#how am i supposed to make sure all my text is in the same spot???

[outer-edges]

CHLOE BENNET as DAISY JOHNSON in Agents of S.H.I.E.LD (2014-2020)

i am this close to rejecting photoshop editing features entirely and doing it all in my after effects 😭

[ladyofthenoodle]

fic idea from 2020 that the paris special unearthed from the archives of my brain:

So far, there wasn’t a single thing about this new reality that wasn’t terrible. She was grounded, for some reason, which she didn’t know about, and was therefore double grounded for breaking the rules of the grounding. Which she hadn’t known about!

To make matters worse, when she’d gone to text Alya to complain about the unfairness of it all, she realized she didn’t have Alya’s number. In fact, she didn’t have anyone’s number except her parents, Nadja Chamack, her grandmother, and someone called The Supreme.

She next turned to Tikki to vent, but when she checked her (admittedly cool) purse, she found her kwami wide-eyed, terrified, and most horrifiyingly, muzzled—which Marinette couldn’t figure out a way to undo. 

So she was stuck in the bakery on a Saturday morning with angry parents and no one to talk to and no ideas on how to get out of the worst version of Paris possible.

Which is when Adrien Agreste’s bodyguard walked in. Brief hope flared in her heart before extinguishing just as quickly when she saw he was alone.

Which she should’ve expected. With how awful this world was, she wouldn’t be surprised if Adrien didn’t even exist here. She couldn’t imagine a world this awful with him in it.

She bagged up the Gorilla’s order with a heavy heart and sent him on his way before looking out the bakery display window with a sigh.

Only to spot Adrien Agreste himself, with an asymmetrical haircut and thick kohl around his eyes, staring back at her. He was different than her Adrien—and she couldn’t say she was a fan of the hair—but he was just as handsome, and his eyes even more striking with the eyeliner.

When he noticed her looking, his eyes widened and his cheeks started to turn pink.

Was he blushing?

Marinette could feel her own cheeks heating up as he stared. She ventured a small, embarrassed wave, and he—he!—

He lifted his own hand, brought it to his lips, and blew her a kiss.

Crash!

Marinette, along with about 300 macarons, toppled to the floor.

“Good morning, Marinette!” said Adrien Agreste, during a time that was decidedly morning but far too early to be described as ‘good.’ 

She scowled at him.

“Girl, you okay?” said Alya Césaire, who was—who was speaking to her.

Right.

Alya Césaire was speaking to her. Because Alya Césaire, Hesperia’s favorite lackey, was apparently Marinette’s best friend.

And Adrien Agreste was the boy Marinette was in love with.

She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m great, Alya! Super dee duper. Absolutely swell. What a beautiful morning with all the sunshine and the…. morning.”

Alya looked unconvinced.

“And the Adriens!” Marinette added hastily. “I mean, the Adrien. Because there’s only one Adrien and he sure is… here. Hello Adrien! Your face is looking very attractive this morning, because you are an attractive person. And that’s… something positive I can say about you.”

“Thanks, Marinette!” said Adrien with a dopey little smile. She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or just deeply stupid. If her diary entries were to be believed, it was probably the latter. “Your face is looking attractive this morning as well. Did you do something new with your makeup?”

Marinette had done her makeup the same way she did every day, but she supposed his Marinette opted for a boring girl next door ‘no makeup makeup’ look.

Alya squealed next to her before giving her shoulder an excited squeeze.

Marinette took several deep breaths.

“Yes, I thought I’d try something new.”

Adrien smiled and nodded.

Alya shoved her forward.

Marinette barely managed to restrain herself from sending Alya a patented Toxinelle Death Glare. Instead, she smiled wider at Adrien.

Her cheeks hurt.

“Thank you soooooo much for noticing my makeup. That is a thing I am excited about. I love putting on makeup to impress cute boys, tee hee!”

Adrien’s face fell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—I know you always dress for you, Marinette! That’s something I really admire about you.”

His eyes were so earnest, so sincere, and for a second, she almost—

Marinette cleared her throat. “That’s so nice! You can leave now.”

Adrien blinked. 

“Bye!” She shooed him.

“Oh, um, bye Marinette,” he said with a sheepish wave, and then he left.

Nailed it.

“Girl, what the actual fuck?”

[euphoricfilter]

For the drabble game could you write fluff with youtuber bf jk ? I am not creative so I couldn’t think of a sentence sorry😭 but maybe he does one of those 24hr streams, I love your writing!

youtuber boyfriend! kook headcanons:

tags/ warnings: none. just a lot of fluff and feelings <3

notes: when i got sent this idea ages ago i got so excited. and i wrote three fics for it but hated them all and then made sure they were to never see the light of day. so my solution is to write some cute boyfriend headcanons instead to make up for it!! simply because i absolutely love this idea and i need to write anything for it to sate the need within me.

notes 2: this got slightly longer than i’d intended LMAO sorry 🕺

𓇻 i feel like jungkook’s channel has a plethora of videos, though he specializes in gaming.

𓇻 its probably one of his biggest passions. though i do see him dabbling in commentary, or even review type videos. maybe he’s a bit of a collector as well and goes on hour long rants about rare items or hauls of what he purchased over the years.

𓇻 i see the both of you probably meeting at one of those second-hand game and film stores.

𓇻 maybe you’re just milling around. more content to browse the movies than the games because you only own an old console (something cute like a nintendo DS) but they don’t really sell the game cards commercially anymore

𓇻 and jungkook loses track of why he was even there in the first place when he spots you. slowly scooting towards the corner you’re in.

𓇻 jungkook might not exactly believe in love at first sight, finds it a little hard to imagine loving someone so soon. but he definitely believes in destiny, even fate. and some small part of his mind had convinced him that surely this was just that.

𓇻 he’d be a bit shy about trying to approach you, mouth opening only for nothing to come out because what was he supposed to say? and maybe he accidentally startles you, offering to pay for the few dvds you had hugged to your chest as a lame sort of compensation

𓇻 he’d be the one to ask for your number, he’d be the first to text. you’d tell him later on it’s because you didn’t want to come off too head-strong. worried you’d scare him off messaging only hours after meeting. and then he’d tell you he had worried about the same thing

𓇻 jungkook wouldn’t straight out tell his audience he’d gotten into a relationship. it’s not that he was embarrassed about you, quite the opposite; he’d love to flaunt you to the world. it’s just he’d worry about the reaction from fans.

𓇻 he’d have a pretty hefty audience, a well established one even. and he wasn’t blind to the mean comments that would occasionally show up beneath videos or social media posts. he, himself, never found much issue in dealing with them, on occasion he’d get a little down but he knew that really he put himself up for this. he chose to show his face online, and with that would come some backlash. however, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about you or how shitty comments would effect your well being.

𓇻 definitely the “in a relationship but it’s private” sort of photos would slowly creep their way onto his IG posts. maybe of little date nights— candles on the table with a dinner you’d cooked together (2 glasses, 2 plates and 2 sets of cutlery), or your favorite cake he’d tried to bake himself with the lego flowers he’d spent the previous evening trying to make (because at least you could look at the lego ones forever and they wouldn’t die). or maybe even your hand snuck in a photo or simply your silhouette beneath a sunset.

𓇻 maybe a few of your own collectible items had made their way onto the shelf in his studio. an obvious beanbag in the corner (you’d often sit there and read as he went through emails or scripted videos). valentines cards that he’d never thought to take down, or posters of yours that never exactly fit in the bedroom

𓇻 it would become apparent that he was in a long-term relationship when he’d film a moving video. so much of your stuff mingled with his own, split seconds of the shared rooms he’d add to the video before showing his audience his new office space. the extra shoes and cute little additions to his home; soft cushions on the couch, ceramics you’d begged him to buy. your hoard of plushies that took up half the bed or the stupid amount of skin care products stacked up in the bathroom. all a sure way of telling his fans that he was serious about you, even if they had no idea of your name or face

𓇻 maybe with enough comments he’d make a little announcement at the end of a video.

𓇻 “i know you’ve all probably guessed by now, but i am in fact, in a relationship”

𓇻 and then proceeded to talk about you for 7 minutes because really he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. and truthfully he never knew when to shut up when it came to you, not when you were what’s on his mind most of the time. he’d tell them how you’d met, and how he had been absolutely enamored by you almost instantly. he’d show everyone the matching bracelets you’d made. grinning as he showed off the receipt he’d kept in his wallet from your first date together at a small cafe in town, mentioning how he kept a baby photo of you in the back of his phone too.

𓇻 the first time you’d show up in a video, he’d plan for the both of you to do some crafts together one afternoon. a hobby you’d been trying over the last couple of weeks, and jungkook liked to indulge you. loved to watch you sprawled across the floor of an evening with glue coating your fingers and way too much glitter imbedded in the carpet.

𓇻 he’d have been worried at first. asking you over and over if it was truly okay for you to be on camera, and after your reassured him with a kiss, he’d settle down slightly. though his anxiety had still clung to him, eyes flitting your way throughout the afternoon

𓇻 he could tell how shy you’d been, and had reassured you that really you didn’t even need to address the audience. he’d do all the silly little things you giggled at him for. and all you had to do was sit there and be pretty for him. you’d been a lot quieter than usual; itching to give him a kiss each time he was just so awfully jungkook. eyes like those of galaxies when he got something right, or the happiest smile on his face when you asked him for help

�� the day he did a 24 hour charity stream would be when his audience sees you the most. milling around the house, making sure your boyfriend was fed and watered. maybe even sitting down and reading the chat when he wanted to shower. or answering questions while perched on his lap. he’d want to smother you with even more love when you’d catch his eye— a silent question if you were doing okay, that you answered all the questions correct. and he’d squeeze your thigh in reassurance, head resting over your shoulder as he listened to your voice, humming to let you know he was still listening

𓇻 you’d startle him at 4am, a little pouty that you’d had to fall asleep alone. dragging a chair from the kitchen to sit on as you watch him play a game you’d never seen before.

𓇻 “go back to bed, baby” he’d coo, “you’ll fall asleep sitting up and get a bad back”

𓇻 and maybe after that he’s a lot more open to showing you on camera. filming you on beaches, eating cakes and ice creams from a million different restaurants or dancing around hotel rooms or sitting on the balcony with the sun warming your skin when he takes you on holiday. short films dedicated to you with your favorite songs playing in the background

𓇻 maybe he even makes a playlist on his youtube channel, titled “my love” for every video that he includes you in

𓇻 idk just very much in love boyfriend kook who wants the world to love you almost as much as he does (because in all honesty, no one would ever love you more than he does)

[buggybambi]

promise me? | carmen berzatto

rating: | cw: mentions of mikey’s death/funeral, a few timeskips, afab/fem!reader, angst/fluff content, unfinished ending i guess (i’m so down to write a part two if yall ask for it tbh)

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request: “a more angsty idea would be that reader was dating Michael and no one knew she was pregnant when he died… so in order to avoid making their family sad/starting conflict, carmy agrees to pretend that they’re dating and it’s his kid? “

Since the funeral four months ago, your world had felt.. emptier.

Michael Berzatto was your everything. He was the boy in high school who threw rocks at your window, who climbed inside to make out with you on your bed until he fell asleep holding you close, only sneaking out to avoid your parents learning about his visits.

He was the guy who would make a big deal out of every small accomplishment. He was the person who you planned on spending the rest of your life with.

That was until everything happened. One phone call from the Chicago Police Department, and your entire view of the future had been shifted. There was one less person in it.

You didn’t talk to his family much anymore. His younger brother, Carmen, was the only person you really kept in touch with. You called Sugar every so often, and you’d send Donna a check-in text every week or so.

You knew Carmy was in New York, and he hadn’t come to the funeral. You weren’t expecting to see him again until he showed up on your doorstep.

The one thing he wasn’t expecting? You to open the door, tears in your eyes and a pregnancy test in your clenched hand.

“Hey, are you okay?” is the first thing Carmen says. He wraps his arms around you, trying to soothe you in anyway he can. A slight head shake from you and you taking a step back, holding the test out for him to see.

“I’m pregnant. The one person I should be able to tell.. isn’t fucking here.” Your soft voice breaks his heart. It’s the rush of realization that comes first.

The fact that, you’re pregnant with Mikey’s baby.

And Mikey is dead.

“Y/N, we can.. we’ll figure this out.” He promises in a whisper, and you shake your head, more tears streaming. “How?! How am I supposed to do this by myself?” You ask, and you fall into Carmen’s arms, crying on his shoulder. He could care less about the tear stains on his white tee.

If Mikey were here, if there was a way to talk to his dead brother right now, he know what he’d say: “take care of her. Take care of my baby for me.”

“You aren’t alone. You have me.” He swears.

It’s what his brother would want.

“Promise me?” You request quietly. And he nods, rubbing your back in soothing circles.

“I promise.” He repeats.

──

You knew bringing up the pregnancy to Mikey’s family would be.. rough. Sugar and Donna would be upset, with Donna resenting every choice you make.

It would be chaos. So, you kept it a secret, which was harder than it seemed.

You and Carmen had it planned out. To start “dating” two months later, and lie about the timeline of your pregnancy. No one had to know other than you two.

You and Carmen announced your pregnancy to the Berzatto clan three months later, seven months after Mikey died. All of it felt rushed and you found yourself having to force yourself to slow down.

Thankfully, though, Carmen was by your side through it all. Moving in with you and helping set up the nursery, which you made sure to send photos of to Natalie and Donna.

You were there for him when he took over the Beef. It was a while before you found the strength to go back there again, reminiscing on the times you spent in there with Mikey. Him flirting with you as you volunteered your time behind the counter.

Once you had, you found yourself in the same spot you were nearly a year ago. Laughing with Tina and Marcus, threatning jerks with Richie. Even making friends with the new chef, Sydney.

Carmen thought it was good for you. He found himself smiling in the back office as he heard your familiar, light laughter and calming voice.

“You were deeply missed!” Marcus says as he hugs you while you laugh. “So, how’s pregnancy going?” Tina asks as you sigh. “It is a bitch sometimes. But this little one will be worth it.”

“Can I just say.. thank you for bringing a smile to my brother’s face. Seriously. He hasn’t been this happy in a while.” Natalie says as you nod. “It isn’t just me. You guys play a huge part in that.”

“Yeah kid but none of us are having his baby.” Marcus points out. “I should hope not.” You reply, and that’s when the kitchen fills with laughter.

It felt like you were at home again. Carmen wasn’t the only one smiling again.

──

You stood in the nursery, your bump larger. It felt surreal to believe how far you’d come.

You were in your third trimester, 38 weeks pregnant. The nursery looked gorgeous, with a shelf close to the door holding photos from the maternity photoshoot you and Carmen did as well as sonograms pictures.

You wanted to memorialize Mikey in the room as well. A frame sits on the shelf near the sonogram, containing a photo of Natalie, Carmen and Mikey as kids.

You run a hand over Mikey’s spot in the photo, shaking your head and setting it on the shelf. “I remember the day that photo was taken. Mike hated that shirt. That was the only good photo that our mom decided to keep.” Natalie says, entering the room with a glass of water for you.

You accept it, only to nearly drop the glass when a tightening in your stomach forms. It’s at that moment you realize - your water broke, you’re having contractions and.. you’re in labor.

It’s a frenzy from there. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. You waddling-running out to the car, Natalie following behind with the bags while you begin calling Carmen’s phone repeatedly. Time feels like it’s slowed.

It isn’t until you’re at Chicago Medical and being wheeled down the hallway to your labor and delivery room that you realize two things:

1. You’re actually having this baby.

2. Mikey won’t be here to see it.

Some part of you, the part that hasn’t been hitten by the grief yet and the same part that won’t accept he’s gone, is now being hit with the grief. The realization he won’t just come into the room and come back into the room or your life again. It doesn’t rush over you, it drowns you instead.

Maybe it was just the pregnancy excitement and rush. Things hadn’t felt real since the funeral and now? Now they were forcing themselves to be accepted. Forcing you to realize that this is occuring.

It isn’t until you’re alone in the room that you allow the tears to break free. Your vision feels blurred as your heart aches for a man whose gone. One who isn’t here anymore and you can’t change that.

The sight that Carmy finds in the hospital room hurts his heart. It’s quiet, the beeping of monitors that are keeping an eye on your vitals, the baby’s vitals, contractions is the only noise filling the room. You’re seated upright, your eyes exhausted.

“Hi. How are you?” He asks softly as he walks over. He hesitantely puts a hand on your face to brush some of the hair away, and you allow it. You sigh, your face relaxing when he cradles your face like you’re the most precious thing.

“It hit me.” You say softly. “I let myself grieve for a week before his funeral, and then at least three afterward. And then I found out I was pregnant and I bottled it up because I couldn’t do it anymore. And now it hit me again. That I’m having his baby and he’s not going to get to meet him, or her.” Your fists clench at the anger of it.

There are five known stages of grief. Denial, anger, barganing, depression and acceptance. You were on the second stage: anger.

There’s nothing Carmen can say. No words to make it all better, he knows that from his own experience and people trying with him. So, instead, he stays quiet and he lets you get it out.

You exhale, laying back with his help as he props a pillow for you. “Thank you for being here.” You say softly as he takes your hand in his, entertwining your fingers. “I made a promise to be here with you through all of this.”

He intends to keep that promise.

──

‘Roan Michael Berzatto’. Eight pounds, six ounces. Born at 11:37 AM.

Most of the labor process felt like a blur. You remember crying, a lot, and Carmen holding your hand and letting you squeeze while you push, doctors and nurses overlapping each other as they speak to you. Sweat pooling on your forehead as a nurse wiped it away.

Roan looks like Mikey. He has his eyes, his nose, even the same small smile when he sleeps. It’s faint, but it’s there.

His entire hand wraps around Carmen’s pinky while he holds him. There’s a warm aura in the room, the sunlight filling the room perfectly.

You sit, watching them. Carmy walks over and sits beside you on the bed while he puts your son on his legs, as you look down at him. “He really does look like Mike.” You say softly, and Carmen laughs.

There’s a quiet in the air before he speaks again. “I love you.” He says softly. “I know maybe this isn’t the right time to tell you that, but I had to. We agreed to tell everyone this is our son and I want to keep that up, but I want more for us. I want you and I to.. be something more.”

You don’t say anything more, instead you lean over and press your lips against his, letting yourself embrace him. To take in what it feels like to kiss him, be this close to him.

Your world was suddenly full again.

[saursoob]

traitor- FOUR: tyuns plans? pt 2

synopsis: you and yeonjun were best friends for most of your life’s but he’d recently gotten into a toxic relationship with someone you’ve never liked, he knew that and still decided to be with her. though you’d never thought he’d go to the extent of cutting you off because of her. much less expect that years later he’d make his way back into your life.

| prev | masterlist | next | • (word count: 456)

you were dying of boredom and thirst. you and jay had been in this cafe for what felt like hours, which it probably was.

getting up from your seat to stretch you suggest to jay, “im kinda thirsty how about we get some refreshers? plus i am in desperate need of a break.”

jay gets up sighing in relief, “thank god my brain hurts”

you laugh at his response, “i thought you were supposed to be my tutor?” he looks back at you with squinted eyes and furrowed eyebrows, “hey i only offered because we both need it”

you chuckle, getting in line with jay when you suddenly hear a familiar voice ordering in front of you. it sounded like.. soobin?

you scanned the cafe nervously to see if yeonjun was around and sure enough there he was with taehyun and kai. sitting at a table near the entrance door, luckily away from where you were sitting.

you felt a bit of relief for a moment, that was until taehyun spotted you. you immediately broke eye contact hoping he somehow didn’t see you. you thought surely he wouldn’t come up to you or something? you thought wrong.

“y/n its been a while!” taehyun spoke. feeling a pit in your stomach all you could muster up to say was “haha! yeah it has!” your voice slightly breaking from nervousness between a fake chuckle. by this point you could feel yeonjun’s and his entire friend group’s eyes on you.

thankfully jay was there to break the tension, “oh, you must be one of y/n’s old friends?”

taehyun immediately responded with a small smile “yeah, we haven’t spoken in a while but i was hoping on changing that. y/n do you think we can speak outside?”

you quickly look at jay for confirmation to which he simply nods slightly giving you the “okay”.

-

you followed taehyun and as soon as you were both outside he started speaking. “i know this might seem weird considering everything but yeonjun is going through a really hard time right now. i assume he’s texted you about it?”

your heart heavy as you nodded “yeah he did text me about it.”

taehyun sighs, “well, i guess im not surprised. he acts like he’s fine with us but i know hes not. i mean who could? being in a 3 year toxic relationship…”

you felt terrible, guilty that you didn’t respond to yeonjun’s text.

there was a moment of silence before taehyun started talking again. “but thats not what i wanted to talk to you about. i don’t want to say it now though, would you mind if i texted you?”

you knew you shouldn’t but- “yeah go ahead my number is still the same”

-

(a few days later)

YALL BETTER BE FEDDDD WITH THIS EP BC IT TOOK ME SAUR LONG FOR WHAT??? I USED TO BE HORRENDOUS AT WRITING WHEN I STARTED THIS BLOG OMG i literally hate writing ‼️ one of the reasons why i make texts but lmk if this is acceptable ☝️

tags: (@bbinwrld @soobsfairy444 @stqrgr7 @nishik1 @skittlez-area512 @odisdad @zonked-times @vocaloshin @vixensss)

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 24 thoughts

this episode was quite spooky. because cannibalism is real. but something about scully about to get her head chopped off and boiled seemed more outlandish than all the aliens and the guy that kills people with his shadow or even lizard man eugene tooms!

which is strange. because those things are pretty outlandish! maybe its because it was so much scarier than even evil lizard men.

let’s jump in:

so this is an episode involving more meat. did we need more meat, after the earlier meat processing content in s2 episode 10? many are saying no. but not chris carter!

we begin at a dirt road at night. in the state of arkansas. we have an older man and a younger woman named paula in a car, which is not suspicious at all! /s

oh and now the old man choking? is this natural or did she induce it with some poison. i mean maybe he deserved it, if she did. he takes some pills, so I’m guessing it is due to natural causes. now she beckons him out to the woods. 

into the woods. she says he has to catch her. is she luring him into a Bigfoot trap? we have yet to really see Bigfoot, and maybe he’s hungry. although Bigfoot is more Pacific Northwest than Arkansas, i think.

author's note: we tested negative for bigfoot in this episode :(

oh! this man tripped and is now surrounded by people with flashlights and very cool masks. get axe murdered, fucker.

back in DC! aforementioned fucker has been gone for 10 weeks and scully thinks the higher ups are sending them on a wild goose chase. “i’m not questioning the legitimacy of the case, just their motives in assigning it to us” <- damn, very well spoken by a rightfully suspicious woman

oh, but at the scene, someone saw a fire. and mulder says the fire is “supposed to be the spirits of massacred Indians” OH...

(mentally i was like, please do not be another scary Indigenous story episode. and we did in fact get that. sighs deeply. we can make things scary without making Indigenous people the scary ones! or using the trauma of genocide as a setting for spooky time! well, i'm sure you, dear reader, know that, so i shall not preach to the choir, but i will point out that these thoughts were going through my mind)

“these are only legends, mulder”, says a dismissive scully. and why is her hair looking excellent today. I mean not that it isn’t usually but damn. shoutout to the hair and makeup team.

the place on the side of the road where he went missing had a big fire! could be a bonfire, both parties thought. until mulder remembered a documentary he saw in college...

(hehehehe mulder spent college watching documentaries <3)

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! wow it's been a while since i've gotten to format some text like that. he watched a documentary about an insane asylum in college and it gave him nightmares.

(and this may not be super relevant to his character, but to ME, it is, so i shall note it <3)

he's got the VHS from the doc all loaded up, and presses play on a guy rambling about a fire demon!! who was found in the same spot as the fire mark!!! dun dun dunnn 

(love the implication that he either purchased his own copy of the documentary that gave him nightmares in college, or had to go rent it from the video store. both are wonderful possibilities)

cut to arkansas. mulder is on the scene holding a plastic fork from the ground. wearing his silly sunglasses. lmaooo idk why they make me laugh. what a serious gentleman.

sheriff arrives at the scene. he says the witch’s peg to ward off spirits is normal there and also that the fire mark comes from illegal trash burning. and, as an American i am aware of how Americans love an illegal trash burn. but still. suspicious.

sheriff says the missing man george was chasing women out of town. lovely sounding fellow /s

wife questioning time!! he left her years ago. oh, but tea: the day before he went missing he was going to cite major health violations in the chicken plant! hmm... a cause for murder?

mulder gives the wife his phone number. also mulder is also looking very good today. but that is an evil voice in my head that ought to be silenced.

noooo, it's chicken plant time. no thank you ma’am, i would be out in the car <3

paula from the woods at work in the plant!!! taking mystery pills. seemingly in pain??

chicken cutting cam. oh, this is not for me! 

the agents chat with the manager, who says george was trying to shut them down. and while clocked in, paula is sweating. she just gasped in front of a whole bunch of chickens and some guy with very blue eyes. she sees a human head on the chicken stand and picks it up and throws it off. shoutout to this fake decapitated head and my best friends in the prop department for making such a funny creation.

(but of course, it was a hallucination, and she really just threw a poor chicken on the floor!!! his sacrifice was in vain... gone but not forgotten)

mulder is inspecting the chicken gutting operation and i've said it before and i'll say it again: he is braver than me. 

ohh, more chicken drama: george was filing a lawsuit about “line hypnosis” and it was dismissed before he vanished! he deserved to win. is there a meat processing union? there ought to be. but he was the only one citing bad health practices, the other 3 workers said it was fine... sooo what’s the truth…

“what’s that” asks mulder, who then gets shown the feed processor, and asks “chickens feed on chickens?” <- heartbreaking realization. many of us remember where we were when learning this information. i'm sure it will stick with him forever. and i'm frankly surprised he didn't know already.

NAURRR THE SLUDGE AND BLOOD nasty nasty evil

OH plot twist: paula is holding the manager with a knife to his throat… scully telling everyone to calm down. personally i would be not calm. she said “don’t get excited” but me? experiencing an active hostage situation at my place of work? i would be excited

NOOO the sheriff shot her and she fell into the feed conveyor belt processing… thing. sheriff i KNOW you are covering something up. you will not hide from me.

SHE GETS GULPED INTO THE FEED BELT THINGY GAGGG it’s giving the jungle by upton sinclair that caused many american 8th graders to confront the corruption of the meat industry

paula had gone to the doctor about headaches… like george!!! doctor had assumed the condition was stress induced. and they did have similar symptoms. 

treated them both with codine… ain’t that a bit strong?? this man doesn't seem to be a very good doctor, tbh. i mean i don't think the guy that works at the chicken plant to sew back on fingers needs to be an expert in everything but like. codine for headaches? umm girl.

mr. chaco of chaco’s chicken was paula’s grandfather… if i was a grandfather rich off of chicken money, my grandkids would not be working the processing line, let me tell u that much!

back to the agents: these two should not be looking as good as they do in a chicken processing plant. they had to really step it up today to compensate for the horrors of the set.

chicken man lives in a mansion. further evidence of corruption. paula, i would not have had you working in such conditions if i was your grandfather. there has been a deep wrong here, i can see already.

and he’s got a big hat and is feeding his chicken corn. not other chickens, like the feed he makes in his plant... seems he is aware of the ethical issues implied in his business. also, mulder with those weird ass glasses. 

cacho is going on about the subject of chickens. and how he built this town. he sure is taking an awful lot of credit for creating a town, pretty sure that's a team effort mr. chaco. he's also going on about how he thought george was trying to tear him down. 

AUTOPSY TIME!! rare degenerative disorder in da brain of paula. and scully has only seen it one other time back in med school because you can only really find it in an autopsy. nice work, doctor! <- i just typed “nice worm 🪱” so we'll let that stay for the added sense of whimsy it provides

but despite looking like a young girl fresh out of high school, paula was born in '48?! she was 47 years old. allegedly. this is not adding up. so they go on a quest to find her birth certificate and see what the truth is.

debrief in the car. so: odds are not great that she and george had the same very rare disease

during this discussion, our duo are run off the road by a chicken truck!!!! no! oh... he drove them into a river. mulder has shifted into rescue mode as the river is red with chicken gore. i feel someone might be distracting them and trying to get the body… (this was actually not the case i was just overly suspicious)

but more chicken drama: the driver had the same symptoms as george and paula! how can this be?!

“i just came up with a sick theory, mulder” (grabs her shoulder) “ooh, I’m listening” LMAOOOO this is sososo funny to me. yeah tell me ur sick theories scully you have my full attention.

GAG!! because it is both gross and shocking. her theory: what if someone put george’s body in the feed grinder, and then since it’s a prion disease, a chicken ate it, and someone ate a chicken, and it spread to the humans!!!! AHHHH! well that would be an epidemic, because they ship chickens out across the country… she glances knowingly, implying things could be very bad 

the river is filled with bird gore from the plant BLECH... who allows this??!! please say there are some modern regulations in place to prevent this being done irl.

mulder says he wants it dragged, thinking that maybe george is in there. and the sheriff is hesitant to do this. once again, i’m onto you, sheriff. i mean, a river full of chicken gore: it would be a good place to put a dead body.

and bam! a body is found. or rather. many many many bones. many bodies. and they are still going. damn.

so, we have a ton of bones. scully can put them into 9 distinct skeletons, one of which is in fact george. i love that she can do that, put the bones into distinct skeletons. she knows it's geroge from a pin in his femur!

“all of them share one, strange detail though” “well, they seem to have lost their heads” “… well, besides that” <- LMAOOOO idk why this was so funny to me... he really thought he picked up on something but he did Not.

here's the linking detail: all the bones are smooth and buffed like they have been polished. ??? who is polishing bones? it sure isn't me, i'll tell you that much. 

george’s wife is at the scene, learning her husband's body has been found, and she is sobbing. and the sheriff says “we’ll take care of you” now what does THAT mean? because it's not really sounding like the welcoming words of a man who is going to guide his neighbor through tragedy, and instead like there is something bigger at play here...

back at the plant, the doctor is mentioning another guy coming down “with the symptoms”…. omg. so this IS a known thing from the inside. mr. chaco knows but he isn’t doing anything about it!!!!! chicken dramaaaa goes crazy 

scully at the scene of all the bones, carrying a bucket of chicken. lmao. she is braver than me, for i would have gone vegan the first moment i set foot in chicken processing land.

mulder does some digging: 87 people have disappeared in the area in 50 years! that seems... a lot? and he thinks the same person or persons were responsible. he thinks they were EATEN!! boiled in a pot.

“they used similar evidence to prove cannibalism among on the Anasazi tribe of New Mexico” okay: 1. why do you know that 2. need to look into these allegations for myself and 3. Anasazi… that is the title of the next episode!!! what could this mean!! another cannibalism episode?!

scully is very sad to say that paula could have gotten sick from eating george :( girl I’m not convinced the chicken is clean put it down NOW 

cannibalism = eternal life? follow for more crazy mulder theories!

she puts aside the chicken……. good!

mr. chaco says “he’ll handle it” and george's wife doris arrives, saying she “can’t keep lying”… she says “she did it” (!!)

OH????? she... killed her husband? that is a bold thing to admit to.

“we’re gonna take good care of you”, says mr. chaco, which raises the question: are they a cannibal cult???? is that what he means when he mentions that he “built this town”???

now what the hell is going on. <- an interjection i stand by

mulder and scully are going to the courthouse to look at the papers and all the birth records are burnt!! doris calls mulder and says he’s afraid mr. chaco will kill her… they split up…. nooooo i hate splitting up!!! i watched so much scooby doo as a kid!

GASP! a guy in a mask like we saw at the very beginning of the episode is in doris' home!!! drumbeat playing while she screams…. overall, this is very not good, i wrote, referring to the use of Indigenous imagery for this murder, and also doris being murdered in the first place

scully at the scene of the murder ft. big ass flashlight. she gets in through the side door. gun: out. trench coat: open. looks: served. diagnosis: baby girl that could kill me, and i am respectful of the fact that she has this power yet refrains from using it on me.

mulder at mr. chaco’s house. mr. chaco has some… stuff in his home. including photos with Indigenous people and also bones. having human bones in your house, and especially on display, is not a good sign of ethics in play. and a skull. Oh! it says the skull is from a tribe in New Guinea... why tf does he have that. put it back???

at the back of chaco's parlor, we see a mysterious door. mulder is busting it open.

LORD ALMIGHTY, I DID NOT THINK THERE WOULD BE HEADS INSIDE??? HELLO???

so that must be where all of the heads that mulder noticed were missing have gone. they're sewn up sort of like shrunken heads. very spooky. once again, pour one out for the props department for such a creation.

noooo chaco is in the house with scully, who was investigating the call of doris. NOOOO HE KNOCKED HER OUT!!! this seriously needs to stop happening like i'm worried about the brain damage she is experiencing.

back to mulder cam. goodness. all of these heads. 

in a field now. doctor is serving some soup. to a bunch of people. who are eating around a big bonfire. do NOT tell me scully is in that meal....

she is not. YET! but he is bringing her over to be roasted. and they ate doris! chaco is yelling about turning on each other and how they were only supposed to eat outsiders. girl you shouldn't be eating anybody last time i checked. 

man in the mask shows up with an axe. and chaco is decapitated in front of scully. who is put into the decapitation thingy next. GIRL THIS IS FUCKED UP!!!

mulder on the scene, just in time. he shoots the dude in the mask.

“you alright?” he asks, brushing her hair back after lifting her out of the decapitation machine. my good friend, i would venture to guess that she is not quite alright at the moment!!! this will take an awful lot of unpacking!!!

sigh. but the tenderness of the near death experience. coming back to life in someone's arms. yeah i'll romanticize that.

TEA!!! the sheriff was the one under the mask!!!!!! i knew he was up to no good.

wrap up: chicken place shut down. unclear how many citizens of the town ate people. 27 have become ill with prion disease. chaco’s plane was shot down in 1947, and he spent 7 months with a cannibalistic tribe, and also he was born in 1902, so he was 93 at his death- so the cannibalism really WAS extending life. and we see some more feed being scooped to the chickens as scully says his remains have yet to be found. end scene.

HUH???? what in da hell. so what are we thinking kids…?

well, i'll tell you something: turns out i am afraid of cannibal cults, no matter how outlandish they seem! i guess when you get a villain or evil situation of the week show like this, you WILL learn exactly what kind of fear pushes your buttons. i can imagine almost nothing scarier than being led to the slaughter like scully was. seems a purposeful commentary on the meat industry, especially when taken in with the other meat episode this season.

so, if i were scully, i do think i would need to take a week or so off. but she is just built different than i am.

some things bugged me here. first of all, like i mentioned, you don't need to throw in Indigenous people to make a scary story. like is the thought of a bunch of arkansas cannibals not horrific enough? the scary was there!

second, i have not been doing a kidnapping count, but i feel that scully is getting the rough of the deal here. i believe in gender equality when it comes to characters being kidnapped. like, an even 1:1 ratio. why are we denying mulder his damsel in distress arc? does anyone think about how he would feel? how nice it would be to see scully burst in with a gun and shoot the fellow that was about to cannibalize him?

still, it is rare an episode actually spooks me, so i must give credit where it is due. even if it felt a little outlandish, your girl was frightened! scully needs a vacation now. i also thoroughly laughed at the sick theories line and his funny sunglasses.

it's funny to note, but i like the episodes that are either very silly and light hearted, or incredibly angsty the best. and that may seem contradictory, but you cannot tell me that one breath and humbug may be on opposite ends of the tone spectrum, but they are both objectively Perfect. i'll have to think more on why they are the best in my opinion, but i think honestly i would watch these two read the dictionary.

[nocturnal-desolation]

Hello sorry for tagging. I am very sick, my asthma is at its maximum level, my nose freezes, I have no medicine or food. I am in bad shape financially, I am a black disabled, who uses multiple medications, I pay for my food and lodging

Unfortunately I do not have all the resources to keep me safe, that is why I need your help, whatever you can contribute to me will be of great help.

Would you look at that… I have a prime example of how to spot a scam in my asks. It's not very well done, just well enough that some people might fall for it - and some have even reblogged it. You've been redirected to the Fraud Detection Unit, which will take it from here. (actually it's still just me, I'm the fraud detection unit, we have "Fachkräftemangel" in Germany, sorry, jk)

Seriously though… First of all, I'd like to address the fact that it's incredibly sad to play with people's emotions like this. You should be ashamed of yourself, but I'm sure you're not. It's the same with scams asking for help and donations for people and families in Gaza, which has come up a lot recently and is even more despicable because there are actual fundraisers going on (which are official) and these people are in a terrible situation. So to exploit that worldwide sympathy or solidarity and use the inhumane circumstances of these or other people for your scams is disgusting to the core.

But back to this particular ask and blog… The text itself makes no sense. Like, not at all. For example, a " freezing nose" is not a typical symptom of asthma. I've never had asthma, but I'm pretty sure your nose doesn't freeze up when you have asthma. What are you trying to tell me? That you got asthma in the middle of a blizzard? Sorry, I can't help you with that. "Get out of the blizzard!" is all I can tell you. And what is the "maximum level" of asthma? Is that some kind of asthma end boss? Sounds more like you need an ambulance, not money...

That's why it's important to be fluent in English if you want to pretend to be a native speaker. I can't help you there either. I can barely speak my own language, let alone English.

Some other things everyone should notice or look for when getting messages like this:

blog was created fairly recently, no consistency, just reblogged some random things (like posts from 'tumblr staff' lol - no offense) to have something on it at all + obviously otherwise empty blogs that are just begging for money or reblogging other similar posts all the time are even more suspicious

something I haven't seen before either is "Black Lives Matter" being used as bait to appeal to those involved in the movement

randomly generated usernames (what is "toosaladgarden"? I've never had a salad that was too garden, so I don't know - not too important, but in this case it doesn't help to be convincing)

no bio, no age, no country (usually not important, but in this case it is)

non-transparent fundraiser, no one knows why this exact amount of money is needed (I think it even went from $1700 to $1900 since yesterday if I saw that correctly lol) and how the supposed current donations came about (you could put any number in there)

randomly contacted

scammers often use tactics such as emotional manipulation and urgency to evoke sympathy and to prompt a quick response

lack of details, very vague in general, limited information about specific circumstances

But that made me curious and I wanted to know more. You (the scammers) were "smart" enough to use a profile picture that can't be easily traced back to the original source, I'll give you that. But that's a problem for you, because it seems to be the only picture you have of this person with this child, so you had to use it everywhere…

And that's why I was able to trace your picture back to a Twitter / X account that goes by the name "Aska" and the handle askafarao… which also engages in very, very obviously fraudulent requests for money. Every few days or weeks since August 2023, this "X" account posts nothing but new "reasons" why the money is needed. And it's quite funny how little effort they put into it, because the reasons are not creative and half of them don't even add up. But most importantly, somehow there are a couple of different email addresses for different paypal accounts with different names on them. I think we can all agree that unless you're trying to hide something, you don't need more than one name… right? Unless Paypal is going to close your accounts all the time, or you're afraid they will because they're detecting fraudulent activity, you don't need more than one account, right?

TL:DR Let's make this part short and sweet: If you get a message like this, or see a similar post, be aware that it's a scam. Don't reblog it and don't be like, "But what if it's true…" It's obviously not, and when I saw the X account, I actually had a good laugh because this account is a complete mess, even for a scammer.

[sygni]

colouring tutorial from sygni aka sima

DISCLAIMER 1. eng is not my native language 2. i am using techniques of a realistic art so it's not for everyone! but you may find some tips interesting tho

big text screamer

so obv 1. making our sketch (and after lineart if you're using it bc im not) 2. filling up background, then character. think about what atmosphere you want to create in result, try to use different background colours for your characters for diff effects in result. i've had a small post with a little explaining for choosing colours, you can use that too! i suppose i can make a post about emotional effects of different colours if someone interested bc that's really a HUGE part of final effect on viever. actually i can tell and explain in art so much feel free to send questions <:D so like that! (tbx i changed it like 3 times so it's okay to change your colouring desigions mid-drawing if you're feeling something feels off)

3. time to get some basic shading going! don't skip that step i swear to god you can think bruh sima for what do you they added overlays that i can use after i finish the art? are you a caveman or what please just trust me it'll add so much charm in your art so how to do it: 1. choose where your light sourse is. on my art it's in front of griande 2. use a CONTRASTING colour for each big part of a character (hair, clothes, face etc) and make shades with that. REMEMBER dark colours going next to light ones, light to dark. please don't use black for shades for god's sake. also shades are cold coloured most of the time thats important too ig 3. if you're confused where you shall place shades then find a ref or make a photo of yourself OR use a mirror (preferable!) and this things can help you understand face shading better too \/

don't feel not good enough that you need to study sth or use refs it's fully okay every good artist using that!

so i know this looks like mess BUT what did i do (guys trust the process): 1. desided i want a face to be a centre of viewer's attention so made everything else darker 2. put a light on a face, the most light shade on the parts which are closer to light sourse - at my art it's nose and a bit of forehead. and exact same thing but backwards with eyes remember face isn't flat! so even if forehead is in the light, it slowly goes back, so it won't be light all the way (you can see it on previous photo of the gypseous head)

then the longest part goes: we're using semitones (colour which are simmilar to base shade) to connect shades to light parts, to add volume to the art make sure your brush moves according to .. ehh.. face shape? just take someone and weirdly touch their face to understand how it goes and with your brush cope that example (look closely to the strokes):

so i've did something

i know this looks like "let's add some details" type of thing but: i've added semitones to the shadows to correct their forms -> to suit the relief of the face added a contrasting (to pink of the base) orange as blush, a dark blue to show the farthest spots from light added a basic reflects on the sides of the noce (orange spots), chin (peach). reflections on things are sooo important and add so much life in your art! yet it's easily done: you just create a little light blended line on the bottom of your shade. if next to thing you're making a reflection on is the diff-coloured thing, then pick a colour from it and mix them. example \/

made an edge on a forehead (dark-red line) yet i'd make it more accurate later, and will add it on the chin and sides of the nose to highlight them and separate from other parts of the face. actually this edges are just the darkest spots between the light of the item and reflection on the bottom of it. i like to make it noticible, yet someone tend to blend shades in. if you're just studying how to shade i'd reccomend starting without using blending yet you can notice how colours going more dull from forehead to chin to make her look like she's angling her head forward, i guess i'll make it more noticible later

AND i'm going to sleep but i have more to tell + i need to finish the work later anyway so put some feedback for part 2

[rallamajoop]

Lab Photos and Documents from Resident Evils 7 & 8

Near the end of both Resis 7 and 8, the player character gets to explore a laboratory full of significant documents and interesting photos, textured and angled such that it’s very hard to get a good screencap. So here’s a huge dump of all the relevant image assets I could find to extract from both game files (plus some rambling about everything that got recycled between them, because spot-the-reused-asset is still my favourite game right now).

Photos from Lucas' lab in Resident Evil 7

The photo of Mia with Eveline in front of the tanker can be found at the end of the Mia video tape, though it also shows up again in Lucas' other lab in the Not A Hero DLC. That DLC also throws in a few new photos of Lucas' creations.

And moving on a game...

Photos from Miranda's Lab in Resident Evil 8

(Apologies for the long post above the cut, but tumblr doesn't seem to let you tile images below a 'Read more', unfortunately.)

What’s interesting is that most do seem to be legitimate photos of the characters’ real-life face models, not just renders of their 3D game models. Whether the human models themselves posed for these or whether their likeness was simply photoshopped onto scenes composed without them I haven’t been able to find out (though the latter seems more likely to me, given that most face models don't even seem to have known what character their likeness would be used for). Either way, there’s an eerie realism to these that doesn’t occur in many other parts of the game, and it’s effective in its own uncanny way.

Since both games refer to the same research at the same lab, it's probably reasonable that some of RE8 photos are just slightly-adjusted copies of those from RE7 ‒ those two shots of Eveline in the lab most obviously. And we're probably just supposed to politely ignore how obviously Miranda's just been selectively edited into that original pic of Eveline with the scientists. *cough*

In fact, if you look closely, even that big group photo of Eveline with the research team and transport operatives has actually patched in both Mia and Eveline from that earlier photo of them standing in front of the tanker. In fact, Alan (Mia's partner in RE7) isn't even from a photo at all: that's a drawing from a piece concept art (no wonder they've got him standing at the back!) As a minor role who appeared in no photos in RE7, I assume they just didn't have any good shots of his face model available.

I'm a little suspicious even Miranda's face in the group shot has been edited in from one of her other photos, but the match isn't quite perfect enough for me to be sure.

Even that photo of the needle going into the egg and the developing foetus isn't new: you can see the same needle shot in some of the RE7 documents, and even the foetus development series gets an angled scan-over in the RE7 ending sequence.

Mind you, some of those "photos of Eveline" may actually not be Eveline herself ‒ text on them in the lab itself suggests they're photos of other members of the E-series, sacrificed during necrotoxin tests. Which makes it rather odd that the figure in the second photo is an adult man who looks nothing like Eveline, so I can only assume some wires got crossed somewhere in the dev team.

(Also odd: the suggestion that there were multiple E-series subjects, some of whom were put down for experimental purposes, even though Eveline herself is labeled E-001. But let's not pretend RE lore has ever been super-consistent at the best of times.)

RE8's "lab photos" also include a couple of shots of a man in snow gear who's apparently Spencer of Umbrella-fame, presumably for all those fans who don't feel it's a proper Resident Evil game if there's not an Umbrella in it somewhere. They're both about as rough as that one piece of concept art of Alan, so I'm guessing whoever created them was about as invested in that topic as I am.

Somewhat more interesting to me are the two shots of Miranda with babies. The second obvious Eveline, but the first is presumably of Miranda with Eva, way back in 1920 or so ‒ demonstrating nothing so much much as that in a full 100 years, Miranda hasn't even slightly changed how she does her eyebrows. /s

[authorxxxxxx]

Never Let Go Of Me | Zlatan Ibrahimović x Female Reader | Soulmate AU

Summary : She hadn't fully realized yet of how observating he was over her , until she stumbled upon a number of videos adout their relationship on Tik Tok .

TW : Zlatan ( because he is a warning on his own - that's why I like him btw - ) , obsessiveness , possessiveness BUT FLUFF

This can be read as a Part 2 of Expect The Unexpected or as a stand alone .

P.S. This idea came up to me at 2 a . m . while I was listening to the song Never Let Go Of Me by Baltra and it made me think of him and now I can't stop listening to it .

English isn't my first language so if you spot a mistake just bare with me .

5k words : \

Enjoy < 3

__________________________________________________

Reader's POV

I was laying in my bed for the past 10 hours since when I woke up I had a headache and a high fever . I took some pills and decided to stay in bed , but my body had other ideas because it decided to bring my period and with her cramps as always .

Zlatan was back in Milan training for an upcoming game this weekend .

_____

' ' I was supposed to fly to Milan for the game today but i have a fever and I don't want you to catch something and don't be able to play . I know this game is very important to you . I'm sorry I can't make it . ' ' I said to him over the phone .

' ' What ? You're sick ? Fuck the game . I'm coming home right - ' '

' ' No , you don't have to . ' ' I said to him . ' ' You don't have to worry for me , I'll be fine and I'll be watching the game . ' '

' ' Are you sure you don't want me to come ? ' ' He asked me .

' ' Yes , I'm sure . Now go on and try not to smash people . ' ' I said to him and he started laughing .

' ' Can't promise anything . I miss you and I love you . Pet Flyffy for me okay ? ' ' He said to me before we hung up .

' ' I will . Miss you and love you too . ' '

I looked besides me over to Fluffy . My fat orange cat . I pet him in the head and then went back to sleep .

_____

I wake up after a few hours and I realise that the game is suppose to start in a couple of seconds . I turn on the TV and wait for the game to start .

Until then I decide to open Tik Tok to respond in some of the videos that my best friend sends to me everyday .

I saw some videos of funny and cute animals , some cars and memes until she sends to me this .

-> You need to watch this ASAP ! ! !

I click on the notification and then I came across a Tik Tok account about my relationship with Zlatan .

In all the videos I could see him watching me all the time from the field while he was training or playing a match , studying my figure in every way possible or making sure that I am okay .

In some other it's him and I in our cars or us walking in and out in the AC Milan stadium .

-> Yo . . . the fans are going wild over this .

My best friend texted me and I open the comments .

-Omg look at the way he is looking at her . I swear they are so cute .

-Find someone who looks at you the way Zlatan looks at Y/N .

-He is so observating . Are we sure that he isn't just jealous ?

And then . . . I suddenly started remembering all these times . All the times that I was looking at him not knowing that he was looking at me back in silence . I see his face and by the look on his eyes I can feel the same thing that he felt at the moment .

I remember the first time that we argued . An opponent of his said something disrespectful about me and in a matter of seconds Zlatan had pussed him on the ground so harshly . He was so mad that not even the whole team couldn't take him away . I remember the coach begging me to come and help the situation . The moment I touched his back calling his name everything stoped . He got a red card and he was disqualified for playing in the next 3 matches .

When I tried to talk to him , he got mad and we started fighting .

I remember him being so angry with everything . Angry at his opponent and what he said about me , angry at his coach , angry at his teammates and angry with himself because he was shouting at me .

But the second he saw the tears escaping my eyes he stopped and he wrapped his hands around me for a hug .

The sound from TV made me escape my thoughts .

I closed my phone and I tried to focus on the game .

Zlatan had already scored 1 goal and everything seemed to be okay .

After a couple of minutes I open up my phone to text him knowing that when I wake up he will be besides me sleeping peacefully .

' ' You were so good today . I miss you and I can't wait for you to get home . I love you . ' ' I texted him .

' ' I was good because you were watching . I'll be home in a couple of hours . I love you too . ' ' He texted back but before I could response I fell asleep with a smile waiting for him .

_____

Tags : @unimportantbabymilksharkte

[urfavnegronerd]

boxer boy pt.2

warnings: swearing, use of the n word, grammarly edited, proofread, nun too serious

a/n: giggled while writing this

w/c: 2.1k ish

published: august 7, 2023

That Saturday, the air was brisk and slightly windy from the fire escape outside Kori’s bedroom where she and Lilac were doing homework

“So you met that guy right?” 

“Which guy? Can I use your sleeve, my uniform doesn’t clean my glasses right” 

“Blind-ass. Sure,” Lilac sighs,  rolling her eyes “That guy I was telling you about?” 

“Thanks,” Kori mumbles, pulling the spectacles off their nose “I mean, I met a guy, he’s cool I guess,”

“Yeah? What’s his name?” 

“Miles,” 

“What’s he look like?” 

“Don’t you have English homework to do?” 

“It’s just some stupid notes on some random-ass personal narrative we read in class.” she sighs “Tell me about this boy,” 

“Ion know shit about this boy, Lilac, all I know is he likes my shoes and knows Kendrick Lamar,”  they reply “Why does it matter?” 

“Because it’s a boyyyyyyy, you been all busy in them lil classrooms in shit,” 

“I ain't busy I’m focused, there's a difference” 

“Yeah whatever, do you think he’s cute?” 

“I dunno, I barely spoke to him,” 

“What? I bust my ass trying to find you a friend and you barely spoke to him,” 

“You literally just texted someone, calm down,” 

“Same thing, come on K dot, you know what I mean,” 

A sigh, then an eye roll. 

“Do your homework, Lilac,”

“You’re no fun,” 

Did Kori think Miles was attractive? It’s hard to tell, they just met for heaven's sake, what was it supposed to be a love-at-first-sight thing? He’s literally just a guy, Kori knows plenty of guys. 

“So, what about that girl, Kori?” 

“What about her?” 

Jakobi pointedly glares at Miles, popping his head out from behind the bag. 

“What?” 

“Miles, nigga, can you not be so hard-headed for once?”  

“What?” 

“Would you take a hint?” 

“I already told you, ain’t lookin for a girl,” 

“She doesn’t have to be your girl man, I’m just tryna get you out there,” 

Miles pauses and steps back from the bag swiveling his head to look at Jakobi. 

“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You been different since your dad man, I’m just trying to get you more Miles, bruh, that’s all. Nun too serious,” 

“Nigga–” 

“I get that the process is different for everybody, but come on your dad wouldn’t want you to be this fucked up about it for this long,” 

“Yeah, whatever,” 

“So? What’s Kori like?” 

“They’re aight I guess, cool shoes,” 

“Other than they shoes, bruh” 

“Nice hair I guess, you want the bag?” 

“Stop changing the subject, and yes I do,” 

The two briefly switch spots. 

“So?” 

“What?” 

“You want to get to know her at all or?” 

“I guess,” 

“That’s enough for me,” 

“Can you actually jab?” 

“Shut the fuck up,”  

The following Monday, the air was light and chilly while a snake of less than enthusiastic students make their way up to Visions Academy. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” 

“Hi, Miles.” Kori turns, pulling out their earbuds, “How was your weekend?” 

Falling into step beside her, Miles shrugs. 

“Aight I guess, training, and then homework, you?” 

“Training?” 

“Boxing,” 

“Oh tight, my grandfather used to watch old matches when I was little,” 

“You box?” 

They snort. Miles pauses, examining the air around the two of them, Kori’s face more specifically. How her nose turns up and how their mouth stubbornly contorts and twists up into a smile, how there's just barely a gap between her two front teeth. Not too serious for braces.

“Fuck no, ‘m not coordinated enough for that,” 

“Yeah? Doubt it,” 

“Fuck you mean ‘doubt it’?” 

“All I’m saying is I see what you be painting in AP art, that's not uncoordinated,” 

“Keeping tabs on me, Morales?” 

“You wish,” 

“Whatever,” 

Oh shit.  

“I’m just saying, what you be doing has to have some sort of coordination,” 

“Not really,” 

Miles raises his brow. 

“Girl, be for real wimme right now,” 

“I am being for real,” 

“So them lil characters you be painting, no coordination?” 

Was Miles looking at her paintings? 

“Nah,” 

“Girl that's bullshit if I’ve ever heard it,” 

“I guess there's some coordination behind it, Ion think so though,” 

“So, who’s your favorite boxer?” 

“Adonis Creed?” 

It’s Miles’ turn to snort and Kori’s turn to observe. Miles had slight dimples on both sides of his face, and his braids traveled with him. Bright white teeth hidden behind a full pair of lips, but his bottom lip was bigger than the top lip. His nose crinkled slightly, but mostly from the side.  

Oh fuck.

“Are you for real?” 

“Partially,” 

“For real, though” 

“Tyson prolly, I’d say Ali, but that's cliché” 

“Them cats is intense,” 

Oh shit. 

“I guess, they’re good though,” 

“Yeah, they are,” 

“Where you transfer from?” 

“What?” 

“I mean, Ian seen you around here since last month,” 

“Maybe you jus aint look in the right places,” 

“I got eyes everywhere,” 

“Oscasio Charter in Brooklyn Heights,” 

“Oh no shit, my boy goes there,” 

“Small world,” 

“Hey, so–” 

The two get cut off by the warning bell. 

“See you in art,” 

“Uh, yeah, see you,” 

What the fuck just happened? 

Six hours later, Miles bounds down the stairs to the unusually full gym, meaning there were only two extra heads in the gym. But shit adds up. And, Kori was there? Alongside an unfamiliar face and Jakobi. The air in the gym was unusually stuffy and hung heavily in the air. 

“Aye, Ma–” 

“Jakobi, nigga get the fuck off Kori,” 

“Ain’t nobody say I was talking to her,” 

“Ion want your raggedy ass neither,” 

“Yeah, alright,” 

“Kori?” 

“Oh, hi,” 

“I thought you ain’t box,” 

“Lilac wanted to try it,” 

She waves from behind Kori. 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah,” 

“Miles!”  

“That’s Alexei, I’ll see you, Kori,” 

“Yeah, see you,” 

They turn around to a seemingly bursting Lilac. 

“Girl what was that?: 

“What was what?” 

“You’re so ridiculous,”  

“What?” 

“Nevermind,” 

“Okay, you tying your gloves wrong,” 

“Smartass,” 

Lilac was off, somewhere learning the ropes from that Jakobi guy and so Kori was off and alone. Too nervous to leave Lilac alone, because this was an all-guy gym, they decide to look around. With wide eyes, they ogle at everything within a two-foot radius. The gym smelled pungent, but what else was she to expect from a boxing gym damn near next to the sewers in Brooklyn? Lightly running her hand on the wall, she walked the perimeter observing, the wall was a mixture of cool and damp. She gently began to weave in between the rows and rows of bags, eyeing anything and anyone in sight. Anyone including Miles. He was good, with clean technique, power exuding from each and every jab he threw, gentle muscles jumping out from under his muscle tee, sweat dotting his forehead and collecting on his brow. Eyes level and focused, slightly narrowed. Focused and… a little beautiful, not that Kori would ever admit it. 

“You wanna try?” 

Kori snaps out of their trance. 

“Hm?” 

“Wanna try?” 

“Oh, uh, I probably shouldn’t” 

“Oh right,” He breathes “Uncoordinated,” 

“You have an excellent memory,” 

“Just one punch?” 

Kori rolls her eyes and laughs, slowly trekking over to the bag Miles was stationed at. 

“Ion even know how to throw one,” 

“It’s easy, come here,” He gently tugs at their wrist, “It’ll be fine.” 

Sidling up behind her, his breath tickles at her neck, hands resting on their waist.

“This okay?” He whispers in their ear, breath hot on their neck. 

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Miles,” 

“I know what I’m doing, now, put your legs shoulder width apart,” 

“Like this?” 

“Yeah, now bring your hand up and keep your elbows in,” His hands move to guide their arms, adjusting his head to rest on her shoulders. “And then extend your arm, but not all the way through, leave a little bend in your elbow,” He mumbles, guiding her arm forward so their knuckles lightly brush the leather of the bag

“Why aren’t I fully extending?” She whispers, breath lightly hitching in their throat.  

“So you don’t waste time trying to bring the fist back,” Miles tugs their arm back, gently leading her arm to their side again. 

“Oh,” 

“It’s about mostly about power, speed comes second,” He steps back, “Throw one again,” 

Throwing a gentle punch again, she complies and turns to look at him again, a smile dancing on their lips as she shoves their glasses up her nose. 

“Like that?” 

“Kinda, your recovery is a little on the slower side, but for a beginner, that was good,” 

“Told you,” she giggles stepping away from the bag. “Uncoordinated.”  

“Nah, you just need practice,” 

“Yeah, whatever, boxer boy,” 

“You’re a trip, Kori,” 

“I know.” They shrug “I got Astronomy homework, see you tomorrow Miles,” 

“Yeah, K dot, see you,” Miles replies, jogging backward and waving lightly.

“Lilac?” 

“GIRL–” 

“Tone it all the way down,” Kori yawns, rubbing their eyes, leaning back in her chair. 

“Whatever, what was that?” 

“My calculus homework, you interrupted it,” 

“Not that you nerd, at the gym earlier,” 

“What was what?” 

“Ugh, how thick skulled are you?” 

“Judging on your tone, very,” 

“Kori he likes you,” 

“Who?” 

“Oh my god, Miles,” 

“No, he doesn’t,” 

“I don’t think he teaches just anyone how to throw a punch, much less like that,” 

“Like what?” 

“All up behind you,” 

“Oh my god, it was nothing,” She knew full and well it wasn’t nothing. But Miles was just a boy. 

“Whatever, what’d your mom make tonight,” 

“I’m in the Visions dorms during the week,” 

“Ugh right.” She scoffs, “You think you can sneak out?” 

“Lilac,” 

“What?!?” 

Kori laughs, rolling her eyes. 

“I’ll see you later K dot,” 

“Bye Lilac, love you,” 

“Love you too, bye” 

And then Kori was alone, silence flooding the dorm as a gentle October breeze wheezes through the dorm. Again, she didn’t necessarily hate Visions, they just hated how it made her feel. Small, like, playground small. Sighing, they warily look out the window at the last sliver of sunset dancing over the buildings and streetlamps. Huffing and returning back to the last of her homework, they rest her head on her hand, back to solving calculus problems. 

Hours later, tying her braids into a scarf and lazily stuffing them into a bonnet, they lazily make their way to bed, rubbing their face and yawning. Flopping down onto the stiff Visions Academy mattress, she sighs and yawns staring at the ceiling, when there's an abrupt scream and a flash of purple outside her window. Stumbling across her dorm, tripping over stray textbooks, and sloppily driving her glasses up their nose, she presses against the window. 

“What?”   

Almost as if on cue, the flash of purple appears again dragging a semi-lifeless body behind it, tying it to a streetlight down the block from her dorm. The Prowler. Brooklyn’s finest vigilante, what seems like the only person looking out for the city, making it a little safer for everyone. Older women stayed out a little later, laughing on city buses, young children skipped rope on their stoops a little later each night, and Kori felt a little better, walking home from the bus stop.  

Adjusting herself to see a bit better, leaning up on her tiptoes and craning her neck she fuses her face to the window, what was going on? Quickly and quietly sliding the window open, they lean out and bracing their arms on the windowsill, craning her head as far as humanly possible. The Prowler’s claws are extracted from his metal gauntlet in one quick motion, as he stands menacingly over the seemingly lifeless body, waiting for it to make a move. 

From down the street, another figure jogs up and joins him. The second figure is clad in a black zip-up hoodie and a ratty pair of sweatpants, face covered by a surgical mask. But those eyes, Kori has to have seen them before, intense and focused, narrowed in concentration. Where had she seen them? As the almost-familiar figure bounds up to the Prowler's side, Prowler speaks in a deep, almost demonic, warbled voice.

“Clean it up,” 

Instantaneously, Prowler's gone, speeding down the street on a purple motorbike. The hooded figure sizes up the body slumped in front of a streetlight, throws its head back, and sighs. Frantically looking both ways down the street to find not a soul lurking, the silhouette pushes back their hood. Those braids. She had to have seen them somewhere, two cornrows, tightly woven onto their scalp with a slight taper fade sharply dividing the skull from the nape of their neck. 

“Miles?” Kori whispers, pulling herself back into her dorm and shutting the window in haste.

Oh shit. 

taglist: @lunarfleur @mayeluvsu @kombuuuuuuu @nagi3seastorm @n1cole-ghost @milesmolasses @hearts4hobie @hummusxx

a/n: bounce concepts off me in asks/ leave reqs

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3

xoxo,

rae <3

[souichieatr]

idk if you’ve read the manga ‘to say the least, this is love’,,, but could you do like opposites attract with shinichiro; silly little delinquent x serious college student 😇😇

maybe like they meet and start to run into each other a bunch more, shinichiro is very vocal about him starting to develop feelings and the reader is very straightforward and only focused on studies. but starts to warm up to him and he starts giving reader rides to class on his bike and whatnot🤭🤭🤭 sorry this explanation is so long idk how to put it in shorter words T^T

— cigarette with his number on it

a/n: absolutely LOVE LIVE LOVE shinichiro with a partner like this so i decided to write a little story not completely the ask (i got off topic) BUT PLS DO ENJOY

warnings: none?? , wc 1029

“Hey Y/n do you have a pencil I could borrow?” Shinichiro leans over to his right to whisper to the girl taking notes.

"I gave you a pencil last class shinichiro.” She whispers back, not looking up from her notes.

"The class was last week. How am I supposed to keep track of a small pencil?” He pouts and crosses his arms. Shinichiro was always like this unprepared for class, late, cutting classes. Shinichiro watches Y/n write her notes grabbing a pen underlining what she found important. He had always found himself watching her; they did share a couple lectures and he made sure to grab the seat next to her in every one. The professor asks if anyone has any final questions before dismissing all the students.

“Hey Y/n what are you doing tomorrow?” Shinichiro asks while the girl picks her things and packs them away.

“Homework” Y/n responds walking past shinichiro but he follows quickly behind her.

"Cmonnn it’s Friday there has to be something else for you to do” he whines he can tell he’s annoying her by the way she clenches her pen.

"I don’t see why you care so much of what I’m doing with my time.”

"You’re doing homework instead of going on a date with me.” Shinichiro pouts as Y/n rolls her eyes. Shinichiro has been asking her out since their first class almost 6 months ago and each time Y/n has denied him but today will be different. Shinichiro smirks, stepping in front of the girl stopping her, taking the pen out of her hand, ignoring her glare. He takes his pack of cigarettes out and fishes one out then puts the pack back into his pocket.

"I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke on school property.” She says flatly he chuckled at her.

"I’ve seen you study at the Coffee Bean so you’ll meet me there” he says writing on the cigarette. “And before you say no just take it as you’re already going to be studying there and I just happen to show up at the same time and since we’re friends I sit with you and we have coffee.” He grabs her hand, opening it and gently placing the cigarette in it and putting her pen in his back pocket. “Text me for the time you’ll be showing up.”

"Give me my pen back Shinichiro.”

“You’ll get it back when we meet at the Coffee Bean.” He winks at her then walks away. She looks at the cigarette shaking her head and puts it in her pocket.

Setting her things on her desk with a sigh, pulling her phone out of her back pocket, something falls on the floor. Looking down she sees the cigarette rolling on the floor she bends down and picks it up.

“Wow Y/n new hobby?” Her brother says looking at the stick in her fingers for a second but not sticking around for a response making his way to his room. Sighing again she looks at her phone typing the number.

I want my pen back.

Shinichiro hates to admit it but he’s nervous, walking to the spot he agreed to meet her at. Brushing his hand through his hair as he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Walking in with a deep breath he finds her in the dark corner face deep in her book.

"Y/n? What a coincidence” He says walking her with a smile on his face.

"Hello Shinichiro” She says, breaking away from her book. “You didn't bring your books?”

“Watching you study gives me all the satisfaction I need”

"What does that even mean?” He laughs at her comment. She goes back to her book and starts to write something down when he catches sight of her pen.

"Do you like spiderman?”

“What?” She stops writing to look at him.

“Your pen.” They both look at the kiddish pen sitting in her hand, it's blue with the character spiderman around the top.

"I mean yeah it's the only other pen I had since my other one was being held hostage.” She said, twisting the pen between her fingers.

"So it was just laying around?” He says with a smirk.

"My brother gave it me as a joke”

“You have a brother?” He says, eyes widening a bit. She raised an eyebrow nodding her head.

An hour had passed and the two never seemed to notice, lost in their own world. Y/n closed her book, setting it off to the side much to Shinichiro’s pleasure. The two talked about their siblings, why they applied to college, shared stories about middle school and spiderman which Y/n is a big fan of Shinichiro found out. Every time Y/n giggled at his stories his cheeks burned she was beautiful he thought to himself. Looking down at her watch Y/n’s eyes widened.

“Oh wow I didn't mean to talk your ear off” she says giving him a soft smile.

“I like seeing your face not in a book” he says smiling at her in return leaning on his hand. She gave him a glare and started to pack her things. “Do you have to be somewhere?”

"I told my brother I would pick something up from the library for him it closes soon”

"Do you want a ride?”

"Are you sure? I've never seen you even walk by the library” she says giggling remembering the time she was studying and instead of walking past the library he went to the opposite side of the street.

“Well you'll just have to hold my hand so I don't run away” he says, snatching her bag and swinging it across his shoulders as he stands up.

“Just say you want to hold my hand Sano” she says standing up next to him. He nudges her towards the door with a crooked smile as he shakes his head.

not proofread

[mars101]

Act 12: Slipping Through My Fingers

WRITTEN PART -> (1.3k) -> no ss after text

For the past hour, Y/n was stuck in the same spot as before, just recollecting her thoughts. Her hands fidgeting with the plates set on the table already. Tears already evaporated from her eyes as quickly as they appeared.

“mom!” The voice of Yin snaps her out of it. She finds herself turning away from the direction of her daughter's voice to try and recollect herself by wiping away tears that have already dried up.

“Yin, where's Karina and Yuna? Aren't they supposed to help you get ready?”

“i was wondering if you.. would you want to help me get ready?”

In that moment, Y/n felt her whole world light up again. As she grew older, not many things filled her with joy. But when it comes to Yin, her daughter, it's like everything lit up with a twinkle.

“Of course I would help. Is there any reason you want your little old mother to help you?” Y/n's eyes gleamed with joy as she finally got up from the chair and moved closer to Yin.

“i just want to spend time with you before i get married. mother and daughter time before the big wedding” yin shyly smiles, contrasting her usual hyper behavior, which alerts y/n.

“Are you sure there’s nothing more?”

“nothing else” yin shakes her head hesitantly, “is it so wrong for me to want to be with my mom?”

“No, no—lets get you ready now, baby.”

post-shower, yin found herself staring at the vanity mirror in her mother’s room, her hair still wet and a robe on her body. multiple pictures of her mother with the people she loves run along the frame of the mirror.

the woman who looked back at her in the mirror was different from the girl she once knew. yin grew up with her mom supporting her through everything. now that she's getting married, she can't help but feel sad about the fact that she's growing up so fast.

It's a feeling that Y/n knows all too well. When she was there for all of Yin's achievements, it both breaks and warms her heart as the sweet baby she raised grows more and more each day.

As her hands runs along the neckline of Yin's dress it starts to hit her. Yin is grown, and not a little girl anymore. She's a woman who can make choices for herself and doesn't need her mommy's help.

“Should we have you put on your dress first or makeup first?”

the sound of her mother's voice behind her snaps yin away from the thoughts in her head. “what—” she looks at y/n through the mirror, seeing the faint smile that paints her face.

“I guess makeup first considering we're nice and cozy at my vanity.”

Y/n makes herself busy with starting out the base of Yin's makeup. A simple look always complimented the girl best. And it's something easy for Y/n to do.

yin can't help but gaze at her mother, there's always expectations of a child leaving behind their parents once they get married. but how can she do that when it's been the two of them for her whole life.

“have you ever been in love mom..?” she finds herself blurting out. making y/n pause her movements.

A split second passes as y/n thinks of what to say, “yes, but a long long time ago.” She makes eye contact with Yin through the mirror.

“was it my dad?”

Her eyebrows furrow as she's caught off guard by what she heard. “No…” she lies. “And you've never asked about your father— Why all of a sudden?”

yin inhales and exhales a deep breath, “just curious. i'm getting married, i want my mom to have a happy ending, too.”

“Well you don't need to worry,” Y/n's hands pat down Yin's hair before she plants a kiss on top of her head. “I am happy because I fell in love with something else. My surroundings. This place, my life, your aunts, and my beautiful, beautiful daughter. There's nothing else I would love.”

“And I guess Jay has made his way in there too, don't tell him though. I still want to seem like a mean in-law.”

“i think that image went down the drain once you cried when i first brought him here”

“Oh well, how could I have not cried. My baby brought her first boy over. The first sign of you flying the nest.”

“and what's the final sign?”

“Well, look in the mirror. You know, ‘We mothers stand still, so our daughters can look back to see how far they've come.’”

after hearing this quote, yin can't help her eyes from watering, “mom did you just quote the barbie movie? stop, that's my weakness”

a single tear running down yin's face is the spark of the fuse for the explosive thoughts in her head. yin turns her body in the chair to hug her mom. her arms wrap around y/n's waist, and she's now sobbing into her mom's stomach.

the pat of y/n's hand against her hair makes her want to bury herself in the warmth that only her mom can give her.

“mom i'm so so sorry, i invited them.” yin finds herself blurting out.

“What are you talking about, baby? You and Jay controlled the guest list.”

“i invited them.. i'm sorry”

Y/n's hands pause, switching from pats to cradling Yin's head. “Oh.. How—How do you know about them..?

yin starts to ramble out words, “i read your diary from your travels. i'm so sorry, i don't know why, but before the wedding, i just felt that there was something.. missing and—mom?”

she looks up from where she is and finds the view of her mother trying to hold back her own tears.

Y/n kneels down to be face to face with Yin, her hands now cradling her daughter's face. When she feels her tears start to fall, she moves to hug her.

“Oh no, Yin, I'm the one who's so sorry. I didn't know you felt like this. I thought that I was enough and you were fine with just me around… I didn't know you wanted a father figure too.”

“mom, you are more than enough. you've taken care of me all by yourself, and look at me.” she backs away slightly so that they can look at each other. “i’ve grown so well thanks to you. i got to live the life i want thanks to you and your support.”

The mother-daughter duo are now smiling at each other, with their tears still running down their faces. In a way, they're mirroring each other.

“can you forgive me for this? i just wanted to find out who my dad was and maybe give you a second chance at love.”

“I guess it depends. Do you forgive me?”

“for what?”

“Being a raging whore in the 00's.

“mom!”

The two giggle together as they embrace once again. Any reminisce of the tears gone from their faces, but the soaked shirts tell another story.

“can i ask you a really important question?”

“No you can't invite my ex-flings in hope to find your dad.”

“no what— this question is serious.” she takes a deep breath before asking y/n the big question that stressed her out the previous night. “will you walk me down the aisle?”

“I'd thought you'd never ask.”

synopsis = a day before her wedding day, Yin decides to find her father so he can walk her down the isle, the problem? There's three candidates: Lee Juyeon, Kim Younghoon, and Lee Hyunjae.

author’s note: yall 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

last/next

masterlist

taglist:

@boomhoon , @sanasour , @loonaluvz , @jaerisdiction , @cowsmicwu , @jundundun , @piripurora

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.22<< >>Ch.24

CW: none

Chapter 23: 'Till We're Invisible...

Word count: 4.8K

Doing the whole ‘reversal of knowing a person’ to ‘not pretending they don't exist’ is a hassle.

You try not to get too bothered by it as life makes and breaks its course, but it's still a blow to your heart, perfectly settling a bigger and new scar that'll last for a good while. Maybe even forever.

The decision that was mutually agreed on was the worst, especially dealing with it from Miguel. Even with the basic number of texts you sent, he would egregiously find a way to respond in such a manner that conveyed he could give two flying shits, if not less.

It was very annoying, like pulling teeth. You were aware of his method, and you wanted to bite that bullet and let it float away in the endless breeze, but your stubbornness was winning as you tightened onto that desperation of wanting to fade on some type of positive note. Or, more realistically, a neutral one.

That part was dangling for dear life, while the other was fighting to let go.

When he left for the actual last time, you rewound that evening non-stop in your brain. Not a single detail was lost, and you could recite the argument and the following pacifying conversation verbatim.

It also didn't help that you could still taste his lips on yours.

Your thoughts would drift, the many what-ifs plaguing you if either he or you had removed that watch. Would he have tried to dismiss them and then proceeded to take you back into his mouth? What if they never needed help? Would it still have gone the same way? Hundreds more haunted you.

Ronnie took notice of your weird one-eighty mood shift—well, more of a ninety-degree turn.

You were slightly better after finally coming to some type of conclusion. There were still a few or more inquiries that stuck to you, like hot glue on a broken furniture piece. Was the canon a physical element or merely a hypothetical concept that is only talked about? How legitimate is it exactly? What would happen if a canon was wrong? Were you really supposed to not exist?

You regret not asking for some tangible proof and evidence.

But at the end of the day, it was a momentary experience. An encounter that you wish would have lasted for much longer.

Mindlessly shelving items, you felt a sudden tap on your shoulder, pulling you out of whatever world of wonder you stuck yourself in.

“Hm? How may I help you?” You casually peer up, expecting a customer, only to see Ronnie staring at you with a quirked brow.

“You were out of it again. I said you can go on ahead and take your break now.” She turned to the racks before looking back at you. “And to also tell you that you've been stuffing most of the things in that box here.”

You glanced up to be met with clothes, books, and a few board games, all disorganized and shoved in a spot where wooden figures are supposed to be.

“Oh, right. I'm sorry. I'll fix this and put them in the right spot. You can go ahead and start my break timer now, if you'll like.”

Ronnie blew a raspberry and lowered herself to the balls of her feet. “You honestly think I'm going to do that? I know I like using my boss powers for... certain intentions, but I occasionally like to use them for good too.”

You rolled your eyes, and she gave you a few playful punches. “But no, I'm not going to do that. I'll take care of this. You go on and relax that pretty head of yours.” She started to remove the articles of clothing, putting them in the box before moving onto the books.

“Ronnie, it's okay; I made the mess, and I'll fix it.”

“How have you been doing?”

You blinked and rolled your neck at the sudden tightness. “How am I doing?”

“I'm pretty sure that's what I said. How are you doing?”

“I, um, I think I'm okay. Yeah, I'm still taking it day by day.” 

She clicked her tongue and sighed. “You think you're okay, or you know you're okay?”

Your mouth went dry, and your throat randomly felt sore. You haven't told Ronnie about what exactly went down when Miguel came that day. It's been close to two weeks, and you were hoarding up all those feelings.

You didn't want to burden her anymore with the mess you're dealing with. She's already done so much that you felt as if you had to step back.

“Yeah. I'm–I'm fine.”

She twisted her lips to the side and ran her fingers down to detangle knots from her hair. “You don't have to be by yourself during this.”

The guilt was feasting heavily on your soul. “I-I know. It's like I've been saying, it'll pass eventually.” It has to.

Ronnie didn't say anymore and rubbed your back. “Alright, I'm not going to pester you. But just know, I'm always here. And I'm still not afraid to find him and beat his ass with trusty ol’ lummy over there.”

She exaggerated her wave over to the checkout counter. A twitchy, small smirk made its way when Ronnie hugged you.

“Thanks, Ronnie. But I still think that isn't necessary.”

“Middle ground. If I personally see him myself while casually out and about, I will find a way to make the bat magically appear.”

You silently muttered, “Oh my gosh,” dramatically dragging your fingers down your face and giving a sidelong glance.

“There will be no barrier. Now go and take your legally mandatory break that has suddenly been pushed to an hour and a half.” She stood up and stretched her arms in the air, leaving you slightly befuddled.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I'm sure, an extra thirty will be added.”

Your mouth opened when she jutted in again.

“And if you tell me you don't want to leave me here by myself for that long, you're getting the rest of the day off.”

She knew how to take advantage of these situations, and you were aware you weren't going to win this no matter how many objections you projected at her.

With a huff and a raspberry of your own, you took the undeserved leisure time, eyeing that smug grin while you gathered up your bag. You acknowledged the care she was giving with another embrace and made your way out to get something to chow down on.

Stopping in front of the Asian street food restaurant, you debated on heading inside and relishing the tasty cuisines when your mind aimlessly migrated to the day you two dined here. The comforting sway you both invited when he discarded his sunglasses, gazing into those beautiful ruby-reds, that culminated a sense of ease and reassurance. How the conversations made it seem like no one else was in the building besides him and you.

Realizing your hand was on the handle, you drew away and persuaded yourself that you were in the mood for anything else. 

Settling on a simple chicken wrap, cookies, and fresh fruit, you took the meal to go and ventured wherever your legs led you. You absently munched on the sugary pastry goodness, loving the unpopulated sidewalks before the rush. You were always thankful for having an 11 a.m. lunch instead of noon; you didn't have to endure the bustling nature of crowds or long winded lines and angry customers who held them up just because they didn't have an extra pickle on their sandwich. 

You took advantage of these soothing moments.

Ambling more down and finishing the last of your grapes, you stumbled on an overfamiliar space. Blanking out for a second, you groaned out and plopped down on the bench. You did your best to ignore the park, finding ways to steer clear of this part at all times. But even your body clashes with your mind and reasoning.

The adjacent bench remained empty, but your brain sought to create a visualization of him. You could distinctly remember it all, despite wanting to erase it. You dared not come this way after that last night, when he ran away. It added way too much salt to that wound. A truck load on it.

Tirades of reminiscence frequently bombard your nonchalant feelings for him. You strived to keep it at bay, but there's times like these when it's of no use.

You allowed it to go, just for this day. That night will always be near and dear to you. He left an imprint on your heart. You reached for your phone and clicked on his name.

‘Thank you.’

That was the last message. 

You remember eyeing those three dots going on for nearly two minutes, boring at the screen hellbent on what he was going to say. Your brain virtually knew he wasn't going to send his genuine thoughts or his true words, but that lowly fraction of false hope was sneaking its way into the heart.

When those dots stopped for a few seconds and then continued bouncing, you felt your pulse and heart racing. Maybe he was ready to prove you wrong; he was going to have that sliver of hope prosper and scream, ‘I told you so!’

You did say, ‘I told you so,’ but it was the major side that won.  

Blinking back whatever sentiment was trying to brew, you slipped your phone back into your pocket, holding one last stare at the wooden seat before standing up. You still had plenty of time to wander about, so you took a deeper look into the more downtown vicinity.

It was crowded, but that's to be expected as it's the main hub section. Hover cars speeding by, followed by blaring honks, was such a huge contrast from the serene park that's less than ten minutes from here. 

You dodged people in expensive business attire who were too busy tapping away on their tablets or talking into their watches, which was a hassle. They would bump into you as you muttered an apology, but only to receive a scowl or a “watch it!” in return.

No wonder he barely came out here. If this was a scene you had to grudgingly witness every morning of every day, you would stay stuck up in that stuffy skyscraper too.

You momentarily came to a stop, apologizing to a person who almost ran into you. The tower was deadlocked in your line of sight. You unexpectedly felt cold, despite it being a hot summer day. Goosebumps pricked at your skin as his giant castle leered down at you.

The only difference was that there was no moat. No snapping sharks swimming in lava. No. It was simply automatic doors that were in between you and his domain. 

The world seemed silent, a suspended notion, as time and the ones in front and behind were coming to a frozen standstill.

Your brain was rushing with questions like a rapid river racing downstream into a waterfall. Do you dare step in? Would you be immediately identified by his insane technology? Would you get kicked out by security once you were recognized?

Would he be on the lower floor level? What would happen if he was and you saw each other?

Your legs trembled, and your feet took hardy steps as if they were ready to collapse at any given moment. Your throat parched, clenching like a child twisting a colorful, plastic bendy straw. It was territory you were going to cross; someone was lowering the drawbridge for you.

Or maybe you misunderstood and might drop straight into the trenches. 

You were really going to go in. To trek into his hellish arena. Holding your breath, the doors slid open, and a waft of cool A/C blasted into your face. All you could see was black, your nails burying into palms, breaking some of the skin. You took a deep breath in and swiveled until you were overlooking the active citygoers again. 

“This isn't worth it. I'm not going to just rush into this without—”

Swarms of people were shrieking, pointing up at something from the side of the corporate building.

“Someone is falling! Someone jumped!”

Marginally confused, you pressed through the crowds to see what the commotion was; if somebody had leapt, surely the hundreds of spiders residing in there would've had a prevention plan for it happening. Surely.

Scooting closer, you squinted and shielded your eyes from the sun to get a better view. From what you could distinguish, it was a person in a black suit; you couldn't tell if he was running from something or not, and another figure was nosediving after them. You adjusted and cupped both of your hands on your forehead to see a red and blue suit…

That red and blue suit belonging to a distinctive individual.

“What the hell?! Mig- uh, Spider-Man! Spider-Man!” You jolted out, stumbling and bumping into others; they didn't seem to care as a waterfall of vividly bright dots dispersed in the same direction as Miguel and the other figure.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your sockets at the situation unraveling. You couldn't possibly fathom what was going on in Miguel's head. Is that a bad guy he's chasing? It must be if hundreds of heroes are chasing after them. But why is this villain also wearing a suit? Could they have gone rogue?

You sprinted, wanting to keep up, but the surge of people intrigued to witness this spectacle was getting in your way. No matter how many times you said “excuse me,” no one bothered to budge. You tried to keep your attention on the action, but by the time you finally escaped the abundance of the crowd, he was long gone.

With a racing heart and a garbled yet stunned brain, you make your way out of the cluster and back to the park. Collapsing on the bench, your leg bounced and your brain rushed as you strived to recount what you had witnessed. Haphazardly yanking your phone out of your pocket, almost dropping it on the pathway, you hover over his name and click on it.

Is this a good time to text him? He's obviously busy with whatever he was chasing, but your worries were overtaking you.

“I'll just text him now, and whenever he's not busy, he can respond. Yeah.”

Your fingers typed faster than they ever have, asking if everything was alright and to get back to you as soon as he could. Your daily alarm for your break popped up, and you opted to hail a taxi back into work instead of speed-walking back to beat the clock. Arriving three minutes ahead, Ronnie couldn't help but lift a brow when you came hurrying into the door.

“I know you like to be here early to beat the clock, but calm down; you're good—”

Ronnie dropped a container on a nearby display table, her gaze tensely locked on yours. You were disheveled, like you'd seen a ghost or been haunted by one. She tapped her nail on the lid, waiting for you to tell her what you encountered.

Admittedly, barging in the shop wasn't the brightest idea because now Ronnie isn't going to let it go until you're forced to talk about it with her. With her hand on her hip and her finger at you, she was prepared to get you to speak when a customer asked for some service.

“I'll ring you up. One minute, please.” You thanked whoever was looking out for you, striding to the back to clock in and hop right back into work.

For the rest of the workday, you were in a cold sweat. Ronnie gave sidelong glances, but you pretended to not notice, taking every shopper that waltzed in or doing all the menial tasks. You were home free when the last person exited the building. After finishing up the rest of your cleaning and snatching your bag, Ronnie blocked your way out.

“Alright, I held it in all day. What made you nervous when you came in?” She folded her arms and leaned back on the door.

“It was nothing, just a dog chasing after me, but I got away, as you can see.” You gave a thumbs up and painted your best ‘I'm fine’ smile. “So you go ahead and rest up; I'll see you tomorrow, Ronnie.”

Taking that step forward to get the point across, she didn't budge an inch. Shaking her head, Ronnie groaned out. “I'm worried for you. You can't run in with this deathly and deranged look; then tell me it was something simple like a dog.”

“Dogs can be scary.”

“Some can, but I know it wasn't a dog. Well, unless it was a certain dog that I can't stand—”

“Ronnie.”

“Then tell me. I'm seriously worried for you. You can't keep bottling all of this up. You have to let yourself get something off your chest.”

You bit your bottom lip, your head shifting downward with the blank gaze rolling in. She wasn't going to quit; she's persistent as all hell, and it was beginning to annoy you. You really wanted to go home and be by yourself to check if he replied back, but you knew the more you held off, the less you'd be trapped.

Closing your eyes and titling your head back, a raspberry escaped. “I saw him. No, he didn't see me; I don't even think he was aware of my presence. It freaked me out more than it should; that's why I came in the way I did.”

Ronnie's downturned lips and knitted brows weren't helping your cause or mood. You hoped she was going to stop there and let you go home, for your sake. She couldn't do much to help you, as much as she wished, but with your obstinate demeanor, she might as well have been a fish stuck in the bowl.

“Alright, I won't force it out of you. But you're withering away, and you know you can't hide that from me.”

You expelled a long sigh and nodded. “I know. Have a good rest of your night; see you tomorrow, Ronnie.”

With that exchange, you carefully closed the wooden entrance and made your way home. You are fine; why couldn't she understand that? You got that ending to the final chapter, and yeah, sure, there was no epilogue or continuation that uncovered the many unanswered mysteries cemented so deep that it may even go further than six feet; at least you still were given something. 

And yet, it still wasn't enough.

It's still not enough for you to let go. It's still not enough for you to forget him because you know you never will. It's still not enough for you to close the threshold on this self-battle you're facing to make something that doesn't work.

The many days that you've gone by, reciting this shitty mantras of how it's over and how you need to let him wash away with the wild tides of the ocean and you'll make it out okay, were nothing but complete and utter bull. All you've done is tell yourself lies after lies.

And you didn't make it any better for yourself.

You find yourself slowing your steps, standing there frozen, forever consuming those pergolas that want to welcome you in, which taunts you into a false sense of security of dreams and memories. The lush and tempting evocation of your first kiss or how breathtaking Miguel was next to those flowers.

You desperately had to get back home, especially when you heard your phone ping. That self-preservation of not looking was chipping away. You ran like you were competing in the hundred-meter dash, practically clambering into the elevator and into your apartment.

Kicking your shoes off, not caring where they were, you slumped on the couch and opened up your phone… To an email from some store newsletter going on about a sale.

The disappointment did crash down hard when you checked that he didn't even read the message.

“I guess whatever that person he was going after must have been a big deal.” You tossed your cell on the coffee table and went to cook up some instant noodles, lounging on the sofa, half watching some animated film, before laying down and passing out.

Day after day, you messaged Miguel, asking if he was okay. You didn't want to worry, but your brain would gun it to the worst-case scenarios whenever he didn't respond. You tried to squeeze more presumptive thoughts, such as he's busy, he's overly tired, and he's just recovering.

The delusion was tucked in all over.

Every ding was a heart attack. You would drop everything and scramble to your phone, only to be met with this disillusionment when it was some stupid email or a video someone uploaded. 

You ended up having to turn off all notifications except for messages, and the only person who was contacting you was Ronnie, who was checking in.

Two days turned into four, and four into a week when you had enough horrors you were conjuring (to the point you believed you might have been dead), you were ready to call him up when you saw that all your messages had been read. Your blood boiled, but you cooled yourself. Maybe he just read them, and he's going to say something. Or maybe he's been so caught up in whatever happened that he couldn't exactly get back to you. Benefit of the doubt, you are willing to give it.

That, and you don't want Ronnie to raise any suspicion.

‘Hey, I'm just seeing if everything is alright. I know it must be madness over there for you. I really hope you're doing okay and they're not stressing you out more than before.’

You hit send, your eyes not leaving that confirmation. It was delivered. Then a minute went by. It hadn't changed. Minute two, still nothing. You were ready to give up when it switched to read.

Your heart was ready to leave your chest. Keeping a lookout for Ronnie, you glanced back between her office door and the phone. You were patient, ready for those little circles to emerge. You tapped your foot to the beat of the song playing over the speaker, nerves wrecking throughout your body.

“Come on, Miguel. Say something. Please, say anything—”

The door handle began to jiggle, and that's when you spooked yourself, sliding your phone back in your pocket, and rubbed your clammy hands on your pants. Trying to be as casual as physically possible, you pretended to busy yourself by rearranging little figures on a miniature storage rack.

“The feed to the security cameras is in my office. Remember?” She sat a bag of old electronics on the counter and ruffled her already unruly hair with her free hand.

Damn technology. Always ruining your position.

You removed your hands from the items and folded them in between your thighs. At least you didn't have to scramble to come up with an excuse for why you were acting in a weird manner.

“I'm not going to fight you over why his name was in your mouth, but just know, it's going to ruin my psychological state the more it settles. I'm letting you know now.” She vocalized in a chirpy but non-joking tone.

If she wasn't going to engage and tussle you for it, then that's the path you were sticking with. You'll tell her eventually. 

Eventually.

You didn't hear your phone go off once for that entire day. You believed you might have accidentally turned it down during your panic state, and work was non-stop, swamping you enough to not even give it a quick peep. Though you were glad to have the distractions, it took away from the daydreams of what he might have messaged you.

Yet, when you got home that evening, you were met with your sided concerns, forever stagnant on that screen.

You felt yourself being reeled back into that realm of emptiness. You veered off into the void, hot tears descending down your cheeks right onto your phone.

Later that night, you blindly found yourself back on the dating app, swiping left and right, giving low-effort conversations and flirts, before giving up and pleasuring yourself with your vibrator and hand. 

You had to restrain yourself from calling out his name when you got into it. It was going well, from the low buzzing to your fingers pumping in sensual yet sporadic motions. Turning the intensity up, you pressed the button one more than what you were originally going for, and the toy amplified.

Shuddering, you bit down on a pillow, stifling your moans, letting your body become free from the intruding thoughts. Then you granted that embark. That unchained will to let it wander, to let it go into a more imaginative world. 

His name slipped from your lips during the venture of the moment. 

You jumped, removing your fingers and tossing the vibrator at the foot of your bed. You huddled up, your knees touching your chest, as a hefty breath brushed against your skin.

Your mind was gone, and you didn't know what to do anymore.

Ronnie refused to allow you to submit back to your fallen endeavor when you returned to work after learning (she forced it out of you), you had wallowed in bed all day and eaten nothing. Taking your break with yours, she treated you to delicious ice cream, buying you both a huge brownie sundae.

“You're talking. I'm not taking no for an answer either. I'm not taking an ‘I'm fine;’ an ‘I swear I'm okay;’ I'm not accepting any of that.” 

She was holding you at gunpoint. Her persistence was undeniably relentless, and the only way out was to cave in.

So you did. Merely halfway.

You excluded the details on what you exactly saw him doing; you took out a bunch of specifics regarding what was told to you that day he came by. But you did give enough that could satisfy Ronnie's needs.

From how you felt under pressure to text him to get his stuff, bits of the reason why you two couldn't be together (you had to make one up), and how you shared a kiss.

“Please tell me you didn't—”

“I promise you, we simply kissed. That's all.”

“Because I swear I would pummel him into the ground and have you...”

She took your heated silence with caution and took a huge bite of her sundae. You felt depleted by the end of it. Ronnie ended up changing the subjects, chatting about some family drama regarding changing the name of the shop and how her aunt had to be bailed out of jail for the fourth time in three months.

You mostly listened, ad-libbing here and there, as you dazed away. 

There was something so funny about this whole plight. How a simple person can work their way into your life and change your everyday routine, shaping it into this ever trivial but marvelous reality. Then, one day, like a powerful storm striking down an unsuspecting town, it comes crashing into a pile of rubble. Well, at least with rubble, you could probably make out what the structure was originally; this was crumbled into nothingness that even an expert couldn't tell you.

Almost finishing the last of your dessert, you looked into the empty cup and the small scoop of ice cream and brownie crumbs on the spoon. A treat is good at the moment, and when you get to the final bite, all you want to do is savor it forever.

You don't want it to end.

You brought another one after your shift, waiting to get home to munch on it. Kicking your shoes off, you placed a record on the turntable and sat down in your main comfort zone. Feet on the coffee table, you tugged out the cursed electronic device, unlocked it, and closed your eyes.

Earlier in the morning, you sent a single message pleading for him to say anything, to relay a sign that he was okay, that he is okay. You still had your phone on silent to not psych yourself out.

With bated breath, you opened one eye, then flung the phone on the other end of the couch and ate the rest of the dessert. It was just you and the soft melodies in the back.

You gave up four days later. 

You finally decided to give yourself some self-care. You gave your heart and mind the break they probably needed.

With a heavy soul and a heavy hand, Miguel was just another number in your messages. A bunch of random digits that are in your phone log.

As large, thick tears flowed down, you couldn't tell if the weight was lifted or if it harbored you down even more.

You guess you had to let time reveal itself to you, no matter how much you needed that answer now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy @oharaslove @ella-janehaven

[specialinterestshows]

Join your girlfriend’s found family for a meal in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic.

Warnings for this section: Hickies, dirty talk, scratch marks

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Absolute Smokeshow (Part 45 of ?): Five Is Company

“Time to wake up, beautiful.”

The words float toward you, gently trying to pull you from the comfort of rest.

“Five more minutes,” you groan with the effort it takes to speak.

“I already gave you five more minutes.”

“You did not,” you protest.

“Babe, I love you,” Rhea sighed as you felt her shift on the bed, “but you keep falling asleep and I promise you will forgive me for this.”

“What do you-“ you squeal as her fingers find your sides, trying to push Rhea off you and wriggle away at the same time.

"Are you awake yet?" she laughs, giving you one last tickle before letting you catch your breath.

"You're so mean," you say, panting and taking in the morning light, "I feel like I hardly slept."

"We did get a bit busy with other things, but you didn't seem to mind," she ran her hand along the scratches at your lower back, "I got a lot of good marks on you last night - should remind you and everyone who sees them that you're mine for quite some time."

Feeling your face grow warm, you bury your face in the sheets for a few seconds before peeking your head out again, meeting Rhea's gaze.

"Anyway," she continued, watching you stretch and start moving over to your closet, "I wanted to take you and the guys out for a meal before we have to start heading to the next location."

"That sounds good to me," you yawn and rub your eyes before unceremoniously removing the clothes you slept in, "So am I driving you to the hotel or the meal spot?"

"I'll text Dom and have him bring my stuff," Rhea says, sounding distracted. Turning around, you find her staring at you hungrily and chuckle, "We don't have time for that!"

"A girl can dream," she responds, biting her lip before grabbing her phone and tapping at the screen as you continue changing.

A short while later, you pull up the car to what looks like a biker bar with outdoor seating. Already at opposite ends of a large table, partially sheltered from the sun by the building's shadow, were Damian and Dominik facing Finn and a man you were unfamiliar with. Damian seemed to be seething silently, looking up occasionally to glare at the stranger. Finn, on the other hand, was the most at ease you had seen him yet and didn't seem to want to stop talking to the unfamiliar man.

"Do I need to worry about things being thrown between those two at this meal?" you ask Rhea as the two of you walk over to the group and catch their attention.

"Finn and Damian?" she seemed to have been sizing up the situation as well, "I don't think Finn will risk it in front of his... friend?" you gave each other an understanding smile - Finn may have bet against Rhea's coming out for a reason.

Damian's entire demeanor changed as soon as he saw you and Rhea walking up - his scowl broke into a grin and he gave a provocative whistle at the two of you.

"Priest!" Rhea scolded, instinctively putting an arm around you.

"How else am I supposed to react to what you've done to this poor chica?" he asks, gesturing to the hickies all over your neck and peeking out from the bottom of your shorts. You adjust your shirt to make sure it's covering the scratches on your back, which also doesn't escape his notice. The blood rushes to your face as your body is now under the scrutiny of everyone at the table - all of them thinking of how Rhea had left those marks. Dominik had a knowing smile that also seemed to say he was happy for you, Finn couldn't stop wiggling his eyebrows, and Finn's friend...

"Enough about my girlfriend," Rhea says, turning to Finn, "Have you finally brought a boy home to meet your family and turn you into an honest man?" - she nodded at the man sitting next to him.

"This is an old friend of mine, J.D. McDonagh," Finn says, flatly ignoring Rhea's gentle ribbing, "I wanted to introduce him to the Judgment Day-"

"When he wasn't even invited," Damian interrupted, scoffing, "When he isn't even part of the Judgment Day!"

"Oh and Rhea's girlfriend is?" Finn shot back, immediately looking over at you and apologizing, "Sorry, I just don't see how this is an exclusive meal, y'know?"

"Look, everyone who is here is here," Rhea said, keeping an even tone, "We're going to sit down and enjoy a meal together. There will be no in-fighting and no throwing of food. Got it?" - she looked around the table as everyone nodded their heads - "Good. Now let's order."

[end part forty-five of ?]

Part 46: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/729116478018895872/absolute-smokeshow-part-46-of-tjd-telenovela

-

Tag List (thank you!)

@cherryberryshine , @littlemiss-fanficlover , @elisewithak , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domlynch

[crimsonlovebartylus]

Text

???, ????

A warm, bergamot-scented breath ghosts over his lips. “Ya'aburnee.”

“Ya’aburnee,” he repeats, no more than a whisper, tasting the vowels. “What does it mean?”

“You bury me.”

Georgia, January, 2029

✧.* REGULUS

“Okay, okay, another one. Would you rather…” The sentence peters out, which is no surprise given how it is the umpteenth hypothetical Would You Rather Regulus is subjected to hearing today. In the past hour, he has already endured nearly fifty of them, swiftly and wittily exchanged between the Weasley twin brothers, who, at some unspoken moment, seem to have entered a silent contest to make each one as ridiculous as their boundless creativity could muster.

Just a couple of days ago, Barty and Evan had returned from their short scavenger run from an overrun gas station with a small supply of rations and a couple of magazines that had survived a year’s worth of constant plundering. The twins had quickly claimed one, a particularly teen-friendly choice their mother had approved of, which turned out to have a page dedicated to hypothetical situations. However, they grew bored of the more palatable ones rather quickly, deciding that some along the lines of "Would you rather smell from your eyes or see from your nose?” were far too mild for their taste and so they branched out to—

“Would you rather bite off and eat your left thumb or right-hand pointer finger?” Fred conjures up on the spot. He breaks off a branch from a shrub to toss it against George’s head.

Regulus knows God has been absent for quite some time, especially given their circumstances, but now, as he's forced to survive in this godforsaken world and be subjected to the twins' antics, that divine absence feels like a thumb firmly pressing into a sore spot.

“My left thumb,” George replies after ducking, idly swinging the walking stick as they walk through the densely packed cluster of bushes and trees. “I mean, how can I shoot a gun without my right pointer finger?”

“You’re not allowed to own a gun,” Regulus reminds them.

“Yet,” Fred wisely adds. “Not allowed to have a gun yet. Besides, mom never said anything about shooting a gun.”

“Loopholes.” George nods. “And seeing how there are no laws anymore, we rely on a strict finders keepers principle. Mom also never said anything about finding a gun.”

“That’s why you two climbed over the walls? To look for a gun?” Regulus asks, feeling a little bepuzzled.

“I don’t know, Regulus,” Fred drawls as he picks up the pace to walk alongside him, the beginnings of an impish smile tugging onto the corners of his mouth, “why did you leave unannounced at midnight? George?”

“Not sure, Fred,” George joins in, taking stride by Regulus’ other side. “Looks fishy to me, if you ask.”

Regulus picks up the pace, which forces both twins into a brief jog if they wish to keep up. “I am taking the both of you back is what I’m doing.”

George shrugs his shoulders. “Yes, you can do that, but you can also pretend none of this happened. You don’t tell on us and we don’t tell anyone we found you so far out the factory instead of, what was it you were supposed to be doing?”

“Checking the traps.” Fred supplies in the same know-it-all gusto that’s so characteristically them, curling his first two fingers like rabbit ears for good measure.

At that, Regulus comes to a sudden stop and turns around to face them. “Are you two trying to blackmail me?”

Both twins exchange a sideways glance, unfazed despite the hint of authority in Regulus' voice that has become second nature to him lately. Few would dare blackmail Regulus of all people—certainly not any of the thirty souls taking refuge in the factory they've turned into somewhat of a safe haven. But, of course, as it seems, most of the Weasleys are exceptions to the rule.

“You want to see a trick?” Fred asks in lieu of an answer, causing Regulus’ brows to bunch up into a frown.

“What—”

“Duck!” he yells.

And Regulus does, just in time for the whizzing walking stick—its point jagged, more a makeshift spear than anything else—to fly over his head and hit its mark a few paces behind him.

There’s a sickening crunch, followed by the dull thud of something heavy collapsing onto the damp, leaf-strewn ground. When Regulus peeks over his shoulder, he sees an inferius sprawled over the damp earth, the thick pole of wood sticking from the side of its head. Like many of the inferi, its skin is shriveled and wrinkled, as if it had been submerged in water for far too long, drooping loosely from the rotting muscle. Must have been dead for months, Regulus thinks.

George whistles. “Sick shot, but that wasn’t really a trick.”

Fred retrieves his stick and wipes the bloody end off onto a tree’s trunk, leaving chunks of skull bits and brain mince against the bark. “Next time I’ll try a three-sixty or something even better. What do you think, chief?”

Regulus thinks he could use a few extra hours of sleep or, even better, a chance to catch up on his REM cycles. “The both of you should get moving. And stop calling me that.”

“Aye aye, captain,” the twins exclaim in unison.

They trudge on, carefully maneuvering through the narrow paths and ensuring their steps don't get tangled in any of the thick undergrowth. Regulus clears the way as the twins follow after him, quietly bickering in hushed tones in case any of the inferi closely linger by. Though he knows the twins are more than capable of protecting themselves, having seen them in action and how quick they are, skewering rotten inferi brains like it's an effortless chore, Regulus would rather escort them back to the factory with little fuss or any incidents lest he gets a firm reprimand of his own. After all, their mother, Molly, feels very strongly about her children leaving the premises without an adult accompanying them. Even then, she much prefers keeping her children inside, and after everything her family has done for Regulus, he can at least repay their kindness by respecting Molly’s wishes and herding the twins back whenever they manage to escape undetected to meet their weekly quota of pubescent mischief.

The Weasleys welcomed Regulus and the few remaining survivors from the monastery with open arms—no questions or hesitation, just the willingness to help fellow humans struggling to stay alive after society’s thorough collapse. Together, they managed to survive for three months before they were forced to abandon the Weasley’s farmhouse. Overrun by a massive horde, it crumbled like a house of cards, leaving them no choice but to seek refuge in something sturdier, better protected, and less vulnerable to destruction with better chances of survival.

The industrial factory had long since fallen into disrepair when they came across it by the end of a two-week venture through Georgia, with nothing but the clothes on their skin, depleting rations, and the loud rattling of three quickly emptying gas tanks. It had likely hosted various communities before theirs, as evidenced by the scatter of left-over junk—tattered blankets and empty rucksacks arranged in makeshift circles across the expansive open plan. Perched on a high hill beyond the forest’s edge, the factory was far isolated from other known settlements—some friendly, but mostly hostile. At the very least, it offered a decent vantage point, allowing the rotating watch shift to spot both inferi and humans from an elevated perspective. They had put up chain link fences around the perimeter and constructed a small sniper cabin on the roof, providing an eagle’s eye view to monitor the surroundings.

The first few weeks were a blur of adjustment and survival—acclimating to the new surroundings, fortifying their fragile sanctuary, and sending out small groups to scour for supplies. They scouted the woods for any sign of game, tried to gauge if the land was fertile enough to sustain crops, and did everything they could to turn this unfamiliar place into something that might hold, even if just for a while. Their efforts, however, quickly drew the attention of larger, more established settlements—groups that had not only stockpiled resources but also amassed weapons. What began as veiled intimidation soon escalated into full-blown threats, the latter now being one of Regulus’ biggest concerns.

As he walks across the courtyard, the twins slug after him, still roped in their game of Would You Rather, entirely oblivious to the small figure exiting the cabin on the roof. From this distance, Regulus can only faintly make out it’s Dorcas, and although he can’t see her face, he can tell she’s displeased.

However, she can’t be as displeased as Molly who comes barging out of the doors, face flushed with anger and almost the color of her fiery hair, the soles of her boots grinding against the grit and stone as she stomps their way over to them.

“You know,” George murmurs behind Regulus as his mother’s raving grows in volume. “A captain always goes down with his ship—”

“And where have you two been?!” Molly demands with a boisterous shout that has both her sons shut up. She still sounds relatively quiet compared to how loud she truly can be. Considering how sensitive the hearing from the inferi are, she has learned to temper her voice a little when outside.

“Just taking a leisurely walk with Regulus here, mom,” Fred answers casually. “So much beauty to see, you know.”

“Yes,” George agrees as he sagely nods. “You know, all those trees.”

Molly’s frown furrows only deeper before her ire is directed to Regulus, undoubtedly expecting a proper explanation from an adult rather than from her two fourteen-year-old (and indifferent to the horrors) sons.

“I caught them outside the gates and brought them back,” Regulus truthfully answers, wisely omitting the part why he was outside the gates in the first place. “They either made a hole or found one in the fences. Someone should look for it so they don’t try to leave again.”

He looks at the twins to confirm either of his suspicions, but all he receives are two lop-sided grins that are equally determined not to reveal any of their secrets. They could have climbed over the fences for all he knows.

Molly shakes her head and jerks her chin over her shoulder. “Inside, the two of you. Before I change my mind and send you to dig out weeds until noon.”

Fred and George scurry off to the factory and when Regulus tries to follow suit, Molly’s arm stretches out in front of him, blocking his path. Although her features softened considerably, the frown she gives him is still motherly stern.

“They’re unharmed,” he notes in an attempt to assuage her. For all his impassivity and languor, Regulus would never allow anything to harm any of them. “You know how teenagers can be, Molly. They will push boundaries and rebel regardless of the state of the world.”

Molly lowers her arm with a haughty huff. “Lecturing me on parenthood? I’ve been a mother long enough to figure that out, believe it or not. And trust me, in due time you will find out yourself. If you stop wasting time and start investing it in what matters, that is.”

He frowns, almost reeling back. “Excuse me?”

Molly purses her lips and shakes her head before nodding inside, “You’ll learn. Go on, don’t miss out on breakfast.”

Dismissing her remarks, Regulus brushes past her towards the factory, not particularly in the mood for an argument when he’s functioning on a sparse two hours of sleep. Once inside, his eyes drift to the corner that has been repurposed into a makeshift dining area. What was once an empty space now serves as a modest breakfast nook during the mornings, with overturned barrels and crates operating as chairs and food served in whatever container they could scavenge for service ware.

A fire burns in a steel brazier, crackling where the flames lick onto the large cast iron pot that hangs above it. A blonde-haired man named Peter, one of the newer survivors who joined their group about a month ago, stirs the colorless, likely bland goop. He had turned up in front of the factory with nowhere else to go, him and four others, all weather-worn with holes in their clothes, lips bruised from the cold, and a gauntness that pointed out they hadn’t been properly fed for over a week. Molly had taken them in when Regulus and the others had been out for a run, the Patron Saint of the resilient, and had shot anyone who voiced their disagreement a withering glare. Even Barty, who had insisted they didn’t need any more mouths to feed, knew better than to challenge Molly—the one who had sheltered them when they were on the brink of death.

Fortunately, the newcomers could all contribute in their own way and with their own limited skill set. Violet was a home gardener before everything and knows how to maintain the small plot of land around the factory. Sofie and Samantha had worked in a family-owned textile shop and spent most of their time knitting blankets or thick sweaters so the rest of them could stave off the cold at night. Thomas mostly took on security gigs for work and knows his way around a gun, making him a valuable asset when it comes to securing the factory or joining scavenging runs. Odessa primarily worked at a daycare center and possesses the rare type of kindness Peter does—the one untarnished by the severity of their world, wholly sincere and unconditional, a reminder that goodness still exists even when Regulus doubts it more every passing day.

Peter smiles when he serves Regulus a bowl, a circular styrofoam thing they found and thoroughly cleaned before use, and greets him before murmuring a soft apology about the quality of the food. His hair is sleep-mussed, cheeks pink from the cold, though Regulus doesn’t remember when they are not.

The chair scrapes against the floor when he pulls it back to sit down with the rest of the Weasley family. Most tell him good morning in sleepy voices, blearily rubbing their puffy eyes as they stir through the watery slop.

“Percy?” he asks after a brief look around.

“Praying,” Charlie yawns.

Of course. Percy was a seminarian before the outbreak and remains deeply devoted to his spiritual formation and theological studies, his faith only strengthening under duress. He prays hourly, daily, reciting passages from the bible with the weathered pages, committing every word to his memory in the event the holy book doesn’t survive another storm that tears through their poor insulation and leaves most of their possessions thoroughly soaked.

Regulus makes a mental note of the roof that still needs fixing.

“You know,” Barty's voice cuts through the air, shattering any hope of a quiet, peaceful morning. He flops down beside Regulus and adds with a smirk, “If you close your eyes and pretend it’s grits, it’s almost bearable.”

“I miss bacon,” Ron mourns with a glob of food sticking to the corner of his mouth.

“And orange juice,” Ginny adds with her bottom lip puckered out.

“Pros of being served life, kiddos,” Barty says as he takes a bite, unfazed by the texture or taste. “You learn how to eat about anything. I must admit that this tastes better than what I got back in prison.”

“Or prison food just ruined your tastebuds,” Regulus points out as he takes a sip of the lukewarm water. One of the advantages of their location was that there was a creek nearby that supplied them with fresh water.

Barty snorts. “Look who’s talking, mister walk of shame.”

“Shut up.”

“What is a walk of shame?” Ron asks around a mouthful of soggy grains. Next to him, Ginny mirrors his look of confusion. Or maybe it’s disgust, Regulus can’t quite tell.

“Nothing that’s meant for your ears,” Bill interferes, though not before casting Barty a scathing look. Barty shrugs, indifferent to any of Bill’s gripes, then promptly props his dirt-caked boots on the small table in the center before scraping the sides of his bowl for any food residue.

The tension between them had simmered ever since Barty showed up at the farmhouse that day, almost having come to a dangerous boil after Arthur died during the horde attack and Bill quietly assumed his position as the ‘man of the household’ following his father’s death. Bill considered Barty too loose, too careless, not far serious enough in the life-threatening conditions they found themselves in, too unpredictable, and prone to needless violence that could potentially endanger the bunch of them. What baffled Bill most, however, was how Regulus of all people could place his trust in someone like Barty.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the concrete stairs quickly dissolves most of the idle morning chatter, announcing Dorcas’s arrival at breakfast. But it’s not just the noise that captures their attention—it’s the fierce scowl she wears, aimed squarely at Regulus, who has become all too familiar with her icy glares lately, finding himself constantly at the receiving end of it.

“Didn’t find what you were looking for then?” She asks, the sniper rifle hanging off her shoulder.

“No weapons during mealtime!” Molly shouts from the doors.

Dorcas complies and puts her rifle away, all the while Barty’s gaze flits between them, confusion settling in his brows.

“It’s morning, can the fighting wait?” Charlie murmurs.

“I feel like the fighting helps me ignore the taste of this,” George mumbles as he forces down another spoonful. Next to him, Fred nods. “Closest to reality TV we will get in a very long while.”

Dorcas shakes her head and grabs a bowl off the table with a little more force than necessary before stalking off to the yard. Barty blinks, head turning to follow Dorcas before he looks back at Regulus. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Are we doing a run today?” Bill asks. Regulus is grateful for the diversion.

“Yup,” Barty confirms around the spoon in his mouth. “Me, Marlene, Lily, and Commanderlus here. Seriously, what was that with you and Cas?”

“Is it a good idea that Regulus comes along?” Bill carefully asks. “I mean, it’s been seven days, what if Wilkes comes and starts demanding for him again?”

Regulus's brow twitches at the mention of Wilkes. The last time he showed up, it was with two SUVs and a dozen men, each armed with rifles loaded to the brim. “Just here to greet a new neighbor,” Wilkes had claimed. But Regulus knew better. The only reason Wilkes left was because he could see they were barely fending for themselves and owned nothing that could be stolen.

“That man is coming again?” Ron pipes up in a startled voice.

“The scary one?” Ginny asks, eyes now wide.

“No,” Regulus replies. “There are no scary men coming today.”

“Not today, at least. Even then, there would be nothing for them to find here,” Charlie murmurs as his empty bowl clatters onto the table. He’s a smart kid, had just been enrolled in college for veterinary medicine. Perceptive, too. “Only got a couple of cans of Chef Boyardee left and after that, we’re fresh out. We need more food, resources, and just about everything.”

“We don’t need resources,” Barty counters. “As I’ve said many times before, we need guns, weapons.”

“And where do you plan to find those?” Regulus asks him, rising to the bait. “Tell me. Any stores you know about we can reach with just a few gallons of gas? What about the ammunition or the people that can shoot them?”

Barty sucks his teeth. “Fuck, you are cranky when you don’t sleep.”

“I would be able to sleep if you don’t make me do five things at once,” Regulus grits out.

Charlie clears his throat, glancing uneasily at his younger siblings, who have gone pale and stopped eating, caught in a conversation far too grim for their ears. Regulus sighs, aware that discussing their worsening situation will only upset the children more. He’s still trying to preserve some semblance of normalcy in their lives, even if it feels like a losing battle most of the time.

Bill must feel the same because he breathes in through his nose, jaw clenched, and asks, “Right, when are you leaving?”

“After we finish eating.”

Barty arches a brow. “So soon?”

“Sorry, do you have any other places to be?”

Barty's chair slams against the ground as he abruptly drops it from where he had been precariously teetering on its back legs. “Alright, I don’t know what four-foot stick you shoved up your ass last night—”

“Breakfast is done!” Bill exclaims, standing up to usher his two youngest siblings away from the table, though not before shooting Regulus a final look.

Shelter came at a cost—the price being the attention of other settlements—and the strain of maintaining it meant less sleep, worsened by recurring nightmares and the weight of responsibility that left him with little to do that could ease the burden. That stress chafed away at him now, wearing his patience thin and leaving him far more susceptible to sudden outbursts of anger and bitterness.

“Front yard,” is all Regulus ungraciously barks out, leaving his uneaten bowl cold and untouched on the table. If he spends any other second around Barty, a fight will imminently break out. “Don’t be late.”

With that, he gets up and leaves to prepare for their trip, rounding up the stairs to his bedroom where Minerva suddenly obstructs his path. Great.

“Regulus.”

“Minerva.”

She watches him closely, her eyes narrowing before flicking to the door at the end of the hall, just a few steps from his. “It’s been two days.”

“I know,” he replies.

“Are you heading out for a run?”

“Yes.”

Regulus moves to walk past her, but she calls after him, “The least you could do is see her before you go.”

His hand pauses on the door handle. “That won’t help either of us, and you know it.”

Before the door shuts behind him, Minerva’s voice reaches him, “Neither will trying to estrange yourself.”

✧.*

After breakfast, it’s a flurry of movement inside the factory with Regulus assigning everyone’s posts for the day and reminding them of the tasks needing completion. Once the schedule was clear, he set out with Barty, Lily, and Marlene, driving the old, paint-scratched Honda Accord down the gravelly road toward the town located far from the factory and situated just outside the woods. The place appears largely deserted with how derelict the buildings are—broken shop windows, scattered shards of glass, old blood smears, and piled bodies of inferi around every bend and corner. With nearly all stores having been robbed of their goods, they only siphoned some gas from the abandoned cars before continuing the journey to the edges of the town they had yet to explore.

As they arrive, the car’s engine sputters to silence and comes to a halt at an intersection. With their weapons at the ready, all four of them cautiously clamber out of the vehicle, not moving until Barty signs the area is clear and safe for them to move. They walk through the streets in hushed whispers, shoulders bent and heads hanging low before splitting into pairs: Marlene with Regulus and Lily with Barty. How the latter manage to work together, Regulus still hasn’t quite figured yet.

The door of the shop falls open with a quiet squeak when Marlene enters. She thuds against the wall once, twice, drawing out any potential inferi as Regulus’ eyes skim through the room and the outside where the streets luckily remain empty safe for the few cars and litter of trash. When there’s no sign of any unwanted visitors, they walk in, allowing the door to quietly fall shut behind them.

The shelves are conspicuously bare, so Regulus begins rifling through the drawers behind the counter, searching for cans, packets, or anything that might be food. They can't afford to return empty-handed; not when he knows that would mean some of them would go to bed hungry. The traps in the forests yielded nothing until now and with the crops only having been freshly planted, there is no saying when they will be fed again.

“There’s nothing here,” Marlene groans after returning from the back. “I can’t believe our luck’s been this shit. You found anything?”

Slamming a drawer shut, Regulus shakes his head.

With her hands on her hips, she gazes thoughtfully out the window. “If every store here is empty, we might have better luck at the housing blocks down the road. Some of those places might still have food in their pantries.”

“Let’s hope none of it is spoiled.” Rounding the corner, Regulus moves towards the door, but comes to a still and frowns when Marlene keeps standing, her gaze almost studying.

“What?”

She shifts on her heels. “May I be direct with you?”

The question takes him by surprise. “When are you not?”

Although she always regards him with respect, there are moments Marlene is caught up in the make-believe reality of her own world—one where inferi don’t exist and where humor is so easily found, love is so easily dispensed, like her training sessions with Regulus are entirely voluntary and not something necessitated by the now cruel world. She will chase the kids with a plastic knife, drag them into a game of tag, and continuously challenge all Weasley sons to a game of arm wrestling. Though Marlene wins every single time against the brothers, she always admits defeat whenever it is little Ginny who volunteers to be her opponent.

Marlene snorts. “You know what, fair. Just that I don’t want, dunno, for you to lose your shit right here and now.”

“Marlene.” Regulus heaves a sigh.

Rolling her eyes, she dismissively waves a hand in the air. “Fine, geez, you grump. Just wondering what you might’ve done to piss off Dorcas.”

Regulus despises how nosy she can be, especially with everything Dorcas-related. They have been together ever since the monastery and Marlene doesn’t miss any opportunity to rub their romance into their faces every odd day. “What makes you think I pissed off Dorcas?”

Marlene lifts a brow at that. “With the massive stink eye she was giving you? Come on, Reg, might not be miss Ivy League like Lils but I’m not dumb.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Kinda is if she didn’t give me a kiss before leaving.”

“You’ll live.” He hoists the strap of the backpack higher onto his shoulder and exits the store, but Marlene is hot on his heels.

“C’mon, Regulus. What, did you break curfew again?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Fuck me, really? You are the one who fucking implemented that rule.”

“Again, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Uneasy is the head that wears the crown and all, sure, whatever, but that’s reckless even for y—”

Regulus spins around, his hand gripping the dagger at his hip with a white-knuckled grip. Almost bumping into him, Marlene backtracks, hands quickly raising in defense as she tries not to trip over her feet. Her brows crease in panic at first, then confusion, and then—

“Stop meeting up with that lunatic,” she whispers, tone unusually soft for someone so crass-spoken as her. “We will find him, I promise. But—fuck, just, not with his help. Definitely not at night.”

“Final warning,” he so almost hisses. “Mind your business. That’s an order.”

Marlene’s lips purse into a tight line before she nods, more begrudging than anything else.

Barty and Lily are standing in front of the store across the street as Regulus and Marlene approach. Lily’s face is pinched in contemplation, eyes skimming the map on the hood of the car while Barty nonchalantly twirls his barbed bat like a baton, surveying the area with a look of disinterest.

“Nothing?” Marlene asks them.

Lily shakes her head just as Barty’s gum bubble pops. “All we found is dust. Barty wants to go to the houses down the block and see if they’ve got anything.”

“Yeah, also what I was thinking,” Marlene nods.

“The only problem is that the entire street is clogged with cars, meaning we will have to leave ours here…” Lily trails off.

“Yeah, I heard this area’s got tons of carjacking problems and we’ve got a real shit insurance that doesn’t cover theft,” Barty teases, which earns him an eye roll.

“It will be tricky if something happens and we can’t make a swift getaway to one of the main roads because the car is all the way here,” Lily explains.

“I’m hearing a but.”

“But,” Lily starts, folding up the map to store it away. “We have no other choice. I don’t feel like driving further away and besides, we really need to find some food and a lot of people left their houses in a panic so we should be able to find some cans of beans at least.”

“Only been about a year, right?” Barty interrupts. “Dry pasta and rice don’t spoil that fast so we should look for them too.”

“It’s not only food.” Regulus thinks about all that they can carry without being encumbered. “Simple household items like bowls, towels, rags are also necessary. If you can’t bring a lot with you, note it down so we can come in two cars next time.”

“Don’t forget the special requests,” Lily mumbles as she flips through her small notepad. “We need alcohol for disinfection. Most houses should have a simple first aid kit which Evan’s requested.”

“Food and medicine,” Regulus agrees. “That settles it.”

Marlene dreamily sighs. “Fuck, imagine if there’s some jerky waiting around for us. I haven’t had meat in ages.”

“Only been three weeks,” Lily states flatly.

“Three weeks too lo—” Marlene’s words are abruptly sliced off, her amused expression contorting into one of what he assumes is anger. In a swift, practiced motion, she draws her gun from its holster and aims it squarely at Regulus. He watches, bepuzzled, and can’t help but think that this might be a bit of an overreaction after their argument.

“Doing groceries then?”

His heart sinks, settling like a weight in his stomach, and his fingers grow cold like all the blood in his body has suddenly drained away. At the sound of the voice, Regulus comes to a realization that Marlene isn’t pointing the gun at him, no, but behind him.

He whirls around, his revolver in hand and finger on the trigger, aimed right at—

“Seems the shops are low on stock,” Effie quips when she comes to a still before them, expression unreadable despite the slight bemused tilt to her words.

Regulus remains silent, his weapon still raised despite Effie's signal for her men to lower theirs. His eye twitches as he takes in the sight of their automatic rifles—clearly military-grade, on par with the rest of their high-quality gear. They’re dressed in black spec-ops uniforms, padded in all the critical areas yet still light enough to allow for mobility. Most notable are the black masks they always wear, fully concealing their identities, even as Effie walks around without one.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are any of us doing out here?” Effie asks him. “We all need to eat. I guess I got here earlier than you did. What do they say? Early bird gets the worm.”

For whatever reason, Regulus suspects they are the worm.

“Pulling up right before we did,” Barty spits out. “Not a coincidence at all.”

“Too smart for your own good as I see,” Effie notes. “Some things are better left unquestioned, Barty. Didn’t prison teach you that curiosity is a dangerous thing?”

There’s the click of his gun’s safety turning off but Regulus raises his fist, signalling for him to hold. “Why did you follow us?”

Effie scrutinizes him for a moment, her gaze shifting from his face to his clothes and then to the battered car they arrived in. Regulus knows he doesn’t look his best, hasn’t for a while, and in all likelihood looks worse than the last time they met. “It’s been some time since we saw each other,” she explains, “and I didn’t want to make a scene by showing up at your doorstep. Besides, you’re not exactly the easiest person to get a hold of.”

“For good reason,” Regulus points out.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. And Marlene, put that away before someone gets hurt,” Effie offhandedly remarks, her gaze never shifting from Regulus. Behind him, he hears a sharp tsk, followed by the clatter of a dagger hitting the stone pavement.

They’re clearly outnumbered. Even if the four of them fire their rounds, there's no predicting how the remaining six of Effie’s men might react, how they will retaliate, not to mention the few Regulus suspects are hiding out of sight. Effie must know this too, especially with how she stands before him with a bolstered confidence like she could kill him on the spot if she so much as lifts a finger.

Not could—but can.

Regulus needs to play this smart. Until now, none of their interactions have ended in anything serious, and he would like to keep it that way. “What do you want?”

“I’m sure I’ve made that clear a long time ago.”

Regulus frowns and Effie breathes deeply like her patience is waning. As if she isn’t the one pushing it. “It’s a dangerous world this one, especially when you have to worry about the infected and humans, never knowing which one is worse.”

“Waxing poetry, are we?” Barty sneers.

“Not quite.” Effie steps forward even as her hands remain in her pockets, the barrel of Regulus’ revolver inches away from her forehead. “You and I, Regulus. Working together. We both have something the other needs, so why shouldn’t we?”

Lies, Regulus thinks, but he can’t say so without making him and the others look weaker. He has absolutely nothing that Effie doesn’t already have.

“I said no the first two times, what makes you think I’ll say yes now?”

“Third time’s a charm, is it not? Besides, a birdie also told me you visited the Monger last night.”

From his peripheral view, Regulus can see Barty’s jaw tick at the name and knows a lecture awaits him once they’re back at the factory. “Telling me you got spies following me isn’t exactly doing you favors in convincing me to work with you.”

“Maybe not, but the idea of me owning a radio might. A good one, at that. There are many stations I am connected to, Regulus. If you’re looking for something… Someone…” The sentence trails off. Regulus bites his tongue.

“I might just be able to find it,” Effie concludes. “Why else would you be visiting the Monger? I can guarantee I would be of much better help.”

There are many things Regulus is looking for, indeed. Food. Supplies. Weapons. A shovel. A rake. Rope. Fucking formula—

He had resisted the idea of accepting her help for a long time, but the difficulty of his situation had eventually worn him down. In fact, his nightly trips into the forest had been to seek out the Monger—a wandering trader who appeared every two weeks, offering not only hard-to-find items but also valuable information he amassed from visiting other sanctuaries. But, he was a dangerous man, not to be trusted, and Regulus promised he wouldn’t seek him out ever again.

But if Effie can find him formula—“What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch,” Effie seemingly assures him, though he doesn’t feel placated in the least.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Regulus corrects her. “There’s always a catch.”

“Maybe I’m an advocate for the underdog.”

“In this world? I doubt it.”

Effie does the thing where she falls quiet for a stretch of time, those brief few-second intervals where Regulus assumes she either regrets investing her time in convincing him or mentally berates herself for underestimating his obstinacy as well as wit, or maybe a combination of both.

“Let’s put it this way,” Effie starts, ever the persistent one. Regulus hasn’t met many people who have matched her levels of tenacity, doesn’t even think it possible. “You need guns among other things and I…” She gestures to herself at first before pointing at him, them, “I need people who can use them. Marlene McKinnon, isn’t it? You were a national champion in mixed martial arts if I’m not mistaken, certainly not a face one easily forgets. There’s also Dorcas, who is rather skilled with long-range rifles.”

Who was also a military aviator for a brief time, Regulus thinks, a piece of crucial information not reserved for the likes of Effie.

“You don’t want to work with us, you want us to work for you.” Barty shuffles forwards, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Regulus. “Let me pop a bullet through her head and get this over with, Reg.”

“Shit, can’t say I disagree,” Marlene hisses.

Effie remains wholly unfazed by their threats. Regulus wonders whether she knows that Barty only has two bullets left in the chamber. Or that Marlene is still slightly recovering from her dislocated shoulder. “Oh, it’s not only fighters I’m interested in. I would say you are very well-equipped in skills but less so in resources. I heard you also have a pediatrician and a surgeon among you.”

She knows a lot. Much more than she lets on, Regulus is certain. Not only that, but she is probing, trying to find what makes them tick, and the mention of a surgeon almost has Barty’s crafted mask of calm splinter. “How the fuck do you know—”

“And,” Effie interrupts. Regulus can discern the faint, barely-there tug of self-satisfaction on her mouth’s corner, the wink of a side-eye she spares Barty. “I need a man who can lead them. You’ve proven yourself quite capable in your leadership skills, Regulus.”

Regulus isn’t quite sure about that. The decision to make him the head among them had been unanimous, reached after they endured the horrors of the farmhouse and the heavy losses that came with it. He had to make choices back then, the very ones that somehow convinced the majority that he should call the shots from thereon.

“Your trial of neighborly friendliness is ending soon,” Effie warns. “In no time most will come nosing around. It’s a ruthless world, as you may know, they won’t care much for the children. Wilkes most definitely doesn’t.”

“Wilkes?” Lily asks, stealing the words right out of Regulus’ mouth, “How much do you know about him?”

“Plenty. As I said before, I have a lot to offer.”

One of the masked men steps in front of her, setting down bags at Regulus’ feet before moving back to his position behind Effie. Through the small gap, Regulus can see tins of food, packs of dried goods, and bottles of water. “A token of my goodwill. All you have to know is that I take good care of my allies.”

Using her heel, Marlene drags the bags behind her. There’s a jar of apple sauce rolling out of the bag that Regulus doesn’t miss, his eyes on it with laser focus before he turns back to Effie. “What about your enemies?”

Effie’s lips curl into a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with a mendacious glint. “Consider my offer, but don’t take too long. I’ve heard from another little bird that Wilkes plans to visit you soon, and he’ll be bringing company. It would be unfortunate if you were left without any allies of your own.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Oh, no,” Euphemia answers with a subtle shake of her head. “No, no, no. Not on my part, at least. I don’t make threats, only promises, and I can promise that my proposition is too good to refuse.”

It is. All things considered, it really is. If Regulus had been alone or just with his friends, he could have managed without the conditional aid that might leave him in debt. But given the current circumstances, he has no choice but to rely on any aid he can get, especially when the lives of others are involved. Lives that are now his responsibility.

Barty had urged him that night in the farmhouse. Sought him in the dead of the night, bag crossed over his shoulder and shuffling quietly over the wooden floors so as to not alert anyone. “Leave with me,” he had pleaded, the grip on Regulus’ wrist impossibly tight, like he would haul him over the threshold if necessary. “You, me, Dorcas, like it was before everything, just the three of us and—”

“Reg,” Barty urges Regulus now, drawing him from his reverie, though sounding far less desperate this time around in the present.

“Don’t worry about it, Barty. Regulus here was a criminal profiler before it all went down, was he not? He knows who to trust and who not to trust.”

Regulus regrets revealing so much during their first encounter when Effie had discovered, no, ambushed them in the forest when they first came across the factory and essentially interrogated him. He had been compelled to answer her questions out of fear that otherwise, she might attack. He vividly remembers their first interaction, how Ginny had hidden behind him and clutched onto his arm, nails digging so deep they broke the skin. His name is Regulus. Regulus Potter. He’s in his late twenties. What he did do before all of this? With how many they are? “We are just here to look for food and not for trouble—”

She had left him alone then, if only briefly, before reappearing to propose an alliance and vanishing again when he declined. She continued to ask, and he kept refusing, all the while wondering why she persisted. Why she kept asking—

The puzzle fits into place. “You’ve got business with Wilkes,” Regulus whispers.

All air of aplomb vanishes at his conjecture, though Effie keeps her chin high. “Maybe,” she starts. “Though, none that concerns you.”

Next to him, Barty lets out a derisive laugh, unmistakably caught up. Despite his impulsive tendencies and a penchant for solving problems with force rather than his considerable intellect, Barty remains a sharp and perceptive individual. His time in prison and his survival instincts haven't dulled his ability to read people and uncover their true intentions as effectively as Regulus does. “It does if you’re planning to use us as bait. So much for your goodwill, lady.”

Effie nearly glowers, clearly irritated by Barty's provocation. When she turns to Regulus for a definitive answer, he responds with a subtle, mocking shrug of his lips. “Criminal profiler, remember? I know a thing or two about hidden motives.”

Effie scoffs and shakes her head, a hint of disbelief mingling with her reluctant nod to their presuppositions. “Let’s say Wilkes is just one piece of the picture. A direct confrontation won’t benefit either of us. It’s in our best interest to take him on together. I have the better hand when it comes to fighting him, so he would undoubtedly go on the defensive and try and force you into his command. But, if we draw him out first, and trust me when I say he’ll be arriving before your door sooner than later, you will need me.”

Regulus recognizes bluffs. He recognizes this isn’t one. The gun in his hand lowers just by a fraction. “How would you know?”

“That’s the thing,” Euphemia whispers like the words are only for him to hear. “I know quite a lot.”

✧.* EUPHEMIA

The sharp click of her boots echoes through the underground facility, ricocheting off the metal floors and up to the thick concrete ceiling that shelters them hundreds of feet below the surface. “I want at least ten of you on perimeter surveillance rotating every six hours,” Euphemia strictly announces into the empty air. “Two on an overwatch hillside, no soul goes in or out the factory without notice, understood?”

“Roger.” Qamar’s robotic voice resounds through the radio in her hand.

“The child, has anyone caught sight of it?”

“No, ma’am. Quite well-hidden. Confident to say it isn’t brought outside under any circumstance.”

Euphemia breathes in deeply and rubs the side of her head in a vain attempt to ward off the beginning of a headache. “I see. Qamar, where is Ayl?”

“He is in the training area, ma’am.”

She halts abruptly, mere inches from triggering the sliding doors to the conference room. “Come again?”

At the lack of immediate response, Euphemia’s brows knit together into a frown. “Qamar, say that again.”

“He’s in the training area,” Qamar repeats, sounding quieter this time. “I advised against it, but he insisted he...”

“He insisted he...?” Euphemia begins, though any need for an explanation vanishes as the doors to the practice range slide open, Qamar’s response drowned out by a loud, pained groan from someone being slammed onto the training mat. From the sound alone, she can tell it’s Gharab wheezing on the ground, his arm twisted in an unnatural angle and pinned behind his back by none other than her affectionately detested right-hand-man—

“Ayl,” Euphemia chides. His tactical mask is off, the only thing concealing his face being the balaclava worn underneath.

At the sound of her voice, Ayl immediately lets go of his sparring partner who in return sharply hisses. At the sight of Euphemia, he swiftly crawls into position, a string of expletives undoubtedly resting on the tip of his tongue if the pained grunts are anything to go by.

“Your form is sloppy, Gharab.” Euphemia seizes him with a look of reprimand. “You can’t let yourself be tossed around like that by a man who just recently recovered from the flu.”

‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’ Gharab gestures before folding his hands behind his back again, awaiting further instruction.

Other than mandatory masks, the rest of the militia is prohibited from using their voice to speak. Instead, they’re limited to only their own, special sign language among themselves when operating in missions. Of course, only Euphemia and Qamar, who uses a voice-altering transmitter, are exempt from this rule.

“You may leave,” Euphemia orders him. When Gharab leaves, she glowers at Ayl. “What are you doing?”

“Sparring,” he answers, voice muffled through the thick fabric hiding his face.

“Sparring,” she deadpans. “You were sparring.”

Ayl rises to his feet with relative ease. “Not much to do when you keep me here for house arrest. So, yeah, sparring.”

Many men would be flailed for subordinate behavior. Shackled to the floor and forced to receive the full fifteen hundred volts of a taser in consecutive order. Euphemia has had men punished for less. Has had them killed for less.

“When I am gone you are the acting commander, and best believe that the acting commander doesn’t have time for sparring sessions.”

Unfazed by her admonishment, Ayl strips off his compression shirt and tosses it aside, grabbing a towel to wipe down his sweat-soaked skin. Burn scars, wrinkles of pink-brown, mottle half of his chest and the entirety of his right arm. “I set out a clear schedule, oversaw novice training, and discussed the details of the recon for Athens with Qamar. I did plenty today.”

The pain simmering behind Euphemia’s temples now blooms into a full headache. “You know what I mean. Your duties do not end just by being checkmarked off the list.”

“No, maybe I don’t. So why don’t you tell me?” He discards the towel and strides over to her, stopping just short a couple of steps away but still towering above her all the same. “We’re in Georgia of all places and have been here for quite some time. Not to mention, we have a man posted in pretty much every settlement there is. So what, tell me, is still keeping us here when we should be heading up north like we agreed on?”

His voice raises louder with each word, teetering on the edge of shouting, the frustration and exhaustion evident in his tone. It’s been a year since Effie first found him, eight months since he finally joined their ranks after emerging from a coma and regaining full functions of his body parts. Just a couple of weeks ago, he’d been confined to his room again due to an illness, which, unsurprisingly, stirred up anxiety as memories of his initial awakening resurfaced, the long time he had been bedbound and consumed his food in the form of fluids through a small tube.

Still, Effie isn’t one to dole out pity easily and never hesitates to remind someone of their place, regardless of their mounting concerns, not even if it is his. “Careful,” she warns him, soft-spoken but frigid all the same. “You’re overstepping.”

“You’re the one who made me your second-in-command,” Ayl resists. “I have a right to know what it is you’re plotting.”

“Know your place.” Her voice is clipped—reserved but imbued with authority all the same. It makes Ayl wince. “You will take orders like any man here unless you are so eager to suffer the consequences. You will be given information when it is necessary, but not simply because you feel as if it is owed. Am I clear?”

He reels back at that, and although she can’t see his expression behind the mask, Ayl’s eyes darken further.

Euphemia narrows her gaze and takes a step forward, an open challenge for him to defy her if he so much as dares. “Am I clear, Ayl?”

His hands, initially by his sides, curl into fists before they fold behind his back, gaze detaching from his to focus on the doors behind her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She turns on her heel, aiming for the sliding doors again. “Now, get dressed. You’re expected in the conference room in twenty minutes to confirm who you will bring with you to Athens. And put on your mask, not even you are exempt from this rule.”

“It’s hard to breathe in it,” Ayl laments with a murmur. “I don’t see the point of us having to wear it inside the bunkers. The place is impenetrable from the outside.”

“The mask stays on,” Euphemia sharply reminds him. Always. Every minute. Every hour. Regardless of who it is he is with. Death. Live. Survival. The mask stays on—

“No matter what.”

huh i don't know what this is but i was so intrigued.

but i'm begging send me bartylus stuff :))))))))