#i know i could move into Actual City and i’d probably like it better

[jennycalendar]

i honestly to god forget how much i love crafting because there’s never any time for it but because in my absolute manic horror state last year my determined attempt to survive somehow involved creating a craft space in my apartment, i have what really does feel like an insane and unending amount of bookbinding supplies, which in turn means i get to bind a library of fanfiction for myself if i so choose. would also like it on the record that i live within walking distance of a decorative paper store. because the gods want me to win

[galactic-magick]

The Handsome Assistant: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You keep running into the handsome Dean's assistant, whom you find you have a lot in common with. You develop quite the crush, and things get a little messy when your friends find out about him.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: some implied suggestive stuff, alcohol use

Author's Notes: Set before Season 1 Act 1. Just a warning, this is probably the most heavily self-indulgent of my Viktor fics so far. I’ve had ideas bouncing around my head for a long time about who I’d be if I lived in the Arcane universe, and I eventually just ended up taking inspiration from what I do in real life. So basically Reader works in human services and is similar to a social worker. I tried my best to write it in a way that makes sense even if you’re not familiar with that field.

Also, the roommate/friend characters are based on my besties irl, one of which is also my beloved tumblr mutual @ohboi , who has been dealing with my nonstop Viktor obsession for a long ass time now so shout-out to them lol. I wrote you living your dream in this fic as a way to apologize <3

-

It’s exhausting dealing with the powers of topside. There’s no sense of urgency here, no drive for real progress. You’ve attended meeting after meeting, maintaining composure every time they tell you your mission isn’t a priority, or that it will take decades to implement.

All you want is to help the struggling children in the Undercity. It’s what you’ve dedicated your life to, studying human services and psychology at the Academy and building your own grassroots group with a few others from your graduating class. You primarily advocate for better education, as the schools down there barely get any funding. The council doesn’t want to hear it, though, as it’s much easier to forget about the citizens below their feet.

It frustrates you beyond belief, especially since the first chunk of your life was spent in the Undercity. You lived the stark contrast between the two cities yourself, being granted countless more opportunities once your family moved to Piltover. It was sickening, and you felt so guilty with your new privileges when your friends back home still had none. But without those privileges, you wouldn’t have been able to attend the Academy and give back.

You resist the strong urge to scream after another failed proposal with the council. You prepared all of your points for weeks, fact-checking everything and making sure your ideas were plausible. The budget and statistics you wrote out projected exponential progress for both cities, as focusing on the new generation of Zaunites would encourage the next great minds and likely lead to collaboration on mutual issues. But of course, the council is not ready to contemplate such a future.

There was one factor that wasn’t usually there, though, a handsome young man sitting beside Professor Heimerdinger. He was furiously taking notes the entire meeting, looking back down at his journal anytime you made eye contact with him. Out of all the councilors, Heimerdinger seemed the most open to your ideas, but without a majority agreeing to cast a vote to actually change policy, nothing would happen.

You walk back down the long hallway, noticing someone in your peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry the council remains so stuck in their ways,” he says. “Trust me, I understand how hard it is to hold back your anger towards them.”

You turn your head, seeing the young man from earlier, “Who are you?”

“Viktor. I’m assistant to the Dean of the Academy,” he replies, leaning on a cane. “I quite liked your ideas. I think they could work.”

“I know they would work.”

You sigh, quickly realizing you’re projecting your feelings onto this stranger.

“Sorry,” you correct yourself. “I just don’t understand how they can just not care about the suffering down there. I’m from the Undercity, I’ve seen what’s happening there firsthand, and it’s only getting worse.”

Viktor’s eyes widen a bit, “I’m from the Undercity, too.”

“You’re from the Undercity and you’re the personal assistant to Heimerdinger?” you question, a bit shocked at the prospect.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, but yes.”

“What do you mean, not a big deal? I’ve never even met anyone else from the Undercity who got into the Academy.”

“I suppose we are a rare breed,” he says. “I imagine I never saw you there due to our differences in studies.”

“Most likely,” you shrug. “None of my classes were in the science halls, assuming that’s where you were.”

He smirks, “What makes you assume I studied science?”

“You just have that look about you.”

He laughs, “Well, you’re right. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised someone well-versed in analyzing humanity read me so quickly.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still mostly a mystery to me. I can’t read minds or anything,” you flash him a genuine smile.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“I need to get back to my lab, but I do hope we cross paths again. I’ll certainly discuss your proposals more with Heimerdinger as well.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He leaves in the opposite direction, his cane tapping the floor.

What an interesting twist of fate, meeting someone like you.

-

The second time you run into Viktor is at an Academy party a couple months later, something you both likely would’ve skipped if you could. It’s somewhat a recruiting event for new students, and several alumni were asked to represent their fields of study. It’s not that you mind talking with prospective students, but you know you’ll have to hold back a lot of your true opinions when doing so. If you go off about how the curriculum doesn’t cover enough about the issues in the Undercity, you’ll surely get a reprimand from your former professors. You could lose several connections and investors in your organization as well, something you’re not willing to risk. Instead, you keep a smile on your face, engaging in conversation politely and answering questions.

You notice Viktor sitting at one of the far tables, his eyes darting around the room. He has several contraptions set up, and occasionally people come up to ask him about them. He lights up when he speaks, his face making the cutest expressions.

You notice yourself staring, quickly turning your head towards something else.

That sconce on the wall looks nice, doesn’t it?

As the event slows down and the crowd shuffles out, you pack up your things and head to the door, glancing back at Viktor’s table for a moment. He’s looking right back at you, and your heels swivel promptly to go see him.

“Hey,” you say, shooting him a smile. “Nice to see you again.”

Shit, was he this handsome the first time you met him?

“You as well,” he nods, gathering up his own things scattered in front of him. “Did you find anyone to join your program?”

“A few, yeah. You?”

“Several. More than I expected.”

He huffs, soon realizing all of his tech and science displays were not going to fit in the one cart that was left.

“I can help you carry your stuff, the science wing isn’t that far from here, right?” you offer, shifting your things under one arm and grabbing some of his things with the other.

“You don’t have to do that,” he protests, but you’re already propping open the door and gesturing him to come along with a head tilt.

“I really don’t mind. Come on.”

You help him put things away in the different classrooms and offices, careful not to break anything. You’ve never been in this side of the school before, and it’s set up quite differently than the usual classrooms you were in. There’s much more going on than a usual lecture hall, tools and chemicals you don’t dare touch lining the perimeter. Viktor thanks you for your assistance as you finish getting everything in place, and you once again prepare to go your separate ways.

“Wait—” he says before you leave, pulling out his journal and flipping through it. “I wrote down a lot more notes that might be helpful for your project, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

He hands over the open page for you to read, and your jaw drops. It’s so detailed, every proposal you had broken down to its smallest pieces. He even laid out the budget and resource use and everything it would take to not only build and fund better schools in the Undercity, but also work on housing and overall infrastructure. He even has some theories scribbled on how to keep the air cleaner and fix problems with the fissures.

You can’t believe he’s been thinking about you and everything you said for all this time since you last met.

“Viktor, this is amazing.”

“I know it still may not convince the entire council, but I found your ideas quite inspiring. I hope my calculations can be informative.”

“They certainly are,” your fingers hover over the written words and numbers. “Thank you, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he grins. “I look forward to seeing what you accomplish.”

-

You find yourself running into him a lot more often after that, “accidentally” walking by each other’s offices at least once a week and talking long beyond what you probably should while working. Your soul feels so in tune with his, a phenomenon that surely shouldn’t be happening with someone you haven’t known very long.

Your conversations quickly progress to topics non-work related, his curiosity blooming with every little thing you share with him. Most days after work you simply can’t stop talking to each other, causing you to get home later and later until your roommates start to get nosy.

“I really have to go, Viktor,” you laugh, glancing at the clock that reads three whole hours past the end of your shift. You’ve been chatting about embarrassing Academy stories, reminiscing on both the stark similarities and differences between your experiences.

His eyebrows raise. “Shit, is it really that late?”

“Yeah,” you grab your bag with a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

-

“You already work too much overtime as it is! What’s so important that you have to stay late every single day?” one of your roommates, Eli, probes, clearly unsatisfied with the half-truth answers you’ve given so far. You don’t really want to tell the full truth just yet, that you’ve been talking with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, and you don’t experience the passage of time whatsoever when you’re around him. That would sound ridiculous, especially since absolutely nothing will ever come of it. He’s a wonderful colleague, but you’d be foolish to ever expect anything more.

“There’s just a lot to do,” you finally say.

“You need a break, that’s what you need to do,” they emphasize. “How about we go down to The Last Drop tomorrow night? It’s been a while since we’ve seen our friends down there.”

You nod, “Alright, I’ll try not to stay late tomorrow.”

“You better not.”

They glare at you jokingly, and you let out a laugh and exhale of relief.

-

You finish up your notes for the day, whipping your head back and forth to check if the coast is clear. You know yourself and your own weakness—you certainly won’t get out of here on time if you run into Viktor for even a second.

But of course, like clockwork, his familiar tap on your leg with his cane greets you moments later, your heart fluttering to a discomposing degree. Him coming to see you is a routine now, and despite your promise to your friends you are aching to talk to him. You haven’t had a proper night out in months, why is it so hard to just leave?

If any of your racing thoughts are visible on your features, Viktor certainly picked up on them.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just...long day,” you reply. “But my roommates are taking me out tonight, maybe that will wake me back up.”

“I won’t keep you long, then—”

He’s cut off by Eli calling your name, jaw dropped as they come towards you down the hallway.

“I knew there was something you weren’t telling me!” they chuckle in disbelief. “Working late my ass.”

“I was literally on my way home!”

“I just wanted to come check!”

Your face grows hot. It isn’t abnormal for your roommates to visit you at your job every so often, bringing you important documents you forgot at home or bringing you a treat on your birthday, but under the current circumstances you’re a bit mortified.

They reach out their hand, “I’m Eli, Y/N’s roommate. Who do you think you are?”

“Viktor.” he shakes it, surprisingly not appearing phased by their directness.

“Interesting,” they look him up and down, then turn to you. “So, he’s coming with us, right?”

“Oh, um...I didn’t ask—“

Viktor can’t help but smile at your flustered face.

“If I’m invited, I wouldn’t mind joining.”

-

“I can’t believe you.”

Mumbling under your breath, you enter The Last Drop. Viktor told you he’d meet you there in about an hour, which thankfully gives you some time for some drinks to numb your nerves.

“Look, I honestly don’t know why you didn’t just tell us about him. He seems like a good one.”

“It’s not like that,” you correct them. “He’s not into me like that. We just work on some projects together, that’s all.”

You order a drink from Vander at the bar, gulping it down a little too quickly.

“That kinda night, eh?” he laughs, pouring you another one before you have to ask.

“Yeah.”

You have a few more drinks and shots with your roommates and old Undercity friends, your mind and body entering such a daze that you almost forget Viktor is meeting you there later. You play games together and get teased about some of your adopted topside ways, and you even get back at Eli by pushing them to talk to Sevika, who they ogle at quite literally every time you come to this bar with them. It’s the kind of night where you can be free and careless, temporarily leaving your problems behind in favor of bad decisions.

You have to do a double take when you finally see Viktor arrive. He’s changed out of his Academy uniform, now dressed much more casually and much more like a Zaunite.

“It seems I’m a little late to the fun,” he observes.

“We’re just starting!” you beam, the drunk giggles taking over you.

“How many have you had?”

“I don’t know, like 7 or 8 maybe,” you shrug.

He lifts his cane against you and steers you away from the bar, shaking his head, “I think you’re done for tonight.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. “But not because you told me to, because I don’t want to throw up.”

He stays close to you while you stumble back to your friends’ table, chuckling at the slurred introductions you give him. They all accept him into their games and conversations instantly, and you quickly find out Viktor can handle his liquor a lot better than you. He puts all of them to shame, and they love finally having decent competition.

Your friends all whisper their approval to you throughout the night, even though you’ve repeatedly reminded them that nothing is going on. Although, you’re not really helping your case by zoning out every few minutes on his face.

“You have pretty eyes,” you say, staring until you realize what you just said out loud.

“That’s very kind,” he responds hesitantly. “But I’m sure your vision is a bit...tainted.”

“Alcohol doesn’t change color perception, dumbass.” you retort. “Besides, I’m sobering up a little.”

“Well then,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

You sigh, taking a sip of some water and glancing around the room. The bar is close to closing, and most of your friends have left.

“Have you seen Eli recently? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

He snickers, “You didn’t see them go in the back with Sevika?”

“They what?” you jump out of your seat. “Oh they’d better tell me everything.”

“I’m sure they will,” he laughs. “Do you need someone to walk you home, then?”

“Probably. Who knows how long they’ll be.”

-

The buzz has worn off quite a bit now, so thankfully you’re not tripping all over nothing and further embarrassing yourself. Viktor’s beautiful glow in the moonlight is more than enough to accomplish that, your gazes prolonging far longer than they should.

“Thank you for coming tonight, it was fun,” you say, fumbling for your apartment key in your pocket. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, though.”

“Don’t apologize. It was very amusing.”

“Good.” you exhale. “Just ignore anything weird I said, okay?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” he smirks. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

Sleep is certainly what you get, and the next morning before work is full of a head-pounding hangover and chaotic conversation. Your roommates Eli and Chanthou can’t stop laughing about everything that happened, and naturally you’re very nosy about the Sevika situation. Eli tells you every little detail of course, giddy and in disbelief that they managed to make-out with her all night.

“So? Are you guys going to get together again?” you ask on the edge of your seat.

“I hope so.”

“Looks like you both got what you wanted last night,” Chanthou adds.

“Guys, he just walked me home. That’s all.” You’re getting a little annoyed with the constant reminders that your little crush is not, in fact, reciprocated.

“You...don’t remember?” she looks at Eli, then cocks her head at you. “About halfway through the night you were all over him. We just assumed you guys finally confessed.”

You didn’t think you drank enough to blackout, but you definitely don’t remember whatever they’re talking about. Besides, if you really were doing that, why didn’t Viktor say something once you were sobered up?

And what, now you have to see him in the office today, having no idea what you said to him?

“Oh, fuck, guys. What exactly did I do?”

“I don’t know what happened after I went back with Sevika, but before I left you were sitting on his lap on the couch and playing with his hair—”

“WHAT?”

“Wow, you really don’t remember, do you?”

You groan, wishing you didn’t have to go in today. You have a couple important meetings though, so you’ll have to power through. You take some painkillers and grab your things, praying for the first time that you can get through the day without seeing Viktor.

-

Your headache refuses to lessen its throbbing for your entire shift, making the work you usually enjoy completely miserable. You snap at one too many co-workers and find yourself staring at the clock desperately. Why did you agree to drinking on a weeknight again?

Just as you dreaded, you run into Viktor outside, too obviously waiting for you to pretend to ignore him.

“Hey…” you avoid looking into his eyes. “How come you didn’t say anything about what really happened last night?”

“I...wasn’t sure you’d remember,” he confesses. “I suspected you blacked out when you said you didn’t remember seeing Eli leave. And I wasn’t sure you meant what you said anyway.”

“Please, Viktor. Just tell me what I said. All my roommates told me was I couldn’t stop touching you, which I am so sorry about—“

“N-No, don’t be. Everything was consensual, I assure you.” his face flushes. “You just told me you have feelings for me, that’s all. I was going to tell you last night too if you hadn’t said it first.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your heart threatening to leave your chest.

“But it seems you don’t remember, so I can still count this as making the first move, hmm?”

Shivers race down your spine as Viktor leans in, his fingertips grazing your cheek. His lips meet yours softly, your eyes fluttering shut as he presses deeper. His hand remains holding your face when he pulls away, scanning your expression for your reaction.

“I guess the feeling is mutual,” you chuckle, still a bit breathless.

“Quite so, darling.”

-

More Author's Notes: I have a bad habit of getting drunk around guys I like irl bc I literally can’t handle being around hot people sober so that's the inspiration for that situation lol. Also, a part 2 to this is already in the works, it'll be set during Act 1 and probably parts between 1 and 2.

[chillypowder]

Hey could you please do a part 2 of rescued hearts from his perspective. I would like more heartbreak

Rescued Hearts: A Second Chance at Love Pt.2

Genre: Angst,No comfort

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader (gender neutral)

Warning ⚠️: Major character death, Death, Neglect

Summary: After 6 years of Marriage most would say they know their spouse better their own parents but he could never say utter those words after seeing how badly he failed you.

Note: I am so sorry that I didn't see your request in time but I hope is satisfactory for you. But the funny thing I was planning to make a fanfic of Bakugou's perspective and when I saw your requesti was over the moon.

The keys slipped from my fingers, and they clattered against the marble floor, echoing loudly in the stillness. I took a step inside, shoulders sagging under the weight of another brutal day. The quiet that greeted me was thick, pressing down on my chest as I looked around our darkened penthouse. The city lights flickered through the windows, casting shadows across the empty room. There was no warmth in the place, nothing to greet me or soften the silence. It was just… empty. Too empty.

A quick glance at my watch told me it was well past midnight. Another missed dinner. Another broken promise. I scanned the room, half-expecting them to be waiting there with that tired, knowing smile—the one they always wore when I staggered home hours too late. My stomach twisted, a familiar pang of guilt flickering to life. I didn’t deserve the forgiveness they’d give me, not again.

I walked further in, catching sight of the cold remnants of what had clearly been an evening planned out just for us. The dishes on the table, barely touched, and candles burned down to puddles of wax. They’d set everything up, hoping I’d actually show up on time. Hoping, even though I kept disappointing them, again and again. It stung—no, it burned. They’d stayed up waiting for me, probably for hours, just to watch the night slip away with only silence for company. I’d never once come home to anger or resentment, even though I deserved every bit of it. They always forgave, always understood, and I took it for granted every damn time.

I clenched my jaw, pushing the guilt aside. Tomorrow. I’d make it right tomorrow. I’d tell them how much they mattered, that I’d fix this. Make it all up to them. All of it.

That’s when I saw them—lying on the couch, still as a statue, face half-hidden in the shadows. At first, I almost sighed in relief. They must’ve fallen asleep waiting for me, like they sometimes did. I felt an ache in my chest, and the words I’d never said to them hovered on the tip of my tongue, things I’d always planned to say in some perfect moment that never seemed to come.

I moved closer, lowering myself down beside them. “Hey,” I murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from their face. “You asleep?”

They didn’t stir. I frowned, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I tried again, voice louder this time. “Come on, babe, wake up. You’re gonna get a crick in your neck if you stay like this.” Still nothing. My heartbeat picked up, a sense of dread curling in my stomach. I reached for their shoulder, giving them a gentle shake.

“Hey.” I shook harder, my voice catching. “Wake up.”

No response.

My hand slipped to their wrist, pressing against the cold skin. I searched for a pulse, feeling my own pounding as a sickening sense of fear clawed at my insides. There was something there—faint, so faint I could barely feel it. My hands began to tremble.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening.

“Come on,” I whispered, my voice barely holding together. “Wake up. Please. I’m here now, alright? I’m here.”

They didn’t move. They didn’t even flinch. A desperate, helpless panic crashed over me, and my mind screamed at me to do something, anything, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t like the battles in the field, where everything was black and white, life or death. This was them, lying cold and motionless in front of me, and I was completely, utterly powerless.

I grabbed my phone with shaky hands, fingers fumbling over the screen as I punched in the emergency number, struggling to keep my voice steady when the operator picked up.

“Yes, I need an ambulance. Now,” I said, my voice cracking. “My—my spouse… they’re unconscious, and they’re not responding.” The words tumbled out in a rush, half-choked with panic, and it took everything in me not to break down right there.

They tried to ask questions, but I didn’t have the patience. “Just get someone here,” I snapped, my gaze glued to their still, pale face. I dropped the phone and dropped to my knees beside them, grabbing their hand. Their fingers felt cold against mine. Too cold. I pressed my forehead to their hand, clinging to them like I could somehow will them to wake up if I just held on tight enough.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Please, just open your eyes. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

My chest felt like it was splitting open, each second that passed without them stirring chipping away at my resolve. Every missed dinner, every broken promise, every selfish decision I’d made—every moment flashed through my mind, leaving me raw and hollow.

Where the hell had I been?

[scrubbinn]

Slime HRT: ??? Months “Your choice”

“There you are! I was getting worried, your directions were awful for finding this café.”

“We both know I suck at directions, hope you didn't get rained on too much. Sorry for making you visit me over and over. I remember you said you’re not a fan of Hyper city”

“You know I like the rain, and this place makes it easier to visit you anyway. Now lemme just get the seat closer to you…

So how are you hun. Is the recovery going alright? Have you gotten any memories back?”

“A couple, yeah. I remember the name of that other slime I met a while ago. Sandy I think.”

“You think?”

“Memories are hard, please don't push me.”

“Sorry. Well it's good that you're healing, and you're not taking that stuff again right? 

… right hun?!”

“I'm not, I'm not. Tomorrow is the last day I have to wait before I can legally take it again. Right now I'm just wondering if I should wait longer or not.”

“Don't do anything that isn't safe hun. I know this means a lot to you, I can't say I know what you're going through, cause I'm not a therian or otherkin or whatever like you. But please be safe, I don't like worrying about you… What's that on your phone? You're clearly hiding it.”

“It's nothing, I'm just running a poll, I want to see what the internet would do in my circumstance.”

“Hun!…”

“I'm not going to make my decision based on what random people have to say. I'm probably not even going to post it. I mean it's a pretty cool, textbook grey choice. Survive less happy than I could have been, or risk everything to finally feel normal and free… Please don't look at me like that.”

“You sound a lot happier about one of those choices hun, and it makes me scared.”

“...Y'know I've actually been thinking about moving into Hyper city. Roommates are ok with it as long as I give them a few months to search for a new place. We could also visit each other whenever. There's still a lot of problems here, but it still feels like there's less discrimination here than back home. I even have a good idea for what I want to do here! I'm studying to become a psychiatrist and work for Dr. Erian. He could really use someone who has a positive amount of bedside manners. There's a couple other doctors there but-

“I thought the plan was for us to live together?”

“...We will, when things get better back home. At least here it's easier for us to see each other, and I don't have to pretend I can't hear people whispering I'm a freak. At least, not as much. Nothing's changed long term.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, you don’t have to worry, everything is going to be fine. I’m not going to do anything stupid, but I don’t think it would be a bad thing if I started my HRT again after tomorrow. I know I can regain my memories slowly, so there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“There is a problem! You think it’s fine if you forget everything? Look, it's great that some of your memories are back, but that doesn’t mean all of them are gonna come back. You’re being reckless again. Your life isn’t something you can keep tossing around without expecting us to hold you down. Hun, you need to stop hurting yourself.”

“...I’m not hurting myself. I’m just trying to live my life. I don’t want to upset you, but you have to realize this is the most important thing for me right now. If I mess this up, then nothing is going to go well. I understand that you’re scared, but please think about how I feel. I’d be having heart palpitations if that were still possible. This choice needs a clear head to figure out. I don’t think either of us have that.”

“Maybe. You’re going to be fine right? You won’t die from this or anything right?”

“No, I’m not going to die. The doc made sure it’s going to be safe at this point. We just have to hope he’s wrong about the side effects, and before you go saying he’s a trained endocrinologist, you haven’t met him, and I don’t even think he knows all that much. Trust me, you’d realize what I mean if you met him.”

“But he knows more than you do hun.”

“Ok, yeah, but it’s clear this is still all new to him too. He’s never been right about when any of the changes will happen or what the side effects would be. He made me sign an NDA about slipping into a three day coma. He’s clearly more afraid his medical license will be revoked than any actual permanent damage he’ll inflict."

“Aren’t you breaking that NDA right now?”

“I don’t have to listen to that. Besides, as long as the internet doesn’t hear about it, then it’s fine. It's not like you're gonna shout this conversation to the rooftops… don't actually tell anyone else, I'd rather not get in trouble again.”

“So, where are you staying anyway? You said the houses here are pretty expensive right? Do you have enough savings to find a place?”

“There's a non-profit place called T.H.E.M.S, they can find me a place to stay while I try to find a more permanent residence here. They have an on-site doctor too, so you don't have to worry even harder now.”

“Hey, you can't fault me for worrying about my girlfriend! That's good there's going to be a doctor nearby. I'm glad. Stay safe hun.”

“I will, don't worry. Now come on, less talking about depressing medical stuff, more pictures of tiny foods! Right now I want to show you the cute cupcakes this place has!

“Oh they’re shaped like little dragons!”

“It's so cute, right?”

...

Click… Post sent!

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Mention list: @a-shramp , @calliecwrites

Thanks for reading slime HRT so far. It's been so much fun for Navi to write and we hope you enjoy it. This marks about a third of what we plan to do. If you're confused about the terms Hyper city or T.H.E.M.S you can check out information about them. Pretty important since this is gonna be the location for the rest of the series. Anyway, thank you for reading. It means the world to us. bye-bye!

-Sweetheart💖

[darqx]

Got an evil eye

In which there’s a small Demon!Rire Angel!Rire comparison.

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

😇 The lore of Angel!Rire is essentially:

Possibly rogue angel that kills people under word of God.

Word of God being debatable because his criteria for killing people changes a lot - (eg: might kill a bad person cos they’re “bad”, similarly will kill a good person to get them to heaven faster, similarly will just “mercy” kill whoever because humans are a plague to themselves and others etc) - EITHER WAY no one seems to be stopping him.

Also debatable is whether he believes in his justifications for his actions or if he’s just doing it for fun and purposely smoke-screening that fact.

I have described their main similarity before as deception since they both seem viable (as a normal human / normal angel) at first. Their main personality difference is that their modus operandi is flipped - Demon!Rire will often see how long he can con someone, but will eventually reveal his true nature and will match what he says with it. Angel!Rire is more blunt and will reveal his true nature almost immediately, but will continue saying things in complete antithesis to that reveal thus masking the reality of his intentions.

I do know what OCTs are! But I probably would never join one due to lack of time. They seem to be very large commitments and i’d be better off trying to find that time to do BP :V

There is no set location for BTD (considering that me, Gato and EP all come from diff countries LOL)...other than maybe “Earth” and “some city/town place that predominately speaks English”.

This is, actually, one of the more popular questions I get asked over time about Rire XD; Which makes me think I need to update my FAQ to include it. Anyway in my FAQ i put it like this:

CAN RIRE FEEL LOVE? I don’t know if you could classify what he feels as “love” in the same definition we are used to…

And from other answers to similar qs:

IF he becomes fond of someone for whatever reason, he will probably become more possessive. His methodology might not change so much, but there would be more aftercare (cos if you want someone to last longer...)

I never go any more in depth when answering these kinda qs even though i’m sure people would like me to XD

At first I was going to say “I don’t know Depeche Mode”, but when i looked them up on Youtube i saw “Just can’t get enough” and was like OH I KNOW THESE SONGS.

As for Rire it’s not super in line with his usual, but I don’t think he’d mind the music!

He’s gotten used to moving between different climates quickly so it doesn’t really affect him as much.

You would not be the first so go for it if you want lol.

[partmathpartmagic]

"Give me six months"

This is a chapter from a longer fic that you can find here. It's a letter from Astarion, written over the course of six months immediately following the defeat of the Absolute. The premise is that you two are taking some time apart after the main events of the game so he can figure his shit out a bit. I love his friendship ending because he's so happy and proud of himself, but I wish it were possible to have that and the romance as well, so this is me making that happen.

Darling,

It’s been 3 days since you saved the world. I can hear you objecting to my phrasing, so let me rephrase: it’s been 3 days since I saved the world and you were also there. Better, my dear?

This is very irksome, you know. I thought I’d make it more than 3 days without being so desperate to talk to you that I write a bunch of sentimental words down for all the world to see. And even worse, it would’ve been far less than 3 days if I’d been able to find any parchment in this godsforsaken city (we could have just let it burn, darling, no one would blame us!).

Frankly, I’m rather upset with you. Yes, I’m actually making up my mind right now. You don’t deserve a letter from me, you’re too lovely and too brilliant and too beautiful and you make it impossible to live without you.

I’ve decided to help out the spawn in the underdark. There. That’s all you’re getting from me.

______________

Perhaps I was a bit hasty. I apologize.

That’s something I’m working on doing more of, apologizing. I am getting quite a lot of practice, spending every day with people I seduced for… I’d rather not write his name, actually. But you know. People I seduced in order for him to turn and torture and starve and imprison them for a century or two.

As such, I am becoming an expert at apologizing for things no one could ever really apologize for.

If I was in a better mood I’d make a joke about how I’m spending time with thousands of my exes and you should be jealous. You’ll just have to imagine how hilarious it would be, and then pretend it’s not funny even though you’re smiling, and then roll your eyes at me like you always do. I even miss your exasperation. That’s… horrible. This is horrible.

I know it was my idea to go off and figure things out on my own but I’m beginning to suspect I’m the stupidest elf to ever live.

I can’t tell anymore if I’m being funny when I talk or if I’m just being mean. Is that how other people feel about me, that I’m mean? I think it probably is. Maybe I don’t want to be mean. That doesn’t sound right. I think I’m okay with being mean, I just want to be doing it on purpose.

You’re always so kind, but you have your meaner moments, don’t you? Gods, you’re so terrible with children. The things I’ve seen you say to them. They all think you’re dreadful. That’s something at least.

You see, I find it easier to bear your absence if I pretend your presence isn’t the best feeling in the world and everything you do isn’t perfect. I’m never able to pretend for very long, but I get a good couple minutes each day where I convince myself I’m scandalized by how you talk to children and not completely enchanted by it, and I miss you just slightly less.

_______________

It has been one month since we saved the world. I miss the sun almost as much as I miss you.

My siblings have actually made quite a bit of progress with the spawn. They’re talking about starting a school for the younger ones. It’s very strange. I hope they don’t become good people or we’ll have nothing to talk about anymore.

I had a chat with Sebastian this afternoon, which was also strange. He said, “it must be difficult seeing our faces day and night. Torturing yourself isn’t going to change anything for us. You’ve apologized; you might as well go figure out your next move.”

I think he’s just sick of seeing me and wants me to leave, but he found a kind way to say it.

But he’s not wrong to assume I have no plan after this. I might head above ground tonight and explore the city a bit, see if anything inspires me. I haven’t breathed spore-free air in what feels like years.

I think I could be okay with not having the sun if I had you. Having neither seems… unfair.

I suppose I deserve a bit of unfair.

_______________

2 months. Some very strange things have happened.

Firstly, I did take that walk. I very purposely avoided the part of the city where I heard you had settled, and then of course wound up walking right past a house that apparently belongs to your sister. I thought she was you for a moment and my heart stopped. Metaphorically, anyway.

I don’t love how much it destroyed me looking through a window and seeing someone I thought was you holding a child and kissing a spouse. Which is to say that it completely destroyed me even as it made me happy seeing you apparently happy.

I’m adding this experience to my list of reasons why forming attachments with other people is actually a bad idea and never worth it. I also have a list of reasons why attachments are good and worth it every time, which has only ever consisted of one item, which is your name. The good list wins every time, a fact which has also made its way to the bad list. No one person should have that much power!

If I’m not allowed to ascend, you’re not allowed to make me love you. It’s just as bad. You're drunk with power, darling, and it's time someone called you out on it.

Gods, you’ve completely distracted me from my point. Anyway, after I finally remembered that 2 months would not have been long enough for you to grow and birth and raise a toddler, and after I looked into the window once more and realized your sister does not actually look much like you at all, and also after I looked at the mailbox and saw your second name with a different first name, I pieced things together. Not quickly enough to keep your family from noticing the crazed vampire staring in their window, I’m sorry to say. Do give them my regards.

But after that, I ran into someone I recognized from the palace. One of the butlers, I think, or a general thrall. He was so excited to see me that he stopped me in the middle of the street and started calling me “Master” and babbling about having the carpets cleaned, so I said “strange man, what the hells are you talking about??” And he told me I was the most senior spawn still living and as such… have inherited the estate.

Now, I know this is difficult to believe given my refined manners and, well, my hair, but I’ve never actually owned a palace before. Much less one where I was trapped and tortured for a couple centuries. It’s a complicated situation. Everything is still very much in the air, but I wanted to tell you, and this is how I tell you things now. I will update you once I have an update.

_______________

I adopted a cat. I ran into Halsin on one of his supply runs into the city and he had His Majesty from Last Light with him. Apparently His Majesty had been picking fights with children (and more power to him, I’m sure you’d say), and I remembered his regal little face and volunteered to take him in without a second thought.

We are still… feeling each other out. But I gave him his own room in the estate, which I think he appreciated. The cat, I mean. Halsin doesn’t get a room.

I also do not have a room in the estate, as I am unwilling to set foot inside the building until it has been completely gutted and cleaned and the dungeons walled off permanently. Strangely enough, our old friend Barcus sent me a great team of his people to handle the renovations. Demolitions, as you can imagine, have been smooth, if a bit too enthusiastic. The gnomes have also been very nice about the whole vampire thing and willing to work nights whenever I need to be there to make decisions.

On a related note, I’ve added another item to the long list of crimes Cazador committed: laying carpeting over completely gorgeous vintage wood flooring! Murder and torture is bad, but that’s a whole other level. Thank the gods we got that criminal off the streets.

(Did you notice I wrote his name out? And then made a little joke? I think I’m rather proud of myself for that)

For the first time I’m glad we’re spending this time apart, because truly all I can talk about is tiles and paint samples and upholstery and you’d probably stake me within a couple days of being in my presence and it would be absolutely justified.

I ache for you.

_______________

3 months.

I have been thinking about my lists. I think, perhaps, it’s a lot of pressure to put on someone, making them the sole positive attachment in your life.

I say this because I’ve been spending time with His Majesty to help him acclimate, and a gnome worker commented the other day that I’m the only living creature this cat will tolerate. It made me so sad, thinking of this lovely, affectionate cat who is only ever lovely and affectionate with me. Everyone else’s experience with him will always be negative. I’ll be the only one who’s sad when he dies, and people won’t even be sympathetic to me because they’ll think, well, he wasn’t very nice anyway, good riddance.

It seems like we at least owe it to our loved ones not to leave them alone with their grief when we die.

And no, my love, I did not see the parallels to any vampire with which we are acquainted, at least not until Halsin came by to check on him on his way out of town and I gave him this whole monologue. And then he just sort of stood there looking at me until he very gently hinted that perhaps there are other people who would be willing to love the cat “if he’d just show them his belly instead of his claws.”

At that point I just thought he was hitting on me, but after he explained a little further I finally got what he was trying to say.

Which is how I ended up wine drunk with Halsin last night. We have… a surprising amount of things in common. It was disconcerting.

He also offered me some sort of mysterious substance from his pipe which I politely declined, and it was only after this that he told me a friend of his had smoked it just the night before and it had sent them into a panic attack. So if Halsin ever offers you his pipe, darling, just say no. Given your already nervous constitution, and I say this with love, you’d be absolutely fucked.

Speaking of drunk! You may be wondering how I’ve been keeping myself fed. Some of the Sharess employees have picked up on the increased demand from all these newly-free vampires and have started offering blood drinking as a service, but I’m hesitant to drink from another humanoid. My siblings think I’m being a stick in the mud, but I’ve heard them talking about people they’ve tasted and none of them sound anywhere close to the experience of drinking from you. I feel as if I’ve only ever tasted the most exquisitely aged brandy and I’m being offered tiefling wine as a replacement. I just think it would break my heart.

That said, non-vermin animals have offered a surprising range of flavors. I’ve found I’m partial to owlbears. Something about the risk makes them taste better, I think. Sort of earthy and vegetal? Not bad. In the alcohol metaphor this would be something akin to a local brew. Still a downgrade, but different enough that it doesn’t sting as much.

My good list has 3 names now, by the way: you, Halsin (this was a wine decision, but I’m allowing it for now), and His Majesty.

_______________

4 months? I think?

Listen darling, I’ll just get this out of the way: I’ve had many glasses of brandy. What’s that you say? How many is many? I stopped counting at six, my dear!

You know sometimes I think, absence is absence makes the heart grow fonder. And then I think of you, my blossom, my peach, my absolute tadpole (workshopping that one but i like it), and I think, well fuck. Maybe I’m making it up, maybe she’s not as wonderful as I remember?

And so I thik of all your worst qualities, and I concentrate so hard on them, and my love, my petal, my sweet corn, do you know what happens then? I can’t even think of any

OH wait, that’s not true. That thing when you talk and you have a bubble in your throat that you haven’t swallowed and your voice comes out weird and it makes me want to set myself on fire

Also you’re so hard on yourself, it drives me up an absolute wall. I just want to grab your shoulders and shake you and yell “be nice to my girlfriend”

And then grab other things and shake them…?

I’m far too drunk to be seductive, but just imagine me saying some absolutely filthy things in your ear right now in that voice you like. YOU KNOW THE ONE. Gods, I can’t wait to use it on you again.

I just waaaaant. I want you here so bad all the time.

I want your smell and your touch and your skin and your everything everywhere on me and around me

And… in me? Cheeky, darling. I’m not saying no, but now’s hardly the time

Love and like and cherish and worship and want, a.

_______________

No one has ever felt this ill before and no one ever will again.

I refuse on principle to take back anything I wrote last night, but let’s all agree to forget the corn thing, shall we?

And that cheeky bit at the end–really very unbecoming of you to take advantage of an incapacitated elf like that. Again, I’m not saying no, just. The timing really makes me think less of you, love.

_______________

To be honest, darling, I’m running out of things to say. Six months is a month away and I’m trying so hard not to just watch the clock all day (well, all night).

Has this time been worth it? Nothing is worth this, but if I put aside the heartache, it’s been amazing. I truly never thought I’d be able to become… whoever it is I’ve become.

When the tadpole happened, I saw hope for the first time. I thought I’d finally have control over my life if I had control over the tadpole. If I had control over everything. I honestly never saw another way.

It’s a testament to you that you saw all of this coming from the beginning. You looked at me, this open wound oozing hurt and fear and anger, and you saw a person. You thought I was funny (admit it) and clever, and worth getting to know.

You gave me the space to say no to you, and loved me regardless.

I don’t think I’m nearly as powerful without you, darling. But over these months I’ve accomplished things I’m proud of all on my own, which is fairly unprecedented.

I’m beside myself with excitement to see you again, to give you a tour of this place. You’ll like what I did in the bedroom. And that’s not even a line, I genuinely think you’ll appreciate the color palette! It reminds me of you.

And maybe if you like it we can engage in some mutual appreciation, if you know what I mean.

I don't, but maybe you do. My pickup lines have gone all to shit without you, my muse.

My good list has several names on it now. Yours is still at the top. But you're not the sole thing keeping me afloat anymore. I thought that would make me feel distant from you in some way. I never realized it would give me even more space to appreciate you for who you are instead of what you provide.

Knowing I don’t need you gives me more room to want you, I think.

Anyway, I’m not sure I have another one of these installments in me. Thank you for reading this far, if you have. The version of you who is sitting at your kitchen table reading this (that’s a guess but wouldn’t it be funny if it was right?) has been my companion for all these months, and I cherish her as I cherish every other version of you.

A.

_______________

Sending this today.

I want to be clear, I don’t expect anything. I didn’t ask you to wait around pining for me for all this time, and I wouldn’t have wanted that anyway.

So if you’ve moved on, if you’re happier where you are, if getting this letter ruins your day–it’s alright. I will miss you, maybe forever, but I have friends and a new line of work and a handsome son (to be clear I’m referring to His Majesty, I didn’t give birth since the last time I wrote). All of these things will keep me afloat.

However, if your heart and your life still have room for me, and if you think I would improve them with my presence, I will be overjoyed to share all of these things with you.

I want to meet your sister and hear you try to make conversation with her toddler. I want to show you everything I’ve done to update the estate, and I want you to make it feel like home just by being there. I want to hear all of your thoughts on Jaheira and Nine-Fingers and speculate on their love life.

I want it all, and I want it all with you.

See you soon, my love.

[bloody-bee-tea]

June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 24 - Let's get you cleaned up

Not gonna lie, the minimal in that title feels like a lie by now, even though there's always a happy end. Content warning for this is murder. And unhealthy coping mechanism. Which include murder. And co-dependency.

Suguru is getting desperate. He couldn’t remember how many doors he’s pushed open so far, but every time he is met with nothing behind it, his heart shatters a bit more in his chest.

Shoko had assured him that they hadn’t found Satoru, so logically that must mean he is still running around somewhere, but then again they hadn’t found Riko’s body either and Suguru knows for a fact she is dead.

And there had been so much blood at the top of the stairs where he left Satoru behind.

Suguru tries to not think about it too hard but he’s running out of places to check out and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he can’t find Satoru. If he never comes back.

The thought makes him falter briefly, but he needs to push on. He needs to find Satoru and he needs to bring him back home. Suguru can’t stop now. Satoru isn’t home yet and so Suguru can’t stop.

He walks down a few steps, briefly hesitating in front of the door before him before he pushes that open as well.

Instantly he’s met with the sound of people clapping and his stomach churns when he realises that he finally has found the right one.

Suguru steps inside the room, dimly noticing all the people in white scattered around and then they part, making way for Satoru.

Satoru, who is bloodied head to toe and who is carrying Riko’s body.

Suguru feels like crying.

“You’re late, Suguru. Actually, I guess you got here fast. After all there are several Star Religious Groups in the city.”

It’s Satoru speaking, Suguru knows that because he sees his mouth move but—

“Satoru, is that you? What happened?” Suguru breathes out, even though the blood on Satoru’s clothes, the blood he found at the top of the stairs and the look in Satoru’s eyes tell a pretty clear story.

“I see you already saw Shoko,” Satoru says, not even reacting to the fact that Suguru has asked him something and Suguru is still too perplexed by the sight in front of him to do anything but nod.

If only the clapping would stop so he could fucking think for a moment.

“Yeah, she was able to heal me, I’m feeling fine again. But that doesn’t change anything here, does it?” he whispers, his eyes now fixed on Riko’s hand that just slipped out from under the sheet.

Suguru fights the urge to step close, to tuck it back in as if that would make things better and he feels sick to his stomach when he remembers the happy look on her face moments before she died.

Moments before she was killed.

“I screwed up pretty bad, you’re not the one at fault,” Satoru says and Suguru doesn’t know what to say to that at all.

“Let’s head back,” he says after a moment and a distant part of him wonders just how Satoru can even hear him over all this clapping in the room.

Suguru fights the urge to yell at everyone to shut the fuck up but the fact that Satoru hasn’t moved yet keeps his attention pretty captured. Suguru is about to ask what’s going on when Satoru speaks again and his voice makes a shudder run down Suguru’s back.

He doesn’t sound like the boy Suguru knows at all.

“Suguru should we—kill these guys? The way I am right now, I doubt I’d feel anything,” Satoru asks him and Suguru freezes.

His first instinct is to say yes. He feels ashamed for it, even as he struggles to push the answer down and instead concentrates on what he has to say. What he’s supposed to say.

“No, there’s no point. It looks like there are only common believers here. The masterminds who know about our world have probably fled already. And unlike with the bounty they won’t be able to talk their way out of this. The organisation had problems to begin with. It’ll be dissolved soon enough.”

Satoru is walking past him while Suguru tries to justify the continued existence of everyone in this room and they just. Won’t. Stop. Clapping.

“No point, huh. Does there really need to be any point to it?” Satoru asks him and Suguru opens his mouth to give him the right answer, to tell him that there absolutely must be a point to it, that it’s important that there is but the clapping won’t stop and he still sees Riko falling to the ground, the pool of blood where Satoru was supposed to be and the clapping—

It almost feels as if something snaps in Suguru and when he opens his mouth what comes out is “No. There doesn’t need to be a point to it.”

Suguru doesn’t know how it happens so fast; the words have barely left his mouth when the entire room lights up in an eerie purple and then there’s only silence left.

Everyone in that room is dead. Just like that.

Suguru takes in the sight in front of him for a moment longer before he turns around to Satoru.

“That is new,” he says, because what else is there to say. Nothing makes sense anymore, except the grin that Satoru suddenly gives him.

“I figured out how to do Red.”

“That wasn’t red,” Suguru says as he steps closer to Satoru and reaches out to tuck Riko’s arm back under the sheet like he wanted to do all this time.

“And then I figured out how to smash Red and Blue together,” Satoru excitedly goes on, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he didn’t just murder a room full of people at a single word from Suguru.

“Thus making purple,” Suguru nods as if he understands what’s going on with Satoru’s powers at all.

“Hollow Purple,” Satoru corrects him, his eyes still bright and manic and Suguru probably should feel bad but he’s so relieved that there’s silence around him, that Satoru is alive and well and right in front of him, and he really couldn’t care less about all these people.

They were celebrating the pointless death of a girl who only wanted to live. Who never did anything wrong, whose only mistake it was to be born.

He doesn’t feel a tinge of remorse at all.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Suguru says as he reaches up to cup Satoru’s cheek in his hand. “You’re all bloodied up.”

“But I figured it out, Suguru. Reverse cursed technique! I did it! I was dead but then I did it!”

Suguru flinches at the reminder of how close he got to losing Satoru and that only makes him double down on the fact that everyone in this room deserved to die. Maybe there had been a point to it.

Maybe revenge was a good enough point sometimes.

“That’s great,” Suguru says, not taking his hand back yet. “Can we still go back to the school? You clearly didn’t figure out how to reverse curse the blood away,” he gently jokes, suddenly tired beyond belief and Satoru nods.

“Yes. Let’s go home, Suguru,” he agrees and leads the way out of the room, Riko’s body still cradled in his arms.

~*~*~

“You’re both Special Grades now,” Yaga sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We need you to go on separate missions, so we can handle more curses.”

“No.”

Suguru’s voice doesn’t leave room for an argument but it looks as if Yaga is going to try anyway. Satoru is standing close to Suguru, their shoulders pressed together, but Satoru exhausted himself with yelling in the last fifteen minutes and so now he’s simply quietly fuming at Suguru’s side.

“Geto,” Yaga warningly says and Suguru gets it, he does.

Powerful curses are cropping up everywhere these days, way more than they are used to and it would go faster if Satoru and he were sent on separate missions but that’s just not acceptable.

Not after everything that happened.

“It’s not happening,” Suguru says again, because he will not allow them to separate him from Satoru and if Yaga thinks he’s going to falter on that then he’s fucking wrong.

This might be a long night.

“The last time we were separated, the Star Plasma Vessel died, the school was infiltrated, I died and Suguru got seriously injured. It’s not happening.”

Satoru’s tone is clipped and cold and Suguru leans more firmly into him.

Yaga doesn’t need to know this, but ever since that entire mess, they haven’t spent more than an hour apart. They take their showers together in the communal showers, they eat together, they sleep together, and they spent all their other time together as well.

The one time they had to be separated for longer was when Satoru had been summoned to talk to the Elders and twenty minutes in Suguru had been ready to level the school to get to Satoru. Satoru clearly hadn’t fared any better because when he did finally come back out his hand compulsively kept making the finger sign for red and Suguru wondered if anyone in the area even knew how close to dying they were that day.

So no. Another separation is not happening.

“You either send us together or not at all,” Suguru adds, his voice just as cold as Satoru’s and Yaga seems to know when he lost because he deflates, a pained look on his face.

“Get the hell out of my face,” he grumbles and Suguru knows it’s a win.

Suguru doesn’t know who reaches out first, but neither of them speak when they tangle their fingers together as they walk back to their room.

They will not be separated again.

~*~*~

Suguru feels cold rage lick up his throat and he distantly wonders if this is how Satoru had felt with Riko’s body in his arms, moments before he annihilated every last person in that room.

“Satoru,” Suguru says, barely able to hear his own voice over the screaming of the people behind them.

He should probably turn around and try to calm them down, get them out of the house, but his eyes are fixed on the little girls in the cage and he can’t bring himself to look away from them.

Suguru isn’t even sure what he wants Satoru to do, why he’s turning to him for this but when Satoru’s hand tangles with it, he instantly feels more grounded.

“There doesn’t need to be a point to it,” Satoru says, his voice calm and collected and Suguru takes a deep breath.

The first one since he entered this house.

“But this would definitely be one anyway,” Satoru goes on and Suguru recognises the rage in his voice.

It’s different than it was with the Star Religion Group; they were both too numb to really care, too shocked by how their lives had just been overthrown, but this. This is fuelled by pure rage.

Two innocent little girls are locked in a cage, for the crime of being different, and by what Suguru can make out in the dim light they’ve been beaten pretty badly.

Two innocent little girls. Even younger than Riko.

“It’s my turn now,” Suguru decides and Satoru huffs out a laugh.

“I hope no one’s keeping score,” he mutters even as he nods. “I’ll get them out.”

Suguru wants to agree but he hesitates, just long enough for Satoru to notice.

“What?” Satoru asks and he steps close, concern clear on his face and Suguru breathes out as he rests their foreheads together.

“It’s not just them,” Suguru softly says, the yelling of the adults loud and annoying in his ears. “I’m not going to kill just them.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, isn’t sure if he’s looking for permission or a reprimand but when Satoru smiles widely at him a weight falls off him.

Permission it was, then.

“I should hope not,” Satoru cheerfully says and that manic look is back on his face.

It should be disturbing—Suguru heard Shoko say as much before and even Yaga sometimes looks strangely at Satoru when he looks like this—but to Suguru it’s simply beautiful.

Beautiful enough that he leans forward, just slightly, just enough to be able to brush his lips over Satoru’s.

“Go get the girls,” he says as he pulls back and Satoru’s smile softens, just the slightest bit, as he squeezes Suguru’s hand before he lets go, turning towards the cage and crouching low, so the girls don’t feel frightened by him towering over them.

Suguru watches them for a moment longer before he turns around, curse already at the ready, and he is no Satoru Gojo.

It takes him a bit longer to wipe out the village, but only marginally so.

“Yaga is going to bust a vein,” Satoru says as he steps up to him, surveying the carnage around him, a girl in every arm.

“He can yell all he wants,” Suguru gives back and reaches out to take one of the quietly sniffling girls from him. “You’re safe now,” he whispers to her, knowing that it won’t do much for now, but the girl clings to him anyway.

“Let’s go home,” Satoru says with one last look over the still burning village and Suguru shifts the girl around until he’s able to reach for Satoru’s hand.

“Let’s go home,” he agrees and when Satoru smiles at him, it almost feels as if he already is.

[stele3]

hey are you gonna continue the jaytimsteph thread you made where they match on grindr or nah? because that shit was heat

You know what, anon? Just for you, I’m gonna combine two Tumblr fics. The Grindr and the Steph-flirts-with-Jason universes have merged.

(This part isn’t near as goofy and lighthearted as those two parts.)

Stephanie’s actually faster on a wire than Batman, a point of some pride to her, but she’s not faster than Tim. He slings through an upper-floor window of the three-story townhouse, disappearing from sight.

“Slow down,” B tells her, and Stephanie listens for once. That was the agreement: he’d help if they did things his way. Always, always, it has to be his way, but just this once Stephanie listens, even though her heart is in her throat.

Robin’s scan of the house comes back. Two people, downstairs. Heartbeats steady, rate indicates that they’re both seated. Voices. One breathing rate indicates distress.

That’s about as much as Stephanie can take. She breaks for the door, evading the clamp of Batman’s hand on her shoulder.

Wood splinters under her feet. She lands in a hallway. To the left and right are open passageways, but there’s only light coming from the left, along with a flurry of body movements.

“Stephanie?” Mom’s voice calls, then higher and frantic, “Wait! Wait, don’t, calm down! Stephanie?”

“Yeah?” Steph calls back, wary. That command wasn’t directed at her; she knows her mom’s voice to be real sure.

“I’m okay,” Mom says. “He hasn’t hurt me. This is all a big misunderstanding, okay?”

Rising, Stephanie moves soundlessly to put her shoulder against the edge of the left open doorway then tips just enough to put one eye around the corner. The room ahead of her is a kitchen and small dining room area: the house is one of those nice little mid-century places with the curved doorways and the countertops separating the kitchen and the dining room, where you can put food. Mom’s standing near that little countertop, facing Stephanie, with a chair behind her like she’s just stood up. Her right arm hangs at her side and her left sticks out straight. A pair of handcuffs affix her left arm to a clamp, which in turn is affixed to the lip of the countertop.

She doesn’t see anyone else in the room.

“Hey, Mom,” Stephanie greets.

“Hey, honey.” Mom’s eyes dart briefly to the right, then back. Christ, he’s. Okay, he must be right on the other side of the doorway from Stephanie, just inches away with nothing but drywall between them. “Don’t, he really hasn’t hurt me, sweetie, I’m not lying. He thought I was dealing drugs but I’m not.”

“Why’d he think that?” Mom’s face is calm. Two voices, one breathing in distress.

“Someone stole my DEA number and they’ve been using it to order large amounts of OxyContin and dealing it to, to someone whose name I didn’t recognize. It had to have been someone at work, so he and I have been going over the list of suspects.”

“Okay.” Stephanie fingers the stun-flash in her pocket. She could bounce it off the kitchen table if she had to. Hell, she could bounce it off her mom. “So why’re you still handcuffed to a counter?”

Mom’s eyes go to the right, again, and stay there. “I think he’s scared that you didn’t come alone. It’s…it’s fine if you didn’t, I’d understand, but you.”

She stops. For a few moments there’s just the distant sounds of the city through the shattered door behind Stephanie. She can’t hear anything else in the house. Robin, Tim, has probably moved to the top of the stairs; Stephanie can just see the first few steps out of the corner of her eye.

“Is he here?” Mom asks, drawing Stephanie’s attention back to her. Something’s changed; her tone is different. “Is Batman here?”

Stephanie hesitates. Mom doesn’t look scared, though, she looks…angry. Focused. “Yeah.”

Mom sucks in a breath. Even across the room, Stephanie can hear it whistle through Mom’s teeth. “Is he, can he hear me right now? Tell him — tell him that he’s better pray I never find out his name. I’m a mandatory fucking reporter, do you hear me?”

Her voice rises to a shout and she goes to the very end of the handcuffs, her arm extended behind her and her eyes wild.

“Do you think,” Mom shouts to the ceiling, to the sky, “that I don’t know what it looks like when a teenager puts on a mask because it’s the only way they can hide their pain?! Do you think I don’t recognize a child who fears their father?! You better pray I never fucking find out who you are, you worthless — no, no, don’t— !”

She jerks sharply to the side, snapping to the end of the handcuff in an entirely different direction. There’s the sound of breaking glass and Stephanie bolts into the room, catching Mom as she loses her balance and falls onto one hip.

“Fuck!” Mom yells. Her wrist is bloody. She doesn’t even seem to notice.

Across the room, a window is shattered. No glass lies on the floor.

[captain-mj]

Boyfriend Dungeon

This is more of a prologue as I mostly wanted to set it up and explain how the weapons and wielders work.

Roach excitedly packed, ready to spend the summer with his cousin Rocket. Mostly he was excited about just getting out of the area. He had never been to his cousin’s city and it sounded exciting. 

Roach was well aware of people that could turn into weapons, but he knew next to nothing about them. No one in his family was one nor was anyone else in his hometown that he knew about. That was fine, it just meant he was a little out of his element when it came to those kinds of talks. Apparently the new city was full of weapons. He couldn’t wait to meet one of them. 

Rocket picked him up from the airport, holding a giant sign and bouncing up and down. He pulled Roach right into a tight hug with a smile. 

“Gary!! It’s so nice to see you again.”

Roach squeezed him back before pulling back so he could sign. “Nice to see you too. Ready to go?”

Rocket nodded and helped him with his bags. “Thank you so much for coming. I really needed some help get everything moved.” The two departed with Rocket filling him in on a few things. He wasn’t normally so talkative but he was clearly glad to have Roach around. 

They spent a few hours unpacking Roach’s bags and putting everything away. Roach occasionally asked Rocket questions but he was trying to not make his interest in weapons too clear. He apparently was not subtle enough because Rocket caught on. 

“I’m glad you brought that up actually! I have someone I’d like you to meet!” Rocket seemed to almost buzz with anticipation. 

Roach tilted his head, indicating Rocket should continue. “He’s a guy I know. He’s a weapon. When I mentioned you’d be coming, he offered to show you how to wield.”

Roach jerked up with excitement, bouncing on his feet. He quickly finished everything as Rocket told him the details. 

The next morning, he actually got to meet Price. 

Price smiled at him immediately. “It’s very nice to meet you, Roach.” He offered his hand and Roach quickly shook back. 

Rocket smiled. “Most people here speak sign, it’s taught in the local school. It’s helpful for weapons to communicate whenever they’re shifted”

Price nodded and signed to Roach. “So we can communicate however you’re comfortable.”

Roach nodded and responded. “I’m fine with people talking to me. Just don’t like talking to others.” Don’t like did not quite match his situation, but Price seemed to understand that just fine. 

“That’s alright. We’ll work through it. It’s pretty simple. I shift into an double sided ax and you simply pick me up and start fighting.”

“....fighting?”

“Oh. Yes. There’s dungeons nearby that we’d be fighting in.”

Roach nodded. “What happens if you get hurt?”

“I won’t, don’t worry. If you get hurt, I’ll simply take you out.”

Roach nodded and motioned for Price to continue.

“So, it’s pretty simple. I turn into a weapon and you wield me. You’ll feel the connection pretty instantly. It’s better for friends and partners, but I’m used to showing younger wielders how to do this. It’s common for first time wielders to get hurt because they’re inexperienced, especially if they’re weapon is also inexperienced. My husband does the same thing for young weapons.”

Roach pushed down his disappointment that Price was married. The man was a clear dilf. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but he was probably nervous about losing it in a dungeon. 

“Once you find someone else you want to wield or even just want to stop, we can. But Rocket thought it would be good for you. Dungeons are really helpful because they help you face your fears.” 

Roach glanced at Rocket, glaring just a touch. “Whatever he said was probably a gross exaggeration.”

Rocket huffed a little. “I was trying my best! I just thought you could use a hobby and to talk to people. My aunt has told me all ab-”

Roach covered Rocket’s mouth and glared at Price who laughed. “Don’t worry. If you want to go now we can?”

Roach thought about it before nodding and getting up. “Meet you at the dungeon.”

Despite it being explained to him, it was still shocking to see Price disappear. He was just a beam of light for a moment before Rocket grabbed Roach’s hand and lifted it up. 

An axe formed in his hand. Beautiful and ornate. Something about him reminded Roach of old whiskey commercials. Something about the aesthetic. The gorgeous wood handling, gold etching along the blade itself.

Roach almost felt bad he would be using him to fight. 

Price spoke and it was a bit odd. It was like he was whispering in both of his ears. 

Roach didn’t respond, unable to really understand the words anyway. He slowly swung the axe to get a feeling for it. 

It took a while for him to get used to the way Price spoke to him. It sounded garbled at first but he eventually got used to it. 

Roach was surprised by how light Price felt. 

He stepped in to the dungeon now. It looked like an old mall. 

Monsters. Some looked like bundles of yarn. Others looked more like rings. 

The first one lunged at him and it was like Roach just understood something. He swung out immediately. The weapon went straight through them, splitting them and they fell to pieces. 

A grin spread across his face. 

This was going to be fun. 

They fell in to a bit of rhythm. It felt off, not quite in a lock step yet. 

Roach found himself forgetting he had a person in his hands. Each monster would bare it’s teeth and he’d cut straight through them. 

A weight was lifting off his chest. Though he didn’t understand what the fear these things were supposed to be, it felt good to slash at them. 

There was a rest area so Roach got himself a drink. He was right about to ask Price if he wanted one when he paused, seeing a dagger on the ground. It had a chunk missing out of the handle. 

He tapped along Price’s handle and Price shifted back immediately. He looked very concerned as he moved closer to the dagger. Unlike Price, there was no… ornateness. No beauty. It felt… dark. Like the person inside was sleeping.  

“Roach, pick him up for me.”

Roach wondered how he knew it was a guy as he picked the dagger up. 

A shock ran through him. Visceral and powerful. 

It wrapped through his veins. His head pounding. Nerves lighting up at the almost instant connection.

Not a weapon. Or even the weapon. 

His weapon. 

It wasn’t like Price’s voice where it was simply close to his ears. It was directly in his heads.

“Who are you?”

Just as quickly, the feeling was shredded from him. Ripped out in a way that almost felt painful. 

The man that appeared from the smoke. He was strange. Tall and masked and even without seeing him, he knew he was beautiful. 

Dark brown eyes looked at him. “How da-”

Price stepped between them. “Ghost, are you alright? Did your wielder leave you down here? That’s very irresponsible, I’d like their name to report them as soon as possible.”

“I…” Mystery man looked around. “I didn’t go in a dungeon. I was at home… I need to go.” He left as quickly as he appeared. 

Roach was already enamored and he knew without a doubt that he wanted to wield him and him specifically. 

Price glanced at him. “No. don’t even think about it. He is not going to be good for you.” 

[savemesomenachos]

A Change of Heart - Chapter 1

I’d recognise you in another life.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader, Christine Lenker (OC) x Reader

Warnings: Nothing for this chapter. Age gap between the reader and Joel but not significant (5-6 years ish). Reader is AFAB but uses they/them pronouns. 

A/N: I’m sorry it took sooooo long but it’s finally here

Word count: 2.5k +

Well, this is fucking stupid. Turn around and walk away.

Turn around and walk away.

Turn around and-

“Where you goin’ kid?” Tommy’s voice rings out in a gruff Texan drawl that’s been growing on you. He crosses the street in three long strides and a very-happy-with-himself smile on his face and swings an arm around your shoulder which almost trips you. He’d been quite the character for as long as you can remember, and it’s been a while. The wife only exacerbated his constant smiling, and you were as happy as you could be for him, but you’d never tell him that. 

“I was actually heading to yours, wanted to drop off the cookies I made for Maria”, you mumbled, shrugging his arm off and increasing your pace, wanting to avoid all conversation. Tommy had this…gift as he called it; He knew instantly when your mood was off or when you’re not telling the truth. This could turn out to be one of those moments unless you power-walked to his house and finished what you came for: cookies.

“Kid, you know I ain’t letting you off that easy right?” he says, turning a concerned eye towards you. Damn, it might be too late.

“Tommy, I have stuff to do, okay? Move,” you command and return his gaze with a stern one of your own. He stares at you a beat longer and shit shit, he kno- 

“Okay, but you better come over for Christmas dinner this year. Maria’s always asking about you kid.” Phew.

“…Fine. For Maria,” you respond, struggling to contain my breath of relief at his ignorance of the volcano of feelings threatening to tear your chest wide open. Holiday season in the apocalypse was not fun for everyone but you didn’t have it in you to break Tommy’s or worse, Maria’s heart.

“Whatever you say kid, I’ll take those cookies of your hand, you can get back to your ‘stuff’,” he says, putting up his fingers in air-quotes. He reaches out to grab the box of cookies from your hands, but you pull it back, just out of reach. 

“These better make it to Maria or I’ll hear about it.” Your attempts to make a threat prove futile as Tommy manages to manoeuvre the box out of your hands with his signature smirk plastered all over his face and his eyes shining with amusement. “Aye aye cap’n,” he signs off with a goofy laugh spilling from his lips and continuing in the direction of his home. 

A smile threatens to take over you face as you watch his figure retreat in the distance. But then you remember, you have to go home…alone. The smile never comes, and your heartbeat stumbles at the thought of being alone. You would have thought you’d be used to it by now, what with the apocalypse and a dead family. You thought you were used to it until you met him. Images threaten to take over your mind and you shake your head as if to physically get rid of the feelings his thoughts always brought on. Unfortunately for you, there was no seeing him again. Ever probably.  

Sometimes when you’re alone, you think back to the months you spent with him and wonder if he’s still alive. Maybe alone and still on the road like when you met him. Or maybe he’s settled down now. Found a home, a partner, a family. Or maybe he’s dead or worse, one of the clickers. You wonder if he still thinks about you. About those days you spent trekking through ruined cities and camping out in desolate buildings at night. Or about the times when he would insist on keeping watch because he was too tense to fall asleep. And the times you had forced him to get some sleep, so he didn’t burn himself out. And the times you held each other in embraces that encompassed your body and mind. Warm, soft and grounding. Embraces that tethered you to each other and made you feel alive and dizzy and safe.  Something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Sure, Jackson is safe. You have a few friends scattered around the settlement that you couldn’t imagine life without anymore but there’s something about being wrapped up in the arms of someone you love and feeling safe. Your eyes start to burn with unshed tears, and you try to powerwalk your way the rest of the way home and before you know it, your house comes into view. You almost sob at the chance of being in bed and crying your heart about before a figure blocks your view and you walk straight into it.

“I know you love to see me but that kinda hurt,” a buttery voice came above you. Your gaze raises to look at the source of it and your breath gets caught in your throat. Brown locks frame her face and small wisps of hair get caught in her lashes which lift, giving you a view of those familiar hazel eyes. Your eyes trail down her plump cheeks and lips when you see them tilt upward in a smile. 

“I bought you something,” her voice sounds again. You swallow hard in an effort to clear your mouth of its sudden dryness. When you try to speak, your voice comes out croakier than you had hoped.

“What is it,” you rasp and immediately cough to cover up your nervousness. She smiles even wider and shows you the item she had tucked behind her back the whole time. It’s…coffee. 

“You…where did you find that?” you gasp, as she places the bag of coffee in your hands, and you inspect it for the liquid gold it’s going to be once you make it to your kitchen. Your eyes raise to meet hers again and you see a shimmer of something that you’re not ready to accept yet. 

“Patrol,” she answers, looking right back into your eyes. “Found an abandoned house a few miles out, got rid of a few clickers and found this bad boy just sitting on a shelf,” she says as she shifts nervously on her feet while her fingers begin to wind and unwind, a tell-tale sign of her fidgeting.

“Christine…” you trail off, while staring at the bag of coffee in your hands. “I can’t accept this, it might be the last bag you find in a while,” your arms stretch out in front of you, offering the coffee back.

“It’s a gift,” she announces, while covering your hands with her soft ones. She’s holding your hands and it’s the softest thing you’ve felt in a while and you’re gonna think about this for-.

“Keep it,” she clasps your hands that hold the bag that you’ll probably go through in a week. She smiles widely and squeezes your shoulder in reassurance, but it only makes your heart lurch at her warm touch. She turns to walk away with a whispered ‘bye’ leaving you with, what can only be described as heart eyes. You stare at her back for a long while and secretly hope she looks back, but she never does. You exhale a long, tired sigh and stare at the coffee in your hands. Coffee. You couldn’t believe two things: a. coffee still managed to survive the outbreak and b. she just gave it to you. Like it was nothing. But it did mean something to you. How could she possibly- A gasp leaves your lips as realisation floods your consciousness.  

“You know what I miss the most from before?” you slur drunkenly, while leaning heavily on your arm that was resting at the bar. Christine looks at you with unfocused eyes and red in her cheeks, probably as drunk as you are right now but neither of you seem to care. She takes a long sip from her whisky and tucks her palm underneath her chin, resting her elbow on the bar. 

“Your house?” she mutters with an unsteady hand spilling whisky on your hand. She giggles when she realises what she’s done and starts to apologise but you can only muster a loud giggle in response before you make a very slow attempt to wipe your hands on your jeans. The room seemed to be spinning with how many drinks you’d just had but you couldn’t look away from her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, but you could still see the speck of green in her irises if you looked close enough. For a minute you forgot what you were talking about, too lost in looking for that hint of green before she laid a hand on your shoulder. “Well, what is it?” she questions.

“Coffee,” you sigh dreamily. “I had this whole routine, you know. It’s kinda stupid now that I think about it but every morning I’d wake up and I’d have the worst mood known to mankind.” She laughed but inched forward, curiously gazing at you, her hand back to being tucked under her chin like a little kid being told a wonderful story. “I’d go downstairs, fire up the espresso machine. God, that fucking espresso machine. It was the fucking best. I’d go brush my teeth while it was heating up, extract a double shot, steam some milk and make very poor attempts at latte art. Every morning. It wasn’t special but it was…” you trailed off as you felt tears pool in the corner of your eyes. “I get it, I had the same thing with cigarettes,” she says, taking a slow sip of her drink. “Couldn’t take a shit without it.” Your ears perked up and it took a second to realise what she was saying. Your eyes locked and you break out into a fit of laughter, keeling over each other and holding your stomach in pain. 

“I can’t believe you just said that” you wheeze through laboured breaths, cheeks hurting from how hard you’d been laughing. “I can’t even imagine you smoking.”

“Yeah well. Guess I’m different now. But the point is that it’s not stupid. I know exactly what you mean. I think it’s okay to miss the little things. Important even. I don’t ever wanna forget what life was before this because it was a big part of me. Those little things made me, me.”

You snap out of your daydream when you hear kids screaming nearby, throwing snowballs at each other. You crack a smile while walking up the steps of your porch and swing the door open, your eyes still focused on the small bag of coffee in your hands. You almost walk into a kitchen counter because you can’t peel your eyes away. No one had been this nice to you in a really long time and while on the surface, it didn’t seem like a big deal, it was to you. It meant the world to you that someone remembered little things about you. It was hard to be kind in the world you were in, and it was nice to see that people still found ways to do that. Even if it was just dated coffee. 

You rummage around in your cabinets before you find one of your most valuable things in the house: a cafetière. You smile triumphantly before filling up the kettle with water and being careful to pour just enough coffee grounds, not wanting to spill or waste any. You rest your elbow on the counter, watching the water bubble and thinking about Christine. You think you’ve become a bit obsessed lately but now that you think about it, you don’t know her that well either. Sure, you’d hung out a bunch of times but all of them were super casual and none of them involved any real get-to-know-each-other conversations. That’d be too much of a date like setting. 

A loud knock on your door makes your ears perk at the sound and silently hope and wonder if its Christine. A smile makes its way onto your lips as you practically skip to the door. You pull it open but its only Tommy. Your smile fades slightly but he notices anyway and raises an eyebrow at your crossed arms and faint smile. 

“Good to see you too darling,” his voice drifts into your open house. “And what the fuck smells so good?” he shoulders past you, leaving you briefly stunned in the doorway and beelines to the kitchen, with you hot on his tail. He raised the bag of coffee to his nose and takes a deep inhale, his eyes closed in concentration. “Wow, that’s some good shit, where in the hell did you find this?” The kettle clicks off and you yank the bag of coffee back, tying it off and putting it back on your shelf. “A friend. Found it on a patrol.” You can feel his smirk before you even see it but you busy your hands, by pouring hot water into the French press and swirling it around with a spoon. 

 Tommy’s voice rings out yet again with a hint of knowing in his voice, “This friend…wouldn’t happen to be Christine, would it?” Your hand stills for a second before continuing to swirl and incorporate the coffee better, before you put the top on and turn your body to face him. “And so, what if it is?” 

“Oh, nothing. Just thought you’d want to tell her how big of a crush you have,” his smirk widens impossibly while he turns around to rummages in the cabinets. “I don’t have a fucking crush Tommy, we’re just good friends.”

“Oh yes, absolutely” he snickers and delicately pours coffee into your favourite mug. “I just think, given that it’s the end of the world, maybe you should consider putting yourself out there kid. It wouldn’t hurt to try at least.”

You felt a twinge in your chest at his words. You knew what he was saying was right, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Not again. How could you explain to him that you did try, and it did hurt. A lot. And sometimes you still think about him, it keeps you awake at night. How could you tell him that you found love in the most unexpected of places at the most unexpected of times, but it wasn’t yours to have in the first place. Tommy was wrong to think that the end of the world is a great place to find love. He did but most don’t. 

“Hey,” his voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay kid?” His concerning gaze almost makes you cave and tell him. “You seemed a bit off earlier too. What’s goin’ on?” He hands you the cup of coffee and guides you to your couch. He sits you down with a comforting hand on your shoulder and sits next to you, keeping his eyes on you the entire time.

“Nothing Tommy. I’m okay.” Lie.  “You know how I get around these holidays. I just…miss my family.” Somewhat true.

“Of course, yeah. I miss my brother too,” he whispers, his eyes downturned and his fingers lacing and unlacing, a sign of his nervousness. “I’m sure he’s okay Tommy. Hell, maybe he’s out looking for you,” he cracks a smile and tuns his eyes on you again. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” he mumbles. 

You frown and take another sip, contemplating the complicated relationship between the brothers.  From what you’ve heard, Tommy split up from the brother a few years after the outbreak when he joined the Fireflies.  They kept in touch for a while until Tommy met Maria.  Since then, Tommy hasn’t radio’d his brother.  

“Maybe you should radio him. He’s probably worried sick and what if he-” “He’ll be fine. Besides, I can’t risk everyone here just so we can talk, can I?” he turns his pleading gaze to you and for a second, you think he might cry.  

“Tommy I-”

“I’m gon’ go ahead and help Maria with dinner. You still coming yeah?”

You sigh and realise that this is not something Tommy wanted to discuss at all.  You smile lightly and nod once, placing your hand in a comforting grip on his shoulder.  He stands up and rubs his palms on his jeans before he walks towards the door.  He glances back at you and smiles before making you promise once more that you’d show up to dinner.  “I said I’d be there Tommy,” you sigh with exasperation and follow him to the door where you playfully push him out and let out a grunt because of his refusal to move from the doorway. 

“Think about what I said kid.  Christine could be good for you,” he ruffles your hair slightly with an annoying laugh and you bat his hand away with a scowl that quickly turns to fondness when he turns back to walk away. 

If only he knew.

★★★★★

Follow @savemesomeextranachos and turn on the notification button for updates❤️

[livwritesstuff]

2002, established relationship, dads!steddie living in boston with their 1yo daughter, another excerpt of this bc i think it's my actual fav part

“I’m done with this goddamn city,” Ed yelled up the stairs, “So fuckin’ serious, Steve. I’m out.”

Steve sighed, well-acquainted with this one of Ed’s many tirades.

Just as he was standing up from where he’d been sitting at his desk looking over some notes and prepping for a counseling session later that afternoon, he heard the door shut loudly (though not a full slam, he noted, because Ed had Moe with him). He headed out into the hallway in time to see Ed coming up the stairs, Moe balanced in one arm.

“What happened now?” Steve asked.

“An idiot BU kid driving Daddy’s Lexus almost T-boned me with Moe in the backseat because — apparently — red lights are just a fucking suggestion here.”

“I mean…I’m pretty sure you ran every red light in Hawkins when you were nineteen.”

It wasn’t a helpful comment, per se, and Steve knew that, but when Ed was riled up like this, there really weren’t any helpful comments available.

“That’s entirely different,” Ed countered, passing Moe over to him so he could pull off his own jacket, “There’s, like, six people on the road at any given moment in Hawkins, and two traffic lights.”

“Okay, well, we can move, love,” Steve said tiredly, steadily approaching his limit for how many times he could listen to Eddie rant about this particular issue without taking any sort of real action to solve it, “Nobody said we had to stay in Boston. Also — we can actually afford to buy a house now, so…”

“Wha— we can?”

“A down payment, yeah.”

“The fuck is a downpayment?”

“Uh…” Steve paused. He’d long since become comfortable with his role in his and Ed’s finances — being that he’s almost entirely in charge of them. He knew that Ed had grown up worrying about money in a way that Steve never had to so he actually liked being able to take over that part of their life together. He liked being able to let Ed not think about it (even though sometimes it meant that his thirty-five-year-old life partner asked him what a goddamn down payment was), “It’s kind of like putting a security deposit down on an apartment, except instead of for securing a lease, it’s for securing a loan — sort of. That’s…there’s better ways of explaining it, and there’s a lot more to it, but it’s sort of like we’re paying a certain amount of the mortgage upfront to prove that we’re committed to paying it off month-to-month.”

“How much is it?”

“Depends,” Steve shrugged, running a hand over Moe’s hair as she started to doze off, her head drooping down to rest on his shoulder, “Pretty sure twenty percent is considered, like, ideal, or something, so it all comes down to what our budget is.”

“What’s our budget?”

Steve leveled an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Ed asked.

“Do you actually wanna know? Because when I tried to show you our electric bill last week you pretended to be asleep.”

“Uh — buying a fuckin’ house together is totally different from you reprimanding me about leaving the heat on too long.”

“I don’t think I’d have to reprimand you anymore if you saw the electric bill.”

“Okay — yes, Stevie, I actually would like to be involved in our finances just this once because I care very, very deeply about us buying a house. I really do.”

“Alright,” he replied, knowing he still sounded a tad skeptical, “I mean, if you actually wanna know about this stuff, I’ve got some spreadsheets I’ve been using to keep track of that kind of thing, and we can—”

“Baby, if you wanted to talk about spreading sheets, all you had to do was ask,” Ed grinned wickedly, an expression that slowly began to fade as his eyes slid off of Steve’s and onto the opposite wall, probably as he considered how wise a comment that had been to make.

Steve stared at him for a long while.

“Okay,” he finally said, “I’m gonna go put our child down for a nap. If in that time you decide you can be a grownup while we talk about spending a fuck-load of money on property we’ll own and be entirely responsible for, let me know.”

“You got it, man.” 

[fromtheshadowsnyc2]

Entry 1: New York State of Mind

[All dividers are credited to @saradika-graphics]

[Green Divider is credited to @firefly-graphics]

God, I hate living here.

I think that about a thousand times a day. When I’m forced awake from my alarm, when my mom yells at me to shower and get ready for another day at school. When I’m putting on the uniform for that snotty school I’m somehow attending. When I’m packing my little brothers’ lunchboxes while chewing on a freshly toasted poptart. When I’m dragging my feet to the train station. When I’m boarding the 6 train with the crowd waiting on the elevated station. When I get off at a station downtown and have to inhale the fresh ick from the subway as I walk up to the surface. When I have to dodge every idiot tourist or every other person trying to commute and live their lives.

You get the gist. No one hates New York more than someone who was actually born here. And it only gets worse the more you get randos from other states moving in and getting rid of what you actually loved about this place.

Ugh, another one? 

I frown at a new store sitting in the corner, where one of my fave bodegas used to rest. Replaced by another pretentious coffee shop/bakery mix. Probably run by some hipster idiot who will call 311 to complain about the loud Spanish and hip-hop music in the neighborhood.

Really tragic, honestly. Abdul was the only guy in this part of Manhattan who made a decent chop cheese. Plus, I liked his cat.

Unfortunately, this kind of cultural casualty has become all too common in the city these past couple years. From Washington Heights to Brooklyn, there’s barely anything that resembles the real NY anymore. Even Queens isn’t safe. It won’t be long until it infects my neck of the woods. It’s inevitable at this point.

Best that I can do is just dart my eyes forward and keep on walking.

The Stockman Academy for the Sciences is one of those fancy private schools you can only attend if you win a school scholarship—or if you’re a millionaire. 

Or, if you’re…

“Nice to see you showed up on time, charity case,” says a prim voice as I walk into homeroom. She’s surrounded by her usual minions, and making a show of fixing her make-up, her eyes on a compact mirror. “I was starting to think you finally gave up.” 

A retort does claw at my throat, but I hold it back and just walk to the furthest seat away from her, my fists trembling in the pockets of my school sweater. If there’s anyone in this school who walks around like their ass doesn’t stink, it would be Antonia Stockman—who is, of course, the only daughter of the school’s founder and current CEO the city’s most prominent science industries. Why does she feel the need to bother me? No idea. Far as I know, I didn’t do anything to her. Most days, I just use the same method I used back in my old school. Keep your head down, eyes forward, and mouth shut. No one can hurt you if you become invisible, right?

It’s just…very difficult, when you’re a poor kid surrounded by the children of New York’s elite. Everyone notices you’re different then. Like a smell you can’t wash off.

The moment I sit and set down my backpack, I reach inside and pull out a book I’ve been trying to finish. I’d go on my phone, but they aren’t allowed in school, which just makes my insides twist. I really want to message Cleo right now. Chatting with her always makes me feel better. Plus, it’s been so long since we hung out or even had a real conversation. Things have been a little…weird between us since I started attending Stockman Academy. In a way that makes me a little too anxious. What could be going on with her? 

It’s not even eight yet, and I already feel like I’m going to vomit.

Going to classes is a reprieve from anything involving socializing. I’m actually a decent student, and the teachers here make things interesting. (I guess there’s something to what my mom said about me needing a challenge.) But my favorite subject? It's a senior English elective, Investigative Journalism, which is taught by—

“So, can anyone tell me the impact of Upton Sinclair’s book The Jungle?”

My hand shoots up immediately and I make sure to keep eye contact with her. Pretty sure the selection isn’t hard, since barely anyone answers most days. Usually, in any other class, I’d join them in the usual student apathy—but of all the teachers in this school, she’s who I want to impress most.

She glances around the room before smiling at me. Then she gives a nod. I sit up, a nervous excitement fluttering through me. It’s nice to be noticed, sometimes.

“Because Sinclair revealed its grisly practices and what exactly was going in their products, the meatpacking industry had to change how they mix and package their meat. Including…”

I continue on for barely a minute, knowing I’ll probably end up talking too much. I don’t participate a lot, but when I do, my nerves make it hard for me to…well, stop talking. And I hate that, because I end up stuttering and sounding so…so dumb.

But not this time! I think, keeping my smile casual on the outside and beaming on the inside. No stutter, no rambling, I was perfect! I hope.

I truly do. Ms. O’Neil is not only the nicest teacher here, she is like The Journalist to learn from. Couple years back, she was the face you’d see in the mornings, talking about the issues and stories many news outlets refused to discuss. She called out the previous mayor and the NYPD commissioner for their neglect of crimes in certain areas, especially the still growing gang activity. Especially regarding news about the most recent gang that’s popped up, the elusive and dangerous Foot Clan.

No idea how she ended up teaching here. But I did notice sometime last year or so, she wasn’t reporting the news as much. A lot of the stories she’d been updating had been pushed aside for celebrity scandals and other big fluff pieces. Nothing that really mattered. For a while, her old network seemed to pretend she didn’t exist. 

Maybe she finally said too much. Maybe she finally pissed off the wrong person. Whatever the reason, I’m glad to see she’s still around—and that she’s teaching my class. She makes me feel like I still have a little luck.

“You did good today, kid! I see you’re growing more confident,” she says to me after class, her grin wide.

I feel ready to burst out of my skin and turn into butterflies. She’ll never really know how much that means to me, coming from her.

“Thanks Ms. O’Neil! Um, are we still meeting after school on Friday?” I ask, referring to the school newspaper. 

“Definitely! Gotta give you kids your assignments for next month’s issue. Unless you have any suggestions or requests?” she adds, her tone already knowing—but of course it is, she’s amazing—and eyes slightly narrowed behind her glasses.

My smile widens and I reach into my bag to pull out a folder.

“I actually have an idea for a series! Remember how we talked about New York’s gentrification a week ago? Well, I was thinking of going around certain spots in the city and talking about the longtime businesses still there. Like restaurants, bodegas, or indie bookshops, even—a lot of the stuff that helps a neighborhood retain its culture, y’know? I actually have some ideas already…”

My voice trails off as I pull out some pictures I took last weekend, of places I’ve been visiting since I was little. Fortunately, some things in the Bronx haven’t really changed too much. It still feels like home.

Ms. O’Neil looks at each picture, her smile growing and her eyes gleaming with each one. When her eyes meet mine again, I want to think she’s proud of me. 

“This is a great idea, kiddo. Let’s talk more about it on Friday.”

Needless to say, I was on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

“—Aw, that’s awesome, dude! Ya think O’Neil will approve my idea too?”

“What? About the secret population of underground mutant humanoids or whatever? Please, Norman,” says my friend Sakina, rolling her eyes while sitting next to me.

“Oh, right, like your idea about aliens is any better!”

“At least I have evidence!”

“Based on old Japanese water paintings and mythology!”

“Oh? Oh, okay—!”

The old argument continues while I sit between them on the quad, but as annoying as it is listening to two weirdos argue about the same fucking thing, these two weirdos are the only friends I’ve managed to make at the academy. So, I don’t really mind. Too much.

“C’mon, dude, we need you as a tiebreaker! You gotta have an opinion on one of our theories,” Norman begs me, his voice nasally and grating. “Aliens vs. Mutants?”

Pressing my mouth closed, I let out a hum in negative while shaking my head. “No way, man. I’m not touching either of your corners of weird. Like, aliens—okay, that’s at least something people have talked about for decades. But mutants? Let alone a secret society of mutants?”

“Who choose to live in the sewers, of all places,” Sakina adds emphatically, her eyes rolling to the sky in near pleading before she murmurs a soft prayer in Arabic. 

“Well, I mean. Would it really be a choice? Considering humanity’s track record of…well, everything?” Norman finishes in a cringe.

Still, the words weigh heavily in the air. We all look at each other before looking away in thought. Sometimes, in the face of the obvious, there is no perfect response.

Suddenly, Norman’s phone goes off. He quickly takes it out and unlocks it. When he sees what’s on the screen, he lets out a sigh and pushes up his glasses.

“That’s my mom. She’s waiting for me out front,” he grouses. Then he sends us a worried look. “You two sure you don’t want a ride?”

Surprisingly, Sakina smiles up at him. “Thanks, but I live all the way in Astoria, Norm. It would be too far out of the way.”

“Yeah, and I have to do a shift at Gino’s tonight,” I add. “Thanks, though. Discord later?”

He grins. “Hell yeah! I gotta play some Mass Effect tonight anyway. I’m this close—this close— to romancing Miranda.”

I chuckle, my chest bubbling with joy as I watch him walk away. Then I shake my head. That kid can be too much sometimes.

“The heck is Mass Effect?” Sakina asks, once he’s far enough.

“An old video game series. You might like it, though. It’s like a space opera thing,” I explain. Then, with a mischievous smirk, I add, “With aliens.”

“Hmm…are there aliens I can seduce?”

I nod. “One of them has tentacles—on her head.”

Sakina’s eyes widen. “Hmm! Color me intrigued.” 

I laugh, and then start standing up.

“C’mon, we got a train to catch.”

The train ride with Sakina is fairly smooth and quiet, considering we’re going further downtown. We were fortunate to be able to find a car that was roomy enough for us to find seats next to each other. For a good few minutes, we sit in peace—at least, until.

“…For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’ve chosen to write about something else,” Sakina speaks softly. “Other than…”

Her voice trails off, but she doesn’t have to say it. I already know.

“A baby journalist’s hit piece on the Foot Clan?” I finish, my voice rather dry.

“Girl, you know it would have been dangerous. O’Neil freaked when you even suggested it!”

“Believe me, you don’t have to remind me…” 

I already remember.

(“Absolutely not!”

“But why?!”

“Because they are dangerous, kid! They’re not just a bunch of cosplayers who dress as ninjas for fun, they hurt people. And they will do worse to anyone snooping around!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” I yelled back, tears springing to my eyes. “O'Neil, they’ve started recruiting people around my ‘hood! They’ve killed or taken people I know—and no one in this city is doing anything about it! No one thinks we’re important enough.”

“That’s not—”

“The only person who did was you! And you’re not doing it anymore!”

“…”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.” 

There was this…this look on her face. Her jaw slack. Her eyes were vacant. Like she wasn’t there for a moment—like she was somewhere else. It frightened me. What happened to her? Why did she stop working for the news? 

But in a sharp breath, April O’Neil was back and looking at me with shining dark eyes. Her hands went to my shoulders.

“Kid, the only reason I became so good at what I do is because of the connections I’ve made. Some that are more special than others. The only reason I’m still breathing today is because of those connections,” she told me, her voice full of a fear that scared me deeply, in a way I didn’t understand. “But you…you’re still a kid. This is not a battle you should fight…not on your own. You have to leave it to those who can.”)

I wanted to retort some more, but my momentum was already gone after the confrontation. I was just left feeling much like a know nothing kid. And isn’t that the truth? Yeah, sure, it feels like giving up but—I have to face the truth. Who am I compared to the great April O’Neil? Maybe it’s just best to stay in my lane.

Talking about the parts of NY yet to be gentrified? Much safer. And it’s still something I care deeply about. Hopefully, the students who read The Stockman Herald will like it too. 

“Trust me, I learned my lesson,” I tell Sakina. “No pursuing dangerous people for the sake of a story.”

“Good. Wait until you’re a real journalist. Or at least until you know how to actually fight.”

“Hey, I came from an area where fights happen every second of every day! You can’t blame me for having a conflict aversion.”

Sakina points at her head and says in a drawl, “I literally broke a fuckboy’s nose for attempting to tear off my hijab, I have all the right to blame you.”

I let out a chortle. “Okay, okay! You don’t have to keep reminding me. I’m well aware of your badass status.”

We both share a smile and then shift our conversation to other topics, like the other classes we take and what else we plan to do for the school newspaper. By the time it’s time for Sakina to get off and transfer to her next train, I feel my mood has lifted more than quite a bit. Even still not getting a response from Cleo doesn’t bother me as much; I’m sure she’s just busy. 

I put in my earbuds and turn on my playlist, allowing myself to ride the calm of the subway ride. Might as well enjoy the peace now, before I spend the next few hours helping to make and deliver pizza.

[coffee-in-that-nebula]

It's still pride month - some thoughts on my sexual orientation.

I’m 30 years old, and sometimes I feel bad for not having figured things out entirely when it comes to my sexual orientation. But, oh, I’ve come a long way.

I come from a homophobic country, and even worse, I live in a small town. In simple words, this means that people CAN’T be open about their sexuality because they won’t be accepted and treated as equals. We won’t be able to find jobs, socialize, and in many cases even walk safely outside. Things are better in big cities, but far from perfect.

So, it took me a while to accept that I’m not straight. I’m going to admit that when I was around 18, I hoped I was straight because it was just the easiest way. But I wasn’t, and unfortunately, I had to deal with relationships and partners that didn’t benefit me in any way, and in some cases, they weren’t even good for me - or I was too good for them.

When I started exploring my sexuality, around 19-21 years old, my flings and I were hiding. We could be open only in certain places and bars, and only among certain people - and that was in a city that I was living at the time, not even at my miserable hometown. Let’s not talk about the internalized shame, fear, and guilt - yes, they existed.

Anyway, for years I identified either as lesbian or as pansexual - during different periods of time - so my sexual orientantion was/is fluid. It usually didn’t bother me, because I used to not be a fan of labels anyway. I’d usually give a certain orientantion to myself only when someone would ask.

But nowadays, history has proven that I’m pansexual and my orientation has actually been fixed for a while.

After the major depressive episode I went through last year, in some ways (and maybe in most ways) I’m rebuilding myself, and I started liking ‘labels’ because they help me understand and accept myself better. So, yes, I’m pansexual, and I started talking openly about it to the people who are close to me. And I was so open maybe for the very first time in my life - yes, at fucking 30.

Then, I came out to my mother. My father passed away when I was about 23, so I didn’t have the chance to talk to him about it. I like to believe that he would have been supportive, although, in all honesty, I have no idea that this would have been the case. My mother wasn’t supportive, and I didn’t expect her to be. Actually, I didn’t even want to come out to her so I could be open about my love life - I’ve always been private with my family regarding this. I was just fed up with her homophobia, her constant bitching and our constant fighting that didn’t lead anywhere anyway.

So, it didn’t go well, and I couldn’t care less. I’m grateful that I did it at the perfect time for me - mentally, emotionally, and financially stable. Probably 5 years ago, I’d have cared more. I’d have been hurt, and I’d have wanted both her support and validation.

Now, I’m just moving out into my own place and I couldn’t be happier.

Anyway, it’s been an exciting and confusing journey. Just yesterday I was googling things like… “can I be pansexual and sapphic?” and “can I be pansexual and femme?” - just things I’m identifying with, and somehow I’d like to make sure that I’m valid for feeling this way. And yes, I’m valid, and for the first time in my life, I am able to rediscover and build myself around my sexual orientation. I’m not… actively hiding it anymore. Yes, I still live in the same country and in the same town (at least for the time being) but many people in my life know and whether they’ve accepted it or not, I can just go on feeling more relieved than I’ve felt in years.

But yes, it’s still a journey, and I expect journeys to have their ups and downs.

[swordswoman97]

Confessions to the Dead

I wrote a little angsty drabble. You can (partially) thank the PowCreations discord for the idea.

A year after Iris’s defeat, just before dawn, Owen made her way out of the city tavern, down the path to the Nightingale base.

Eventually (and yet all too soon at the same time) he reached her destination. The grave was simple, but the bright star made it obvious exactly who it belonged to.

Taking a deep breath, she sat down beside it, staring up at the stars to avoid looking at it too long, not that looking at the stars hurt much less.

“I came back,” She said after a minute. “Figured… figured I should see at least one thing through to the end. Still haven’t decided if I want to ask Christian to put my name back on the Heron registry. Not sure if I have the nerve. Not like I’m actually here much anyway…”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “We won, Iris is dead, Ivy too. With the ice wall gone, there’s an awful lot to find out there. A lot of us went out there.”

“I… I’m sorry. I know when I left I let you think I didn’t care. About the isle, about the people on it…. About you.”

Another deep breath, taking a moment to rub at her face, finally looking down at the grave in front of her. “It’s not true though. I did care. Still do. Especially about you. I liked you. I really liked you. ”

“I suppose that’s another reason I ran. My history with relationships… it’s not the best to put it lightly. None of them exactly ended well. Gabriel suddenly moving on over me just after I realized he liked me back was one of the better outcomes I’ve seen. I was afraid to see how my feelings for you would end up hurting me. So I tried to deny them and ran.”

Owen let out a shaky breath, rubbing at her face, though all it did was spread her tears over more of her face. “And it turns into the worst day of my life all over again. I come back and… And I find out that you’re gone. That I’ll never see you again. Gods, you probably spent your last days hating me.”

“You’d think I’d learn my lesson after what happened with Sam. But no, I just didn’t let myself tell you how I felt. I know I couldn’t have done anything if I had been here. But that doesn’t make it easier. I’m sorry I left Acho. I’m sorry I let you think I didn’t care about you. Cause I did care. I think I could have even loved you.”

Owen looked up, trying to rub the tears from her eyes, pulling his hands away just in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky, as if it had been waiting for him to look.

Despite the tears still gathered in her eyes, he managed a small smile, as a second shooting star flew by, just after the first one.

Taking a shaky breath, Owen leaned back, watching the stars glitter down at her. “I hope wherever you are that you’re happy, Acho. You more than deserve it. And I hope I see you again someday, in another life or whatever comes next. I’ll miss you.”

[tytarax]

Aight imma rant about grape gusher man Zamasu/j

Basically; platonic yan corrupted Zamasu, except he’s so delusional he genuinely believes reader is related by blood to him (more of a long-lost younger sibling thing tho since I doubt he could make up a whole story to legitimize them being his kid).

Zamasu can and will come up with a whole delusion of having a baby sibling that was taken by mortals and wished on the dragon to look human and raised to act like them (none of this is true, but Zamasu won’t listen to reader’s logic because ‘they were too young to remember’ and ‘the mortals just told you that to keep you for themselves!’). The obsession could’ve started out small with unfused Zamasu and Goku Black, and then slowly became more and more broken until it became corrupted Zamasu’s delusion of reader being his biological sibling.

Oh yeah, his personality is also all sorts of messed up too. I’m talking corrupted Zamasu who has fallen off of the end of his rope and has actually gone insane after he won the fight against Trunks, Goku and co. He has destroyed every remnant of the resistance and is now blindly calling (read: screaming) out for his “sibling” to “come out of hiding” because “the human threat is gone and now they are safe” while he searches up and down the rubble remains of the world looking for them (see, I feel like yan Zamasu would be insane, no matter how you spin it, but corrupted Zamasu is that and also somehow even crazier and more delusional).

He could probably regenerate his body over time to no longer be distorted if his immortality still regenerates his body, or he could wish for it by using the time rings to access the dragon balls, but that won’t change a thing about how he acts. He is not calm and collected like regular Fused or unfused Zamasu, and somehow he’s even more unhinged and overprotective than Goku Black ever was (he can and will ensure reader is within his range of sight at all times if he feels like he has to, and might even resort to moving their bed into his room or even forcing them to use his bed platonically just so he knows they are safe). I’d imagine he’d be prone to mood swings, going between his more calm and collected demeanor and his broken and insane one.

Corrupted Zamasu would be more prone to forcing reader into his affection (he gives me hugging reader in the corner of a room energy), and often this more forceful affection would be shown when Zamasu is leaning towards his more broken demeanor (he’d also be the Zamasu most likely to drug reader up to keep them compliant). Zamasu will try and force his delusions upon reader, insisting that they are true and that reader shouldn’t doubt them.

Corrupted Zamasu will get what he wants, even if he has to tear apart the entire world to get it. Poor reader is just so confused and horrified and trying to escape the ruined city before Zamasu can catch them in their game of cat and mouse, and Zamasu won’t ever stop chasing because he wants his ‘younger sibling’ to be by his side for all eternity. There is absolutely nowhere reader can go to escape him, but they won’t know that until they are cornered and there is nowhere else to run.

(lol this one is a bit long, but I enjoyed writing this concept! Originally I was gonna use this idea for unfused Zamasu and Goku Black, but I felt that it worked with corrupted Zamasu better. Poor reader better be very good at evading him, because he probably already wished them immortal so he could ensure they wouldn’t die while he searched for them).

I love the "grape gusher man" nickname for Zamasu

Your take on platonic yandere corrupted Zamasu is so wild, I love it! Him being so delusional that he believes the reader is his long-lost sibling is both creepy and fascinating. I can totally see him coming up with that whole story about the baby sibling being taken and disguised by mortals. His refusal to listen to logic because "they were too young to remember" is peak yandere insanity.

[manicjk]

Small Town Crazy ~ A Jensen Ackles RPF ~

Pt. 1

A/N: I posted a rough draft of this, but it's been years since I've written anything. The characters and places are mostly just OCs.

~~~~~~

June 17, 

  “No, man. Does it ever get less intimidating?” Jensen asks, as he sips lightly from the glass he held. He had agreed to meet up with his friend Steve, who was staying in Nashville again. They had played a show the night before, but split right after, so he could rest after flying in from a convention in Nevada, 

Steve laughed in response, then answered, “ I can lie and tell ya yes, but we both know better. Probably doesn’t help to be exhausted.” 

Jensen had always been a nervous performer, or rather person in general; and it definitely didn’t add any steel resolve that he hadn’t had so much as a night’s rest before their show. He admittedly always channeled his inner Dean Winchester when he felt nervous or tired, he knew he would push through easier that way. He did feel much better after the hot shower, complimentary breakfast (no, he would never turn down a free complimentary breakfast, obviously), and a good 6 hour sleep. 

The men shared another laugh, but Jensen had needed to speak to his friend seriously. The comment had only reminded him, “Speaking of, I was meaning to talk to you about what’s going on. Really what i’d like to work on, run it by you, just see how you feel about it.” 

“Yeah, no problem, man. What’s up?”

“Well, Nevada was the last of our conventions, at least for now, I don’t have anything lined up to work on, and as you so kindly pointed out- I am a little buffered,” he chuckled, but they both knew it was a serious conversation, “I didn’t know what I was going to do before we started the trip, but I did know I wanted to try to focus on something a little different. I didn’t re-sign my lease in Austin. I’m supposed to go look at an apartment complex in Rockford.” 

“Okay, that’s about an hour from here, but your friends and family are back in Texas, that’s a big move, man.” 

“It is, but flying to see them isn’t such a big deal. I really think just being in small town life for a minute, giving it a try might help me get back to myself.” He really hadn’t had that, he grew up in a decent sized city, and had stayed busy most of his life. It can be taxing to always try being other people, especially when you do it for so long that your lives seem to blend. That, and that living in Austin, as notorious as it was to be recognized there, it left even less time to have a day off. 

“Sure, sure. You know I support you, and I know you wouldn’t even try it if it wasn’t something you thought you needed to do. What are you gonna do?”

“I would like to work on writing some music, maybe explore a few hobbies, just decompress.” 

“Well, I don’t really have much to do until later tomorrow night. If you need a partner, i’m down to go check out the place with you. Have you been looking at other places, there a reason you’re gunning for that one?”

“I’d really appreciate that. I looked at a lot actually, in a lot of places, but the views there are real nice, good trails, it seems quaint, but the place doesn’t look bad. The agent I got in touch with said it could be reserved, booked the day, and said if I decide to go with it, we could start with the paperwork whenever.”

“In that case, I think we ought to turn in our glasses and try for some sleep before we make the drive, what do you say?” Steve would back Jensen, they were friends. He didn’t think it would be bad for him to reconnect with himself anyway, afterall, he enjoyed getting back to a peaceful place and working on music too. 

–

When Jensen turned in that night, he couldn’t help but feel a bit less tension in his shoulders. He was excited to explore a new chapter of his life. 

~~~~

She was just packing away her things, getting ready to leave the factory where she worked. Her clothes were caked in grease and dirt. It had been a rather long day, she felt exhausted, and still she had responsibilities awaiting her at home. 

“Hey did you hear what Jason did?” Gia, her co-worker, and ever energetic drama queen asked. Gia was always finding Noel at the end of the night, filling her in on anything and everything happening almost anywhere within the building. It was the most human interaction she had.

“I definitely did not,” she laughed,Gia was dramatic, but she was about the closest thing to a true friend she’s ever had. 

“Well, apparently when Mitch -the supervisor on line one- came in he saw Jason with Amy! Like, completely all over each other on the line. It was so gross-” she didn’t mean to zone out, but she knew Gia wouldn’t notice, and also that she knew how busy Noel was. Noel found herself picking back up on the tail end of her rant about their romping co-workers, “-but we can talk about that later. Oh my god, I totally didn’t even realize, I forgot my gear on the line. Love ya, later chick!”

“For sure, can’t wait! Be safe leaving. See you tomorrow.” Noel was anxious to leave. She almost ran to her black Ford, like it was a life raft. 

She pulled off her protective glasses, and face mask, throwing them into her door bin with a sigh. Tugging her short dark hair from its bun, she started her car and touched the dial on her radio; her hands were grimey, but it was normal. “Calling You” blared through the speakers, she had a good 30 minute drive home, and all she wanted to do was roll down her windows and enjoy the June breeze through her car. She wanted to feel the wind blow her locks around and hear the radio blare. 

Seeing mile markers and road signs getting closer to what she had called home for as long as she could remember; she turned down the long gravel drive, the grass patch growing between the worn tracks, a stark contrast to the concrete and asphalt she had been on moments ago. A long black wooden fence showed through to cattle, and her dogs followed along the fence row.

She got out making sure to give her pets some attention, not bothering to go toward the divided house, but rather straight toward the barn behind it. She flipped on the lights, and got ready to do what she needed to there. 

In all her chores, she had managed to forget that her realtor had mentioned someone coming to look at the vacancy tomorrow.