in Willa right away.

My lovely friend, Jess, sent me a dm begging me to tell her all about Willa. She's the only one I knew at the time who watched the One Chicago shows, so I was happy to oblige. I started writing her fic, decided on a name for it almost immediately (which never happens), and she was added to my OC page around that time, too. I made graphics, gifsets, teased her fic, and then abandoned her in true ADHD fashion. I followed the dopamine to my next hyperfixation and sort of forgot about her.

The 'alright, we're doing this' moment came about a month ago when I started rewatching old episodes of Chicago PD. I couldn't stop thinking about Willa, so I looked through the roughly three chapters I'd written of ELB before I jumped ship and decided then that I would post about her and her fic. A month later, here we are, and four chapters of Every Last Breath are available to read on multiple sites. Willa is the reason I became active in the OC community again.

Augusta

Augusta sprung to life from my obsession with Bridgerton and constantly listening to champagne problems by Taylor Swift. The song contains the lyric: "What a shame she's fucked in the head." That hit me like a ton of bricks, and not just personally. I imagined someone who went into self-imposed exile overseas to escape other people's judgment because of mental illness. I imagined a childhood friend of Kate's who was introduced to Benedict at hers and Anthony's engagement party. The reason they hadn't met before was that she'd been overseas for a while. My original idea and this fanfic idea merged, and that's how Augusta Hayes and her story, Cracks of Light, which is a nod to another Taylor Swift song, came to be. This is all a long-winded way of saying she came to be because I'm a Swiftie and have a soft spot for Benedict.

The clarity moment came when I didn't stop thinking about her for five months and decided to just post the first chapter of CoL. I'm still working on chapter two, but imagine I'll have lots of inspiration once season 2 drops in a couple of weeks. I'm always a slut for more Benedict.

[sunshinestrand-inactive]

I Have Never Known A Love Like This

Day Seven of Tarlos Week: Free Choice. TK and Carlos go on a hike (or Tarlos combined with the idea from my favourite episode of Schitt’s Creek) 

** I would like to thank everyone who read my work, gave kudos, left comments or reblogged it. You are all amazing. I would also like to thank my friends who gave me wonderful support through the entire thing. I love you guys so much. Congratulations to everyone! We made it to the end! Now it’s time for me to go read all the amazing fics and reblog all the amazing gifsets **

Read on AO3

--

TK awoke to soft touches and the sound of light humming. He felt fingertips run along his cheek, his arm, and his back sending shivers through his skin. He tried his best to continue faking sleep but knew he had failed when he felt a smile break onto his face. His eyes fluttered open to find his favourite pair of brown ones staring down at him. He had decided long ago that he would never tire of waking up to them.

TK made a noise of content in the back of his throat. “Good morning.” He whispered, still half asleep and with a hoarse voice. The owner of the brown eyes smiled, running his hand through TK’s hair.

“Good morning, my love.” Carlos spoke softly, making TK’s heart flutter in his chest.

“What are you doing out of bed?” TK asked, noticing the fact that Carlos was sitting on the edge of the bed instead of laying in his usual spot next to him.

“I got up early and made breakfast.” Carlos said, a grin on his face. Of course he did. TK thought.

“Now, why would you do that?” TK asked teasingly.

Carlos raised an accusing eyebrow. “Now, TK Strand, don’t tell me you forgot about our anniversary.”

TK couldn’t help but to smile at the word. The mere thought of him forgetting one of the most important days of his entire life almost made him laugh. It had been three years since he and Carlos’ story officially began and still to this day, TK continues to fall in love with Carlos Reyes.

TK feigned offense. “I would never.” He said, biting his lip. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

Carlos’ smile widened and he leaned down, placing a soft kiss to TK’s lips. “Happy anniversary, Sweetheart. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” TK whispered. “What did you make?”

“Pancakes of course. They’re your favourites.”

They were and even though TK knew Carlos was well aware of that, the fact still sent a wave of warmth coursing through TK’s body.

“Are you excited for today?” TK asked, although he was well aware of the answer. Carlos had been talking about this day for nearly a week, he had been so excited and TK loved nothing more than seeing him so hyped up about something. It was one of the single greatest things he has ever seen.

“Showing my boyfriend my favourite hiking spot? Of course I am.”

TK had heard about the infamous hiking spot for years but the two of them haven’t ever been able to get up there without work or general life getting in the way. But today was the day and TK had to admit, he was pretty excited himself. Carlos had shown him some pictures he had taken from the previous times he had hiked up Mount Bonnell and TK had thought it had looked so beautiful.

TK sighed. “Hey, remind me to phone my dad and tell him. I forgot to and if we’re going to go radio silent for the day, he’s going to want to know.”

“Will do. Now, are you ready for breakfast?”

TK groaned, suddenly aware of how empty his stomach was. “Very much so.”

Carlos nodded and stood up from the bed, allowing TK to stand up beside him. Carlos put his hand out for TK to grab and they shared a glance before Carlos led him from the bedroom.

--

“TK, are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes at the tone of his dad’s voice. Always the worrier. “Yes, dad. I’m sure.”

“You haven’t been on a hike in your entire life, son.”

“I’m well aware, thanks.” TK deadpanned.

“Well, what if -”

“Dad, stop.” TK quickly cut him off. “Carlos does this all the time. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Okay.” Owen mumbled, although he didn’t sound convinced. “Well have fun. Please be safe.” “I will, dad.” TK groaned, suddenly feeling like a teenager again.

“And TK?”

“Yeah?”

There was hesitation for a moment before his dad spoke again. “Carlos is a good man.”

TK opened his mouth to answer but was met by the dial tone. He frowned, staring at the counter for a moment before he hung up the phone. What the hell had that been about?”

“What’s with the frown?” Carlos asked as he walked into the kitchen with two backpacks in hand, both packed to the brim with the supplies they would need for the day. “There will be no frowning on our anniversary.”

“My dad was just acting really weird.” TK whispered, his fingers curling together nervously.

“Oh yeah? Weird how?” Carlos asked, his stature tightening ever so slightly before he quickly managed to recover.

“I don’t know. Just weird.” TK said, shrugging. “He told out of the blue that you’re a good guy.”

Carlos smiled. “Well that’s not weird. Just the truth. W-what do you think that’s not true?”

TK stared at him as he stumbled around his words, raising an eyebrow. “Of course I do. But now you’re acting weird.”

Carlos scoffed, waving his hand. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine. Are you ready to go?”

“I -” TK started but shook his head, opting to not argue about how Carlos definitely did not seem fine. “Yeah I am, let’s go.”

Carlos nodded, passing TK’s backpack to him and leaning over to kiss his cheek and then he was moving towards the door before TK could even get another word in edgewise. He shook his head and turned to walk out of the door after Carlos.

--

“I’m so happy we decided to do this.”

It had been an hour and a half since they started the hike and while TK was having the time of his life on his very first hike, he couldn’t help but to notice that his boyfriend was not. Carlos had been acting off since they had left the house, almost completely spaced out and TK had tried three times to try and pry it out; but it was no use. So, now they walked in mostly silence and it was hard for TK who naturally loved to talk and more importantly loved to talk to Carlos.

“Carlos?” TK tried again to grab his boyfriend’s attention.

“Yeah?” Carlos asked, snapping from his thoughts to turn and look at TK.

“Okay, I thought you said no frowning on our anniversary.” TK started, walking up behind Carlos and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Seriously Carlos, what the heck is going on with you? You’ve been acting weird ever since I talked to my dad and I really don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

Carlos gave him a quick smile. “Nope. I’m okay, I promise. I’m just used to doing this by myself. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. You just don’t seem fine.”

“I am.” Carlos insisted.

“I don’t think -”

Carlos stopped dead, causing TK to stumble into his back and Carlos turned to look at him. “Ty please. I’m just -” His eyebrows furrowed together as if he was trying to make up an excuse and TK waited for it. It had better been good. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Right.” TK said, trying to understand the situation. He knew Carlos wasn’t like this. Something was wrong. But he would stop prying, Carlos would talk to him when he wanted to. “Let’s just continue.”

“TK wait - Ow, fuck!”

TK froze in his footsteps at the cry of pain that sounded from behind him. He quickly turned around, immediately seeing a fallen Carlos, holding onto his leg. TK noticed two things, one was the way that Carlos was holding onto his ankle and the second was that there was blood.

TK swallowed down his worry and approached him. “Carlos, what happened?”

“I tripped in a hole and twisted my ankle really badly.” Carlos explained, wincing as pain obviously shot through his injured limb. “Damn TK, it really hurts.”

“Okay, just take a few deep breaths.” TK whispered as he bent down next to him. ���Can I take a look?”

When Carlos nodded, TK used gentle hands to analyze the damage. “Well, the good news is it’s not broken or sprained from what I can tell. But it is starting to swell a bit. Which one of the backpacks has the first aid kit in it?”

Carlos looked up at him, an innocent look in his brown eyes, a blush creeping up onto his cheeks. “I, um, I didn’t bring one?” He mumbled.

“Carlos!”

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” He tried.

“Do you come up here all the time without one?” TK asked.

“No, I always bring one. I just -” He sighed. “I guess I was just excited to be with you, I forgot.”

“Nu uh, Reyes. Do not try to be cutesy to try and get out of this.” TK said, shaking his head but the corner of his lip curled into a small smile.

Carlos shook his head, a smile of his own coming through. “Fine.”

TK turned to go into one of the backpacks and began digging around.

“What are you doing?” Carls asked, looking back at him pulling stuff out.

“I’m trying to find the lunch pack.” TK whispered, seemingly deep in thought and when he did, Carlos saw him take out the freezer pack from inside. He put it onto Carlos’ ankle who winced at the shock of cold. “Here, hold that there, please.”

Carlos did as he watched TK go back into the bag. “There’s got to be something in here that I can use as a wrapping to secure that.”

“There’s a blanket in there you could just rip a piece off of.” Carlos suggested. TK quickly looked at him, worry flooding through him. Carlos smiled. “Don’t worry, Ty. It’s just a cheap blanket from the store. It holds no meaning to me.”  

TK slowly nodded. “Okay.”

He reached in again to pull out the blanket and began to rip off a piece, his muscles straining at the task. Once he managed to, he turned to begin wrapping it around the ice pack. Carlos winced again, grabbing onto TK’s shoulder. TK whispered a soft apology before he finished by tying off the ripped piece of fabric, securing the packet to Carlos’ throbbing ankle.

“Thank you.” Carlos whispered.

“No problem. But don’t think that I’m not going to totally give you a lecture about not bringing a first aid kit when we get home.”

“Wow, my very own firefighter lecture. Can’t wait.” Carlos joked before he reached out, squeezing TK’s bicep gently. “I’m sorry, TK.”

TK frowned, tilting his head. “For what?”

“I ruined this. I’m just -” He shook his head, clearly struggling to find the words. “I got lost in my thoughts and I shouldn’t have made you feel like I was ignoring you or that I wasn’t happy to be out here with you.”

“‘Hey Carlos, you didn’t ruin anything, I promise. I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk if you didn’t want to. That’s on me. I’m just glad to be here, spending my day with you. So listen, we still have half a hike to do so come on, let’s keep going.”

“TK, it’s fine really. We should go back.”

“Carlos, no. It’s not much further right? We can do it.”

“Are you sure?”

TK rolled his eyes and stood up, helping Carlos from where he was sitting and made sure he leaned all his weight onto TK. “I am, Carlos. I’ve got you. We’re going to finish this together.”

Carlos smiled, slowly nodding his head. “Okay, well then, let’s do it.”

--

An hour later, a very tired TK and Carlos stumbled their way onto the top of the summit. TK slowly lowered Carlos to the ground, bending over to catch his breath. He heard Carlos unzipping the backpack he had been carrying to grab their water bottles. TK nearly downed all of the liquid, feeling completely breathless. When he straightened his body again, he looked out at the horizon.

“Holy.” He whispered, his voice light and airy as he spoke. The sun had just begun setting, throwing the valley below them into a soft orange and purple glow. “It is so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said from behind him. “It really is.”

TK smiled, turning to look at his boyfriend who was staring at him instead of the scenery. TK ducked his head at the statement before clearing his throat. “Okay, what needs to be done here?”

Carlos frowned. “I don’t know, sweetheart. It’s getting late, we should get back down before it gets dark out.”

TK threw him a look. “Carlos Reyes, if you think I hiked all the way up here and I am not going to get one of your amazing sandwiches, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Alright, well there’s the blanket. The one you ripped a piece off of. That could be laid down. Then the food, which is probably warm now considering you took the freezer pack out of it.”

“Hey! That’s your fault for not packing a first aid kit!” TK retorted.

Carlos smiled fondly, putting his hands up in surrender. “I take full responsibility.”

TK could feel his eyes on him as he did the first two steps before he turned back to look at him. “Now what?”

Carlos chewed on his lip. “Uh, well, in the front pocket of your backpack, you’ll find something that is super important to this picnic. I need you to take that out right now.”

“Okay.” TK said, bending down to unzip the pocket of the backpack. He reached in, his hand clutching onto whatever Carlos had been talking about. When he pulled it out, he saw that it was a little black velvet box. TK eyed it confusingly. “Carlos, what is -” His words froze, jammed in his throat when he turned and saw that Carlos had moved so he was bent down on one knee. A small sound escaped his lips as a realisation hit him.

Carlos cleared his throat. “Um, so this wasn’t exactly how I planned this day going. But here it goes. I have hiked up here almost every weekend for as a long as I can remember. I used this place as a refuge, whenever I had a bad day, it was here for me. Today is the first day that I have ever shown it to anyone. TK, when you came into my life, I learnt just how stubborn and hard-headed a man could be. But I also discovered just how incredibly passionate, selfless, funny and strong one could be. I thought it might as well be fitting to bring my favourite person here to my favourite place and ask him to spend the rest of his life with me. Because you are my refuge now, TK, you are my safe place and I love you so very much. So Tyler Kennedy Strand, will you marry me?”

TK was knocked into speechlessness. He felt dizzy, his vision swimmed with little black dots and his body had gone warm all over with a blush. He was very sure he might pass out and he opened and closed his mouth so much that he probably looked like a dying fish.

“Carlos.” He whispered, finally finding his voice. He let out a light sob. “Are you sure?”

Carlos’ smile widened. “Am I sure? TK, I want to be able to do everything with you. I want to be able to kiss you goodbye in the morning and come home to you. I want to be able to eat dinner with you and cuddle up at the end of the night. I want to be able to fall asleep next to you just so I can wake up so we can do it all over again. I want you, TK. Of course I’m sure.  It’s probably one of the easiest decisions of my life.”

TK felt absentminded tears run down his cheeks as he slowly opened the ring box that he was holding in his hand. It was beautiful and everything he could have dreamed about. He looked back up at Carlos before he walked over, bending down in front of him. “I love you Carlos, did you know that?”

Tears fell from Carlos’ eyes as well as he nodded and TK reached up, wiping them away. “Is that a yes?”

TK broke into a wet laugh, shaking his head. “Of course it’s a yes, you dork!”

TK pushed himself forwards, crashing his lips into Carlos’ in a hard but quick kiss. When they broke apart, Carlos grabbed the box from TK’s hand and plucked the ring out of it, sliding it onto TK’s finger.

“I love it.” TK whispered, staring down at it.

“I’m glad.”

TK chuckled happily. “I can’t believe you planned all this. How did you -” TK stopped, coming to another realisation. “Wait, does my dad know?”

“Of course your dad knows. You don’t think I’m going to ask you to marry me without talking to your dad first?”

“So when he was acting weird on the phone this morning?” TK asked.

“Yeah, I think it was probably his way of telling you it’s okay.” Carlos said.

“It is.” TK whispered. “Everything is perfect, Carlos.”

Carlos smiled, pulling TK into a hug. “Is this why you were acting weird as well?” TK asked when they pulled back a few minutes later.

Carlos bowed his head, a blush coming over his cheeks. “I was nervous.”

“Awe, baby, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. You were worried and I appreciate that. If it makes any sense at all, that made me even more sure that I wanted to do this.” Carlos said. “You really are someone I’d like to spend forever with, TK.”

More tears fell down TK’s cheeks and he shook his head. “I can’t even begin to describe how much you mean to me, Carlos. I’ve always wanted something like this and after - after everything happened. I thought I would never find it. But I did. I found it. I found you. I will always thank the universe for that.”

“Me too.” Carlos answered before putting his forehead to TK’s. “I love you.”

“I love you. Forever and always.”

“Forever and always, Sweetheart.”

[whateveriwant]

20 Questions Tag Game

Rules: make a new post and share your answers.

Thank you for the tag @msmarvelwrites! ily!!! 💖💓💕

1. Why did you choose your url?

I feel like this one is pretty self-explanatory. As this is my blog, I can post whatever I want on here -- whether that be fics, gifsets, shitposts, etc.

2. Any sideblogs? If you do, name them and say why you have them.

I have a personal blog from years ago that I've all but abandoned and then 2 sideblogs to this blog that are completely empty. So I guess I technically have sideblogs, but I currently don't use them for anything lmao (and I'd like to keep them private for the time being if that's ok).

3. How long have you been on Tumblr?

I think I created my first blog around June 2015 and then this one was in June 2020.

4. Do you have a queue tag?

I do not. It's a guessing game for y'all 😂

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

Right at the beginning of 2020, I got really into reading Bucky (and then Steve) fanfiction so much so that I started coming up with story ideas of my own. I'd never even thought of writing fanfiction before (let alone actually taking the plunge and doing it), but then literally on a whim one day I went "Fuck it. I'll try it." and so wrote my first fic.

Not a week later, I saw @/jtargaryen18 hosting a writing challenge for Chris Evans/his characters and (again on a total whim) went "Fuck it! Maybe someone else would like to read this shit." and so made this blog to post my fic. And then it just went from there.

So it's a little bit chaotic, but what can I say ajjskdl

6. Why did you choose your icon?

I actually found my header first and in wanting to keep with the semi-religious theme, decided to go with this Virgin Mary bust (which I edited myself and I'm low-key kinda proud of it dhjakdlf).

7. Why did you choose your header?

I was feeling moody and artsy and thought "You know what has great aesthetics? Religious iconography" 🤣🤣🤣

8. What's your post with the most notes?

'On His Shoulder' and it seriously BAFFLES me as to why 💀

9. How many mutuals do you have?

I honestly don't know 🤷🏻‍♀️

10. How many followers do you have?

I'd rather not say.

11. How many people do you follow?

I'd rather not say.

12. Have you ever made a shitpost?

Shitpost? Honey, this is a whole shitblog. Lmao yeah, I've made many 😅

13. How often do you use Tumblr each day?

I pop in a few times throughout the day to set up my queue, check my dash, etc.

14. Have you ever had a fight/argument with another blog? Who won?

No. I usually like to keep to myself and not create/stir up drama, but rather, just watch from the sidelines.

15. How do you feel about "you need to reblog this" posts?

Pretty indifferent tbh.

16. Do you like tag games?

I do, but I always worry that I annoy people with them and that's why I almost never tag anyone 💀

17. Do you like ask games?

In theory, yes. But in practice, I tend to avoid them.

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is Tumblr famous?

All of them 💖

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual?

@navegandoaciegas 🥴🥴🥴🥴

20. Tags?

Open tag! Anyone who would like to do their own, please feel free to do so!!!

[itslaurenmae]

Spurred by some recent posts, I am now inclined to ask your thoughts on Pacific Rim. Is it also something you've found yourself revisiting lately?

To put it shortly, yesss. A mutual reblogged a gifset a few weeks ago and I decided I needed to give it a rewatch. I did so with my best friend (socially distant style) and I think it totally holds up still.

Yes, it’s a monster movie. Yes, it has some cheesy sci-fi tropes. But at the heart of that movie is the concept of drift compatibility, and I will never be over how much I love that.

The success of piloting a Jaeger doesn’t just ride on one person, and it doesn’t need you or your co-pilot to be the best or the brightest. You have to be able to connect with someone - to trust them and let them in to your very mind if you are going to be a solid team. That’s beautiful, and it’s not a concept I’ve seen in other films in the genre.

There’s also some really touching displays of familial love & some nuanced exploration of toxic masculinity that I still think is resonant. Raleigh Beckett loves his brother and tells him. The loss of his brother deeply effects him, makes him scared to try to drift with someone else again - super compelling reason to be reticent to jump back in a Jaeger with just anyone. The Wei triplets who pilot Crimson Typhoon are playful and affectionate with each other. Herc and Chuck Hanson have a stereotypically gruff, arms-distance father/son bond, but find the words to express their deep care about the other before the final showdown. Stacker Pentecost affirms Mako Mori so beautifully when he tells her he’s proud he got to watch her grow - beats the pants off of any overprotective dad story arc I’ve ever seen.

Mako and Raleigh connect profoundly in their first drift - the cinematography and direction of the scenes in Mako’s childhood memory are SO FREAKING GOOD; it’s quite possibly my favorite sequence of the whole movie. We see what she sees, and we see Raleigh in the scene in his Jaeger suit walking through her memory and it’s just... *chef’s kiss.* 

I could write paragraphs about Beckett’s body language with child Mako. And adult Mako. With how their scenes are blocked. They’re often side by side, - right next to each other, or she’s standing a bit above him. I am trash for this kind of detail.

Mako and Raleigh don’t have a traditional romantic arc in this movie, and I found that really refreshing the first time I watched this movie, back in 2013 sometime. I usually get grouchy when our leads have an obvious connection but don’t share a kiss, but I make an exception with this movie (and with Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor from Rogue One, but that’s maybe another post for anohter time). After Mako and Raleigh (and Gipsy Danger) have saved the world, they have this very tender forehead touch at the very end of the movie, and I actually love that, more than I think I would a kiss. This is specifically because it’s Mako and Raleigh’s minds that have saved them - themselves - each other - the world around them. By sharing the rawest, deepest, scared-est parts of their minds, by holding that kind of space for the other person, they succeeded. The literal and figurative putting of their heads together is what saves them and everyone else. They’re so relieved the other makes it out alive, and they put their heads together again - forehead to forehead, eye-to-eye - this time quietly, reverently, seeing the other and holding space for the other, and I am just... wow. Blown away. I will never be over it and I do not want to be.  

(And there’s also Newt and Hermann, who are totally Science Husbands. The “You’d do that for me?” exchange is such an endearing point of character development for both of them. I haven’t seen the second movie - and from what I’ve read, it doesn’t sound like I’m missing out on much, but they’re in it, so I can imagine that part of it is good, even if the rest of the movie is a misfire.)

TL;DR - Pacific Rim totally stands up on rewatching and is worth a revisit. You can always find me in the drift. 💛

[tfw-needs-baby]

sam winchester | internet personas

based on my own experience. 

read on ao3? 

Sam Winchester and his brother stumbled upon fanfiction and the fandom a while ago. He swore to himself that he would never, ever go back and visit the crazy people that existed there. 

Well, sitting in his room in the bunker, he was bored and had nothing much to do because the supernatural had been pretty quiet for the past month or so and he was scrolling aimlessly through new articles and finding nothing. He doesn’t know how or why the idea popped into his head, but it came and he was curious at the time, so why not? 

‘Best places to’ Nope, delete that. 

‘Where to join a fandom’ Delete that too. That just sounded stupid. 

‘Fandom friendly sites.’ Yeah, that sounded about right. He clicked onto the first link, and it immediately brought him to a site called ‘Fandom.’ 

How ironic. Although it didn’t exactly help him much, it was just an explanation guide to their platform and what it had to offer. The rest of the links weren’t much help either, and he sighed. Alright, how to find the fans...wasn’t there something called livejournal? 

According to a couple of articles, old and inactive journals had been purged, but were still doing pretty well. And then, the Winchester searched up ‘best places to read fanfiction.’ 

A couple of suggestions appeared underneath ‘Popular on the web.’ 

‘Wattpad - tumblr - kindle words - deviantart - archive of our own - asianfanfics’ 

Huh. Visiting a couple of sites, Wattpad and Fanfiction.net and Archive Of Our Own popped up frequently, so he decided to visit Wattpad first. He went to browse works and choose fanfiction, and it brought him to a selection of hot and trendy stories with millions of views on them. Woah. It ranged from k-pop to a selection of animes to CBS shows and weird crossovers. The ‘x reader’ tag seemed very popular and he shivered, reminding him of Becky. 

Signing up wasn’t hard either. It had only taken him a couple of minutes. But when he was reading a selected few from the hot section, they didn’t exactly grab his attention. A lot of them seemed to be written by younger ten to fifteen year olds. They did have a large amount of potential and amazing storylines, he’ll give them that. 

Then he wandered over to Fanfiction.net. The sign up process was easy, but the site was a bit more historical and a bit more him. There were multiple forums, and he scrolled down and viewed a couple of them. Oh. They were similar to roleplay, but just - more building along a storyline with it, if that made any sense. The sign up was pretty easy here too, and he smiled as two notifications popped up in his gmail for both sites. 

Backtracking now, he went off to ‘archive of our own,’ nicknamed ‘ao3’ for short and a paragraph popped up and he skimmed through it quickly. It was just a warning that everything could be viewed by whoever and whatnot. The writing here definitely seems way more advanced, way more complex and interesting, with canon divergences going all out and unheard au’s. And the cliche plots we’re simply adorable. 

He went over to sign up, and raised an eyebrow when it stated that you needed to get an invitation, and all you had to do was enter in an email. And wait a day for an invitation. 

Hopping onto tumblr, he made an account quickly and started scrolling through it, and everything seemed different somehow. Like, more modern day than the last time he came to the page. The fandom had definitely become smaller due to a ‘nsfw ban’ and he couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing. They had gifsets of memories that had happened about three years ago, with their final stand against Chuck, and he smiled as he went through year’s old blogs that never updated anymore, reblogging everything ‘Supernatural’ underneath the username ‘babytrenchcoatnougat’ and he started to tear up when he stumbled upon a post where they had created a small art of playing the rainbow slinky with Dean based on a gifset of a memory. He still remembers how happy Dean had been when he got it just for him, he played with it for the next week. 

A couple of week’s later, Sam want’s to do more than reblog and comment on content. Sam does have artistic potential, and he could definitely look into that. Although, writing seems easier at the moment, and he scrolls through an endless amount of fanfiction on archive of our own - ranging from major character death to general fanfiction - from his brother and best friend sleeping together to him turning into the boyking to high school universes to Apocalyptic worlds where they have failed.

He wants to write his own world, where they’re all happy and care-free and able to actually live happily, where no one he’s loved has died. Making a post on tumblr he states: By any chance, is there anyone on this platform that can help me with a non-romantic general Supernatural fanfiction?

He places a couple of normal tags that fit into the category, then presses post. About an hour later, he gets a reblog from someone called @ misha-moose-dean-burger-lover [and wow, that sounds like a handful] offering to help. 

I’m available if you need me to, @ babytrenchcoatnougat ; what’s the plot? We can discuss more in DM’s if you’d like! Besides, I’m free for the week, but if you need a beta reader I can offer a couple of people that I know. 

Sam sends her a message. 

babytrenchcoatnougat: can you give me some advice or writing tips if you have any? i'm not looking to make any implied romantic pairings in the fic

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: well, that depends, what’s the fic going to be about? 

babytrenchcoatnougat: i don't know yet, maybe team free will 2.0 just taking a roadtrip to nowhere without a destination in sight after defeating chuck?

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: eeeeee

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: that sounds like a awesome idea misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: you're definitely going to want to have specific destinations in mind, and only a hint of angst, and what they’re going to do at these locations 

misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: use transition words and make sure it doesn’t repeat often, descriptive details but don’t use it in every scene, and make sure there are frequent movements in the characters so they don’t sound so stiff, and make sure to slowly transition into the next scene, as time skipping to every scene will make the story seem boring. misha-moose-dean-burger-lover: make sure the characters aren’t ooc either! 

And so, Sam writes. He writes until his eyes hurt and he definitely needs some sleep, so he sends a quick message to a beta to read it over for him and they do, gushing about how the plot was wonderful and badly needed after all the terrible angst that occurred this season. He smiles, giving his thanks before uploading the first chapter out of 15, 13k words, onto ao3. 

[He checks over the grammar and tags over fifteen times.]

He can hardly contain his excitement, jumping around happily all day, even baking Dean a pie which makes him get sprayed with holy water and go through every test just to make sure he isn’t some supernatural creature. 

Later that afternoon, he checks his ao3 underneath the same username and finds out it’s gotten about 150 hits, and 38 kudos, which makes his heart swell. He’s also gotten a comment, and he presses comments eagerly. 

‘Kill yourself, psycho virgin fag.’ 

He re-reads the comment a couple of times, eyes tearing up and dropping his phone onto the kitchen table recklessly. What the fuck. Was his story really that bad? Did those people who didn’t leave a kudo really hate his story that much? Did the fans think his story was too child-like? Badly written? OOC? Do they really hate him that bad that he actually should commit- 

Sam breaks down right then and there, pushing his computer aside, placing his head down and crying softly. Castiel and Dean don’t find him until an hour later, and he’s still softly crying. They rush over to him, Dean quickly sitting to the right while Castiel sits to the left. “Sammy? What happened?” Dean asks, and the younger Winchester shakes his head. 

“N’thing.” He mumbles, and the older Winchester sighs. He’s just being stubborn, when he doesn’t want other people to worry about him, afraid that he’ll give them his problems. “Sam, please, if you talk to us, then we may fix the problem together. Remember, we made that promise two years ago, to be more open with each other.” The former-angel now archangel says, pushing Sam’s hair out of his face. Sam takes a shaky breath, pushing himself off the desk and grabs the laptop, opening it up to the recent fanfiction he had written, and Castiel and Dean both skim through it before Dean snatches the laptop. “Is this a fanfiction?” He looks at him as if he’s crazy, and Sam slowly shakes his head in agreement. Castiel walks over to Dean, both of them reading the first chapter silently, and everytime he glances over to see their reactions it seems unchanged. His brother probably thinks he’s weird, and Castiel is going to find him crazy-

“Damn, Sammy, you’ve got talent.” Dean says, and he actually sounds impressed. “W- what?” 

“That is incredibly written and a wonderful idea, I think we should go on a roadtrip ourselves,” Dean nodded in agreement. “Is this why you’re crying? I think this is perfect.” 

“Wait - you two do find it weird or anything?” 

Castiel and Dean look confused. “Why would you think that Sammy? I like it.” 

“You should uh - read the comment.” He says, and it takes the angel and older hunter a moment to find the comment section at the bottom, Castiel pointing at the button. Their faces turn into pure fury. 

“I’m going to smite them.” Castiel all but growls out, and Dean shuts the laptop closed. “Don’t listen to ‘em, this is fucking amazing, got it? I want the second chapter. Don’t listen to what anyone else says, they're probably jealous that we’ve got a New York bestseller writer and all they can do is write the abc’s.” Dean hugs his brother, Castiel immediately joining right in and Sam sighs happily. They stay there for a bit, muttering out a ‘thank you’ before jumping up slightly, seeing that he’s gotten two more comments on his fanfiction, and nervously opens up the comment section to see that a user called ‘quicksilvermalec’ writing on how much they enjoyed the fic and can’t wait to read the second chapter while an anonymous user has attacked the one that insulted him, throwing a whole truckload of insults and Castiel smiles. “They got what they deserved.” The archangel says, and Dean shouts ‘damn straight’ joyfully. “Would the two of you want to write fanfiction with me, then?” Sam asks while writing the second chapter about an hour later, and the unison ‘yes’ gives him a warm feeling in his chest. 

[invaderdoom78]

Fright Twilight (the dumbest title) Part 7

Part 7 of @julielilac gifset When they got back to Nevada, Charley being the one to drive them back as Peter had driven up to West Virginia and because he may not have been completely sober when they started the journey back, the young man was the first one to be dropped off, he and Peter swapping seats so the older hunter could get back home and drink himself into another stupor. A couple days later, Peter managed to drink all of the alcohol in his house and found himself lying in a pitch black room, all of the lights off and curtains drawn closed, dressed in only his underwear face unshaven with the beginnings of a beard, empty cans of forties littering the coffee table. When someone knocked on the door. “Go away” Peter called out from where he lay sprawled out on his couch as there was another knock “I said go away!” “You know” Mrs. Brewster said, walking into the house, carrying a brown bag “with your profession you’d think you’d do a better job of keeping your doors locked” “What do you want?” “Charley told me that you needed groceries” Mrs. Brewster said, placing the bags on the bar “so I figured I’d go out and get you some as a thank you for keeping my boy safe” “Oh” Peter said, propping himself up on his elbows “thanks” “So what happened here?” Mrs. Brewster asked, walking over to the windows so she could open the blinds “it’s like a pigsty in here” “Nothing really” Peter said, sitting up, eyes very bloodshot “Right” Mrs. Brewster said, placing her hands on her hips, having decided not to open the blinds do to the state of Peters eyes “well, judging by the state of your house, I’m guessing you don’t have any plans for later” Peter grumbled something “you wanna join Charley and me for dinner tonight?” “...Sure” “We’ll see you at six then” Mrs. Brewster said, walking out of the house “Yeah” Peter sighed, flopping back down onto the couch “Are you safe to drive?” Mrs. Brewster asked right before she stepped outside “Yeah, I ran out of alcohol yesterday” “Good!” Glaring up at the ceiling Peter was trying to work up the motivation he needed to get up and take a shower when his phone began ringing. Groaning loudly he rolled off of the couch and onto the floor, the movement causing his head to spin, as he blindly searched through the clutter of cans for his phone finding it just in time to keep it from going to voicemail. “What?” Peter answered, having put the phone on speaker so he could lay it on his chest as he lay on the floor “Hi, Peter” Jane said on the other end “Hey!” Peter said, sitting up, grabbing his phone so he could hold it up to his ear, having forgotten it was on speaker and almost dropping it when she spoke again “what’s up?” “What happened between you and Aro? He seems really upset” “H-he is?” Peter asked, feeling the beginnings of guilt building in the pit of his stomach “Yeah. He’s more, distant than normal” “Oh” Peter said softly, brows furrowed There was some commotion coming from the other end before Jane spoke again “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later, Peter” “Ok” Peter said, reluctantly hanging up Laying back flat on the ground Peter stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts running a mile a minute, flip flopping back and forth between guilt, regret, anger, more guilt, and sadness. Eventually he managed to pry himself out of his bubble of self loathing and off the floor, shuffling his way back to his bathroom, hoping that a hot shower will clear his thoughts. Turning the water on full blast Peter slipped out of his underwear and stepped out into the hall to grab a towel as he waited for the water to warm up to his liking. Once steam had started to fog up the mirror, he stepped into the near scolding droplets of water, letting them soak through his hair and down to the bone before getting his shampoo. Without thinking Peter went to grab his eucalyptus scented body wash, but froze right before he wrapped his fingers around it, staring at the bottle as he knew it was something Aro enjoyed the scent of but after their fight he’d thought he’d hidden away all of the things that reminded him of the vampire. Wracking his brain Peter tried to think of anything else he may have missed as he suffered through a moment of existential panic before grabbing the barely touched bar of soap, using it to wash off the grime with. Once his body clean and skin the color of a boiled lobster he finally stepped out of the shower and dried off before walking over to the mirror, whipping away the steam Peter ran his hand over his cheek to feel his stubble. Grabbing his shaving cream he lathered it onto his face before going at the stubble with his cheap razor, leaving behind a few nicks and cuts that were then covered with bits of toilet paper. By the time Peter had finished cleaning himself and finally took a look at the clock, he realized that he was going to be late as he’d apparently spent more time than he’d thought disassociate from himself from his situation after Janes call and his enjoyment of the hot water. He barely had half an hour to get dressed and make the twenty minute drive to the Brewster house. Thankfully, he managed to get there five minutes after six, so not that late, just as Mrs. Brewster had finished setting the table, and even though everything seemed to be fine Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was going on. “So” Mrs. Brewster said, once dinner was almost finished“Charley told me you had a little spat with your boyfriend a few days ago” “What?” Peter asked, almost choking on his drink “Don’t bother looking for your keys” Mrs. Brewster said the moment it looked like Peter was about to bolt “I’ve hidden them when I got up to use the toilet earlier. You’re trapped here now, there is no escape. So” she clasped her hands together on top of the table “what happened? …Did it have anything to do with you kiss Charlie?” “That’s what started it” Peter finally admitted, after a long stare down with Mrs. Brewster “And?” Mrs. Brewster pressed “And” Peter growled “because he’s fuckin’ married!” “Is that why there’s a fist sized hole in your wall?” Charley asked, as Peter just stared at him, not saying anything “am I right? I’m right aren’t I” Peter still refused to say anything “you were being a jealous little baby weren’t you?” “Go to your room, Charlie” Mrs. Brewster said “Why?” Charley asked “Because you’re gonna be grounded that’s why” “Okay” Charley said, getting up to make a run for his room “Dumbass” Mrs. Brewster said, once her son was up in his room “What!?” Peter exclaimed “Not you. Charlie” Mrs. Brewster sighed “has... what’s his name?” “Aro” “Has Aro told you anything about what his relationship with his wife is like” “He keeps insisting that they’re no longer together but why should I believe that since they do still live together” “Well,” Mrs. Brewster said “maybe the reason he married her was because it’s what was expected of him back when they were turned and now with things changing and people becoming more open minded he’s realized that a wife isn’t exactly what he wanted. Have you ever asked him about his wife?” “No” “After what happened with Charley you should know how he feels so just sit down and talk to him about it” “I don’t know, Jane” Peter sighed, shaking his head “You’re both adults I’m sure you can work things out. Now go home and talk to him or else I’m gonna come down to your house and kick your ass into next week” “I’m not even sure if he’s still in America or if he’s gone back to Italy with the kids” “If he has gone home then that’ll give you some extra time to think about what you want to say to him” “Why would he come back after what happened?” “You could always call him” When Peter got back home the first thing he noticed was that things seemed to be a bit cleaner than they were when he’d left, with most of the cans having been thrown out. Walking over to the bar so he could hang his jacket on the back of one of the chairs he noticed the figure of a person sweeping up the shards of broken glass that had never gotten cleaned up.

[blurry-fics]

Friday

A Weekend at the Josephs | Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2778

Author’s Note: Yes! A new miniseries. This will run from today through Saturday (a little confusing because of when the story is set, I know) and then posting will return to normal :) also this totally had an author’s note the entire time. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Enjoy the chapter! (picture credit)

I idly tapped my fingers against the edge of the car door as I looked out the window at the passing trees. My parents were talking quietly in the front seat, going over their flight details and what they would do when they arrived in Oregon. The radio was playing, although I could just barely make out whatever pop song was on over the sound of their conversation.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just stay at home,” I said, interjecting myself into their conversation.

My mom sighed, having already heard this same argument from me three times this morning. She turned slightly over her shoulder so that I could see her face, but kept her attention on the road in front of her.

“It just gives me peace of mind to know that you’re with the Josephs, sweetheart. Staying home alone overnight can be scary. Besides, aren’t you and Tyler close?”

“But I’m twenty, Mom. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself now.”

“It’s only a weekend. It’s going to be over before you know it,” my dad added.

“Exactly. It’s just a weekend,” I mumbled.

“I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but I would rather you don’t have to worry about it.”

I crossed my arms and turned back to the window, deciding there was no point in fighting anymore. The argument had been lost the moment that I got into the car with my parents.

“Aren’t you excited to spend a weekend with Tyler?”

“No.”

“Why not? He’s your best friend.”

“Yeah, when he’s not too busy with his band.”

I could just make out the hint of a frown on my mom’s face, but she didn’t press the matter any further. It was probably for the best; my frustration about having to stay with the Josephs paired with the hurt of Tyler prioritizing his band over me would only lead to me talking my parents’ ears off about the entire situation, and I would rather not be pissed when I came face to face with Tyler’s family.

“I’m sure you’re going to have fun this weekend, darling. Have you made any plans with Sav?” my dad asked.

“Not yet.”

“You should do that.”

“I will.”

Our conversation came to a stop as my mom turned off the main road and into an all-too-familiar neighborhood. I tried to ignore the steadily growing feeling of discomfort in my stomach as we grew closer and focused on the comments my dad was making about renovations some of the families had done to their homes. Despite the distraction, I still felt like I might pass out by the time we pulled up outside the Joseph’s house.

“Are you going to be ok getting to the door by yourself?” my mom asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be ok,” I lied, not wanting to create more of a hassle for them.

My mom held out her arms and I awkwardly leaned over the center console to give her some semblance of a goodbye hug. My dad did the same shortly after, but gave me the added bonus of a kiss on the head. I scrunched my nose as he did so.

“We’ll be back Monday morning to pick you up. Make sure to send texts so we know you’re alive. Behave for Kelly and Chris. And, um, just try to have a nice time with Tyler, ok?” my mom smiled.

“I’ll try,” I said as I pulled my duffle bag into my lap. “Say hi to Aunt Nancy for me.”

“Will do,” my dad said.

There was a chorus of “I love you”s as I stepped out of the car and closed the door behind me. I waved to my parents through the window before turning and walking up the stone path that led to the front door. If they had driven away, I hadn’t heard it. My mind was too focused on getting to the door and getting inside without making a fool of myself.

Kelly opened the door shortly after I knocked with my shaky hands, obviously expecting my arrival. She smiled and ushered me inside, already telling me how nice it was to see me and how excited the family was for me to stay with them. I just returned her smile and tried not to get dirt all over the rug.

Her chatter eventually died down and I managed to chime in with a, “Thank you again for letting me stay here.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. We always enjoy having company and you’re no exception, Kae.”

“Thanks,” I smiled.

“Here, I’ll show you the guest room so you can set your things down.”

I readjusted my bag on my shoulder and followed Kelly up the stairs. Years of running around this house with Tyler and his siblings had already given me a pretty good idea of where everything was, but I was glad that I wouldn’t have to go wandering around upstairs until I found the right room.

“If you need anything to help you sleep, like a fan or something, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d be happy to grab it for you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Joseph. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Oh, and Tyler should be getting home soon. He was out with friends this morning, but he said he would be back in the afternoon.”

Tyler. I had been so caught up with getting inside the house and talking to Kelly that I hadn’t even noticed his absence. At least I had some time to figure out my plan of action before he got back to the house.

“Ok,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it.”

Kelly turned and walked out of the room, closing the door most of the way behind her. Once I heard her walk down the stairs, I collapsed back onto the bed and buried my face in my hands. I had been here for all of five minutes and I already felt stressed beyond belief. 

How was I supposed to survive a whole weekend of this?

*     *     *

I lost track of how long I spent in the guest bedroom, messing around on my laptop and just generally hiding out from the family. Tyler seemingly hadn’t returned home yet either, giving me all the more reason to not interact with anyone for awhile longer. There would be plenty of time for the stress of that when dinnertime rolled around.

A text popped up in the corner of my screen as I was scrolling through Tumblr. The mere sight of Sav’s name was enough to make me smile; she was one of the few people that might actually have the power to get me out of the house for awhile. Another message followed shortly after.

Sav: sorry my shift just ended!!

Sav: what’s going on?

I had texted her awhile ago, saying that I was stressed out and already tired of being “here”. She had already heard me rant about my parents forcing me to stay with family friends while they went out of town for awhile, although I had never actually confirmed that I had lost the debate with my parents over it.

Kae: i’m stuck at tyler’s house for the weekend and i’m stRESSED. like his parents are so nice but it still makes me anxious, you know??

Sav: you’ve got this though! things with tyler might not be as awkward as you expect them to be

Kae: yeah, you’re right. i think i’m just going to be freaking out until he gets home. i haven’t seen him in like a week

Kae: also, before i forget, do you want to do something tomorrow? i’d really rather not be stuck at the house all day

I switched back over to Tumblr while I waited for her response. Downstairs, I could hear some commotion as someone arrived home. My heart was quick to start pounding in my chest, but I tried to ignore it and focus on the gifset that was currently looping on my screen.

Sav: i have plans with josh, but he said it’s cool if you want to tag along with us! we were just planning to get smoothies and hang out or something, there wasn’t really a plan

Kae: are you sure? i don’t want to ruin your date

Sav: yes, it’s totally ok! josh wants to see you anyway so it’s a win/win

Kae: ok :)

Before Sav had a chance to say anything else, there was a knock on my door. I immediately pushed myself into an upright position and switched from Tumblr to a new tab.

“Yeah?” I called.

The door pushed open slightly, revealing Tyler on the other side.

“Hi,” he smiled. “I was just coming to see what you were up to. My mom said you’ve been up here since you got dropped off.”

I closed my laptop and slid it off my lap, hoping it would distract from the blush on my cheeks. Tyler was now casually leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, waiting until I fully invited him into the room.

“You know how I am,” I laughed. “I get stressed easily.”

“I know, it’s not a big deal. Do you mind if I come in?”

I looked around me for a moment, as if I needed to check if there was enough room for Tyler to sit. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

I scooted over a little, leaving plenty of open space next to me for him to sit. He walked over and practically fell onto the bed, making both of us bounce. From where he was sitting, I could just make out the smell of his cologne. He had a bad habit of going a bit overboard with it when he hung out with his friends.

“I just wanted to catch up. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen one another and I figured, since you’re stuck here for the weekend, we might as well, right?”

My eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but Tyler didn’t seem to catch it. “And we’re best friends?”

“Right, that too,” he said, but he didn’t meet my eyes.

I took a moment to study his profile while he was busy looking at the ground. His eyelashes curled so nicely, highlighting what I could see of his chocolate brown eyes. My eyes slowly followed the line of his face, along the curve of his nose and down to his lips. He must have felt me staring, because he turned and met my eyes, bringing the blush straight back to my cheeks. I turned and looked at a plant that was sitting on a nearby dresser.

Now I remembered why it always hurt so bad when Tyler chose the band over me. It was deeper than just the fact that he had been my best friend for years, although I couldn’t deny the role that played in my feelings.

More than anything, it hurt because of the massive crush I had developed on him a few months ago.

“So what have you been up to lately?” Tyler asked, placing his hands behind him so he could lean back. “We haven’t really seen much of each other.”

“Yeah, because someone has been busy trying to get famous,” I said, lightly poking him with my foot. I hoped that making a lighthearted joke about the issue might open up some serious discussion.

It didn’t.

“I know, I know,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to make time for you, but new things just keep popping up all over the place. Not to mention the band drama.”

“Not the band drama,” I gasped. Tyler rolled his eyes at me.

“It’s serious, Kae.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I know and that’s my fault. Anyway, I asked what you had been up to.”

I shrugged, “Not much. I’m just killing time until school starts up again, I guess.”

“What about your writing? Have you been doing that?”

“Well, yeah, but you already knew about that.”

“Are you ever going to let me read it?”

“Maybe one day.”

“But not today?” Tyler smiled. Me not letting him read my writing had become a running joke between the two of us.

“Not today.”

“Maybe I’ll stop letting you read my song lyrics until you start letting me read your stories.”

“Not fair!” I laughed.

Tyler made a confused face, only making me laugh harder. It was weird how quickly I had forgotten my frustration with him once he was sitting in front of me, but part of me was glad that I hadn’t kept my guard up. At the end of the day, he was still my best friend, even if sometimes I wished he was more.

There was a knock on the door, and a moment later Kelly had popped her head into the room.

“Dinner is ready,” she smiled.

“Ok, we’ll be down in a second,” Tyler said.

She closed the door, once again leaving just the two of us.

“Ready?” Tyler asked, turning to me.

“I think so.”

He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. A smile threatened to overtake my face, but I directed my attention elsewhere and put my energy into not doing exactly that.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let it get too awkward.”

“Thanks, Ty.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

*     *     *

I waited for Zack to finish washing his plate before stepping in front of the sink and cleaning my own. Most of the family was in the living room now, watching TV or talking to one another, and I was currently trying to decide if I would join them or slide back up to my room once again. Before I had a chance to come to a conclusion, Tyler joined me in the kitchen and leaned up against the counter.

“What are your plans for tonight?” he asked. 

I held back a laugh, knowing that he most likely hadn’t intended for his question to come off as a joke.

“Not sure yet,” I answered as I stuck my plate in the dishwasher. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out. You know, like chill in my room or something.”

I was relieved that Tyler’s offer gave me an excuse to not sit with the rest of the family in the living room, plus it gave me another opportunity to really talk to Tyler about the whole issue with him ditching me lately. He had already made it obvious that he was aware of it, but I wasn’t so sure that he really understood how badly it upset me. 

“Yeah, I’m down.”

“Sweet.”

I closed the dishwasher and followed Tyler up the stairs to his room. He immediately collapsed back onto his bed, but I stood in the middle of the room and took a moment to look around the room. It looked almost identical to the last time I had seen it - which was almost three months ago now - aside from the addition of unorganized stacks of lyrics and sheet music. There were also some half-colored sketches thrown in and stacks of CDs that he hadn’t yet gotten around to selling.

“You can sit, if you want,” he said.

“Right.”

I pulled his desk chair out and sat in it, spinning around to face him. He was leaned against the wall now, idly letting one hand run along the opposite forearm. Although I was looking at him, his gaze was still directed towards the ground.

“There’s something that I want to talk to you about,” he said.

I took a deep breath to calm the increase in my heart rate once again. “What is that?”

“What I said earlier, when I was talking about making more time for you, I just want you to know that I mean that. I know I’ve been really, really bad about it lately, and I can explain the whole story later, but I’m going to start making an effort. You’re just as, if not more, important to me and you deserve to be shown that.”

“I was actually going to talk to you about the same thing, so I appreciate that.”

“I’m actually, uh, hoping that this weekend will help make it up to you.”

“Do you have something planned?”

“Maybe,” he grinned.

I wanted to press him a little further, but assumed it wouldn’t lead to anything. When Tyler wanted something to stay secret, it stayed secret.

“And what’s the plan for tonight?”

“Video games, snacks, and staying up way later than we should.”

I smiled, “I think I can get behind that plan.”

Maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

[twdeadfanfic]

Don’t look back Pt.1/3

*Summary:  Daryl is used to his brother coming and going out of his life, leaving him alone, since he was a kid. He’s used to Merle meaning trouble too, and to be dragged into all his messes as Daryl loyally follows his brother. But this time Merle’s mess has reached top and has affected more people than the brothers, and Daryl finds himself wanting to step in and fix it, as once again he’s left alone by his brother. Inspired by me wondering how Daryl felt about having always done as Merle says and yet being always left alone, and especially by wondering how is Daryl so good with kids, handling baby Judith so good, like a pro since day one.

*Tags/Warnings: There’s cute stuff here, but the main tag is Angst.  Daryl’s pov, there’s an OC (well…two…), but still, this is mostly a Daryl Dixon fic. Once again, this gets pretty angsty, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Angsty week has started! I’ll post all three chapters this week cos my birthday is coming this saturday. This is very diferent to what I usually write, I’m so excited and nervous...

Also, I’ve been reblogging some pictures of Norman Reedus that I’ve called “young Daryl” and some gifsets that I think kind of have a bit of the vibe of this mini-series. If you want to check it, this is the tag Don’t look back.

Link to my masterlist with my other works can be found on the description of this blog. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but tumblr doesn’t show posts with links in the tags.

----

It’s still early in the day when Daryl comes back from hunting, a handful of squirrels and a rabbit inside his bag. He has been out in the woods hunting since before the sun went up, didn’t have anything better to do. He heads back home to get his kills ready, not sure of what to do with himself.

Merle is gone again, and by now Daryl should be used to it, Merle has always been coming and going from his life, due to him whether leaving to who-knows-where or why, or to him ending up first in juvie when they were kids, then in jail when they grew up. But this time he had been home for a long, long while and now Daryl finds he can’t remember what he used to do back when Merle wasn’t there.  

He is just too used to follow Merle everywhere, doing whatever shit he had in mind for the day, just like always, just like Daryl began to do when he was a kid without nobody else and Merle was around long enough, until he inevitable was left alone on his own again. And in those lonely times, Daryl still doesn’t know what to do with himself. He likes it, though, the solitude, he doesn’t like to deal with people, he’s not good at it, and it’s clear people doesn’t like to deal with him either.

It’s not only him, the people in that town doesn’t like to deal with the Dixon’s in general, nor their asshole of a father nor his brother. They had a reputation already before Daryl was old enough to understand it. It extends to Merle’s small biker gang, to a lesser degree although the whole town knew they were trouble.

It’s the gang’s fault that Merle is gone again, in a way, though it’s mostly Merle’s fault. As always. Daryl should be used to it. Merle has been trouble always, but it seems that since he founded that gang, he managed to multiply that trouble for ten. And now it has finally reached top and exploded.

Daryl should have expected his brother to end up in something like that at some point, honestly.

Merle had been doing drugs almost since Daryl could remember, doing whatever was necessary to get them, dragging Daryl along, though somehow Daryl never used. In recent years, Merle had begun dealing too, and it wasn’t like Daryl wasn’t used to all of his brother’s more than questionable business, so he just kept tailing along. He hasn’t anything else to do anyway, nobody else to be with, besides his brother. Only Dixons care for Dixons, Merle taught him that when he was a kid.

And with the gang, Merle’s humble business had grown into something…well, something still rather small, but big enough to get into trouble. Merle has a way of finding trouble. And of course, Daryl can’t help but still do what he’s told, and follow Merle around. That’s what Dixons do. And Merle’s blood,  so they gotta be together.  And Daryl likes bikes and being in the gang ain't’ that bad, and his brother’s around, so he helps with anything Merle needs from him, any business that needs to get done, doesn’t give it a second thought.

Except the last one. The one that ended up with his brother in jail for longer than usual, one of the members of the gang dead, and the club broken.

Daryl doesn’t even really know what happened. Apparently, his brother took good care on keeping him in the shadows for this one. Daryl is still unsure of why. It would be beautiful to think that Merle thought it would be more dangerous than usual and so he wanted to protect him, but Daryl mostly thinks it’s because Merle thought he’d mess it or chicken out. Daryl’s always trying to prove himself to his brother, since they were kids, but Merle always finds something to put him down, to show him how he’s not good enough. Maybe he thought like that again this time. Daryl doesn’t know if that makes him lucky or not. It makes him pissed, though.

Daryl doesn’t take shit from anyone, doesn’t care about anyone, doesn’t give a single shit about what people think of him or how they talk at his back. Except when it’s his brother. Merle’s blood. It’s his family, his older brother, the only thing Daryl has. That’s different. It makes sense in his head.

And now Merle’s gone again, to jail, for longer than usual, though Daryl doesn’t know the details. The death of David hasn’t been linked to whatever business Merle has messed, but Daryl can put two and two together, besides the other men from the gang have stopped meeting or even talking. Not that Daryl would miss them.

Two weeks have passed since that and Daryl is still confused about the whole thing, and he is still not used to not having his brother around anymore, able to do whatever he wants to. But he doesn’t really seem to know what he wants to do.

He is so wrapped on his own head that he doesn’t realize who the woman ahead on the street is, doesn’t even see her until it’s too late to hide or take another street. She must be one of the people he doesn’t want to ever see again. Daryl doesn’t really remember her name, something like Claire he thinks, but the important thing is that her husband got killed because of Merle’s gang, hell, because of Merle too probably, for whatever shit mess of a business he got him in.

And to make it even worse, the tiny bundle wrapped to her with some sort of scarf reminds him that they had a baby not even a month ago. It’s strange, it doesn’t make sense, but looking at her feels like a punch to the gut. She’s fumbling with some bags, trying to carry them while also carrying the baby, but she seems to have lost her grip on one, too distracted to notice who is walking next to her.

Daryl wants to take advantage of that to walk past her quick and hope he doesn’t see her ever again, but somehow he finds himself stopping next to her, asking her if she needs help. He kicks himself and regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth, he doesn’t even know why he did it.

“Oh, thanks, no I-” Claire begins talking without looking up, still fumbling with the bags, and once she does look and sees him, she stops for a moment, and Daryl knows she has recognized him. They had seen each other a few times before, though they hadn’t really talked much. She looks different now, though, sad and tired, exhausted even, her eyes rimmed red and with deep dark circles under them, and that stabbing pain in Daryl’s gut just get worse. “Hey, you’re Daryl, right? Merle’s brother.”

Daryl nods, looking to the ground, unable to hold her gaze. He expects her to yell at him, insult him, slap him, anything like that, but she doesn’t, and they stay in awkward silence for another moment, a couple seconds that felt eternal to Daryl.

“I heard he was sent to jail,” she finally says and Daryl still doesn’t look at her. “Are you holding up okay?”

His eyes snap up at that, looking at her with a confused frown on his face. Is she serious? Is she really asking him how is he doing? He tries to listen for some hidden intention behind it but she sounds genuine, and Daryl doesn’t understand how could she be the one asking him that. Claire seems to see something in his face, and she shrugs.

“It’s just I’ve never seen you not at your brother’s side.” She explains and Daryl doesn’t know how to take that but he’s embarrassed anyway. That’s what he must look like, his brother’s shadow, nothing else nothing more, that’s what he must be. Daryl wasn’t with him when he got himself sent to jail, though, or when Claire’s husband ended up dead. Once again, Daryl can’t look at her.  “Just thought it might be strange for you not to have him around.”

“I’m used to him not being here, at him coming and going,” Daryl mutters, eyes still trained on the ground. He wonders if he should ask her the same, his husband is gone in a worse way than his brother, but he already knows the answer and doesn’t see the point in asking.

There’s another awkward silence before Claire finally gathers her bags as best as she can. “Well, see you around, Daryl.”

“You sure you don’t need help?” Daryl finds himself asking again, he still doesn’t know where it comes from, but he feels guilty about the whole thing for some reason, and the image of her looking so overwhelmed, so sad and exhausted, makes his stomach clench.

She chuckles, seeming embarrassed. “I guess when I left home this morning I was feeling more powerful.” She tries to joke weakly. “Didn’t know I was going to end up having to carry all this shit…I had to do groceries, and then there was a lot of baby things that I still needed to get, and since I was already out I decided, why not…” She’s sounding as overwhelmed as she looks, and Daryl looks at her, wondering if she really doesn’t have someone to help her with anything now. “At least this tiny one here it’s not heavy, but-” She stops and lets out another awkward chuckle. “Sorry, you don’t care about any of this.”

“It’s okay…” Daryl mumbles awkwardly, he doesn’t know what to say.

“I told half my life to that poor cashier too… I guess that after being days only talking to a baby it makes you speak to any adult you see around...” She tries to joke, but she sounds sad and embarrassed. “Anyway, sorry again, I gotta go.”

“You don’t have any family or nothing?” Daryl gathers enough courage to ask, still half expecting her to flip him off at any moment.

Claire seems embarrassed again as she gives him a tiny, weak smile. “Not besides this tiny lady here.” She nods to the baby, tightly snuggled to her in that strange long scarf, but Daryl can’t look at her without feeling like someone is stabbing him. “But she’s a handful…so, yeah, everything I need.” Daryl notices her voice faltering and he doesn’t dare to look at her. “Well…as I said, I gotta go.”

“I can help you with the bags.” Daryl forces himself to ask again, though his voice is barely audible.

Claire seems unsure, looking from the bags to him, and then back at the baby and the bags. “I don’t want to bother you…”

“Ain’t no bother.”

“Sure?” She asks, and Daryl nods, eyes still down. “Well, okay, if you really don’t mind…it’d be nice, actually, thank you.”

Nodding, Daryl takes as many bags as she allows him and follows her in silence until she stops in front of what he assumes is her door.

“Thanks, really.” Claire gives him a small smile, opening the door enough to push the bags inside. The baby had been quiet, but now Daryl notices her moving, peeking up from the scarf, and he couldn’t help but look at her with curiosity. Claire notices and her smile grows a bit bigger. “Oh, you don’t know her, do you? That’s Emily.”

The baby looks at him for a couple of seconds, blinking, and then she seems to decide he’s not interesting enough and snuggles her face into the scarf again.

“She looks like David.” It’s after it lefts his mouth that Daryl realizes it was the wrong thing to say, but he can’t help himself. He never thought he’d see someone’s features in a baby, he’s always thought all babies look the same, and he’s puzzled to find Emily’s eyes and nose are similar to David’s. Maybe kids do look like their parents…Daryl doesn’t like the idea that much. She looks at Claire and her eyes are wet, so he rushes to mumble an apology, but the woman shakes her head.

“Yeah, she does look like him, doesn’t she? Has some of his features.” Claire swallows hard. “It’s a good thing.”

Daryl doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.

“Well, thanks again.” Claire smiles sadly and makes to walk into the house but she stops. “Daryl… I appreciate you helping me today with the bags, but I need no pity, alright?”

It takes Daryl aback a bit, but he nods. He understands, he could never stand pity. He turns to leave and Claire calls after him.

“Hey.” Daryl stops but he doesn’t turn around. “I know why you did this. But I’m pretty sure that whatever happened to-” She stops herself from saying the name as if it hurts. “That whatever happened wasn’t your fault. And I’m sure too that you are not your brother.” Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if he fully understands it, and he stays silent. “But what the hell do I know, I don’t know you. Anyway, I need no pity, and I think you need no guilt.”

Daryl still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t turn around, and when he hears the door closing he walks away, her words echoing in his mind for days.

*

Daryl can swear he’s not following Claire or stalking her, or anything like that, but in the following days he finds himself bumping into her and the baby more often than not. The town’s small after all. At first, he doesn’t dare to approach her again. Then comes a day when he sees her carrying groceries and Daryl finds himself offering his help again, and she agrees. Other times he just greets her and then lets her talk to him about whatever she wants if she feels like it. It seems she likes it, needs it even. She still seems lonely.

At first, it was just a couple of awkward, polite sentences, that eventually turn into long conversations in which Daryl doesn’t say that much but that he enjoys anyway, and he likes that after them Claire looks less miserable. She still looks sad, tired, lonely, and Daryl still feels like someone stabs him when he thinks about it, but he doesn’t know if he could do anything about it, or if it’s his place. He doesn’t know either why he wants to help her, he just wants it. And if he’s honest with himself, their conversations make him feel less lonely too, and he finds himself looking forward to find her on the street.

He doesn’t interact that much with the baby, doesn’t know how, doesn’t think she’d like him anyway. She doesn’t seem very interested in him whenever he’s talking with her mom. There’s one day, though, when the baby gets an arm out the scarf and wraps the tiniest hand Daryl has ever seen around one of his fingers. Daryl doesn’t’ know what to do, and he freezes, doesn’t even dare to breathe as the baby tugs at his finger, looking at it as if in deep thought. Whatever babies think about. Daryl is taken aback when he hears Claire’s quiet laugh, he doesn’t remember hearing her laugh before, and he couldn’t help the smile that tug at the corner of his mouth as he looks from the baby to her.

It’s in about two weeks after that that Daryl gathers enough courage to knock on her door to give her some of the pieces he had hunted. He’d been thinking about that for a while but hadn’t dared yet, he doesn’t know what she’ll think or if maybe she’ll be angry he went to her place.  His stomach clenches with nerves as he knocks on the door and it takes him all he has not to run away.

Claire seems surprised when she sees him there, though not angry, and her surprise and confusion only seems to grow when he awkwardly hands her a rabbit, telling her he hunted it and has enough to spare one. Daryl looks down, waiting for her to say something, awkward and self-conscious, thinking she’s going to laugh or yell at him, but then she’s smiling and thanking him, even though she still seems confused. Next time Daryl brings her one of his kills, he makes sure to get it clean and ready first.

About a month later, after several talks while Claire walks Emily, and several rabbits delivered, one day Daryl knocks on her door with a bunch of squirrels that he had hunted that day and that should last her for a few days. Claire opens the door and gives him that smile that no matter what is still sad.

“This doesn’t look like rabbit.”

“It ain’t. It’s squirrel.” Daryl’s curiosity gets the best of him and he peeks at Emily, who’s once again wrapped in that scarf, snuggled tightly to her mother, and seeming asleep. She’s still tiny but Daryl thinks she looks a bit bigger.

“Squirrel?” She seems surprised. “I’ve never cooked that before.”

“I make stew with them.” He usually hunts more squirrels than rabbits, but he had thought maybe Claire would like the rabbits more, and now he’s unsure about having brought her squirrels today.

Soon she gives him her sad smile, though. “Thank you, Daryl. I’ll try.” Daryl nods and turns to leave, but she stops him, speaking again. “Actually…maybe you could show me how to make that stew?” She asks and Daryl is not really sure of what she means. “If you want, maybe, you could come in and show me how you cook it, we three could have lunch together. That’s if you don’t have anything else to do.”

Daryl looks at her in silence, not knowing what to do. It makes him feel awkward, getting into her home, but she’s smiling softly at him, waiting for him to say something without pressuring him into anything. He chews on his thumbnail, nervous, but nods, they had spent a lot of time together talking after all.

“Alright.” Claire walks him into her place and he follows her to the kitchen in awkward silence. “Feel free to use whatever you need to.” Daryl feels uncomfortable about going through her stuff, though, and so Claire lays out everything he might need and then steps aside to watch him work on the stew, asking questions from time to time.

Daryl can’t help but feel nervous and self-conscious feeling her eyes on him, making him clumsier than he’d ever be. Claire seems to notice and she gives him more space, telling him she’s going to change the baby and leaving him alone for a little while. She comes back with Emily on her arms instead of wrapped in the scarf, seeming more awake.

“The stew will be ready soon, I can go now.”

“If you want to.” She sits down on a chair, cooing the baby. “But you can stay and have lunch with us, I told you. We’d want you to.” Daryl bites his thumbnail again but finds himself nodding. “Great. Sit down if you want.”

Daryl does as he’s told, and for a moment he looks at her and the baby in silence.

“Do you want to hold her?” Claire offers, catching him glancing curiously at Emily, and Daryl immediately shakes his head, panicking at the idea.

“No!”

“We’ll try not to take offense in how fast you said that no.” Claire’s chuckles quietly.

“Didn’t mean it like that, just…” Daryl shrugs helplessly.

“I’d be okay, Daryl, she’s not a bomb.” Claire jokes. “Come, hold your arms out.”

Daryl is more than unsure about it but finally gives in, trying to copy the position of her arms with his. Claire holds the baby with only one arm with a skill Daryl is sure he’ll never have and reaches out her free hand to gently reposition one of his arms before carefully placing Emily on them. Daryl is paralyzed, can’t even breathe, but the baby doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t cry or fuss, just looks up at him.

“There you go,” Clair says but Daryl can’t tear his eyes from the tiny baby to look at her. Slowly, he begins to relax, holding her with more confidence, a silly smile spreading across his face.  Claire laughs quietly. “Why don’t you hold her while I make her bottle?” Daryl nods, still looking at Emily, wondering if he had ever seen something so small before, wondering how could something so small be a person.

He’d already decided he wanted to help her mother if he could, make her life easier, first out of guilt and later because he found Claire’s really nice, but now those feelings seem to multiply, and Daryl finds himself wanting to protect that tiny human being in a way that takes him aback. It scares him at first, making him want to give the baby back to her mother and run to never come back, but that feeling is soon gone as Emily reaches out to try and touch his face with her tiniest hands, smiling.

Claire’s words as she speaks while she makes the bottle make Daryl come back to earth.

“It was easier when I could just latch her to a breast and she’d feed herself, I hate this thing of having to get bottles ready and what not, but I don’t have milk all of a sudden, they said it might be stress or what not.”

Daryl’s cheeks burn at her words, can’t help it, with her talking about her breasts and what not all of a sudden. Claire turns around and laughs at his flustered state. “Really? Did that embarrass you? You’re cute, Dixon Jr.”

That only makes Daryl blush more and he shrugs, defensive, but tries not to bother Emily.

“You really aren’t that much like your brother, are you?”

Daryl doesn’t know what she’s talking about and so he just stays silent, uncomfortable.

“I don’t mean nothing bad. Merle came once to talk with David, when Emily was just a few days old, and voiced his opinion about how lucky she was of being ‘sucking on my tits’ all day long.”

Daryl blushes even more, he doesn’t think it’s possible but he does. It does sound like his brother, though, Daryl can almost hear his voice. He’s not really sure of what to say to that.

“And David didn’t say anything to my ass of a brother?”

Claire laughs quietly again, her smile ever sad. "David was a good man and I love him but he wasn't one to stand against Merle Dixon…actually, I don’t know anyone who was.”

Daryl hums a yes, he knows that well. He also has the suspicion that whatever Merle and David talked that day, it involved the business that got one of them in jail and the other killed. Another invisible dagger of guilt stabs at his gut.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Claire asks softly and Daryl doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, because it’s stupid but he does miss his ass of a brother. He can only imagine how Claire must feel.

Claire finishes with the bottle and sits down next to him, reaching out to pass him the bottle and Daryl looks at her confused. “Feed her, it’ll be okay. She looks so comfortable there.” She does, almost like she likes him to hold her, much to Daryl’s disbelieve. He shifts carefully and holds his breath as he holds her only with one arm, reaching out to take the bottle. As soon as Emily sees it close to her mouth, she latches onto it and begins drinking, and Daryl feels all kind of weird things going through him as he looks at her.

Once Emily finishes her bottle, Clare takes her again. She burps her and then she begins to wrap that scarf around herself and the baby, holding her snuggled to her. Daryl looks at her amazed, wondering how she knows how to twist it, fold it, knot it and everything to keep it in place with Emily looking so snuggly, and all that while holding the baby.

Claire notices and she smiles. “Yeah, it takes practice. It’s a baby sling, I like to have her close while having my hands free, but at first I almost strangled myself.” She chuckles.

“Looks like she likes it too,” Daryl observes, Emily has her eyes closed as she almost hides her face completely in one of the folds of the material, probably about to take a nap.

“Yeah…” Claire smiles softly at the baby. “You think that stew is ready?”

"Oh, yes.” Daryl feels like an idiot, he has forgotten about it. He gets up and turns off the stove while Claire takes out a couple of bowls and spoons, setting the table. Daryl pours the stew on the bowls and sits down, hoping it’ll be good enough.

Claire takes her bowl, mindful of Emily, and takes a spoonful. She looks at Daryl with wide eyes, blinking as if surprised, and he isn’t sure if that’s good or not.

“Man, you can cook! I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this.”

Daryl can’t help but blush at that, looking down to his stew, and they both eat in silence, though somehow it isn’t as awkward as Daryl might have thought.

-------

Well...what do you guys think of this?What do you think of the idea? I’m nervous about if you’re going to like this new thing or not.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you liked it! If you have a moment, please let me know your thoughts in the comments, your feedback makes my day! It seems I finally was able to write a short thing.

As always, English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes.

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[softjeon]

In love with your dark side | Final

• Pairing: Beauty!Taehyung x Beast!Yoongi • Genre: Fluff, bit of Angst | Rating: Teen and Up | Beautyandthebeast!AU / Fairytale!AU • Words: 4,5k | AO3 | Gifset Trailer • Disclaimer: anxiety, mentioning of a curse

written with @cassiavioletblue​

↳ Yoongi had tried not to think about what would happen if someone saw him but his mind had wandered through all of their possible reactions anyway: screaming, laughing, shock… he’s had so many horrible encounters in his mind and yet the boy in front of him didn’t react like in any of his thoughts.

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His gaze wandered around slowly, holding onto his folder tightly as he leaned over a glass vitrine to see a few pieces and information on the exhibition inside. He always loved the quiet of the museum and even here in midst of the entrance, he felt more home than he’d ever felt anywhere before. Taehyung couldn’t describe that feeling, but today it mixed with the anxiety of the reason why he was here. Instinctively he held on a little tighter to his folder, pressing it against his chest. A curious rustling came from behind him and Taehyung turned, when he saw an old lady peering out at him from behind the counter that he hadn’t seen before. 

“Oh, my…,” Taehyung clasped a hand to his chest and the woman laughed. She was clearly a museum volunteer, working late to close out the gift shop. Or maybe she was just tidying up after a busy day.

“Hello, Miss…do you happen to know where Mr. Kang is?” Taehyung asked, looking down to his watch. His meeting with him had been about five minutes ago but the owner of the museum hadn’t been showing up. Ever since he had promised Yoongi to take him out, Taehyung had been almost manic to find a museum, big or small to accept his art and photography.

Until now, he had only cancellations. And this right now seemed awfully like one of them.

“Oh, he has been out a while ago. He made me cancel all other applications. Didn’t I call you?” The woman was asking, and Taehyung sighed deeply, smiling at her even though everything in him just wanted to scream. He had dressed up, sorted his stuff anew and even came up with a new tactic to finally wrap them around his fingers. 

And there it was again: the secretary telling him that they already found someone else. Someone that suited them better.

Taehyung was out of ideas when he opened up his shop later that day, not wanting to tell Yoongi again that he hadn’t been able to make it. Maybe this was just an awful way of the universe telling him that he wasn’t it. Putting the folder onto his desk, Taehyung lit up the little sign that said ‘open’ and sat down with a pout on his lips. 

A woman came in with so much force that the little bells above the door were ringing like they were caught in a storm. Everything about her seemed bright; her red costume, her lips, her eyes as if her whole form demanded attention.

“Kim Taehyung?” She asked without so much as a greeting, looking like she was in a hurry. She wore high heels that were so dangerously high that for a moment Taehyung was scared she might fall and hurt herself with how fast she was coming towards him, but she was so steady as if it were totally normal for her to run around on high heels. “Why aren’t you at the museum?”

“Why…am I what?” Taehyung was so out of depth as she looked at him as if she knew exactly who he was while he had absolutely no clue. He got around his desk and motioned to the back, where he usually took the pictures for job applications that were a regular business. “Do you need me to take pictures for you? I’m sorry…I didn’t get your name when you came in.” He gave her a friendly smile and reached out his hand as if he had simply misheard her question about the museum. Maybe he was going crazy already. 

“We don’t have time for that now.” She waved a hand hectically as if she was scaring of some flies and then turned towards him with a frown. “The museum was waiting for you! You had an appointment there! Today!” She spoke overly clear as if she was trying to get Tae out of his daydreams. “They were expecting your pictures about three hours ago. An exhibition isn’t going to make itself! Now hurry up! Tell me which pictures you wanted to take, and we’ll get them out into the van. You can dress up later, nobody expects a suit for artists anyways nowadays, let the art speak for itself!”

“I was at the museum today, but my appointment got cancelled. Mr. Kang already found someone else, didn’t he told you?” He felt awful as if someone was rubbing his failures into his face one more time. 

She walked past him while talking, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Your appointment didn’t get cancelled - the selection process had been cancelled. Because they saw your pictures before and decided to take them so no other applications were needed.” 

“M-my pictures? It can’t be…wait, are you even talking about the national gallery?” He got pushed into the direction of his atelier and when he didn’t move, the woman just simply walked ahead and grabbed a few of folders and looked through them, then nodded and put them under her arm. “Move!” She ordered again and Taehyung absently minded walked ahead. Taehyung gave a few more folders to her, where he had safely put in his photography that was printed in all different kind of sizes, before unlocking the door to his atelier, revealing even more of the things he had never shown anyone. “I…I have a few paintings as well, they aren’t…good, but…maybe.” Taehyung was still not sure what this was about, but she looked rather pleased. “I have some photography on canvas as well there.” He pointed into one corner, hurrying over to get the stuff for her. 

“Ah, yes, perfect!” The canvases were a lot big and heavier than his folders so for a moment Taehyung wondered how she would carry them with the folders still in her arms, but she walked past them, opened the door and whistled loudly. In came two men dressed all in black and if their faces hadn’t been that plainly visible they could have passed for burglars, right down to their black leather gloves. “Those ones, boys.” She ordered them and with a curt nod towards Tae they picked up his canvases. All of them. 

Taehyung was just running back and forth with them until his whole room was emptied and no art piece was left inside his shop. He stood a little frozen in the atelier, not being able to believe anything that was happening when the woman grabbed him by his arm and took him along, mumbling something about how they should just take him with them in the van so he would be punctual. Only then when Taehyung stood at the museum again did he put the pieces together. His art would be hung in a museum. A real museum. With shaking hands, he took out his phone and called Yoongi’s office. He knew the other was still asleep, so he didn't mind it when the mailbox went on.

"You won't believe what just happened." He raked a hand through his hair as he tried to process how the men were bringing his art in. "It's starting in a few hours. It was last minute and I… I can't believe this, Yoongi. I wish you were here." He took a deep breath before he added quickly, "Let me take you out, please. I'll ask the owner if we can visit at night. The opening starts in a couple of hours." Taehyung felt out of breath from all the excitement, "I need to hurry, they are calling for me." With that he put his phone away again and hurried inside, following the women to where his paintings and photography would be hung when he froze completely. It wasn't just a single wall he would get, but a whole floor. Just for him. Taehyung could feel the tears burning behind his eyes as the thought of his dreams coming true hit him full force. "This is all mine?"  

“No, of course it’s not yours, don’t be silly. It’s just leased. You can hang your pictures up and then you have to take them off in a few weeks.” Came the curt answer who didn’t leave room for someone who had just found out that his dream had come true. “Now, come on, we need to know your preferred placements of the pieces you brought. After you’ve decided on the sequence and general order you can go down into the cafeteria to get a coffee or a piece of cake while we do the lighting and talk about the advertisement and then you can come up again and look at the finished exhibition.” Taehyung looked still so dumbfounded that she placed her hand on his shoulder for a few seconds. “Don’t worry, we can exchange pictures or add more spots if something doesn’t feel right or needs more light. You’re the artist and we’ll make sure that everything is exactly how you envisioned it.” 

“How...I envisioned it.” It was almost like he had gotten thrown into a different dimension, another world, maybe he had been falling asleep at his desk and was just dreaming? He quickly got whipped out of his thoughts again, when the woman pulled him along and Taehyung shook himself out of it. He needed to focus. He had definitely envisioned this moment a million times, so he rolled his shoulders back and began directing everyone, discussing positions with the curator as they walked through the still empty halls that were slowly filled with his art. 

“Can we maybe let piano music play in the background...I’d always thought that it’s fun if there’s an instrument right in the middle of an exhibition for people to play but...I know it’s short term so?” Taehyung asked shyly, but what the other answered had him frozen in shock. “We can order a piano and put it right here if you want?” The other turned on his heel, noting something down on his clipboard before he was already calling someone and leaving Taehyung alone with his thoughts. Slowly, he strolled back around, watching how they were hanging his pictures up, listening to the clicking of the heels of the woman that was ordering people to go more left or right and it was making him smile. How the hell was this to be real. It could only be a dream. 

In the cafeteria, Taehyung gotten himself some hot chocolate to relax. When he looked up from his empty cup, he could see people outside putting up the banners for the exhibition with loads of names he already knew, when it fell onto something familiar. “No, no...wait…,” Taehyung ran outside in his haste not caring about bringing his cup back to the counter and stood completely in awe, when the men had finished bringing up the new advertisement. And there was his name. His name. Right next to the one’s he admired so much himself.  

It felt like hours that he stood outside in the cold, just watching his name wave with the wind before someone stepped beside him. “Here, I figured you might need this.” Jimin’s voice got him out of his thoughts and he hugged his friend tightly, taking the beret from him before putting it on. “Now you look like an artist.” Jimin smiled up at his best friend, who held up a bag with more clothes that he had brought him after Taehyung had whined about not wanting to be in his work clothes tonight, so they quickly hid in the bathroom to change.  

“They just came in?” Jimin asked and Taehyung hummed in response. “Took all of my art. All of it, can you believe it? I have a whole floor! All of it...like four rooms, Jiminie!” His best friends arms hugged around his waist and Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh, “And I asked for a piano and they just said: no problem. I’m not sure if they made it though. It was all a bit last minute actually.” Taehyung felt a lot more relaxed with Jimin by his side and yet, when he stepped into the exhibition that was now filled with people waiting to be let into the new art exposition, reading upon him and his work in little folded up papers. Still, Taehyung couldn’t help but look around and search for someone.  

He knew it was kind of stupid to hope that Yoongi would come. Maybe he had heard his mailbox message, but would wait for a midnight date, sometime when they can be alone, and Taehyung would make sure that it would happen. And still, it made his heart beat a little faster at the thought of Yoongi coming here. But there were too many people, too many eyes that could see him. Taehyung startled when the people all around him clapped enthusiastically and then went off to either get a glass of champagne or finally visit the art pieces. The young artist held Jimin by his wrist and showed him around, telling him all about his photography, making Jimin startle when he found a few pieces of himself on the wall. “Oh gosh, Taehyungie!” He blushed vividly, but Taehyung just chuckled.  

“Excuse me, but...I couldn’t help but notice the similarity could it be that it’s you?” A man had stepped beside him, tall with blonde hair and Jimin gulped up at him. “Oh, it’s hideous. I’m so sorry. Taehyung should’ve used someone better...my posture looks awful in this one.” Taehyung couldn’t help but roll his eyes, when Jimin wasn’t even realizing that the man was obviously flirting with him, not caring about his posture but just about the aesthetics of the photography. He always loved photographing Jimin while he was dancing. It was like art in motion. He smiled, stepping away from the two, when something made his ears perk up. “I’ll buy the series.” 

“Wh-what?” It came from both of them simultaneously as they blinked at the stranger, who was smiling at them so sweetly that it turned his eyes into half-moons. “I’d like to offer you a price. Let your manager call me, please and reserve those for me.” He handed Taehyung a card, before returning his attention to Jimin. “My Manager,” Taehyung mumbled, thinking about how he never even thought about having one. “Ah, you sold something. Amazing!” The woman in the red-heels took out some stickers, placing them below the art piece, spelling ‘reserved’ right underneath it’s description. She patted his shoulders in encouragement, before leaving Taehyung as fast as she came.  

It didn’t happen to be the last picture he sold, because Taehyung found those little stickers under a few of his photography already and he was eager to see who those people were. Apparently the lady in red was really good at selling. So, Taehyung kept to his part: shaking hands, discussing the art, meeting new people and collecting more cards of important and potential customers. He had long lost Jimin, who was busy talking to the tall stranger, or flirting as he could tell by their giggles. 

Standing in midst of all those people, Taehyung felt unsure for a moment. It was too much happening at once, people patting his back, congratulating him, telling him how amazing he was, when all his life people only rejected his art. What did change? Did they really like it? He looked down at the cards in his hand and then back up, trying to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to let his insecurities destroy this magical moment. Closing his eyes, Taehyung took a few more deep breaths, when he could hear a soft tune playing and it immediately brought a smile onto his lips. In midst of it all, Taehyung hadn’t realized that they really fulfill his wish of music playing in the background. He hadn’t noticed it before. When he opened his eyes, Taehyung searched for where it came from, but when he saw the boxes in the corner of the room, he quickly realized that they were silent, and the music was coming from a different place. His heart was starting to race, and his breath hitched.

…

Being up during the day felt strange, but he had to if he wanted to be at Taehyung’s exhibition opening. He could only imagine how stunned and happy the younger must be when he came to the museum, trying to get the spot and then they would tell him that they already hired him. Except that apparently there was a misunderstanding and when the museum called that Taehyung hadn’t showed up he couldn’t believe it.

Turned out he was right, because Taehyung had been there but apparently no one had told him that he was hired just that no one could apply because the spot was already taken. He would have very much liked to jell at someone but as they were doing him a favor by taking Taehyung he just ended the call politely and then send his quickest manager over. She would handle everything so that the exhibition could still open in time. By the time the pictures were hanging properly he had already received a circular email advertising the new exhibition, had heard a note on the radios art program and had been sent a picture of the banners that had been hung up at and close to the museum. Yoongi was more than pleased. Only when he got a call about Taehyung wanting a piano did he start to panic a little. Taehyung really went all out there - but he had promised him the exhibition of his dreams and he would definitely keep his promise. So, a little while later he had organized a white piano with a pattern of colorful paint splashes and was sitting in the van where it was transported. His heart was beating into overdrive even though technically he had the safest cover: He wore a suit, white gloves and a white mask and no one would try to talk to him when he was playing the piano. It would be like serving drinks or food; no one would take notice of him; he would just fade into the background of the exhibition.

Only that one person did notice.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung’s heart stopped, when he noticed the familiar back right away, the way his fingers were gliding over the keys so smoothly as if he was simply dancing – just with his fingertips. He knew the melody inside out, had heard it a million times before and watched Yoongi play while he had leaned onto him at night. His heart was beating fast, when he walked further into the room, people all around him but Taehyung didn’t care about it anymore. His eyes were focused on Yoongi and him alone. He came. Solely for him to support him, to be with him on this important night, despite the people around.

“You’re here,” Taehyung whispered and sat down next to Yoongi, who kept playing until the tune slowly faded out. When he turned to him, his almost blackish eyes looking up at him, Taehyung found himself smiling. Even brighter than before. “Why are you here? There’s people… I thought you didn’t want to…”

“I didn’t think anyone would notice me when I’m in charge of the music and not a visitor. But of course, you noticed me. You’re more perceptive than you should be.” The mask covered his smile, but his eyes and the tone of his voice gave it away anyways. “Are you happy about your exhibition? I told you that you would make it. Also, it seems I’ll have to hurry to get a picture or else everything will be reserved before I have a chance to look at them all.”

Taehyung nodded softly, not wanting to cry tears of joy again, so he bit his lip. “I’m even happier now that you’re here.” He took Yoongi’s hand in his, wanting to intertwine their hands when he noticed the gloves. “I’d like to show you everything, just like I promised you. Do you trust me?” Taehyung held onto his hand softly, soothing over the fabric. 

“Could we... maybe wait till the other visitors are gone? I talked to the custodian of the museum on the phone and we have green light to stay a little longer if we want. If I get up you won’t have piano music.” While what he said was true he was simply scared. If Taehyung went to show him around people would start talking about a visitor in a mask. As piano player he was safe but as Min Yoongi he was utterly vulnerable right now.

Taehyung reached out, soothing over Yoongi’s arm softly. “I love you, Yoongi, the way you are, and no one can tell me how to see you. I know you are afraid, but I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His heart jumped at his own confession, but it was true. He had fallen in love for his stubborn boss somewhere along the way. He took Yoongi’s hand in his and slowly removed one glove, keeping his hand in his so no one else could see, hiding his smaller hands between his own. “It will be okay. I won’t let it slip.”

His breath was taken away by the younger’s word. He had given up on hope and that Taehyung, the person he liked most told him he loved him so easily was making his heart ache in a good way. Maybe he did have a chance at happiness and love after all. Nonetheless his first instinct was to withdraw his hand because he was still scared - but then he kept it where it was. He trusted Taehyung fully. And if it would make the other happy to hold his hand then he would swallow down the fear and be there for him instead.

Because for the first time in a long, long while someone else was more important to him than himself.

“You okay?” Taehyung asked shyly, noticing how nervous Yoongi was. “You’ll be okay. I promise.” He leaned in, placing a kiss on his cheek softly. He kept there, hovering over Yoongi’s lips (or where they would be hidden behind the mask) as he spoke. “Just squeeze my hand if it gets too much.” Taehyung got up and pulled Yoongi up with him, when the other had given his consent to move. He kept his hand close in his as he moved along, wanting to show Yoongi his favorite art first. No one turned their heads towards them, all of them too immersed in either socializing or discussing the art itself. Barely any of them even knew Taehyung was the artist.

It was easier walking with Tae than walking alone and he found himself so concentrated on Taehyung and his art that for a few moments he forgot why he was scared. The younger’s eyes lit up as he talked about the day he took the picture they were standing in front of; a beautiful landscape filled with flowery meadows and a beautiful cloudy sky. Listening to Taehyung took him to that place where Tae had hidden from the rain that day as he had been on his way to visit his grandma and the rain had surprised him. And just when he had thought that the rain would never stopped the sky had opened and let the sun through and he had taken the picture that now hung on the wall. Yoongi smiled fondly at Taehyung, thinking that the boy was more beautiful than every piece of art could ever be and with a sudden clarity he realized that he was just in love with Taehyung as it was the other way round.

“What are you thinking about?” Taehyung’s question shook him out of his thoughts, and he met the younger’s gaze. “Do you like it? It’s pretty basic, I guess. A simple shot of the sun but…it was a beautiful symbolism, right? There’s so much more than the simple visitor can see.” He bit his lip shyly, fumbling around with Yoongi’s hand, not wanting to ramble on. He had bored many with his deep conversations before. 

“Yes, it is beautiful. You’re amazing, Tae. Though what I was actually thinking about was that I love you too. And that if you’re okay with it I’d like to kiss you.” He could just put the mask a little up so no one could see but his love for Tae right now was greater than his caution.

Taehyung gulped, eyes wide when Yoongi confessed and asked him something that he really wanted to do for so long. “Y-yes, of course, I…I want you to.” He didn’t know what to do, holding onto Yoongi’s hand so tightly as he was feeling more nervous than he had before the exhibition had been opened. He could feel his cheeks blushing and feeling hot.

Carefully Yoongi tipped the mask upwards until his mouth was free and then leaned in to gently cover Taehyung’s lips with his own. It was a delicate kiss, careful and fragile as if he wasn’t sure that this wasn’t a dream and if he wasn’t cautious it would shatter into a million pieces. But Taehyung’s lips were warm and steady, and his mouth tasted so sweet that Yoongi couldn’t help it, he moved closer, his hand wandering to the boy’s waist as he held him against his own body, kissing him again, more daringly so.

The mask slipped off.

“Yoongi!” Taehyung gasped against his lips, when he had opened his eyes just for a second but what he saw made him stop and stare.

He couldn’t believe it.

“Y-you’re…” He blinked, still holding close onto Yoongi as he watched how the veins started to fade out, the black ink seemingly unraveling until they wasn’t seen anymore and instead it was only his brown eyes staring back at Taehyung. He was gleaming and Taehyung cupped his cheeks to look at him thoroughly, before hastily taking his hand in his and watching how the black streaks were simply fading away. In his haste to see if this was real, he took the Yoongi’s other hand, pulled off the glove. “W-what…what is happening?”  

Tae’s shock hit him right in the heart and he quickly tried to cover his face with his hands - but to his surprise his palms weren’t black anymore. He slowly let them sink in a daze, turning them over and over to check if they were really just skin. “Tae, do you... do you see this?” Suddenly the other’s expression made sense and he hurriedly turned towards the next picture that was securely sealed behind glass. In his reflection a normal face stared back. His face. He touched his cheek, patting it lightly to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. But the reflection mimicked him, and he didn’t wake up. A tear spilled over, sudden and hot, running down his cheek when he realized that this was true.

The curse had been broken. And he had Tae to thank for that.

The younger had seen him; broke right through his defenses with his love and kind heartedness to the very core of him. He loved him despite what he looked like, breaking the curse when Yoongi had realized he loved someone too, more than himself and trusted Taehyung with his life. He didn’t mind if others would see him because he wasn’t alone anymore. As long as he was with Taehyung, he was safe.

And with him he felt beautiful, no matter how he looked like on the outside.

Taehyung had seen all his flaws and decided to love him, because he let his heart chose him, not his head. Even if it still made no sense to the younger, Yoongi couldn’t help but pull a stunned Taehyung in and kiss him until they both felt breathless.

He could explain everything later. 

Because they had all the time in the world together.

A/N: And here our lovely little beauty and the beast au is finished. We hope you enjoyed this little fic of ours and are excited to our (for now) last fairytale au which will be next: Alice in Wonderland! Thank you for reading and all your lovely comments!

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[lozenger8]

an empty space you left behind

Inspired by this gifset and written for @dylantyler. Title from ‘Missing U’ by Robyn, because it’s a great song and ‘strumming my pain with his fingers’ was somehow even less subtle.

On Tuesday, Stiles launches from the side of the screen to the center with a guitar neck clutched firmly in his hand and a manic grin planted firmly on his face. 

“What did you do?”

“It was sitting there all innocent and lonely at the pawn shop, Scotty. It cost me like five shifts’ worth, if that. I spent more on that jacket last month. Listen. I already know some songs.”

That jacket? Scott has fond memories of Stiles modeling it for him. It hugged his wide shoulders, making them seem even wider, and accentuated the slimness of his waist. It’s a very attractive jacket. Scott likes it very much. Scott sits through two excruciating renditions of Three Little Birds and Hound Dog, heart thumping louder than usual - loud enough he worries Stiles could hear it - as he watches Stiles’ tongue, peeking out the side of his mouth. 

Oh. This is Not Great.

“Good try!” Scott says, because he doesn’t like to lie to Stiles and he cannot praise the actual playing. “Keep at it.”

Stiles beams at him. There’s no way he can’t tell Scott’s being diplomatic, but at the same time, he doesn’t seem to care he’s nowhere near a Hendrix. 

“I’m gonna!”

*

On a Saturday weeks later, the guitar is on the bed as Stiles is chatting to Scott about blood spatter patterns, and Scott can’t stop his eyes from wandering to it. Stiles catches him after one gruesome retelling of the blood spatter from a women whose wife had used an electric drill post-mortem. He squints, glances from the bed back to Scott.

“You wanna hear my progress?”

“Anything other than the continued adventures of Denise the Dentist, yeah, dude,” Scott says, wincing. 

Scott rolls his shoulders and sucks in a few deep breaths as he watches Stiles reach over and grab the guitar in an ungainly sprawl. Stiles’ shirt rides up and Scott resolutely refuses to stare at the strip of skin above his boxers and the hem of his shirt. The pale skin with two, no, three moles. The treasure trail that used to make Scott jealous.

He fails. 

“I know nine chords,” Stiles says, holding the guitar with a far more natural position than the last time. “I can play them with more than thirty seconds between each change.”

“You sound like you’ve actually been practicing.”

“I have. Every day. Who knew I could attain a talent?”

“You already had plenty of talents,” Scott counters.

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, “That were already inherent in me being me. A loud mouth, insatiable curiosity, and ability to piss off all minority and majority groups. Talents, sure, but nothing I learned.”

Scott frowns a deliberate frown. “You don’t really think that’s true, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Stiles says, scrabbling for a pick on his desk, gesturing wildly when he successfully lifts it. He mutters the next part, but Scott still hears it. “I know it is.”

Stiles plays him ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’, and it isn’t what Scott would call capable or even intermediate playing, but Stiles even sings along and seems really into it, so Scott can’t help but be thoroughly charmed anyway. Plus, Stiles’ long, strong-looking fingers against the fret-board have been doing all sorts of things to Scott’s entire body. 

His face smiles against his own volition. “That was super cute, buddy.”

“That’s the first time you ever called me cute.”

Maybe to his face.

*

On a lazy Friday evening, spent indoors rather than out partying, Stiles plays Scott, ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’. It’s beautiful and Scott surreptitiously wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, nothing is surreptitious when Stiles is involved. 

“They weren’t tears of ear-splitting pain, were they?”

“I wouldn’t tell you even if they were, you know that,” Scott says. But he shakes his head. “But no, it’s just one of those songs that always gets me.” Scott gestures at his chest.

It’s true, not a word of a lie, but he was also imagining Stiles singing this song to him for real, not just to show off, and it hurts to know that’s not going to happen any time soon. Probably not ever. Scott resolved himself to that after Stiles decided to go to Washington rather than stay with him, but... but it still sounds out like a discordant note inside his heart.

*

Monday morning a few months later, Stiles texts Scott to ask if he’ll be a sounding board for his rendition of, ‘Fix You’. Scott listens as he writes a paper, swaying from side to side. Stiles has gotten so good he plays with minimal breaks. Scott’s a mixture of proud and sorrow-filled that he hasn’t seen the improvement in person. 

*

It’s Saturday. Scott’s had a shitty week, a shitty month if he’s being honest, and he’s lying on his bed, head on the pillow, cradling his laptop. It’s past midnight. Stiles is up, occasionally wandering around while he talks, even though it’s literally the middle of the night for him - if not the early morning. He’s wearing a loose gray shirt and Spider-Man boxers and Scott wishes he could reach out and tug him into bed. 

“Sing me to sleep?” Scott asks, after twenty minutes of telling Stiles exactly why he’s three fourths the way to miserable. (His friend Shelley ran over a kitten and neither of them could save it, his shifts at the local vet’s were cut, he sent his mom money rather than buying more Aggie cash and is constantly hungry, and Liam was almost captured and slaughtered by hunters.)

Stiles peers at him in the dim light, his face soft and warm in a way that Scott rarely got to see in person, let alone through their video chats, and he returns with his guitar a moment later.

“Um, okay. I’m not amazing at this song yet because I only started it a week ago. But I think you’ll like it.” His next words are muted. “I hope you will.”

When Stiles begins strumming and singing ‘Thinking Out Loud’, Scott’s breath stops in his throat and he clutches his pillow tight with his left hand, claws pricking the cover. 

Stiles won’t look at him when he finishes, sets his guitar down. “Sweet dreams, Scotty,” he murmurs, disconnecting the chat. 

Scott stares up at the ceiling for another two hours. 

It can’t be what he’s thinking.

Stiles would have said something.

Stiles is terrible with handling his emotions but is always vocal in his love.

Yet Stiles has been singing and playing him love songs since those first two tracks. Only love songs. 

*

“You feeling better?” Stiles asks the next time they’re face to face. It’s another Tuesday. They’ve texted during the past couple of weeks or so, but that’s all, and Scott had found himself increasingly mimicking Stiles’ expressions and speech cadences in lieu of the real thing, to the bafflement of his college friends.

“I haven’t learned how to play guitar in the space of seventeen days,” Scott says without answering the question being asked. “But I downloaded this karaoke track.”

Scott starts the track, rocks back in his chair, braces himself, and tries not to fall apart with nerves. 

“Love me tender Love me sweet Never let me go You have made my life complete And I love you so

Love me tender Love me true All my dreams fulfilled For my darlin' I love you And I always will”

Stiles’ expression morphs from confusion to fondness to joy. He picks up his guitar and plays along towards the end of the song, humming with Scott, adding a little harmony when he can. 

“You noticed, huh?” Stiles asks when Scott finishes, scratching the back of his neck and ducking his head down.

“It took me way too long,” Scott says. He shrugs, smiles. “I got there eventually.”

“Yeah, so, I’m like head over heels in love with you, Scott,” Stiles says, too earnest considering the casual phrasing, the nonchalant slant of his shoulders.

“That’s good to hear. I’m like truly, madly, deeply in love with you too.” Scott grins, full of a huge quantity of unnamed and usually suppressed emotions. 

Stiles’ answering smile has Scott’s palms feeling clammy and his nerves zinging. 

“I feel very strongly that we need to somehow be in the same room so we can make sweet, sweet music together,” Stiles says, voice a little rough, like he’s holding back his own crescendo of feelings and can only let one or two loose. 

“I completely agree.”

*

On Thursday evening, after Scott’s least favorite lectures and the longest and most frustrating shift at the vet’s clinic, he finds himself humming along to an old song he’s only heard once or twice in the past 10 years. It takes a while to place it.

It takes even longer to realize he’s humming it because he can hear a guitar strumming the chords. He throws open the window to his shoebox apartment, blood thundering in his veins, hoping against hope he’s going to see what he thinks he is. 

Stiles stands there with his guitar. 

“In my life, I love you more,” Stiles sings. 

Scott rushes down the stairs on all fours, damn near crashes through the door in a cartoon cut-out. He’s not proud of it, but it is what it is. 

He’s careful as he adjusts the guitar so it’s on Stiles’s back, soft as he cradles his jaw, and high-pitched as Stiles closes the distance between them before he gets a chance to and kisses him with a rhythm and tempo that leave him breathless.

[jungkookienoona]

The Meme and His Tutor

Part 38: The Day The Tutor Baked Cookies

Co-written with @jiminieblush

Recommended Song: Heart Attack by LOONA Chuu

|All Chapters|Masterlist|

Summary:

It's nice just being able to spend a day with your friend.

Genre: Fluff, comedy

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count:  4272

Length: 38/?

Music blasted from your small- yet powerful- Bluetooth speaker as you thoroughly cleaned your kitchen surfaces and prepared all the equipment you would need for the day. Chubs was meant to arrive at any moment now in the taxi you had organised for her.

You were on your hands and knees rummaging through a cupboard for a set of scales when your phone buzzed in your back pocket. It was her.

'Just on way up :)'

You found the scales and had just enough time to give them a wipe down before there was a knock at the door.

"Coming!" You shouted, wiping your hands on your jeans and then turned the volume of music down.

You rushed over to the door, Miri's nails tappings against the floor as she followed after you, and pulled it open with a smile.

"Hi~" Chubs grinned, stepping forward as you moved back to let her inside.

"Hey! I'm surprised you didn't get lost...again."

She shut the door behind her and crouched down to greet Miri. "That's because you gave the taxi driver your address over the phone."

"Aren't I a good friend?"

She nodded. "I'm the one who flew twelve hours to see you. Aren't I the good friend?"

You crossed your arms and deadpanned, "I have everything prepared to make cookies."

Her eyes lit up as she stood upright. "Forget what I said; you're the better friend."

You smirked. "Damn right."

Leading her into the kitchen, you reminded her to wash her hands since she had touched Miri.

"I plan to make shaped sugar cookies today."

"Shaped?"

You grabbed a 'h' shaped cookie cutter. "We're writing a message out of cookies."

"And that message is...?"

Heat rose to your cheeks as you remembered the message you wanted to convey and why.

"An... um... apology..."

Her brows pinched together as she dried her hands. "An apology? Who have you been upsetting?"

You fiddled with your fingers as you failed to meet her eyes. "You know... for Jungkook’s neck-"

"For the hickeys!"

You buried your face in your hands. "Yes, for the hickeys. God, that was so embarrassing."

She awed. "He seemed to like them."

"The staff at BigHit won't though."

She gave you a look. "So are they for him or the staff?"

You took a moment to count the amount of letters your apologise would need.

"There's enough for Bangtan to have one each along with 13 members of staff.”

She giggled and clapped her hands. "Okay, let's get started then. What cookies are we making?"

You quickly washed your own hands, knowing that door handles were one of the most unhygienic objects in a household. "As I said, basic sugar cookies. Then we're icing them to make them look prettier."

You slid a mixing bowl along the counter so it was in front of her along with the scales.

"Can you be trusted to weigh out the dry ingredients?"

She nodded. "Of course! Though I need to know the measurements."

You pointed to a piece of paper on the work surface. "All the measurements are there. I wrote them out because we need more mixture than is mentioned in the original recipe. So instead of constantly doing the maths as we go along, I did it for us."

She raised an eyebrow. "You is smart."

You shrugged and went over to the fridge to find the eggs, butter and milk you would need.

"I'm not smart, just prepared."

The two of you went about the task of making the perfect cookie dough. While Chubs sifted the dry ingredients together, you creamed the butter and sugar before combining everything with milk and eggs. After the mixture started to form into clumps, you began kneading it together until it formed one big ball.

"Would you like to roll it out?"

Chubs nodded and waited as you put the dough into a plastic bag. She grabbed the rolling pin and began to roll it out.

"Once you're done we have to let it rest in the fridge for half an hour."

"Can we take her on a walk?" She asked nodding towards the ball of fluff eating from her bowl.

Half an hour would give you just enough time to take a walk around a few streets.

"Sure. I can give you a mini tour of the area around me."

While she rolled out the dough, you removed your already messy apron and washed your hands again before heading off to locate Miri's lead. You found it hanging from a hook by the front door and put your shoes and jacket on while there. Chubs joined you after washing her own hands saying that she'd left the dough to rest.

You hooked Miri's leash to her collar and gave it to Chubs. "You can be the one to walk her since it was your idea."

Opening the door, you gestured for her to leave first. The two of you took the elevator to the ground floor and then headed down the street towards the main road. As you walked, you pointed out the various shops, restaurants and takeaways just as Jungkook had only a few weeks ago when introducing you to your neighbourhood. You even popped into one of the shops to pick up some snacks so the two of you weren't tempted to eat the cookies once they were done.

Chubs was happy to ramble on asking questions about the area you lived, what it was like, how you were getting on with your Korean and such. As much as you loved Jungkook and Bangtan and the BigHit staff, it was nice to catch up with a friend from home.

"How's college going?"

She sighed and gave Miri's lead a gentle tug when she noticed her fall behind.

"Stressful. I wish it could all be over and done with already."

"You're finishing your last A-levels this year right? Any uni plans?"

You felt a tad bit of pity for Miri. Her small legs must be getting tired.

"Yeah, actually. The application process is driving me crazy." She looked up from Miri to you. "Now I know how you felt last year."

"At least you don't have a budding romance thrown into the mix. That added extra stress."

She scratched at her cheek. "Yeah I guess so... You had a lot going on. I bet your still can't believe you're here, can you?"

You shook your head. "I really can't. Like, it blows my mind that I live 10 minutes away from Bangtan. That Jungkook wants to sleep in my bed as much as possible."

She chuckled and you guided her down a street which would lead back to the one where your building was situated.

"I think we found out Jungkook is a cuddly drunk the other night."

"Very," you chuckled, memories of him practically draping himself over you on the sofa in front of the others after only a few cans of beer.

"Which reminds me," she started and swapped Miri's lead to her other hand so she could fish her phone out of her pocket. She tapped about on the screen for a second before passing it to you. "I may have snuck a few pictures. I hope you don't mind."

Your head snapped towards her, eyes wide. "You didn't!"

She waved her phone in front of your face. "Of course I did. Not only did I want to document the night but as your best friend it's my job to take cute candid pictures of you and your boyfriend."

Your cheeks tinted red as you stared at the small screen. You were sat on the floor against the sofa staring down at Jungkook who lay with his head in your lap. The two of you wore goofy grins, cheeks pink from the alcohol.

There was a moment of silence as you took in the details.

"Never let Jungkook see this."

Chubs looked at you confused, "Why?"

"As much as I love cuddly Kookie, he can't go around thinking it's okay to be clingy in public like that."

Chubs suddenly stopped to gather Miri in her arms; the pupper's eyes closed immediately as she rest her head against Chubs' forearm. You both 'aw'ed and continued on.

"Don't worry little fluffer, we're nearly back home."

You picked up the pace back to your building.

"He can't be clingy because he's in the public eye or because it makes you uncomfortable?"

You scratched the back of your neck. "Both I guess... I'm not used to PDA... and with him being an idol, PDA becomes super public."

She 'ah'ed. "I understand. I would probably feel the same if ever in your situation. Best to keep some of your personal life private."

Finally back home, you unlocked and opened the door for Chubs who gently placed Miri in her bed. You both went into the kitchen and donned your aprons before washing your hands.

"Can you preheat the oven to 200 degrees while I sort out the dough?"

She nodded and you got the dough from the fridge. You placed it on the worktop and removed it from its plastic bag to knead into a ball. Then, you placed it back into the bag so you could roll it out to a 5mm thickness. Chubs went about lining a baking tray while you rolled it out. After, it was time to shape the cookies using the cutters.

"So, what are we spelling out?"

You fiddled with you apron. "I wanna spell... 'I'm sorry for the hickeys'..."

She shrugged. "Alright-y," and began sorting through the letters for you.

You decided to cut the letters in chronological order as to make sure you had the right amount of each. Re-adjusting the oven temperature to 180 degrees, you put the cookies in and set a timer on your phone for 10 minutes.

While the cookies were baking, you quickly tidied up then resigned to the living room together with the snacks you’d bought earlier. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence on the sofa, scrolling through your individual social media accounts and tucking into a bag of honey butter chips.

"There's still gifs of me and Jungkook floating around," You groaned upon stumbling across a gifset from the party. Curse Taehyung for broadcasting your drunken shenanigans! Maybe he shouldn't get a cookie…

Chubs shifted so she see the gifset you were staring at with a small frown. "Want me to work some magic?"

You chuckled. "What magic? You can't get rid of every gif on the internet."

She huffed and sat back. "Fine. Just for doubting me I won't."

The situation somewhat reminded you of when you and Jungkook had uploaded videos of you doing each others makeup and how people had cropped images to make them look inappropriate or had giffed Jungkook's hand on your thigh…

You glanced at Chubs. "Were you offering to do another purge of the ship tag."

"Maybe. Only if you want me to. I can't do much about taking the original video down or other social media sites but I could probably do something about Tumblr."

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. "How?"

Her lips quirked into a smile. "It's a secret."

"Do you have contacts in the Tumblr staff?"

She simply smiled. "What if I am a Tumblr staff?"

"Then let me give you a list of everything that's fucked up so you can fix it.”

She started to laugh and shook her head. "I'm not staff but if I was the website wouldn't be as bad as it is."

"Maybe you'd even sort out the problematic sub-communities..."

You may have been on that hell-site since you were 14, which only meant you had seen more shit hit the fan than most other people. And you definitely weren't happy with some of the issues raised on your dash which nothing was done about, such as the paedophilia tag.

"I'd make it a much safer place than it currently is."

And with that your phone began to vibrate in your hand.

"Cookies are done."

You told Chubs to remain seated as the cookies had to cool first before going to take them out of the oven. You carefully transferred each one to a cooling rack, then headed back into your living room.

Resuming your previous position, Chubs spoke up. "So...you're going to have to give these to Jungkook, right?"

You nodded with a slight frown of confusion. You thought that much was obvious.

"Do you need me for moral support or..."

Oh... She was wondering whether she was going to come along too.

"Of course you can come with me! I plan on spending as much time with you as I can while you're here!"

You playfully hit her on the shoulder with a smile.

She sagged against the sofa as she let out a breath. "Okay, good. When I got the message about flying over I was worried you'd be too busy and stuff..." she admitted, toying with her phone in her hands.

"I'm only attending online lectures right now so I'm not that busy. And I doubt Bangtan would invite you over here without making sure I had an empty schedule first."

To create some background noise you started flicking through the TV channels until you stumbled across The Return of Superman. That show was always so cute.

"True...no one said anything about-" she stopped mid-sentence to let out an inhuman squeal. "Y/N! Look! He's a baby panda!"

You looked to the TV where a teeny toddler was waddling about in a fluffy panda onesie.

"Aw~! That is adorable as fuck! You can bet I'll be dressing my future babies up like that!"

There was a nudge against your arm.

"Babies, huh?" There was a mischievous glint in Chubs' eye and you playfully pushed her back onto her side of the sofa.

"Stop~ I just meant in general..."

Getting back up, she gave you a skeptical look. "Yeah... right... I believe you."

You bit your lip and turned back to the screen, face softening when the toddler stumbled into his sibling as a result of the panda hood covering his eyes. The two of you continued to watched the show, gushing over how cute the children were. You were honestly amazed at how they were able to put together such complex sentences at such a young age, your memories telling you your younger siblings did not have that ability.

The episode finished and cut to an ad break. You clicked your neck, ignoring Chubs’ wince- hating when you did that, before getting to your feet. The cookies were probably cool enough to decorate by now.

"Up ya get Chubs, we have cookies to ice."

You both went into the kitchen and donned you aprons, for the final time that day, then washed your hands.

"Okay, so we need to mix the icing sugar, lemon juice, egg whites and food colouring together."

"Have you chosen a colour yet?"

You shook your head no. She smirked at you.

"Have you considered purple or red?"

You got the ingredients from the fridge. "No...I'm not too sure if I have those colours..."

"Shame... they would have been hickey coloured if you did..."

You placed the things from the fridge in front of her and went over to the kitchen cabinet which held your baking stash.

"Hm, I can't see any..." You pushed aside a box of pancake mix you'd picked up for those days you were too lazy to make them from scratch.

What you found was yellow: Jungkook's favourite colour. And since the icing was going to contain lemon juice it would be perfect. You went about mixing all the ingredients together to create a basic icing, Chubs leaning against the counter watching you.

A giggle suddenly bubbled out of her, making you raise a suspicious eyebrow.

"What are you laughing at?"

Another giggle, "It kinda looks like cum."

You stopped what you were doing to give her a disgusted look. "Ew!... How does your virgin ass even know what cum looks like?"

"Porn." She said, completely straight faced.

You made a fake gagging noise and turned back to the task at hand.

"It's your fault!" She cried. "How can you send me links to porn blogs and not expect me to scroll through them?!"

"I send you links to funny things I found on them while doing research for smut writing! How was I supposed to know you were going to look through the blogs!"

She shrugged. "You should have expected it from me."

"I thought you were pure," you muttered in mock disappointment, giving the icing one final mix before testing the consistency. Needed more lemon juice.

She giggled and pat your arm. "Sunshine, I've never been pure."

You tutted and mixed in the extra lemon juice, watching the mixture thin out to the perfect consistency. You spooned the mixture into two piping bags. One for you and one for Chubs.

"Basic rules of icing this way: outline first, let that dry, then fill."

She saluted you. "Aye, Captain."

You rolled your eyes at her antics. "Also, don't eat the icing until we're done...please?"

"Okay, okay. I promise I won't. Pass me a cookie please?"

You sighed, placing the piping bag down on the counter, you shook your hand out. It was cramping, but you had finally finished. A glance at Chubs told you she was on her last cookie, just starting to fill in the outline. You admired the set of cookies you had iced, all looking uniform and extremely yummy.

It was a shame you wouldn't be having one. Luckily you had used the leftover dough to make regular shaped cookies.

"Okay...I'm done." Chubs said putting down her icing bag and flexing her wrist like you had done.

"Right, just have to find a container for them and something to present them on once we get there."

You quickly found a tupperware container and Chubs managed to find a nicely decorated tray.

"All set!"

Chubs began carefully loading the cookies into the container while you refilled Miri's food and water for while you were gone. You each grabbed your belongings and made your way outside and to the bus stop along the main road.

You had sent Jungkook a text saying that you were on your way while on the bus. You didn't want to just drop in unannounced... or spoil the comeback for yourself and Chubs if you had arrived during a dance practice. His reply was almost immediate saying that he could be found in one of the dance studios and that you'd need to stop at reception for a visitors pass for Chubs.

The bus stopped a few buildings down the street from BigHit which gave Chubs plenty of time to freak out before you entered. And freak out she did. You even filmed it without her knowing. It was just too funny with how she was treating BigHit as some holy place that you took a religious pilgrimage to.

"I just can't believe I'm here," She muttered as the two of your walked through the revolving door into the building. “This trip is going to feel like a dream when I get home.”

You reached out to pinch her arm and giggled when she scowled at you.

The receptionist was all smiles, happily greeting you both and wishing you a good day after handing Chubs her pass. You led her down the maze like corridors, pointing out different areas and what they were. You even introduced her to some trainees you bumped into... not that they could hold a conversation past "Hello, how are you?" since they were in the beginning days of being taught.

Then, finally, you reached the dance studio. Chubs held out the tray so you could place the cookies on it before handing it to you. Chubs knocked on the door only for it to open no sooner than she'd dropped her hand. Yoongi stood in the doorway, bleach blonde hair matted to his forehead with sweat. He gave you a tired gummy smile before casting a look down at the cookies. He raised a brow at you then waved the two of you in.

You swore you almost dropped the tray when you saw Jungkook dressed in all black with a black bandana around his neck.

"Chubs... hold me."

Your friend instantly wrapped a hand around your bicep, muttering a curse, knowing exactly the kind of expletives and screams running through your head.

"Hey! What are you doing by the door?" A voice called.

The world seemed to morph into slow motion as Jungkook turned on the spot to look in your direction, eyes dark and hooded- obviously still in performance mode. An embarrassingly high pitched "eep" escaped you as he approached.

"Aw~ My Jagi has brought some homemade cookies in for me," He said with a smirk while brushing a strand of behind your ear, "cookies for her Kookie, right?"

You gulped and nodded, barely noticing Chubs let you go and move towards Namjoon.

"They're an apology."

"For what?"

"Read them."

He dropped his gaze to the tray and was silent for a second before bursting into giggles.

"'I'm sorry for the hickeys.'" He read, looking back up with a wide smile. "You're so cute!"

"I'm not cute," you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up as you heard Namjoon's chuckles.

"I helped her to make them!"

You and Jungkook looked to Chubs who was awkwardly playing with the sleeves of her hoodie.

"I bet they taste super good, then." Smiled Jungkook, taking the tray from you and turning to face everyone else scattered around the room. "Hyung! Can we take a snack break?"

Hoseok gave him a thumbs up from where he was bent over double trying to catch his breath.

Jungkook turned back to you. "These are all mine right?"

"No! They're for you and Bangtan to share with some of the staff. I already have it figured out. You and Bangtan can have 'hickeys'-"

"I don't think I like the idea of my Jagi giving the members hickeys."

You lightly smacked him on the arm and shoot a look at Chubs who was muffling giggles into her sleeve. The members all gathered around in a circle on the floor of the studio, the tray in the centre.

"I'm gonna have the 'K' for Kookie." Jungkook announced as he carefully took his targeted cookie from the tray.

Hoseok grabbed one with a shout of "'H' for Hobi!"

"'C' for Chim." Said Jimin, also taking one from the tray at the same time Yoongi took the 'Y'. Taehyung slowly took the 'T' from 'the' and Jin the 'S' from ‘Sorry’ which left Namjoon shaking his head in disappointment.

You picked up the 'M' and broke part of it off then offered it to Namjoon. "There, a makeshift 'N' for the God of Destruction."

Chubs giggled yet again at the cookies which now read: 'I orry for he ies'.

You looked down at the broken off bit of cookie and offered it to Chubs. She shook her head and nodded for you to have it.

A giggle then bubbled out of you as you rearranged the cookies to read: 'I sorry for he.' Leaving an 'I' and extra 'E' spare which you shared out between you and Chubs. You now felt you had an adequate apology for the staff.

The members mostly ate in silence, a few- notably Jimin and Taehyung- lying down and closing their eyes.

"It looks like you've been working hard. Are preparations going well?"

Jungkook nodded, scooting closer to rest his head on your lap. He must have been tired. You thread your free hand through his hair, brushing the sweaty strands out of his eyes. He looked so adorable munching on his cookie. Like a little baby.

"Do you like the cookies?"

He nodded again. "They taste awesome and they're my favourite colour. What's not to love? You didn't have to apologize though. I like my hickeys."

You sighed. "Other people won't though..."

"The makeup Noona's can cover them. They're really talented."

You brushed a crumb off his cheek. "I know, baby. But seeing our names on the headers of news sites once was enough. No more scandals."

"I want to give my pretty Nabi hickeys-"

He was interrupted by Chubs clearing her throat. "I think this conversation is beginning to become inappropriate for public."

Jungkook pouted and went to protest but a stern look from Namjoon made him snap his mouth shut.

"Y/N, is this your own recipe?" Piped up Jin who was brushing the crumbs off his t-shirt.

"Uuh... no... I got it from a Korean youtuber. She bakes all sorts of cute things. I wish I could run a channel like hers."

Jimin slowly sat up, Taehyung being brought with him.

"Then why don't you start one?"

"I don't have a face for camera."

"Yah!" Jungkook shouted, sitting up with a face of horror. "What do you mean?! You're beautiful!"

There were murmurs of agreement around the room causing your cheeks to turn pink.

"No I'm not..."

Jungkook put a hand on either cheek, squishing your face between them.

"I wouldn't give you ‘Nabi’ as one of your nicknames if I didn't think you were as beautiful as a butterfly."

"Someone give me a bucket, I'm going to puke." Muttered Yoongi who was leant against Hoseok's side fake gagging.

Jungkook just smirked and leaned forward, placing a kiss on your squished lips with a wet smack.

[allonsysilvertongue]

Summer Nights

Summary: At six year old, Effie Trinket was convinced that the eight year old boy with dirty blonde hair who often jostled her roughly when her mother was not looking and made her run after him in the summer heat was the best friend she needed. The same could not be said for Haymitch Abernathy.

Hello everyone, this is a hayffie au. I have done a gifset many many years ago of Haymitch and Effie knowing each other from a young age but I never did write it until this idea popped into my head about a week back. I know it sounds odd but I hope you'll give it a chance, and we can have a chill ride with the story.

Anyway, hy headcanon has always been that Effie's always six years younger than Haymitch but for this story, I have decided to shorten the age gap otherwise it'll be just creepy and I have also scaled down some timelines.

Chapter 1 – What’s the deal, Mr. and Mrs. Trinket?

Haymitch Abernathy stood by the porch, watching the car drive into the compound. As it made a turn to park, the young girl caught sight of him. Her face bloomed into a smile and she waved enthusiastically through the window.

He waved back with a grin, one hand still clutching on to his younger brother.

Next to him, his mother stood tall, dutifully waiting for the guests’ arrival.

“Hello,” Effie Trinket walked up to them.

At six year old, Effie Trinket was convinced that the eight year old boy with dirty blonde hair who often jostled her roughly when her mother was not looking and made her run after him in the summer heat was the best friend she needed. Everyone has a best friend so she was entitled to one too.

On her eighth birthday, he was still her best friend despite having already made other friends in school. It was just so unfortunate that he lived so far away and they only get to meet during the summer.

When Effie turned nine and her family made the trip down to the other end of the country where Haymitch stayed, he gave her a box. In it was a bracelet made from macaroni shells he had sneaked from the kitchen and painted over the winter.

“My birthday is over,” she told him.

“I know,” he said. “But I don’t get to see you until summer so there.”

She kept it safe in her nightstand drawer back home, too afraid to wear something so fragile lest she broke it.

At that age, Haymitch was her only male friend. It meant none of her other friends in school believed she had a friend of the opposite gender since they had never meet or seen him before. It made her mad when they started referring to Haymitch as her imaginary friend. He was as real as them, but so be it. Perhaps it was better that they had never and would never meet him. He was dear to her and the last thing she wanted was to have anyone coming to steal her best friend away like they had taken Valeria from her.

Haymitch on the other hand was quite well known in the district and had friends everywhere – girls and boys alike. He made the effort to introduce her to some of them if they happened to come around to the Village when she was there. Sometimes she was scared that he would rather spend his summer with them but he was always there to accompany her.

By the time Effie turned eleven, she thought that the now thirteen year old Haymitch Abernathy was the handsomest boy she ever met, a little rude lately but still very handsome.

“Hey, Effie,” he winked in her direction.

Rude, she thought, for him to take the liberty of using that moniker that only her grandmother called her by and only when they were alone together.

She had told him that fact one night under the startling brightness of the stars and he had declared it to be much better than Euphemia.

“Good morning, Haymitch,” she greeted him by his given name because she knew that he detest being called ‘Mitch’ and while she could have easily just call him by that to irritate him, she was fortunately raised with impeccable manners.

Haymitch flopped down on the seat next to her, immediately reaching out for the chocolate croissant he was so fond of.

“Now children,” Lysandra Trinket addressed them and from the corner of Effie’s eyes, she could see Haymitch wrinkled his nose at being called a child. “What are you both planning on doing today? Do tell so I may arrange my day accordingly…. Haymitch? I do hope you will have something interesting for my daughter today.”

That usually meant that her mother would rather have Effie’s day occupied so she would not be bothered for the rest of the day. Effie didn’t mind it that much. Haymitch was often very good at keeping her busy from morning till dinner.

Effie turned towards Haymitch expectantly. He paused in the middle of taking a bite from his half eaten croissant.

“What do you wanna do?” he asked.

“It is a hot day, isn’t it….? Swimming will be fun.”

There was a laugh threatening to burst from that annoying grin on his face that Effie was quick to get a word in before he could speak.

“I have had swimming lessons so I will not be drowning. Father made sure,” Effie huffed.

He smirked in her direction.

“Sure,” Haymitch said with a chuckle, clearly remembering the incident last summer when she had waded into the deeper end of the pool after he issued a challenge and nearly drowned. “We’ll swim.”

It was only half past ten in the morning and already, the sun was beating down on them. She already felt sticky under her armpits from the sweat. It was disturbing to know just how much she could perspire by just having breakfast outdoor.

Effie grew restless waiting for Haymitch who had disappeared right after breakfast claiming he had some homework to do. From her experience, he knew he was likely doing homework for his friends. She could never understand why he would allow his friends to pile their homework on him but when she had asked once, he said he had his reasons.

“What time are we going swimming?” she asked, opening the door to his room.

“Later,” he answered without even looking at her.

She huffed in annoyance. “When is later? It is so very rude of you to just keep me waiting…”

The only reason Effie indulged her parents in this annual summer trip all the way in this sleepy, quiet coal mining district was because of Haymitch Abernathy. Her father’s reason was solely for business while her mother, as advised by her therapist, needed the quiet reprieved every once in a while from the city and the media for all the fame attached to her name. Otherwise, Effie highly doubted that Lysandra Trinket would even agree to spend her summer here.

“Ten minutes,” he answered curtly.

Without an invitation and because she knew Haymitch wouldn’t mind, Effie sat perched on the edge of his bed. He was hunched over the small study table, scribbling on a note book.

With an impatient sighed, she flopped down on the bed unceremoniously. It earned her an amused glance from him.

“Don’t let your mother see you,” he commented, turning back to his work.

“Work faster then, before my mother catches me like this. Ladies do not behave this way and you will be sure that I will blame it on you.”

He frowned but otherwise did not respond. He hardly ever did when she pulled that card on him. At that age, she barely gave it much thought, simply assuming that like everyone else, he was afraid and wary of her mother.

“When I see you again next year, you will already be starting high school,” she remarked, staring up at the white painted ceiling. “Will you be working at the mines? Father said you will eventually.”

He stiffened, his pen poised in mid-air.

“Not yet.”

His answer was curt and his tone warned her not to pursue the topic any further.

It was odd, she thought. He didn’t seem proud of the mines like she figured he would be.

Why wouldn’t he be proud of the coal mines?

His great-grandfather who was amongst the first generations to settle in this district town years earlier had sold a large hectare of land to the Trinkets. The land was turned into a coal mine managed solely by her family.

The mine was what gave this town their livelihood and since it was his family’s contribution, Effie, without truly understanding the full history, thought that it was something he should be proud of.

Back in the city, in the Trinkets’ mansion, her father always talked about the Abernathys as if they worked for him but whenever summer came around and they took a vacation in the Abernathy’s house - a house that Haymitch’s great-grandfather received as part of the land deal - her parents often treated his family as though they were friends.  Her parents’ dual behavior confused her greatly but adults, in general, were confusing. All she knew was that Haymitch is her friend and she is his, which was why she was willing to wait for him.

Effie Trinket hardly ever sat around idly waiting for people.

“Alright, come on,” he declared finally.

He grabbed the towel that was hanging around the bed post and waited until she left his room before he closed the door.

The pool was small by Effie’s standard – a grown man could only complete five broad strokes before reaching the end, which was admittedly deep as she discovered the year before. She had seen more impressive pools in the city, in other mansions and apartment buildings. When she had asked her father about the Abernathy’s pool, Stephen Trinket had scoffed derisively and claimed that they were lucky to have it in the first place. Her own grandfather, Matias Trinket, had commissioned the pool to be made for the Abernathys as a New Year gift one year when the coal mine brought in profit above the expected margin.

Of course, she had then asked Haymitch about it but he waved her question away. At times, his reaction to her questions made her form the impression that he didn’t quite like this house that his family got from hers, and she could never understand the reason for it.

“So you only learn to hold your breath and float around like a hippo?” he snorted after watching her for a few minutes.

“Do not be rude!” she snapped.

They tended to get into stupid arguments simply because he was overly frustrating and rude. She wondered if thirteen year old boys all behave like jerks.

“I’ll show you,” she turned her nose at him and proceeded to do a few breast strokes and back strokes.

He mockingly gave her a standing ovation complete with an overdramatic bow before he settled down at the spot on the grass where two overlapping tree branches provided him some shade.

“You said you’ll swim with me,” she pouted.

“I swam with you,” he replied without taking his eyes off his book. “Now I’m reading. Shush.”

“You are so boring. Really, what is so interesting about the book?”

“I’ll find out if you let me read but it’ll still be more interesting than watching you swim,” he quipped easily.

Effie ignored him after that. She practiced her moves and when she needed to catch a breath, she ended up watching him. Haymitch was on his stomach, half-naked except for the shorts he wore to swim. The sun had long dried his skin but his hair was still damp, making it looked darker than normal. Once in a while, his finger would turn a page from his book and depending on what he was reading, his brows would crease slightly as he concentrated.

“Why are you staring at me?”

She blinked.

“I wasn’t,” she denied and promptly disappeared under the water.

When she emerged, he was standing at the edge of the pool looking down at her. She didn’t realised he had grown this tall until now when she had to tilt her head back to look at him.

“I have to go to town. Get some things for mama for dinner.”

“I will go as well,” she said without missing a beat. “I do not want to be left alone. What would I do?”

By the time that summer ended, Effie’s skin had a healthy tan to it, she had gotten so much better at holding her breath under water and the one thing she was most proud of was that Lief, Haymitch’s baby brother, no longer cried when she held him.

“See you next year, Effs,” Haymitch said.

She hugged him tightly.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I am already counting down for summer next year.”

He released her with a smile.

Effie got into the car that would bring her family to the train station back to the city, feeling a little forlorn that time seemed to have fly past. She gave a final wave to Haymitch, his brother and his parents. They were standing in front of the wrought iron gates at the entrance of the village and as the car continued to travel, Haymitch and his family became smaller and smaller before they eventually disappeared from her line of sight when the car rounded the bend.

“You had a word with them, did you not?” her mother spoke.

Effie raised her head, thinking it was her that her mother was addressing.

“Of course,” Stephen nodded.

With that, Effie went back to staring out of the window, her hands folded nicely on her lap. The train journey back was the least favourite part of her summer.

“I made it clear that we will not provide any further finances to the mine than what we already have,” her father continued. “They are to make it safe for the coming inspection.”

“What about production?”

“I have explained that it should be maintained and if targets are not met, there will be consequences.”

Her mother laughed a little that and Effie cringed at the pitch.

“That would explain why Lachlan did not look particularly happy the past two days,” Lysandra commented.

“Be that as it may,” her father replied nonchalantly. “He has two sons to feed and put through school, and an entire town depending on him for their livelihood. He will come through.”

As curious as Effie was, her mother had always told her not to poke her nose into other people’s business, especially theirs. Whatever it was between her parents and Haymitch’s parents was their problem, not hers nor Haymitch.