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rooksblvd · 10 months ago

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Itafushi headcannons

megumi is the only person who's ever made yuji blush in all seriousness

megumi is a hoodie hoarder (of yuji's hoodies ofc!)

yuji likes running his fingers through megumi's hair when he's asleep

they've been on countless ice cream dates (ofc megumi would call them otherwise but like-)

yuji walked in on megumi fresh out of shower once and it took him a full whole minute to regain his composure (and get his insides to stop tingling)

"So are you just gonna stare or?" Megumi cocked a challenging eyebrow, the faintest edge of amusement coating his tone. If Yuji kept looking at him like that for any longer, Megumi would have to step back into the bathroom to get rid of the inexplicable heat emanating off of his muscles. "I-", Yuji cleared his throat, as if to chase away any last remnants of how heavy and hot his insides felt from showing, "- yea, sorry, I was just- would you like to catch an ice cream later?" he blurted out; It had been weeks- 27 days precisely (of course he was counting!) since they'd last went out together. Just the two of them. Between the growingly demanding training schedule and countless missions Gojo was bent on sending them on, it was getting harder to catch each other selfishly lately. It bugged both of them more than they would've liked to admit. The only difference was that Yuji would actually come up, heed to the temptation and ask him out already, while Megumi would bait him walking around half naked like that. Megumi shrugged, "Yea I'd like that," he was really hoping he was doing his best to smother the excitement in his voice, but boy did Yuji know any better. So he nodded finally, cutting his brooding little black cat some slack, "Okay, cool, so um, see you in a while? When you're-" another cough "-decent," God why was it so hot in this room? With their date outing settled, Yuji turned to leave. Maybe it was all the sleepless nights catching up to him, or maybe seeing Megumi's towel hanging that low had short-circuited the nerves of his brain, but Yuji could've sworn he saw Megumi don one of his hoodies, out of the corner of his eye; one which had disappeared out of the blue after a mission, one which he'd been searching for incessantly. And there the stupid butterflies went, making a fuss in his tummy.

ever since megumi caught yuji sneaking off to the terraces at night to actually relax without feeling the responsibility of the world drooping his sanity, he makes it a point to accompany him

they don't do much, never talk even, just sit against the rooftop, with yuji's head on megumi's shoulder, megumi's fingers intertwined with yuji's on his thigh and their gaze fixed upon the same stars

ever since the encounter with sukuna, megumi has to have his head on yuji's chest so he can actually sleep, listening to yuji's rythmic heartbeat is what keeps his going

the first time megumi ever called yuji by his first name, was when he moaned it against his mouth after their first kiss

yuji fell in love with him all over again after that instance and now he gets pissy everytime megumi calls him itadori when they're in public

megumi would let yuji style his hair (only on sundays, and yk this is big coming from someone as reserved as him)

yuji would casually throw around sexual jokes when with megumi, unaware of the effect it has on him

yuji secretly (oh who am i kidding, megumi obviously knew ab it; with the way my man's got his eyes on him 24 7, i wouldn't be surprised), mixed their colognes once because he liked the idea of it

their first kiss was actually initiated by a frustrated megumi in an attempt to shut up a stupidly beautiful an annoying yuji

yuji may or may not have had an existential crisis over his crush making the first move

nobara is the first person they come out to

yuji's love language is quality time while megumi's is acts of service both inside and outside the bedroom

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Okayyyy you guys, I'm so sorry for posting this so late. Truth be told, it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks, I was too caught up with my exams so I was giving it a rest. But a girl can only take her mind off of two silly little gays for so long! So here it is. I'm ngl, but the way writing about anything jjk related in general, especially anything stsg or itfs centered, never fails to boost my energy levels up is crazy. I love love love them w all my heart, and I try to express it in my hcs. I know they may not be exactly canon-compliant, but they're what side of my brain that's a sucker for happy endings seeks refuge in. So yea, I try.

PS The yuji-asking-megumi-out tidbit was supposed to be only like a few lines, idk how I ended up writing all that-

Alsooo I've been wanting to write an itfs fic for awhile; not that I have a solid plot at ready or anything, it's just an urge I have (and I know that's not how writing works lol) so maybe, just mayyyybe, ima try to work on it in my vacation? (which starts from tm btw). Cause if I actually do plan on going ahead w it, it'd be my first ever fic, and tbh it seems just as scary as it seems exciting. Either way, if you managed to read this far, I'm grateful that you did!<3

Long live itafushi!!!🎀

#i will cry actually #for the 15 ppl who voted for this post haha #this is for you cuties<3 #they're my babies #itafushi #itfs #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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iaminfourthwing · 8 months ago

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The Generals Daughter

Chapter III

The sun is up when we stand in formation the next day while Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll. The courtyard is hollowed in almost deadly silence.

We’re all in our assigned uniforms for first years with our patches added and while some of us look like they got a decent amount of sleep last night, I didn`t and I feel like I am ready to be send to Malek. But my mind was running on high speed and I was way too paranoid to sleep, ready for the (mostly im)possible scenario someone might try to pull some shit at night, even though it would be against the Codex. Violet next to me looks like she struggles but is keeping her head high. She is strong which makes me proud.

“We command their souls to Malek.” Oh, we were at the end already.

“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you`re not going to get another chance before lunch” Dain says, “and I hope at least one of you first years has the academic schedule remembered.”

“And if we’re not?” someone behind us says. Is he dumb?

“Then I don`t have to be concerned with forgetting your name” Aetos shrugs. Well.

“Sawyer” he looks to the left at a first year. Ah, Sawyer Henrick, the freckled guy that repeats the first year because he didn`t bond during Threshing last year. It takes some balls to do this shit again, he has my full respect.

“I`ll get them there” he answers and turns to the nine of us first years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit and don`t be fucking late” he shouts and heads off to the dormitory.

“This must be shit, doing this again” Rhiannon states.

“Better than being dead” the guy from before claims as he walks on my right side. I think his name is Ridoc but I am not sure. I look around, not saying anything and make my way to the dorms, not noticing that Violet isn't by my side anymore. In her place walks Rhiannon. “Where-“ “Dain” she says before I can ask. Damn Aetos, so much for being subtle.

We`re off to grab our (and Violets) stuff and head over to the academic wing for history, which is going to be boring for both Violet and myself. Violet was trained to be a scribe, so she knows it all, and I had to study everything anyways, order from my father.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

“Welcome to your first Battle Brief” Professor Devera greets us. This will be the only class we`ll have every day.

She takes her time to scan the rows of first years, looking at every cadet she sees, while the second and third years are scattered behind us.

At first, she makes eye contact with Violet next to me and gives her a small smile and nod but when her eyes find mine, she tenses and stops. For around three second it`s quiet, then she nods and continues. Rolling my eyes, I look to the left at Violet, seeing a concerned frown adorning her face. I send her a reassuring smile and turn back to the front where Professor Markham stands. He looks at Violet with disappointment, not because of her personally but the lost chances with that great brain of hers. She would have been an excellent scribe.

His gaze sways over to my side and just like with Panchek, his face pales instantly and fear strikes his facial features, not because of me but the one I share my last name with. Letting out a frustrated sigh I switch my focus on my quill, distracting myself before I start to scream out of annoyance. For fucks sake, I am NOT my father. Why is everyone acting like he rules the fucking continent?

“First topic of the day,” Devera moves to the map “the Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and their riders.” Oh damn. I sit straighter and focus on the map. Good thing when you have an excellent working memory – you can focus more on the front, less on your notes.

She gives further information and I take it all in. It’s bad enough that dragons aren`t the only animals capable of channeling powers to their riders. But the dragons are the only ones of powering the wards that makes other power impossible within these wards. They make sure we aren`t fucked up by the gryphons and their riders.

“…What questions would you ask? Only answers from first years for the start.”

Okay first of all, why the fuck are the wards faltering and more importantly what caused them to falter in such an unlikely place? They would never answer that question because none of us is authorized in that matter.

The second question would be, why they would choose this place for an attack? The Esben Mountain Range is the highest on the eastern border and the gryphons don`t go really well with altitudes like this. Furrowing my eyebrows, I try to find a pattern in the latest attacks. It doesn`t make any sense. But maybe … maybe they were searching for something.

“Did you want to ask a question?” Devera asks Pryor, a first year in our squad, who doesn`t really knows if he should raise his hand or not.

“Yes” he nods. Then – “No. Never mind.”

“So decisive” Luca, another first year from our squad, mocks him. Aurelie tries to ease the tension but Luca is not done with her teasing.

“No dragon is bonding to a guy who can`t even decide if he wants to ask a question. And have you seen –“ I scoff loudly, rolling my eyes at her demeanor to finally bring an end to this shit, which makes her turn around in her seat a row in front of me. If some of them are already kind of terrified with my face here, why not use it?

Her eyes meet mine and she realizes who interrupted her. She quickly turns back to the map without saying anything anymore.

I hear Violet and Rhiannon whisper to each other but don`t understand anything.

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon finally asks. Oh, that`s a good question, matches with mine I had in my head. It`s Professor Markham who answers, surprised by it. “A little less than ten thousand feet, why?”

“It seems a little high for an attack with gryphons.” Good safe, because now I just realized that the question came from Violet. Smartass.

“… to ask your own questions, Cadet Sorrengail.” Shit, I need to start listening and try not to zone out all the time. Seems like the girl next to me has now all the attention on her. Great job, Vi.

Violet goes on about how this altitude is way too high for gryphons and their ability to channel. Looks like a thought crosses her genius brain as her next question is based on Devera’s information that the squad of riders took an hour to arrive.

“Then they were already on their way” she says. And while I can see what she is talking about – the rest of the first years decide to judge instead of thinking, some of them start to laugh.

“Yeah, because that makes sense” a blonde guy turns around in his seat to laugh directly in her face. Jack fucking Barlowe, the asshole that threw a candidate down the Parapet tried to kill Violet and still has it out for her.

“General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn`t know when it will happen, dumbass. Am I right, Melgren Junior?” His eyes find mine when an evil smirk finds its way onto his face. Don`t fucking tempt me, asshole. I am not interested in a conversation with you.

My lack of response seems to annoy him because he tries it again. “I said, am I righ-“

“There is no need to repeat yourself. I ignored you just fine the first time.”

Stunned silence from Barlowe, startled gasps from other cadets, choked laughter from Ridoc. “Oh shit, that was good, Arya!” he laughs next to me and clasps his hand on my shoulder. Yeah no, I don`t think so Ridoc. I should try to keep my mouth shut with that one before I'll regret it.

Violet ignores my remark and continues with her theory and it seems like she is right, because Devera and Markham both look proud and with a knowing smile on their face. “Because they somehow knew the wards were breaking” she finishes.

“That`s the most-“Jack argues. Does he ever know when to stop?! “She`s right.” HA! I have a proud grin on my face, I love her brain!

“Cadet Melgren” I am called by Devera. Startled I raise my head, brow hitting my hairline.

“What would you ask in aspect of the attack?” she asks me. For a moment I study the map again, trying to sort my thoughts.

“What were they looking for and most importantly, did they find it?”

A slow smile spreads over Deveras face and even Markham looks intrigued by my question. “What makes you think they were out looking for something?”

“Well, it just makes sense they searched for something. Like Cadet Sorrengail said, the attack took action at the most illogical place for a drift of gryphons.” I pause, bringing my thoughts into formation. “The wards failing was not a coincidence and even though it seems like they were just passing by, they weren`t. They somehow knew the wards would falter in that specific moment. But whatever they were looking for, it must have been really important if they risk their drift to attack this high up in the mountains.” I finish.

I can hear Ridoc next to me cheering quietly in his seat. And while the first and some of the second years don’t think that far yet, I am pretty sure some of the third years had a similar question in mind, because I hear approving whispers behind me. Years of learning and studying are finally paying off.

“Just like your father. Always thinking ahead and seeing the important aspects. Good job, Melgren.” Everyone else would see it as a compliment but …

I hate it, with all my heart, because I desperately want to be everything but like my father. Violet takes my hand, knowing how much I hate to be compared to the General.

#fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #iron flame #bodhi durran #xaden riorson #bodhi durran x oc #bodhi durran x reader #fourth wing by rebecca yarros #rebecca yarros #booktok #violet sorrengail

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imtrashraccoon · 3 months ago

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This one turned out a bit different than I had planned but I think it's better. Yes, Scar is a good cook since he's had at least ten years to learn...

@starlikeswomen

First, Previous, & Next Day

Chapter 3: I Guess We're Roommates??

Word Count: 885

You woke up to an amazing smell. Were you dreaming? It had been ages since you had woken up like this. Thankfully, you had enough awareness to put on some actual clothes before venturing into the kitchen to investigate.

Scar was standing by the stove, busy flipping pancakes and transferring cooked ones onto a plate on the counter. He had rolled up his sleeves and his gloves were sitting on the table where he'd taken to sitting. This meant you got a good view of how sharp the tips of his phalanges were and the numerous little cracks in his bones. You also noticed that he was wearing the "Kiss The Cook" apron you had been gifted years ago as a joke.

Your footsteps must've given you away because he suddenly turned to look at you. His eye sockets widened ever so slightly and he made a sound of clearing his throat.

"My Apologies, Did I Wake You Up?"

You nodded, "Yeah, your cooking smelled too good to ignore I guess."

He grimaced slightly and scratched at his cervical vertebrae. "I Did Not Mean To Disturb You; I Am Just Used To Getting Up With The Sun."

"It's alright, really. If you want to get up early, feel free," you responded. "My sleep schedule is kind of all over the place but Pickle usually makes for a good alarm clock if I stay in bed too long."

"That Seems To Be A Common Characteristic With Owning Birds," he commented while bringing the pancakes to the table.

You weren't sure if that was a hint of irony in his voice or if he was speaking from experience. Maybe you'd ask about it later but for now, you wanted to enjoy breakfast together. Scar carefully folded the apron and set it on the counter. After putting his gloves back on, he joined you at the table.

The pancakes tasted even better than you'd been expecting. Not only were they super fluffy, but they also didn't fall apart before you managed to get them in your mouth. What you hadn't been expecting was how they seemed to literally melt in your mouth before you could even swallow.

Your surprise must've been evident because the corners of Scar's permanent sneer twitched and he quickly covered his mouth in an effort to muffle his snickers.

"How did you...?" you started to question.

"Magic." He chuckled quietly before adding, "I Did Not Expect You To Be So Surprised, Since I Know You Have Had Monster Food Before."

"I just wasn't expecting it, okay?" you huffed. "You're a really good cook."

Your compliment definitely pleased him if the way he squared his shoulders back was any indication. "Thank You, Human."

"No, seriously. You could probably become a professional chef or even open your own restaurant with your skills."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe You Are Right... I Had Not Considered The Idea Before."

You nodded before returning to your food. It was actually kind of amusing how easily affected he was by your flattery. Maybe you'd make a point about complimenting him more? He looked good when he was happy and it only made you want to do more to see him smile again.

"Maybe my opinion doesn't mean much since I'm a decent cook at best, but..."

He tilted his skull and gave you a curious look.

You did your best to keep a straight face before continuing, "I could kiss you, your cooking is that good."

For a moment, Scar seemed utterly bewildered. You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out if you were serious or just pulling his leg. At one point, his eyelights flickered to the apron that he'd left one the counter and that was when you broke.

You clamped a hand over your mouth in a futile effort to keep your laughter contained. That had been such a corny thing to say and the look on his face was absolutely priceless.

His cheekbones turned a bright scarlet colour when he realized that you had been teasing and he quickly looked away. He almost looked like he wanted to crawl into a ball and disappear, which made you start to feel bad.

You frowned and leaned closer to him. "Hey. I'm sorry, that was too far..."

Scar stayed silent and still couldn't seem to look at you.

"I have a weird sense of humour sometimes but that's no excuse for making you uncomfortable."

"It Is Fine." He took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself again.

You gave him a small smile. "I wasn't joking about how much I like your cooking though. You're very good and I don't mind if you want to use anything of mine, okay?"

He studied you for a moment before huffing, seemingly returning to his usual self. Crossing his arms over his ribcage, he leaned back in his chair with a slight smirk.

"Just Be Careful What You Joke About, Human."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at how his voice had taken on a gravely tone.

"Or Else You May End Up Eating Your Words One Of These Days..."

Well, now it was your turn to blush. Was that a threat or was he teasing you now?

#starspaptober24 #i guess we're roommates now??#raccoons drabbles #undertale #underfell #underfell papyrus #underfell papyrus x reader #reader #he doesn't really do flirting #but he can definitely throw down with the best of them!#it just takes him a second :3

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mx-jinxous · 1 year ago

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I wanted to get this out last night due to me being busy today with my bday, however I got too sleepy to function. Better late than never. I will try to take everyone to the best of my abilities, but depending on tumblrs restrictions I also have it up on my ao3 here

Chapter 1 l Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

The last time he felt this level of unclearness, had been when he beat his keg stand record, followed up with too many shots. He’d been a junior trying to chase popularity and ended up waking up on a stranger's bathroom floor. Safe to say the hangover felt shitty, like a knife tapping the inside of his skull in rhythm with his heartbeat. This was worse.

His body was freezing, which emphasized the aches that plagued his body. If he was honest with himself, he was surprised his body had fought off illness for this long. Not having a balanced diet or a proper shelter was a decent way to get sick and without insurance, he was just going to have to power through it.

A shiver rushed through Steve’s body, and the young man used all his strength to bundle the blanket around him. A hand stopped him when it pressed against his forehead, causing a groan to escape from him. He tried to bat the hand away, another hand pressing his back down by the shoulder. Someone was saying something, but the words were garbled like he was listening from underwater. It made the throbbing in his head worse and weighed down his body. All Steve wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, his visitors decided that that wasn’t on his schedule. He was grounded to alertness by gentle slaps to his cheek. With a growl, he attempted to slap the hand away, only for his wrist to come to a jolted stop. Against his body’s protest, he cracked his eyes open, expecting to see Gray. The man in front of him was far too young to be the security guard.

“Ah, there he is.” The man smirked as he slapped Steve’s cheek again before backing away.

“Careful guard, he is still ill.” A woman’s voice came from beside him, making the young man take in his surroundings.

The room was bland and dated by at least a few centuries, with nothing much for decor aside from a few chairs and a sofa. To be honest he felt like he was in an exhibit at the museum with a lack of character. If that was the case then he was going to be in a world of trouble with his boss.

Fingers snapping in front of his face brought him out of his head. The shaggy-haired man was looking irritated with him like he expected an answer. Steve only stared back, refusing to speak with how shitty he was feeling. Shaggy Man seemed just as stubborn, leading to just both of them staring back one another down. It came to a stalemate when the woman spoke up. “Guard, if you would please state your business. I am in charge of the captive and you are impeding my healing.”

“He does not require healing, not until we receive the answers, which is more important if I should remind you.”

“You can not interrogate a dead man. You are allowed three questions but do not trouble him. He must rest.” The woman seemed to mean it if the shaggy man’s silence was to answer. He glared at Steve, who was done with this conversation and wanted nothing but pain relievers and sleep.

“What is your name?” He rolled his eyes at the guard before directing attention to the doctor. “How did you get into the burial chamber?” His silence only seemed to anger the guard. “Answer now!” He growled, grabbing Steve by the forearm. He pulled his arm into view, pointing at his wrist. “Where did you get this!”

The glimmer of gold was all it took to recall the events of last night, his body filled with fear and anxiety, the young man trying to escape the bed. He was jerked back into place by the restraint on his other wrist, his eyes traveling to what held him captive. It was a cuff chaining him to the bed, keeping him trapped once more, at the mercy of these strangers.

“Focus!” The shaggy man growled, drawing Steve’s attention back to the guard. “How did you get this bracelet?!”

With a scoff, he pulled his arm free. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’ll gladly give it to you.” As to prove his point, the young man went to pull it off, only for it to stay fixed in place. He struggled with it before the guard threw his head back with a groan.

“It is magically locked in place you nitwit. Until we break the spell it will remain adhered to your wrist.”

“Magically? Is this some kind of joke? What are you going to do, pull a rabbit out of a hat?” He scoffed at that, glaring at Steve.

“Stop being ridiculous. Do I look like a summoner to you? Also, what would a rabbit do to solve your issues?”

“Wha-?”

“Alright guard, my patient needs healing and rest. Please allow me to do my job as I allowed you to. You can finish your interrogation once his health has returned to a more lucid place. I will call for you at such time.” Steve expected a retort, an argument to break out due to whatever drugs the guy had been taking. Magic wasn’t real, despite the bracelet being adhered to his wrist, or the night before with the statue. Maybe he’s just been sick and it was all a fever dream. Gray probably found him and he’s in some kind of historical hospital.

“Just keep him locked up and send for me when he is coherent again.” Without a response he left, slamming the door. The woman tutted before turning her attention back to Steve.

“I apologize for his attitude, he is just cautious. My name is Joyce, I am a healer. I have waited till you woke up before asking to heal you. I can do it magically or with traditional methods. I know some humans are averse to magical methods, however, it will relieve your ailments in time for the guard's second round of interrogation. I understand he will not be swayed again. The king requires information on how you got into the burial chamber. “

“You too? This is definitely a fever dream. There is no such thing as magic, it's all smoke, mirrors, and illusion.”

“Oh dear, you must have hit your head. I assure you I am a rather talented vitamancer and you will need all your strength. I am sure King Kas will be ruthless when he comes to question you.”

Steve froze. The nightmare seemed closer to reality at the mention of the statue. Had he been kidnapped by the marble man, taken to some crazed cult that believed in magic? It was too much to focus, covering his eyes with his forearm. He couldn’t bare to face the king, especially not in his current condition. He felt faint, the world spinning as he tried to calm himself.

“Oh sweetheart, do not panic. I will make sure you are well enough if you allow me.” Joyce held a hand up, glowing a faint yellow, and offered with a kind of smile. She seemed sincere, calm, and patient. She made Steve’s freezing body feel warm and he found himself nodding. He doesn't recall the next few minutes beside a glow before the world returned to dark.

Joyce left him under the guards at his door, nodding at the two as she warned them to leave the intruder to rest. Her robe dragged behind her while she strolled up the castle stairs, to the king's private office. It’s where he felt the most confident in addressing issues with his advisor before the court. To say she wasn’t surprised that the others were already there delegating to one another. Her arrival went unnoticed as the king's personal guard and guard commander were arguing. Kas stood, rubbing his temple, Joyce noting the headache that was forming.

“He has been uncooperative, delusional, and quite frankly an ass.”

“You were not there when the guard retrieved him. He looked like a traumatized wet dog. I highly doubt he is lucid enough to even register where he is.”

“Chris, Gareth, please calm your voices.” Kas groaned, looking up to see the newcomer. “Joyce, you have spent time with the intruder. What do you have to say about him?” Eyes dragged to the healer, one of the elders of the advisors, looking to her as the voice of reason.

“It is hard to say. He has been incoherent most of the times he awoke. The fever has taken a toll on him, affecting his memories. He seems lost on how he got here and magic as a whole. I did heal him and he is resting. The guards are aware that the only visitors outside this room are food delivered by the guards. Once he is awake and fed, then we shall be able to question him. You have my sign Liffey.” Joyce instructed.

“Understood, then I will personally accompany Gareth. If this stranger is working for Lord Vecna and infiltrated our walls then we will retrieve all the information possible with any means necessary.” Kas demanded.

“His clothing was certainly strange.” Gareth huffed.

“He will get a moment to state his case, I for one am looking to get some answers about our dead man walking.” Kas sighed. “Joyce, once he is alert and fed, calls for us.” The woman nodded, excusing herself. She left, taking a detour to the castle garden. In the center were her twins, Will and El, practicing magic. They were playing with a bush of roses, wilting before returning to their vibrant state. Unlike her eldest, the twins had been born as diviners, much like their paternal grandmother. Their father was the only non-mage in their unique family, her three children house unique magic.

She watched for a moment, enjoying the sight of the youngest taking joy in their magic. Looking off to an opposing garden corner, seeing her eldest, Jonathon backed against the gardener. Argyle was a down-to-earth Druid, who seemed to take a fondness for her son. Joyce knew the two were closer than friends, it was clear how the druid grew a flower and tucked it behind the younger healer's ear. Young love always warmed her heart, to see her children happy.

Pulling away, she called out for lunch, planning to check on Steve when they finished. She didn’t make it past the appetizer before Gareth came running into the dining hall, with a patrol with him. Joyce stood, concern painted on her face at the notice of their city gear. “What is going on?”

“I will stay in the castle. If he tries to attack then I will be here for the king.” With a nod, the young guard had the patrol out of the castle grounds.

———————

Tag list, if you’d like to be added (or I missed you) state so down below. There are some that would not allow me to tag, I did leave them in and I will look into it as soon as I can.

@steddieas-shegoes , @steddie-steddie @paintsplatteredandimperfect @roastingdragon @oblivion-void @just-a-tiny-void @lilangeldevil006 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @izzy2210 @weirdandabsurd42 @throwbackthrowaway @steve-the-hairrington @loser-of-hearts333 @croatoan-like-it’s-hot @gingersass @alto-delete @anaibis @limbs-are-optional @thephantomhood @itsall-taken @jamieweasley13 @imfinereallyy @yeahhh-suga @awkotaco24 @aliea82 @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @stxrcrossed186 @emly03 @elviraenthusiast @siriusleeart @fxrgetmenott @amerikanskaya-krassavitsa @noctxrn-e @spicysix @renaissan-vvitch @lovelyscot @goodolefashionedloverboi @teelagurl558 @seilahtitania32 @sparky--bunny @dontslayfay @amrice @pluckedstrings @plyerice27 @vae1bixy @grtwdsmwhr @vacantwatchers @8em-em-em8 @stevesbipanic @commonxsenss @sani-86 @suikatto @callmesirkay @spideysteveloml @neeerdrage @quevadilla @p0lybl4nkk @thetrueghostqueen @ok-just-why @eyesofshinigami @oxidantdreamboat @platinum-sunset @milottadoodles @chillichats @kyysposts @bookworm0690

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steve x eddie #SetinStoneSteddie

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feeblescholarmyass · 1 year ago

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"To Whoever Is Dicking Around on a Motorcycle in the Middle of the Night..."

in which your neighbor, Chuuya Nakahara, stays up too late messing with his motorcycle and it keeps you awake

tags: pre-relationship, pining stage, excessive use of the word "motorcycle", reader does not like riding a motorcycle, ooc? Chuuya (I tried my best babes but I am soo early in the series), this was beta read (rare) so it shouldn't have too many mistakes (ty @ratty-rat-toot 💞), vague hints that reader works in a bakery, I lost motivation at the end so the sections got shorter

a/n: this will not be part of a series, but expect more Chuuya fics in the future!!!

You tossed to your side for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. You'd been attempting to fall asleep for hours. No matter what you did, it just wouldn't happen. You took your medication, made sure to soothe yourself and prepare for bed. Yet, you just couldn't seem to get any rest at all. The grueling summer heat combined with your normal insomnia was not doing you any favors.

You peeled your eyelids open and groped around in the dark to find your phone and check the time. At first, your fingers found nothing but your own bedsheets. Only after a more thorough and frustrated search did you find what you were looking for. You winced as the screen flashed a blinding light when you turned it on, and it took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the invasive light before you could read the time. It was only a few minutes from midnight, meaning you had about six hours left to attempt to go to sleep.

You groaned into your pillow, wishing for summer to be over already. Once the days were shorter and the temperatures lower, you had much higher hopes for finally finding some sort of sleep schedule besides an attempt. Unfortunately, the days were only going to get hotter from there on out.

You rolled back onto your side, wrapping your arms around a blanket and struggled to find a comfortable position that wouldn't cook you in your sleep.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut and the weight of your cat against your legs began to lull you into sleep, the loud sound of an engine revving startled you back awake. You were no engine expert, but it sounded like a motorcycle.

(More UTC)

Is someone really taking their motorcycle out for a ride at this hour? That's ridiculous. Just go away, already! I'm trying to sleep, god dammit! You thought, stuffing your head under a pillow.

However, the noises from your neighbor's garage did not get any quieter. The longer this persisted, the more irritable you grew.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you cried, throwing off your light blanket (much to your cat's protest) and shoved on the first jacket you could find to cover yourself a little. It was too hot for proper pajamas, so you had been in bed wearing the tiniest pajama shorts in your possession and some decently comfortable undergarments.

You marched to your front door, pulled it open, and followed the sound to the mystery individual who thought it was a good idea to play mechanic in the middle of the night. It was dark, but the moon was almost full, so you had plenty of light to find your way around the street. It helped that your eyes were used to the dark from hours of staring up at your ceiling in the lightless expanse of your bedroom.

Just down the street, two houses east and across from yours, you found the culprit, kneeling on the concrete of his open garage, tuning up his expensive looking bike. The motorcycle itself was hot pink, and from the looks of it, a decent model. As much as you appreciated good taste, it didn't excuse the noise at such a late hour.

"Hey, idiot!" You shouted. Was the name calling a little unnecessarily rude? Yes, but it was also unnecessary for him to be so loud at practically midnight, so you didn't feel any remorse.

The perpetrator looked up at you from the task at hand, red hair tied up loosely against his neck, and grayish blue eyes reflecting the moonlight. It would have been pretty, if you weren't so pissed off. Actually, even through your vision that was blurred from exhaustion and blind, sleepy rage, he was incredibly attractive. It was unfortunate that you had to meet like this.

"It's the middle of the night! Don't you think you should keep it down?! Some of us are trying to sleep!" You readjusted your jacket, realizing you must look a little crazy standing in a stranger's yard in only your undergarments, some very tiny shorts, and a very thin jacket. In your defense, you hadn't been expecting to make any late night visits to crazy neighbor boys to make complaints.

He frowned for a moment before his expression relaxed. "Sorry," he called back. He got up from the ground and dusted off his knees. You took notice of his grease covered forearms. He had been messing with the bike. You hoped he knew what he was doing and wasn't just an amateur trying a hand at such expensive upkeep.

"You'd better be," you muttered under your breath. You turned on your heel with a huff and stomped back to your house, all the while attempting not to flash the frustratingly pretty boy who was watching you leave with a dumbfounded grin on his face.

Embarrassing lack of clothes aside, it had felt good to yell at someone. Maybe now you'd be able to sleep with some peace of mind, knowing the sanctity of the night was once again just as quiet as it should be.

After that, there were no more motorcycle engine noises keeping you up in the night. Once again, only your poor habits and unfortunate circumstances prevented you from getting a full night's rest.

It seemed that motorcycle boy had taken your complaint into consideration and decided not to do any more impromptu repairs at all hours of the night.

Sadly, that didn't mean you slept any better. You were an absolute wreck today. One night of poor sleep had turned into a week of hardly getting any rest at all. Currently, you were waddling around like a zombie, hardly able to think as your body performed on autopilot to get all the necessary tasks done. You couldn't even remember what you'd eaten for breakfast that morning, or if you'd even had breakfast at all.

Last night had resulted in a total four hours of fitful sleep, accompanied by the strangest dreams you couldn't even remember. Something about weretigers and detectives, but it was all so intelligible that you didn't bother attempting to unwind the mystery of whatever your subconscious had cooked up for you this time.

You had made your coffee with an extra shot of espresso and hoped for the best. You took another sip, realized it was too sweet for your tastes, but didn't care enough to do anything about it. It may have been the first cohesive thought you'd had all day.

You gave your cat a scratch between its ears and slipped on a pair of shoes so you could go out and check on the garden your father had reminded (read: demanded) you to take care of, since he couldn't keep an eye on what ingredients you were using in meals anymore. As much as you struggled to remember to care for the plants properly, you found you didn't hate the responsibility. It made you feel productive whenever you were able to harvest the results of all your troubles. The fresh taste was an added bonus.

As you watered the flowers that served as ground coverage used to shield your precious darling fruit bushes and vegetable garden from nasty herbivore vermin, you heard the sound of an engine starting up from down the street.

Ah, motorcycle boy is up, you thought. A strange thrill coursed through your veins as you remembered how he had looked in the moonlight. Bad Y/n, now is not the time to get giddy over some stupid neighbor boy. You've got to get to work soon and can't afford time to daydream.

Despite the stern talking-to you were giving yourself, you couldn't help but want to catch another glance of such a beautiful man. You turned and shielded your eyes from the rising sun, glancing at your neighbor. The view did not disappoint.

He straddled the bike as he put on his helmet. His hair was long enough you could still see it peeking out from underneath and curling around his shoulders. Red shone gold in the early morning sunshine, creating a glow around him that made you forget what you were doing just to watch him prepare to drive away.

You set down the watering can with as much care as you could manage (which is to say, very little) and pushed your hair out of your eyes to get a better view. You caught him glancing at you before he started the bike. The look he gave you sent shivers down your spine. Only once he had disappeared from your view were you able to return to fretting over the poor leaves of your radishes. It seemed some bunnies had decided those were the yummiest, and trampled your flowers just to get to them.

Oh, well. You would just have to take more care to try and prevent them from making it that far next time. Luckily, your newest plot to save your garden involved a more forceful method of keeping herbivores out of your plants.

The next time you ran into Motorcycle Boy, you were picking up some seeds to begin your new garden protection strategy. It had been a month or two without any interactions, much to your pleasure. It was a hassle to try to wrangle the butterflies he sent tumbling in your stomach back in their cage.

This time, he seemed to be fussing over the location of some wine. He was small, not much taller than a young teenage boy. For someone with such an unfriendly scowl, he didn't seem all that intimidating at the moment. You held back giggles as you watched him strain to grab the bottle he wanted, hopping up and down and cursing under his breath in frustration.

You decided not to say anything and passed him wordlessly, sticking to the opposite side of the aisle and hoping he wouldn't notice you, or at the very least he would leave you alone. You didn't have the time to play the small talk game at the moment; you had a friend on their way to visit you, and you were keen on being home before they arrived.

"Hey, you!" He called. You winced at the sound of his voice and bit back a sigh. He had noticed you and not chosen to ignore you. It seemed luck was not on your side today. "C'mere," he called.

You turned towards him and put on your best customer service smile. "Do you need something?" You asked him.

"You're the girl who showed up in my yard wearing practically nothing, yeah?" He lifted his head so he could look down at you. You felt your face go hot. Did he really have to bring that up in public? You mentally whined. "Grab this bottle for me and I'll forget about the whole thing."

All embarrassment you had felt previously turned into anger as his words registered in your brain. "Huh?!? Why should I? You really should learn to get better at asking people for help, if that's what you're trying to do here."

His eyes widened as he seemed to realize his mistake. "Hold on," he called, putting his hands up in defense. "I didn't mean it like that. 'Just thought it must have been pretty embarrassing, you know? Let me try again. Would you help me over here?"

You took a second to cool down, then took a deep breath. "Fine, since you asked so nicely," you huffed.

You reached up with a little bit of a struggle and got down the bottle he had been trying to grab, then glanced over the label. He's got good taste in alcohol, too. This is getting ridiculous.

"There, now don't mention that ever again. Please," you muttered, handing the bottle to him.

"Gotcha," he replied without another glance in your direction,, looking only at the wine bottle in his hand. He turned it over and read the labels, then tucked it under his arm and headed for the register.

"Wait!" You called, immediately cursing yourself for acting before thinking. What am I doing? I was almost free to go back to ignoring him!

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you. "Huh? D'ya need something?" He asked.

"Your name," you said before you could lose your nerve. "I've been thinking of you as Motorcycle Boy and thought I should probably learn it."

He threw back his head and laughed. Your face flushed hot again and you hoped you hadn't made a fool of yourself, especially in front of the cute boy you had been thinking about constantly for a month straight.

When his fit of laughter subsided, he grinned at you and gave you what you'd asked for. "I'm Chuuya Nakahara. And you? What name should I attach to 'Crazy Motorcycle-Hating Neighbor?"

"I do not- ugh. Y/n L/n, and I am not crazy. If anyone is crazy here, it's you. Seriously, who thinks it's time to play with a motorcycle at midnight?" You folded your arms over your chest and frowned at him. He only grinned at you again.

"See ya around, L/n. Hopefully fully dressed next time," he teased. With that said, you parted ways, each playing with the feel of the newly acquired name in your mouth.

"Y/n L/n, eh?" He muttered, twirling the stem of a lily of the valley from your garden. It was a pretty little flower; it was a shame that it was dreadfully poisonous.

He leaned back until his head hit his pillow. He wondered if you were up or if that had been a one-time incident. He hadn't touched the bike in his garage past ten p.m. since you'd marched so boldly over to his house and chided him for the noise. He briefly thought about getting it out just to see if you would come back.

You'd been running through his mind non-stop for months now. The sight of your bare legs and glimpses of the rest of you from under that jacket had him worried that damned Dazai had rubbed off on him. He couldn't help sneaking looks at you every morning as you tended to your garden before he left for work. It felt dirty every time he looked at you, because every time he would get a vivid image of you giving him a death glare while half naked.

He was no womanizer, unlike that ass. However, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind seeing you in a state of undress again.

He sat up with a start at that thought. What am I thinking? Gross, I am not getting hot and bothered over my neighbor's legs. It's just legs. Pretty, deliciously bare legs. SHUT UP.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the increasingly unwelcome thoughts of your legs and how your skin would feel on his fingertips, or how cute you looked when you were pouting.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. This was not good.

"Turns out he'd been having an affair the whole time. I felt so bad for her! I can't say I didn't expect it, though," your coworker said, waving a hand at you. "I mean, he just seemed like the type, y'know?"

Listening to Raina talk about other people's relationships had gotten boring after the first hour, but today had been a slow and boring day, and she didn't expect you to add very much to the conversation.

"Speaking of types, what's yours?" She popped a sucker into her mouth. She'd quit smoking about three years ago, and she'd started taking them everywhere so her mouth could be occupied whenever she felt the urge. Since then it had become a habit to have a sucker in her mouth at all times.

"I dunno, I don't think about it very often." It was a lie, but you didn't want to get into that just minutes before the day was over and you could finally go home. "I haven't really cared much about boys since I was a kid. It's not that big of a deal."

Even as you said it, you realized that wasn't true. Thoughts of a redhead on a hot pink motorcycle crossed your mind too often for it to be not a big deal. He'd even started showing up in your dreams because of how often you thought of him.

"Liar!" She slammed her hands down on the counter, grinning at you. You jumped at the sudden movement, suddenly feeling too warm for your liking. "You're all flustered and nervous! Who's the boy? Spit it out," she ordered.

"Wh-what?! There is no boy, I don't know what you're talking about!" You felt your blood rushing to your face and put your hands up in defense, but it was too late. Raina has you backed into a corner, and judging from the mischievous smirk on her face, you wouldn't be leaving until she drained every last drop of information from you like a gossip leech.

"Oh, come on! It's written all over your face. Tell me about him! Is he cute?" She clapped, way too excited for a conversation that would make you stay even later for work than necessary.

You looked around desperately for an escape. The ring of the front door's bell gave you that out, even if it didn't help you leave any quicker. Not having to tell Raina about Chuuya was all you needed.

You turned with the biggest smile you could manage on your face to greet the customer. However, the second you saw him, your smile fell. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, you mentally sighed. Even just thinking about him seems to make him appear. And now he knows where I work. Fantastic.

Chuuya stopped in the doorway, taking in the strange situation he had walked in on. His eyes caught on how Raina's arms had caged you in and how obviously out of sorts you looked. "Am I… interrupting something?"

Raina jumped off of you and cleared her throat, returning her sucker to its place on her tongue. "Not at all! What can we help you with?"

Her professionalism once a customer stepped in scared you just a little bit. You followed her lead and dusted off your knees, looking away. The last thing you needed was for him to start teasing you as well.

"I was actually here to pick up an order. I know it's late, but-"

"I'll get it for you! Nakahara. I thought the name was familiar," you commented. Actually, you'd been wondering if the order was his all day long. You hadn't placed him as a red velvet guy, but here he was.

While looking through (hiding in) the back, you tried to think of an escape plan. Anything to stop Raina from teasing you for the next few months. She was already insufferable about boys, and if she knew that you had a stupid crush on that stupid redhead with his stupid motorcycle, she would never let you live it down.

"So are you going to tell me what about you made Y/n hightail it out of here, or do I have to make a guess myself?" Raina leaned forward against the front desk, pointing her sucker accusingly at Chuuya.

"Hey, I didn't do anything!" Chuuya raised his hands in mock self-defense, trying not to grin. He'd seen how flustered you'd gotten the second you recognized him. He hoped it was more than just embarrassment of seeing someone you know outside of work walk into your workplace.

"Mhm, sure. How do you know them? Boyfriend? Relative..?" She watched him carefully for his reaction. She was nothing if not good at pulling gossip out of thin air, and your love life was her current muse.

"Neither," he chuckled. "I'm their neighbor. They got pissed as hell at me for being too noisy in the middle of the night and mouthed me off in my own yard. Ever since we seem to be running into each other everywhere."

Raina hummed, sizing him up. After a moment of thinking, she decides you two are obviously in love and she will be involved no matter what the costs. "You know, our shift is about done for the day. Autumn has been coming in quickly and it's been pretty cold lately. Y/n was complaining about walking home in the cold just yesterday. It's a decently long walk to their house from here. Like a whole 40 minutes, right?"

She watched as the gears started moving in his brain. Thank gods, he's not dense. This guy knows what I'm getting at.

He seemed to come to a conclusion just as you reappeared from the back, looking suspiciously more put together than you did just seconds ago. Raina almost wanted to laugh at how obvious you were.

"Your shift is almost over, right? It's pretty cold. I could take you home if you want," he suggested as he took the box from you.

"You would?" You asked, seeming almost stunned by the offer. You blinked at him a couple times before muttering, "I guess that would be nice."

"It's not like it's out of the way of anything." He waved a hand at you as he spoke. "I'll be waiting for you outside."

You nodded and hurried to gather your things into your bag. You carefully avoided answering any of Raina's enthusiastic questions before escaping the building and arriving in the small parking lot.

Your favorite part about the location was how much attention was put into the surrounding scenery. Shrubbery and other assorted vegetation provided scents and colors you didn't get in busier parts of the city. Even walking home, there was very little open area that made you feel like you could be seen from miles away. It was comforting to feel so grounded by your surroundings.

There, in the tiny parking lot that was usually empty, stood your neighbor, who was busy strapping his newly acquired box to the back of his motorcycle.

"You ever been on a bike before?" He didn't spare you a glance as he asked.

"No," you said. "Should I be worried?"

He grinned and didn't respond. He handed you a spare helmet and motioned for you to join him on the motorcycle.

You hesitated for a moment, thinking through all the decisions you had ever made, and after ultimately deciding that this was not the stupidest one, took the helmet from his outstretched hand.

The fact that you would get to hold him had no sway on your decision at all. You swore.

The second you heard the engine start up and felt your weight shift as the bike prepared to move, butterflies erupted in your stomach. The kind that you get before you fall down the stairs or trip on the sidewalk. The, 'oh fuck this is bad' kind of butterflies. But it was too late to get off.

Chuuya tried not to notice how nice it felt when you squeezed him tighter. He could feel your heart racing from where your chest pressed against his back.

He laughed, he couldn't help it. He heard you grumble something from behind him, but couldn't really make out what you were saying. It didn't matter; he had a pretty good idea of what the message was. He bit his tongue to keep from laughing harder as he merged onto the highway.

"Stupid Chuuya, stupid motorcycle," you muttered against his back. Feeling how fast you were moving was not helping the dizziness you had developed. You closed your eyes and held on tighter to the man in front of you, trying to focus on something else, like the texture of his jacket or how nice his hair smelled. You didn't care if it was stupid crush behavior, you needed anything to distract you.

Your heart was beating so fast that you could beat a hummingbird for the world record of beats per minute. Every little movement of the vehicle beneath you brought a fresh wave of panic. You couldn't understand why people would do this for fun.

Eventually you grew used to the constant panic and closed your eyes, blindly trusting Chuuya to get you home without killing the both of you.

When you finally felt the motorcycle stop, you fell off and shakily removed the spare helmet Chuuya had given you. He looked down at you with a crooked grin, obviously struggling to hold back his laughter.

"So, how did you l-like it?" He snickered. The look you shot at him only served to make him dissolve into a fit of laughter.

"Never… again…" You huffed, pushing your hair out of your face and curling up on the ground in front of his house. "Next time, I'm walking. I don't care how cold it is."

"Good luck with that," he grinned. "Oh, and thanks for the cake." He grabbed the box, waved goodbye to you, and went inside.

You stood and watched him leave, placing a hand on your chest. Your heart was racing. You wondered if it was from the terrifying ride or… something else.

reblogs and comments are much appreciated!!!

#chuuya nakahara x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #chūya #x reader #bsd chuuya #bsd x reader #🪻ash writes #bsd #bungo stray dogs

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onyourowndaisymae · 2 years ago

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obey me demon brothers on road trip

is this original? not even a little bit. but your girl is Burnt Out by life rn and resisting the urge to bury herself in a hole and not emerge for a couple weeks. take this humble offering as a STILL avoid working on requests because i am a menace who deserves to be prodded w a dirty stick

prompt: diavolo's got a fun trip planned. he's invited everyone to meet him on some obscure little beach across the devildom. only issue? it's not accessible by portal-- something or other about the wildlife, barbatos explains. guess that means everyone has to pile in for a long drive. the demon brothers in one car, the purgatory hall group accompanying diavolo and barbatos in the other... what could go wrong?

Lucifer

lucifer drives. there is no debate here on that.

he's got the gps screen in front of him at all times because there's nothing worse for his pride than getting lost and having to... hell forbid... ask for directions.

he controls the music, no exceptions. there is a premade (and preapproved) spotify playlist playing at a decent volume for everyone's listening pleasure. inevitably someone will add something stupid to the playlist (mammon keeps adding yung gravy, asmo added deepthroat inappropriate music, belphie kept adding audiobook recordings of paradise lost) and then lucifer gets pissed off and switches to the radio.

he has a strict stopping schedule for meals and bathroom breaks to ensure they get there on time, with extra time padding for when the plan inevitably goes to shit and they get to their destination four hours later than planned.

Leviathan

levi is sitting in the passenger seat for the drive. lucifer has determined him to be the least annoying for the entirety of the trip, so he sits in the front.

honestly? smart choice. levi spends most of his time curled up with a video game or 10 in silence. he appreciates the space of the passenger seat to spread out and keep his valuables close by. it's quieter up front as well, so he doesn't get overstimulated.

officially restricted to one cupholder. give him an inch and he'll take a mile spreading all of his shit across the car.

the grandmaster of chargers for the car ride. granted, most of them are his for his various consoles, but when mammon inevitably hops in the car with his D.D.D. at 12% battery, levi's the one that gets him a charger.

Asmodeus

asmo is in the second row, seated directly behind lucifer. this spot would have gone to belphie had lucifer not thought about the youngest kicking his seat during the drive just to be a pain.

the seats in the middle are standalone seats with an open aisle. this is good because asmo has spread himself dramatically across his seat and into the aisle.

after mammon, he's the one that gets most bored on the trip. cell service is spotty the entire drive, so his connection isn't good enough to spend the whole time on social media. he's brought a couple of magazines, too, but he gets motion sick if he reads too much in the car.

he eventually falls asleep at an awkward angle. saving grace for everyone else, seeing as they don't have to hear him whine in the car, but when he wakes up with a sore neck and a bad attitude...

Belphegor

belphie's seat is behind levi in the second row. he's banished to this spot so he can't kick lucifer, but also kept close by because everyone knows he'll quietly sleep the trip away anyways.

ideally, he'd pass out right away. but car naps have always proved tricky for him. if he sleeps normally, his head will fall forward and wake him up. he'd love to spread out, but asmo's legs are taking up too much of the aisle. if he leans his seat back, he has to hear mammon bitch and run the risk of getting scolded by lucifer. what's a demon to do?

his solution is to tie his head to the headrest. no, literally.

he takes off his jacket (cardigan? idk what that shit is) and ties it like a blindfold around his eyes. this way, his head won't flop forward and wake him up. oh, reader? does that sound like sensory hell to you? well, i agree. unfortunately for us, belphie passes out right away and sleeps like a corpse in this horrid arrangement the entire ride.

Satan

satan is seated behind asmo on the far left side of the back row. lucifer ensured he stayed in the back row to ensure his own sanity, so that satan wouldn't have the chance to fuck with him as he's driving.

satan hates this arrangement. it's hard to read when you're trapped in the back with beelzebub, who's constantly eating, and mammon, who's constantly bitching. he's moments away from blowing a fuse.

he tries to convince both belphie and asmo to trade spots with him, but neither of them are willing to give up their coveted middle seats, so he gives up.

his best solution is to wear noise cancelling headphones (asmo's suggestion) and bury his head in a book. but if beel elbows him one more time....

Beelzebub

beelzebub is in the middle of the back row. his aisle spot is earned by his size (he needs more leg room) and his penchant for snacking, which is what clutters the ground around asmo and belphie's outstretched legs.

he's pretty content to spend most of the drive snacking and looking out the windows. sure, it's a little cramped, but beel's pretty agreeable when he's fed.

he might doze off a little, but he's so big that when he inevitably slumps on to one of his brothers, they wake him up yelling and complaining.

he will try to talk his way into getting more snacks at every stop. and he usually wins, too, because he's finished everything in the car by that point.

Mammon

mammon is tucked into the back right corner seat behind belphie. this is because he has a knack for pissing lucifer off and nobody wants the car to crash before they even start vacation. shoving him in the back corner is an attempt to make everyone's ride more peaceful.

he spends most of his time on his phone. he cycles through every mobile game you've ever heard off, their knockoffs, and the knockoffs of the knockoffs. mans can't keep himself entertained.

the worst about bathroom breaks. he a) always needs to stop to pee and b) doesn't mention this until he's about to piss himself. it's like having a toddler i swear. and he dilly dallys through wherever they stop. visitor center? he's trying to jiggle the vending machine for free snacks. fast food place? he's trying to convince lucifer to buy him something. gas station? come on lucifer, he needs these gummy worms--!

eventually, mammon just sort of rests his head on the window and lets the bumps in the road turn his brain to soup. can't be bored if you can't think!

#ugghhh burnout my least fav bitch #i just wanna play the og game until my brain melts #but my cards are underleveled #and glowsticks only take me so far #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me satan #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #otome

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boo8008 · 1 year ago

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Three Months - Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Fem!Reader Chapter 02: Mince

Prologue | Chapter 01: Quadriller | Chapter 02: Mince

Series Summery: Its been one year since The Bear's soft open, and with everything running smoothly, Carmen's lost in his thoughts, until the final table of the night is seated.

Chapter Summery: After the minor introduction of you and Carmy, your about to prepare the first dinner post Covid and before Stevie and Michelle leave, one Carmen is also coming to. Only cooking dinner is not going as smoothly as you'd hoped.

Mince (v.) - to finely divide food into uniform pieces smaller than diced or chopped foods, prepared using a chef's knife or food processor

Word Count: ~3,865

My Notes bb: Hey….. How yall doin? Sorry this took so long to get out, work and life suddenly got busy and I didn't have time to write. I hurt my back though so it kinda forced me to write and crank this out. Hopefully its not as bad I as I still feel like it is but yea. Again sorry this took so long to get out. Hope you enjoy! (ps my therapist thinks this is a decent outlet though lol thanks Sandra)

2021 (December)

Carmen hardly ever came to dinner after those first few weeks, and Michelle said something about him working at Eleven Madison Park. While you were happy he head ended up at the high end restaurant, you knew he was working under one hell of an asshole. He seemed to be doing fine enough though. Granted, you would only catch small glimpses of him on nights when you stayed later than intended and he walked only into his room to sleep, with just a small mumbled ‘hi’ thrown your way. Eventually he managed to move out on his own and only came to dinner about once every two months when Michelle would insist on it.

Once covid hit though, you'd basically lost contact with him. Michelle even rarely managed to drag him into group facetime calls with you. They were mainly her or Stevie recounting their last two weeks of quarantine in a dramatic fashion and you and Carmen would be listening half heartedly. If Carmen was there, he seemed to just sit out on a fire escape in his building and smoke, thinking about other things. Everytime you picked up though, missing being around the two people you actually liked. You would use it as a little reprieve from writing yet another ‘easy recipes for quarantine’ article, or to have company while you organized and re-organised random spots throughout your apartment.

Mostly though you would use it to get away from the depressive thoughts of ‘what am I doing with my life?’ or ‘if something happened to me, only Michelle and Stevie would really know.’ you didn't realize how much you missed being around people until you couldn't anymore, just stuck with yourself and your cat in your apartment. You missed the mindless chatter from coworkers at your office and in person interviews with cranky chefs because they gave you more to think about than yourself. All you began to think about was how bad the piece you were working on was, even if your editor said it was great. You felt tired and tired of being tired. All you wanted was to have a nice dinner with Stevie and Michelle, and fuck even hearing from Carmen would be amazing even if it was another awkward conversation with someone you just barely knew.

In short covid sucked ass and made your already anxious brain even worse. Not to mentioned your sense of time became fucked and all of your normally scheduled daily things also hard to keep track of. While quarantine had somewhat ended, you all found yourselves too busy trying to get back into the groove of ‘normalcy’ and offices to have dinner again, canceling for meetings or being too tired. Leading to today, when after months of planning and rescheduling you had completely forgotten that dinner was not only being held at you place, but you were also cooking because Michelle and Stevie had nothing in their kitchen because they were leaving two weeks early to isolate before Christmas in Chicago, and to top it all off, Carmen was (for once) coming to dinner. You remembered only when Stevie sent you a text asking what time worked best to come over, and not wanting to cancel for the tenth time, you told them 7:00. So you left work early to run for the subway, then run to the grocers to get real food, and then ran home to start cooking.

Only cooking was not going as planned.

It was 6:30 and dinner was nowhere near done. It was like you had forgotten everything you knew about actually cooking, and you’re a food journalist for Christ's sake! This should have been something you could do fairly easy! You write about things like this all the time! Yet here you are, chicken suddenly burning in the oven from when you stepped away to check your recipe to make sure everything was going okay and you that were good to start the pasta. You quickly removed the now pucks from the oven and turned it off. You resolved to just sitting on the floor across from your oven and crying, thinking about where it all went wrong-not the dinner but everything. Quiet sobs racked your body as you sad down on your kitchen floor, forgetting about your phone and the fact your last text said “doors unlocked when you get here”.

Carmen didn’t want to go to dinner but knew he wouldn't hear the end of it from Michelle if he didn’t show up. And to be frank he wanted her to stop calling him a hermit too. So he grabbed his jacket after lunch service and headed home to shower and change, doing his best to not think of his shitty boss saying he was worthless for taking one evening off. He hadn't done that even during covid, constantly asking what the plan was or if the kitchen was open. He decided to head out early to your place sending a quick text and leaving. As he approached your door he could definitely smell burning, very unlike the pre-covid dinners you made. While not Michelin level, what you made were perfect home cooked and leftover meals to him. A nice change from his go to PB&Js with Doritos and a Coke. He checked his phone again making sure the apartment number was right and reread your last text again. He still knocked on the door before he opened it, out of habit.

“Yo its me,” Carmen called out, peeling off his jacket as he looked around the entryway of your small apartment. You jumped at the knock and stood up as the door opened, and as Carmen called out, you turned to face the sink in your kitchen.

“In here!” your voice was wobbly but you preyed he wouldn't notice. Carmen followed the sound and walked into the kitchen, seeing the blackened chicken on the stove and the mess of the rest of the kitchen.

“Jesus, the fuck did you try to cook?” he said it without thinking, and immediately you broke again. Crumbling in on yourself and to tired to try and hide it. Tears raining down your face and carmen short circuited, watching as you again sunk to the floor in a puddle.

“Shit fuck I-I’m sorry. Fuck! Wh-what can I do? What do you want me to do? Fuck sorry I-I’m bad at this.” he panics as he looks down at you crying. “Wh-want me to go? I-I can go- I should go. Shit, Sorry again.”

“S-s-stay?”

“What?” Carmen's pretty sure he heard wrong, after all he just caused you to meltdown from his social awkwardness.

“S-stay?” you say more clearly. You don't know why you ask it, let alone how it crawls out of your crying, shaking self. Its been so long sense you've been near someone else even a little close to you so maybe that's it. He stops for a minute looking down at you as you look up at him still crying. “Please?”

“... O-okay.”

He isn't sure why he stays, or why he sits down next to you while you cry, but he does. The apartment is quiet outside of you sniffles and the occasional sob but carmen stays put. Neither of you realize how much you've started leaning towards each other until your head is lightly lying on his shoulder. You’ve mostly stopped crying now but your face is still wet and your eyes are puffy.

He isn't sure what to say, with his mom asking if you were okay was off limits. It made everything worse. It lead to screaming and yelling and throwing things. He thinks about what someone normal, someone like Stevie, or Pete, or Natalie, what they would ask someone they hardly know if they saw them having a panic attack and decides to just do it, praying you’d be somewhat normal compared to his mother.

“You-you okay?” you'd almost forgot he was there, even if you were leaning on him, and sat up straighter, wiping your face.

“Yea, I’m-I’m sorry dinners ruined and for getting like that,” you say. Tears of embarrassment springing up at knowing that this (basically) stranger saw you cry.

“No no your fine-your cool,” he can feel panic rising again at making you cry again. “No no no offense but I-I was kinda in the mood for pizza anyways.” He's only partly lying, he wanted a home cooked meal but the pizza place he passed on his way here smelled greasy and amazing on his empty stomach.

“Are you sure? I still have the kitchen to clean and I just don't want you all to think that I don't care o-or anything that i-its our last dinner before you guys go back to Chicago for Christmas and I just-”

“Yea, your fine , its fine if we have pizza, I’ll text Michelle to grab it on their way over, they wont mind.”

“Okay…” you mumble, caving in on the choice of pizza and leaning your head back on the cabinet behind you. Carmens already pulling his phone out of his pocket when he spots the new texts from Stevie and Michelle on his lock screen.

Stevie: ‘Sorry gang, we dont think we can make it tonight, we still have a lot to pack 😕’

Michelle: ‘Yea I’m sorry i know its so close to dinner but maybe you two can get along without us????’

Michelle: ‘Sorry again lovelies xoxo 😘’

Michelle: ‘Dont be a dick carm 💛😘’

“Well fuck,” Carmen mumbled. He was now on his own to make conversation. “Looks like its just us for dinner. ‘Said they still have packing to do.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say. Of course the universe would have the only two people you could actually converse with busy on the one night you were meant to see them.

“Yea…” Carmen wasn't sure how to proceed. Does he leave cause the only bridge between you both isn't showing? Does he stay because he already committed to dinner? God he feels so awkward.

“Well we could still get pizza?” you ask. “I mean you came all this way so it kinda feels like a waste.”

“You sure?”

“Yea, I mean I still gotta clean the kitchen but theres a place around the corner thats amazing after crying,” you say with a bit of a laugh to help bring up the awkward mood.

“Let me help you and we can go?” he suggests, already rising to his feet and offering you a hand.

“Are you sure? I mean the chicken I think is welded on there at this point,” you say. As your taking his hand and he pulls you to stand from your floor, you see his forearms flex and your mind short circuits as you look probably a second longer than you need to at the muscles and veins there. Luckily he doesn't notice because he's already turning and grabbing the now cool baking sheet with the chicken on it.

“Yea it’ll go faster, I think I can get this off too,” Carmen quickly took charge of washing the bowls, cutting boards, and other kitchen utensils you had pulled out in your frenzy to cook dinner on time.

In nearly no time at all the kitchen was clean and the two of you had left for the pizza parlor a block away. While yes the cleaning was a little awkward, the noise of the city on the walk made making any conversation difficult, meaning neither of you had to talk or struggle to make conversation.

“Pepperoni good?” Carmen asked as the two of you stood awkwardly next to each other, both of your jackets zipped all the way up thanks to the near unbearable cold outside.

“Y-yea, they make bomb garlic knots too if you want some,” you responded, skimming over the menu even though you already knew what the plan was.

“C-cool, um,” Carmen looked around the small shop, there was just the counter and a cooler for drinks, no seating. The place reminded him of the beef, dingy, and not that healthy, but god damn was this about to be the best food he could ever get. “Did you want to go back to your place? Cause… cause there's no tables and stuff…” Carmen cringed at the awkward way the words came out.

“Yea if that's good with you?” you said taking a step forward, the two of you would look at each other before looking away, as if the tiled flooring was so interesting. You decided to take a page out of Stevie’s book, he was better with people than you were so you prayed the attempted joke would land. “I mean we could eat out in the cold if your more comfortable?” A smile pressed its way onto Carmen’s face and you considered that a victory.

“Yea no, I love eating outside when its about to snow,” he snickered. “Reminds me of home.” You both shifted closer as the people in front of you pushed pass you both to leave with their pizzas. As you both stepped up to the counter Carmen was faster than you in not only placing the order, a large peperoni with a side of garlic knots, but also whipping out his wallet and paying, you on the other hand had barely stumbled out a hello and barely started shifting your bag to get out your own wallet by the time he was done.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you mumbled as you both stepped off to the side to wait.

“Yea well, its cool I got the money,” Carmen added. You only partly doubted it, he worked at the highest rated restaurant in the world but also lived in New York so it kinda balanced out. You both distracted yourselves for a few minuets looking at your phones, you taking to a word search game and Carmen playing the fun game of ‘who is this and why do I have their number?’ with his contacts. It felt a little more relaxing compared to earlier, more like the same air you both got when Stevie and Michelle would leave the room at your normal dinners, not pressured to talk but liking the fact another person was next to you.

“Order 447!” you and carmen both jumped as the number was yelled through the small shop. Carmen stepped forward and took the box and bag from the worker, turning to you, where you grabbed the bag and began to head out before he got up the words to protest that he's got it.

Luckily the only awkward part of the walk back to your apartment was the elevator ride up. As you both stepped into your apartment you were both greeted by the loud yelling of your cat as she rounded the corner to yell at you for leaving for a whole 30 minuets.

“Yea yea your fine baby,” you told her as you took the pizza from Carmen. “You good with just sitting on the couch? I don't want to do anymore kitchen cleaning.”

“Heard,” Carmen carmen said as he took off his jacket. He was looking down at the feline weaving between his legs and bent down to let her sniff him so he could pet her, instead she smelt him and abruptly ran back deeper in the apartment and he smiled a little at the cat, following it with his eyes to you coming out of the kitchen with two cans of coke, paper plates, and paper towels. Something in him stirred at the mundane and domestic sight but he waved it off as more anxiety.

“Wait-shit-your not allergic to cats are you?” you asked panicked.

“N-no,” Carmen's voice broke a little as he said it and he cleared his throat. “No… My, um, my mom never let us have one when I was a kid, something about the furniture. I always wanted one though.” Why’d his voice break like that? Why’d he bring up his mom? Fuck now he's gonna have to explain everything.

“Cool-cool,” you were turning to head deeper into the apartment again and Carmen followed, getting a better look at the place now that he wasn't rushing to the kitchen. “That's Mince, cause when I got her she was tiny and I wasn't thinking ahead.” He took in the living room, a nice, small sectional couch with a blanket over the back was against one wall, and a tv with bookcases full of nick-nacks and heavy looking books with holiday lights around it. The center of the room had a buttery carpet and the coffee table with the pizza and garlic knots on it.

“Make yourself at home,” you added. You’d never felt more aware of your actions than now, as Carmen looked at more of your space with posters and pictures around it and you were just trying to tell yourself to act normal. He took in the dining table with four perfectly mismatched chairs that was tucked into a corner on the other side of the wall from the kitchen. Mince catches his attention from the couch, batting at his hand from her spot on the arm rest. He again goes to pet her only for her to skip off and run to the opposite end where you are. Carmen finally takes a seat on the couch, the two of you as far as you could be. You both dig into the pizza and Carmen can’t help but think about how good it is.

“Fuck,” he groaned. It definitely compensates for the shitty morning he had and the rollercoaster of emotions he felt around you.

“Right?” you said through a smile. You were turning on the tv and poking around for something to watch.

“‘S so fucking good,” he said through another bite. “Chicago is still better though.” he mumbled.

“Fuck off,” you finally settled on Bobs Burgers that you left off on. You both ate in a mostly comfortable silence, focusing on the show and avoiding looking at each other. Once you felt you were full you settled back into the couch, and glanced at carmen sitting in your space, he had made himself more comfortable, and he looked nice there, leaned up against the arm of the couch with one arm draped over the back of the couch fiddling with a part of the blanket and his legs spread wide. You shifted your focus back to the television not wanting to make it more weird.

“So… did you finish packing already?” you settled on conversation to distract you from the thought of crawling into his lap. “For Chicago I mean.”

“Oh um,” Carmen was a little startled by the sudden conversation, but fuck it you already cried in front of him today, it was his turn to share. “N-no I’m just staying here, rather not watch my mom drive the car through a wall and my brother fight my uncle again.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry,” Steve had told you some of what happened that Christmas, mainly summarized as a big blowout of a fight between Michelle’s cousin Mikey and her kinda-uncle Lee, and her aunt Donna driving her car through the living room. God why'd you bring this up? He probably didn't want to talk about it. “Did you have any plans then?” Please let this be a decent change of topic you think.

“Just work, go home, smoke and eat, sleep, just like the last two years,” he says with a sigh. “Wh-What about you?”

“No, I was just gonna stay in and watch some movies.” Carmen answers with an affirming ‘hm’, not wanting to overstep and ask more questions. Even with the both of you wanting to talk more, neither of you know how to go from here. You turn you attention back to the television as Carmen turns his head a little to quietly observe you.

Curled up in the corner of the couch in a cozy, old, and ratty sweatshirt with some leggings and fuzzy holiday grippy socks, hair down, and face still a little puffy from the winter air and your tears, but still beautiful in the darkening light of your apartment, mundanely so. Not a supermodel ripped from the cover of vogue, or an unobtainable influencer with hair and makeup perfectly placed for pictures. You look like you belong there. You look real. Cozy and warm on your couch with the lights from the streets down below hitting you just so. Home he thinks, before quickly turning his attention back to the tv. Its not like he’d ever have a shot with you anyways, he’s always too busy, or too angry, or too much of an asshole in general. Where’d all of those thoughts even come from? He hardly ever felt at home with anyone, especially outside of the kitchen.

As the show plays on the two of you get lost in it and enjoying the act of being alone together, occasionally steeling glances at each other. You find yourself kind of liking being with him, not necessarily talking or interacting but the feeling of another person in the same room as you feels nice. Carmen won't say it but he's enjoying himself too. The show and coziness of your apartment make him feel relaxed more than his barren dingy apartment ever could, and the abundance of stuff artfully placed helps give him something to look at and think on rather than get lost in his anxiety and self doubt. Why does she have a Halloween decoration out its December…right? He thinks. Your both trying to think on how to ask for what you want but you beat him too it. Probably because you grew up with Steve and his weird ball of encouragement always on your side.

“Did you want to hang out? On Christmas I mean,” you finally get the courage to ask. Phew, not that bad.

“I mean I-I don't want to intrude,” Carmen starts. “Plus I have work the next day.”

“You could sleepover? If-if you want,” you prepose. “We can still smoke, eat, and sleep if you want. All the traditions you enjoy, a-and I don’t think I’m far from the line you need?”

You definitely aren't. In fact your apartment is somehow on a faster route to work than his own. The only reason you know is because of the Bake It Nice pop up bakery Eleven Madison Park does once a month that you always try to make time for. Carmen thinks on it for a second, and your sure he's looking for a way to let you down nicely.

“You sure your okay with me leaving at 5:00 in the morning?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” you say with a smile, and something in Carmen stirs. “Plus I can pass the fuck out again when you leave anyways.” he smiles at that, still unsure what feeling he's having right now, but he likes it.

“Okay,” he says and you both return you attention back to the show smiling like children. Your legs a little more outstretched towards carmen and his body begging to sink further into your couch. Relaxing to the feeling of you.

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #jeremy allen white

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thecooler · 8 months ago

Text

Magnetar

Fandom: Adventure Time

Pairing: Simon/Betty

Additional Tags: POV First Person, POV Second Person, Grief/Mourning, Alternate Universes

Word Count: 3,368

AO3 Mirror

Simon Petrikov

You are a mature student at the University of Ooo. You tell people that you resent the term mature student, because, in your own words, it makes you sound like an “old fart.” People respond by telling you that your whole everything makes you sound like an old fart. Regardless of your linguistic preferences, though, you, Simon Petrikov, are living in a college dorm about thirty years and change after you last expected to be.

It’s just you in the room. Last time you were in dorms, you had this wad of a roommate named David, who left his laundry on your side of the room and ate your ramen packets without asking. You’d often told your fiancée, Betty, about David. She always giggled at the disdainful lilt your voice would take when you said his name— David, like you might say the name of your least favorite grade school teacher, or your weirdest ex. David wasn’t your weirdest ex, though, that was a different guy, though his name was also David, which Betty always had a good laugh over the first time you told her.

Betty is coming over later tonight, after you’re done with classes. You love her very much. You’ve been seeing each other for what feels like forever.

You pull a pair of matched socks out of your drawers and slide them on, then adjust your bow tie. You look in the mirror, and for a moment, you see a flash of blue. You blink, and find it’s just yourself staring back. Your hair’s started to grey. Betty thinks it looks good on you.

Betty Grof

The school library has always been something of a safe haven for me. In elementary school, being weird meant that I didn’t keep friends for long, and the librarians were always terribly fond of me. They’d give me little tasks to do, like wiping down tables with a cloth or putting a book or two back if I was good. I relished in these small favors. I’ve always yearned to be useful.

In high school, I managed to make friends, because high school is when people who are ahead of the game realize that being weird and being cool are basically synonyms. And some people still give you grief, but when you have friends, it’s a hell of a lot easier to ignore those people. I didn’t need to spend time in the library, then, to avoid my own loneliness. But I returned anyway, because I found the scent of books and the old, dusty carpet in my hometown’s old library to be a comfort. When I turned sixteen, the director of the library took pity on me and gave me a job. By the time I made my way to University, I was already well on my way to building myself a decent resume.

I don’t remember how I got this particular gig, and it doesn’t really matter.

All that matters is that in this life, this is the library where I met Simon Petrikov.

He’s inevitable, a cosmic force that I feel myself drawn to in every universe. He was a bit older, when I met him here, in his first semester. He was looking for an old volume from Kant. He’s always stubborn— he paced around for a good hour before he asked me for help. When he did, I looked at him and smiled and said, “Are you saying you kant find it?” and he’d laughed way more than the joke called for. He always laughs like that at my jokes, like he thinks I’m the most brilliant person to ever walk the earth. Like he’s never once looked in a mirror.

Simon Petrikov

Your first class is at eight am and all the way across campus. You often joke about how it’s fine, because you could use the cardio and the regular sleep schedule. But you always end up leaving ten minutes late if no one’s pushing you out the door, and you don’t think you’ve ever once jogged willingly in your life. You walk at a regular pace across campus, and you’ll get there when you get there. You don’t usually miss much in the first five minutes anyway, though you don’t love the glare your professor shoots you when you creak open the old, heavy wood door.

You sit in your usual spot and listen to the lecture, but it all sort of starts to blend together. You’re suddenly quite tired, and you can feel your eyelids drooping when shuffling starts around you. With a start, you realize it’s time to head to your next class. You blink and stand up suddenly, stumbling when vertigo gets the better of you. A young man you don’t recognize rests a steadying hand on your shoulder and says, “Come on, Simon, I’ve got you,” and his blue eyes look rather sad.

He’s young, you think, too young to be here, until he’s not. You blink, and he has a beard and a chest tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his tank top. You swear that wasn’t there before. “Simon?” he says again, his brow furrowing. You don’t remember telling him your name.

You look at this young man, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You recognize in his gaze a familiar sense of prolonged grief. You’ve never met him, but somehow you think you’ve known him your whole life, or at least his.

“Are you okay, man?”

You nod, slowly, and it doesn’t seem to convince him. “Betty’s coming over tonight,” you say, “I must have gotten distracted thinking about it.”

Betty Grof

Once, when we were a lot younger, and before the crown changed everything, Simon and I went hiking together. Usually, when we went on excursions, they were meticulously planned. He had every step of our journey plotted out on a spreadsheet or a numbered list, the creation of which was usually his favorite part of the whole thing. Which wasn’t to say he disliked the excursion— more so that he really liked making lists and spreadsheets.

But we’d gone without this time. I worried it was because I teased him about it, even though he knew it was good-natured, or at least I’m pretty sure he knew. I didn’t think he was actually upset, because Simon always wore his feelings on his sleeve, and when he was worried, he got this crease between his eyebrows. On such occasions, I’d kiss his cheeks until he relented and forgave me, for which I was declared a menace to society. So I don’t know exactly why he decided to forgo the spreadsheet this time, but he refused to make one, even when I tried to nudge him to in the hours before we left.

So we went off into the bush on the outskirts of Seattle, near a farm that some friend of Simon’s owned. We had two backpacks full of trail mix and a sleeping bag, but no tent, because Simon said that he’d been orienteering since he was old enough to walk, and he’d get us out of the bush before we needed to sleep.

Naturally, then, we did not make it out of the forest in time. Instead, we found a nice, open clearing, and we lay down on the grass together and looked at the stars. Simon was fidgeting with his shirt sleeves.

I said, “It’s really okay, Simon. You know I don’t mind a little roughin’ it,” and I waggled my eyebrows. It wasn’t really an innuendo, but I’d never been one to miss an opportunity for a double-entente, no matter how half-baked. I meant it, too. Laying under the stars next to the Simon Petrikov was basically a dream, even after five years of dating. I think it’d been five years. Time is different here, it’s hard to tell. Hard to remember how time moves for mortals.

He turned on his side and he looked at me. Back then, before Evergreen’s crown took root in his mind, his eyes were a deep, thoughtful brown. He said, “You would really tell me when I’ve got a bad idea?”

I turned over and smiled, “Would it stop you if I did?”

And he’d closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and breathed, “No.”

Above, the cosmos shone down, ambivalent to us. It would be hundreds of years yet until we tried to make it ours, and in doing so, fell apart.

Simon Petrikov

You walk to your next class with the unfamiliar old friend. He says he shares the class with you, though you don’t think he seems like the Anthropology type. He pats you on the shoulder and laughs at pretty much everything you say, even when you aren’t making a joke. This feels to you like condescension, but you can’t detect anything other than earnestness in the boy’s face. He looks to be in his early-to-mid twenties, but his eyes are much older.

Your daughter, Marceline, joins you. She has a guitar strapped to her back and you know from experience she isn’t above busting it out in class if she thinks it’ll make the situation funny. Her girlfriend, Bonnie, walks beside her. These are two more people you’ve known for impossibly long, and yet you struggle to pin down any specific memories associated with them. It’s as though your mind is a blank slate, with information slowly being accumulated atop it. Marceline doesn’t look like you, and you don’t think she looks like any of your exes, either. You wonder how the two of you met, then, but you know this is not something you can ask.

She looks back across the hall at you, and you abruptly realize that you’ve stopped walking. You’re staring at her, with her hand in Bonnie’s back pocket, and you feel light— happy. But you don’t have the context for these emotions. Your mind feels like an unorganized mess, as though a cosmic being has reached in and shuffled things around, removed some with the intent to put it back, only she forgot. And now nothing makes sense to you, even things that should be second nature.

Marceline’s brow furrows and her lips tug down into a frown. She presses her palm against the small of Bonnie’s back and whispers something to her, before walking back towards Simon while the other girl makes her way towards class. Somewhere along the way, the boy vanished, like as soon as he was out of your line of sight, he ceased to exist. You tense with the realization that the world around you feels more empty than it ought to be.

Marceline places a hand on your shoulder and meets your eyes. In the reflection of her deep brown irises, you see yourself with ragged white hair, and then one of you blinks, and it’s you again. “Simon,” she says carefully, biting her bottom lip and tapping a finger against your shoulder. She takes what feels like several minutes to decide what she’s going to say, though it can’t be more than thirty seconds.

“Is this about–?”

Betty Grof

There’s a reality where we got the crown (we get it in most of them, one way or another), but it wasn’t you who put it on. Simon took it out and came up behind me and popped it on my head. I remember hearing him say boop and start to laugh, and then the universe exploded around me. This, in my current state, says very little. It’s difficult for me to conceptualize what it would have felt like for my mortal brain, but I think that it was agony. It was, to my best approximation, something like having your skull split open, and then unceremoniously pouring the steaming hot knowledge of the cosmos inside.

Which is to say it was probably about as overwhelming for Simon as it was for me.

But when Simon put on the crown, in that first reality we endured together (for him. There is no first for me, nor a last, they are all as one, but it was the first reality my mortal flesh experiences, and so it is easier to describe it as the first) he only lost me. He thought, at the time, that the madness drove me away, and it took him a thousand years to learn the reality of the situation.

Perhaps it is a mercy, then, that in the reality where I don the crown first, I know immediately what happened to my Simon. The crown slips off my head, and I find him, body entombed in ice, save his head, which lolls lifeless and heavy to one side.

There’s more that happens after that, but I don’t stay long.

Simon Petrikov

Eventually, you’re able to convince Marceline that you’re quite alright, but maybe you could stand to eat soon. The two of you cut class, which makes you momentarily feel like a bit of a wild child. The University has a hall of student-run food outlets, and they vary from quite bad to decent. You are partial to the Greek-themed shop, because the chicken isn’t dry and you’ve always been a fan of tzatziki. You often keep a big tub of it in your fridge, when you aren’t living on campus.

You eat with Marceline, and she tells you that she and Bonnie are doing well, that she thinks Bonnie will graduate at the end of next semester but she’s probably going to take another year. She doesn’t mention what either of them are studying. You think that you should remember that. Why don’t you remember that?

She asks you if you have any plans for tonight, and you tell her you have a date. Something tells you that you shouldn’t mention who it’s with, and she doesn’t pry, but she does give you a look that feels very sad, and you don’t like how it makes you feel.

Betty Grof

Simon always planned what we were going to do. While he did that, I managed time. Those sorts of things tended to get away from him. He’d get all wrapped up in research, in exploring every last inch of our ventures, and suddenly, he’d look up and it’d be night already. I always knew exactly what time it was. I learned to read the stars and the trajectory of the sun when I was young, and I’d always found comfort in the notion that no matter where I was in the world, I’d know when I was.

Now, time bends strangely around me, and there is equally no future to plan nor past to recall. Everything is happening, has happened, and will never happen. It is not something that my mortal mind was born to conceive of, though I suppose I’m well past that now.

I know all our realities, Simon. I know each of our beginnings and our ends. There are worlds where we die with our hands clasped together in the face of nuclear destruction. There are worlds where you go on without me, and others where I go on without you. There are realities where we linger together for decades, until the inevitability of death pulls us slowly and together into her arms. I spend more time than I should ruminating on these realities.

Simon Petrikov

Sometime after lunch, you end up back in your dorm room. You think you like it here, more so than you’ve liked a lot of your apartments. For one thing, you have easy access to a good library, though the University’s fiction section, as is often the case, leaves something to be desired. You have room for an armchair and a nice standing lamp. You often fall asleep in that chair, and your back does not thank you for it.

There will be none of that tonight, though, because again, you have a date.

You already look good— you always look good— but you like to dress up. Betty usually dresses comfortably, though she’ll put on her best if the situation calls for it, but a regular Friday evening date does not. She’ll be here in a sweater and slacks, and you’ll think she’s the most beautiful thing in the universe. You know, at this point, very little about the universe. You think you know quite a bit, but you’re mistaken. It’s better that way. Our mortal brains aren’t designed to comprehend such concepts. I would know.

Regardless of how good you currently look (very), you strip out of your blazer and button-down. Your tie is a clip-on, which you wouldn’t be caught dead with on a date. Betty doesn’t understand why it matters if they basically look the same, and doesn’t seem to get it no matter how many times you emphasize that it’s the principle of the matter. But that’s fine; you’re dressing up for you, and a little bit for Betty, but mostly for you.

In the end, you aren’t ready until two minutes before your date’s supposed to start. You’ve put on another nearly identical button-down which you insist is your nice one, as well as some nice black slacks and a matching suit jacket. Your tie is properly tied and not clipped on, like some sort of amateur. You fiddle with it in the mirror until you hear a knock on the door, right on time.

You glance away, and out of the corner of your eye, you once again see a flash of blue, but it’s gone when you whip your head back around. You inhale deeply, and exhale slowly through your nose.

I knock again.

You answer.

???

We’re in your dorm room. You’re looking at me, in that lovelorn way you always wore on date nights. It’s like warmth found a home in your eyes, like I can see the burning of your heart through them. You invite me inside and tell me you’ve put the kettle on for tea. You got the English breakfast tea I like.

We’re holding hands under the stars. The dewy grass seeps through clothing that’s too thin for the midnight chill as we sleep under the cold and unforgiving night sky. We’ll survive, but our aging bodies won’t thank us, and when we develop colds a week from now, we know who to blame.

We’re old together. Wrinkles tug at your face in a way I think is terribly handsome, but which you often fuss over. Day by day, simple things grow harder, and when your eyesight starts to go, you cup my face in your hands and whisper, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t see your beautiful face.” I reassure you that you have lived without the sight before and will again, but this doesn’t soothe you. I wish it would.

We’re a thousand years beyond a time we should have ever been allowed to live, and I’m sacrificing my mind to restore yours. I never have a single doubt that you would do the same.

I know now that this is true, I’ve seen it come to fruition, in another life.

The bomb goes off while we lay, hand in hand.

You die cradled in my arms.

We’re in the dorm again, and you’re looking at me with an expression I cannot comprehend. I’ve known you for countless lifetimes, and yet there are still times where you perplex me.

“I don’t know where you end,” I say, and without missing a beat, you return, “I don’t know where I begin.”

Our realities, everything we are, is a web of entanglement from which neither of us can escape, no matter how powerful we become. My end is your beginning, my beginning your end, and everything in between those times, folding in upon each other in an incomprehensible cacophony of misery. I know all, and yet, at times even I struggle to understand it.

You are there, and then you are not.

I can always reach you, in a way, if I so choose. But we will never be as we once were. I know too much now.

Were I capable, I would weep for the loss.

#adventure time #atimers #simon petrikov #betty grof #petrigrof #golbetty #writing tag

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discordiansamba · 1 year ago

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anyways I don't know if it's due to falling asleep to the backdrop of people setting off way too many fireworks or not, but I had a weird dream last night and now I am here to tell you guys all about it because I've been idly rotating it all day. you've heard of body swap not get ready for... personality swap, I guess? But not completely?

anyways it seemed to take place at the tail end of season one, where instead of getting shot out into random locations by the corrupted wormhole, all the lions stayed on the Castle, but something about the combination of the corrupted wormhole and the paladin bond resulted in something... weird happening. Some kind of quintessence rearrangement that resulted in Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith all swapping aspects of their personalities around that Shiro was apparently spared from because of some kind of defense mechanism that Pidge installed in the control chip for his arm that's in his brain that protected him but the backlash forced him to require some time in the cyropod.

(I guess my brain said. you know what would be funny. Shiro just waking up to this nonsense. and honestly? valid.)

(also allura and coran are fine and somehow escaped the wormhole don't worry about it. apparently the mice did also have their personalities swapped around but like. they're mice. they don't care.)

Pidge was probably the least effected bc she got traits from Hunk, who she already has a decent amount in common with, except now she's prone to nervous tirades, is now a morning person, and is calmed by the act of cooking. except she can't cook. Hunk at least kept very clear notes on all of his cooking experiments so she has something to work with. She suddenly finds herself more drawn to tinkering with things as opposed to coding, but she can still do the latter super easily. Also she has a solid sleep schedule now? She also stops wearing her brother's glasses bc she winds up fixated on the idea that she'll break them so she just keeps them safe in her room instead. Which she has now cleaned. She still kind of feels like she dodged a bullet. Sorry guys.

Lance is... having an experience, because he picked up traits from Pidge. He likes studying now? Except apparently he still has ADHD, but also Coran gave him this clicker thing that seems to be working wonders. He's suddenly a lot less interested in flirting and his detailed skin care routine kind of doesn't seem so important anymore. He has to actively set alarms on his phone otherwise he'll pull all nighters. He's starting to learn how to code? Which is weird but it's oddly calming. He's also pretty sure he picked up Pidge's sense of humor, because Pidge definitely picked up Hunk's sense of humor.

Hunk, to his great misfortune, has picked up traits from Keith. Which also includes his temper and his general introversion, the former of which he is working very hard on managing. He's also spending way more time on the training deck than ever before, but it suddenly doesn't feel like exercise so much as it feels... relaxing? Also he is like. always tense. What the hell, Keith, how did you live like this. How is HE going to live like this. Although it is kind of nice to not feel the urge to puke from nerves, which he... doesn't really seem to have anymore? That's kind of nice.

Keith is probably the oddest case of the bunch. He picked up personality traits from Lance, which he can't even get angry about because he doesn't have a temper anymore? apparently? He's suddenly a lot more extroverted, and also he feels the weird compulsion to... flirt? He's also become way more interested in self care and is suddenly not a morning person anymore. But for all that in some ways he has the most traits leftover from his core personality, because those traits turned out not to be parts of his personality so much as they were due to him being Galra- so he still likes training and fighting as much as he did before. Which is great, because if he let Lance's personality take him by the nose, he'd definitely just start to coast on his talent.

But they also each still have core aspects of themselves that apparently their lions preserved so it's not a full personality swap. Pidge will still wax poetic about the tech around them. Lance might not be huge into self care anymore, but he's still interested in trying to keep himself looking good. Hunk is still very kind, which makes having Keith's temper hard on him. Keith still is a nature boy and a jock, and somehow still doesn't understand how the cheer goes.

POV: You're Shiro. You wake up to this mess. It's been like this for a week apparently, and Coran and Allura don't know how to fix it.

...can you just go back to the cryopod maybe?

#apparently lance bought himself a pair of fake glasses that looked like Veronica's #he needed it to sell his new brainy personality. which is a very Lance thing to think #apparently my subconscious decided keith was better at flirting than lance. which is funny so I'm saying it's right #also apparently part of taking better care of himself involved no longer shaving down his nails so they just ended up sharp and pointy #keith reached his maximum hotness potential through self care incident. 340457 dead 4858582 injured #lance voice: what do you MEAN I kept my *insecurity*. that's the one personality trait I didn't want!#honestly. could be a vehicle for both incredible shenanigans AND character study #what makes a person who they are etc #identity crisis au

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