#i probably haven’t watched this in like eight years or so. six maybe at the least

[mildmayfoxe]

ok i’m going to watch hot fuzz (2007). this one i have seen before. several times

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!

word count: 2.8k

tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy

direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver

summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately

It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.

A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.

It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.

The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.

It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.

You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.

The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.

You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.

And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.

But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.

A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.

“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.

“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.

Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.

You’ve missed two periods.

Without even realizing it.

To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.

Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?

It didn’t work out so well last time.

You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.

Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.

Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.

You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.

The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.

He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.

The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.

Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.

The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.

“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.

Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.

You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.

At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.

Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.

The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.

It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.

Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.

If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.

But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.

The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.

You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.

The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.

“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.

Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.

“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”

The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.

You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.

True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”

“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”

“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”

Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.

“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.

The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.

“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.

“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”

It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.

“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”

Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.

“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”

“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.

He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”

He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”

“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”

Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”

“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”

The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.

Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”

You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.

Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.

There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.

The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.

With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.

It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.

The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.

‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’

It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.

Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.

[girlacticrailroad]

the top five GLs of 2024

2024 is maybe the first year in human history you could conceivably have a Top Ten list for GLs. That in itself is momentous. I’m not going to actually do a Top Ten because, although I probably watched ten shows released last year (it is my duty and my curse to consume all things GL-related), I certainly wouldn’t recommend them all. I do however recommend all of these! With caveats of course.

There are a few shows I haven’t seen yet that might deserve a spot on this list. Brazilian GL Xeque-Mate came out last year but I haven’t gotten around to it. Although the first season ran in 2022, the second season of She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat aired in 2024. I’m sure there are others I missed.

The huge wave of GL releases on the horizon makes me hopeful that 2025 will bring us enough quality to do a proper Top Ten. Until then you’ll have to settle for this Top Five...plus a lil extra.

Honorable Mention: Apple My Love

If you’re a gay loser and your friend group isn’t this iconic, what are you doing with your life?

By my count there were six Chao Planoy adaptations released in 2024 (six!!), of which Apple My Love had by far the best opening credits and theme song. Other distinguishing features include the cute friend group and the mind-boggling ten-minute love scene, which I cannot believe was actually filmed and aired. Overall I like Apple My Love for its scrappy underdog “little rom-com that could” energy. It’s like a nice little speedrun of every GL trope. (Except for the aforementioned love scene, which feels like being trapped in lesbian purgatory. Was the editor on holiday perhaps? Were they trying to set some sort of record?)

5. Ayaka Is in Love with Hiroko!

The colors are very good.

Ayaka Is in Love with Hiroko! is by far the best Japanese GL I’ve seen. It’s also short, sweet, and to the point—just eight half-hour episodes. Despite being an over-the-top workplace comedy, it’s refreshingly grounded in actual LGBTQ experience and culture (at least compared to something like Gap). Hiroko has known she’s into women since high school. She frequents a lesbian bar where she rants about oblivious straight girls who act flirty without realizing it. Authentic details like these make the characters feel real. The series addresses the challenges faced by queer women in the workplace while keeping the tone mostly light and sweet.

4. Reverse 4 You

That height difference tho.

I’m sorry but there’s a four in the title. I couldn’t resist. Reverse 4 You is the first Thai GL series to prominently feature time travel. And also murder, probably. And it’s surprisingly not bad! The characters are good, the romance is cute, the tropes are troping, as they say. And the plot, while it’s not the deepest or most original, is a nice change of pace from the typical relationship drama. Oh and Vivi, the little sister, is adorable! The only major problem is the rushed ending, an unfortunate consequence of trying to cram a 700-page novel into 8 episodes. (A sort-of sequel, Reverse With Me, based on another book in the same series, is currently airing, but I haven’t watched it.)

3. Affair

Gals being pals.

Affair requires the longest string of disclaimers of any show on this list. So uhh let’s get this out of the way: If you’re looking for healthy relationship dynamics, Affair is not the show for you. Wan and Pleng share exactly one horny brain cell, and they don’t share it nicely. If you’re looking for thoughtful and nuanced writing...Affair is definitely not for you. The characters are pretty one-note—Wan is jealous and possessive, Pleng is guilty and repressed—and the plot is bizonkos. If you’re looking for something well-made in an aesthetic sense, well, Affair looks pretty good at least, by GL standards, though a bit sterile for my taste. But there is really only one reason to watch Affair, at the end of the day, and that is the mesmerizing set-your-screen-on-fire chemistry of Lookmhee Wangpongsathaporn and Sonya Saranphat Pedersen. They are a force of nature. And while the script might be objectively bad, it is very good at engineering situations where Wan looks at Pleng like she’s a big steamy bowl of noodles while their lips hover two inches apart. The tension is unreal. If you can surrender to the silly sexy fantasy of it all (and ignore the fact that, if this were real life, these characters should be seeking psychological help), Affair is a fun romp.

2. Pluto

I literally just noticed that the blurry thing in the foreground is an armillary sphere. Symbolism...?!?

As I discuss at length in my full review, Pluto is a mess. But the highs are high indeed, and I can’t help but admire its ambition, in spite of everything. Worth watching for the chance to see what everyone’s raving about so you can make up your own mind about it.

1. 23.5

ViewJune...gone but not forgotten.

23.5 is the anime you show to your non-anime-watching friends when you don’t want to scare them off. But the Thai GL version of that. It’s not a masterpiece by any means, but it’s not trying to be one. What it is trying to be is a heartwarming high school slice-of-life rom-com—and it’s a really good one of those, with a well-rounded cast full of charm and personality. The side characters, from the bookish devout Buddhist girl Charoen to our neurodivergent queen Aylin, all leave a lasting impression. And while other GLs might reach greater heights of unintentional hilarity, 23.5 is actually funny on purpose! It’s also one of precious few shows to do right by its trans characters. They’re funny because of their personality quirks, and because they play off each other well, not because ha ha trans people; for once they are allowed to have their own lives and story.

Overall, in a banner year for the GL industry, its modest aims and unassuming confidence help 23.5 rise above the rest. If what you want is some damn good comfort food, Ongsa and Sun and crew have got you covered.

Less Honorable Mentions

I’m putting these shows here to say that I have watched them, I just didn’t enjoy them as much as others did, so they didn’t make the cut.

Blank: I’m Blank-neutral. I don’t think anyone is evil for liking the age gap thing (it’s fiction, people!), but the character dynamics weren’t my fave.

The Loyal Pin: I’m sorry, it’s bad. Read my full review here.

Chaser Game W: I haven’t seen Season 2, but Season 1 was bad and racist, so I’m not eager to continue.

Mate: I am slightly ashamed of myself for watching this to the end. It was very bad.

My Marvellous Dream Is You: Okay I lied I haven’t actually watched this one. Everyone seems to agree it was not great though.

Petrichor: Okay I haven’t seen this one either (I don’t have the right streaming service), but ACAB includes the gays, sadly.

The Secret of Us: “It’s cute” is the highest praise I can muster for this series. It’s far from the worst show out there but I don’t get the hype. Recommended if Dr. Wanviva wasn’t enough hot doctor for you.

Unlock Your Love: Unlock Your Love is almost worth watching for Pat. I would protect Pat with my life. Girl pretty brain go vroonm

[zsuo]

headcanon backstory for driver

thank you to @gcslingss for reviewing this for me!

WARNING: i’m going through some heavy topics like abuse and violence.

- he most likely grew up with a lot of violence in his life, i’ve seen people on reddit saying he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to being violent to someone. (which i agree on)

- he’s the only child in his family which can explain his independence and self sufficiency

- he might have come from a rough childhood, neglected or abuse from his parents (also in a neighborhood where it was tough)

- i think the reason why he takes good care of benicio is because he knows what’s it like to grow up without a parent figure with neglect or abuse he doesn’t want benicio to live through the same thing he has (he wants to be a good person)

- from that, since he didn’t have his parents to take care of him, i think he went on to be in the wrong groups of people (mafia or gangs)

- later on, he might have been hired as a hitman before he moved to LA (he seems to have a lot of experience on how to kill in the hotel scene though i’m not sure who could’ve trained him? maybe he was involved in gangs or something)

- shannon said he moved to LA six to eight years ago, i haven’t done the math. i don’t know how old benicio is but we do know irene gave birth to him when she was 18. i think driver maybe mid 20s close to 30. if he’s 25 in that movie, he would’ve been 19 when he met shannon.

- he got tired of killing people, so i think that’s why left and went to LA (hitchhiked his way)

- i like to think he might have walked around the area before spotting shannon’s shop looking for a specific type of older models because he himself drives one and i think he wanted to find a place that has them

- driver loves cars (obv) and probably got that from watching tv or someone who he used to look up to drove a specific type of older model

- also the fact, his jacket and gloves could be from movies or shows he’s watched so when he finally got the money from working with shannon, he brought them

- i don’t think he had any type of romantic relationship with anyone (but i could be wrong) maybe he had some fling

- i also like to headcanon that his name is leo, he seems to be a leo guy but im open to any more names

anyways, this is kind of a rough draft. i’ll still be updating more if i can. you can use these for your fics or whatever. just give me credit if you use them for inspo!

[heyclickadee]

My take (that no one asked for) on every single Star Wars show and non-saga movie:

The Clone Wars (movie): It’s…okay it’s rough. This wasn’t supposed to be a movie at all, putting three episodes of the show together and releasing it theatrically was part of the distribution deal with Cartoon Network, as far as I know, and it does show. It’s grown on me, though.

Clone Wars (The Tartakovsky Series): I think I’m probably in the minority here, but I actually don’t love this one. It’s fun, slick, and stylish, like everything Tartakovsky does is, and I don’t dislike it, but it just doesn’t do much for me. It’s cool. Maybe it’s a little too cool. Great art style, though.

The Clone Wars: Very high highs, very low lows. Though to be honest, I actually love a lot of the goofier episodes. They’re fun. It doesn’t have to be all drama all the time. Sometimes you can let Jar Jar be an agent of chaos. Sometimes you can have an episode about interest rates. I don’t have the nostalgia factor going with TCW the way a lot of people do—I didn’t watch it until I was in my twenties—so I do have to admit that it is tied with one other show as my least favorite of the animated shows, but that’s not a bad thing. I still love it.

Ewoks: I’ve only seen about six episodes. It’s veeerry 80’s. I think eight year old me would have gone insane for this show had I seen it. Adult me actually has a bit of a soft spot for it. I’ll watch the rest of it eventually. (Aaaand now I have the theme song stuck in my head. It’s. It’s definitely a theme song.)

Droids: I…haven’t seen it.

Resistance: I finally had a chance to get all the way through this show (I was eyeballs deep in “okay fine we’ll try this college thing AGAIN” when it was airing and just didn’t have time to check it out) and you know what? It’s actually pretty good. It’s definitely skewed even a little younger than Star Wars typically is, but it does what it does really well. Sort of feel like this one is slept on.

The Mandalorian: It’s a fantastic adventure of the week show. I actually don’t dislike the “plot” episodes, but mostly I’m just here to watch what shenanigans Din and his small green force son get into. Season three is weaker than the first two, but I don’t even really think that season is bad. There was some great stuff in it—just uneven and mixed in with some not so great stuff. Overall, good popcorn viewing, as far as I’m concerned.

Andor: Okay, yeah, Andor is fantastic. I do think some of its popularity is that it’s one of two (maybe three) Star Wars shows made for adults more than anyone else, so some people don’t quite have the same “why isn’t this making me feel like Star Wars did when I was a kid?” dissonance watching it, but it is also genuinely amazing. Probably the best thing Star Wars has ever done even if it’s not technically my favorite.

The Book of Boba Fett: Is it a mess? Yes. Do I still enjoy it? Yeah. My main problem with BoBF is that it’s got some serious structural issues. Even besides Din coming in and taking over two whole episodes, I think that the telling the story via flashbacks was a mistake, and that we should have followed Boba through the childhood bits and slowly caught up to him in the present. Maybe revealed it was all a flashback while he was in the bacta tank from there. And I…don’t love Robert Rodriguez’s directorial style all that much, never really have. That said, I do hope we eventually get more of this, though if we do I think it will be folded into something else. Still don’t love the live action pike design. (I actually have a conspiracy theory that BoBF was originally just a few episodes or even a season of The Mandalorian, and that it was made its own thing for marketing purposes.) I want more Boba, more Fennec, and more Sand People, if nothing else.

Solo: One, killing off Val Beckett was a huge mistake. It’s not story breaking or anything like that, but doing so when she’s one of very few black women in Star Wars and half of one of, like, two interracial couples in the entire franchise means that it hits in a way it wouldn’t if she was someone else. So, yeah, don’t like that. Two, the rest of this movie is a blast and audiences just hate fun. I don’t care that no one asked for this movie, it’s fun and campy and there’s a heist and I like it. Three, Enfys Nest has the sickest armor design in the whole franchise and I need more of her.

Kenobi: So…maybe unpopular opinion here, but…I really like Kenobi. Kenobi’s a delight. It’s not perfect, it’s got some problems, but I like that it’s about a guy who’s that depressed and alone slowly regaining his sense of hope, I like that we had something focus on Leia for a while (because Anakin and Padme had two kids and Leia always gets left second string), I like that you’ve got grifters like Haja and former imperials doing what little bits they can to help even though they can’t fight the whole empire. And I know that thoughts are mixed on this, but I actually thought it made a couple bits of A New Hope make more sense where Leia is concerned; kid me could never figure out how she knew who Ben Kenobi was when that was the name he only went by in exile on Tattooine (“Ben Kenobi? Where is he!?”), and it kind of made the switch from the very formal request for aid on behalf of her father to the more personal, “Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi,” a little more poignant, for me, anyway. Reva is an amazing character, she’s a perfect parallel and eventually perfect foil for Anakin, she’s a mess and a he’s in pain and I just. I love her. I have mixed feelings on the live action Grand Inquisitor’s performance (and mixed feelings on the makeup—on the one hand it could be better and on the other hand the other main live action pau’an we’ve got—the actor’s head was just shaped like that). Nevertheless, this show for me was mostly about the big emotional beats, and it hit all of those really well.

The Bad Batch: This is a magnificent show and I adore it apart from That One Thing and the fact that everything was left completely open, even going into the epilogue, apart from Omega’s coming of age and the Hunter’s and Omega’s relationship’s arc. That was resolved very well. I am mildly insane about this show. I love it. Also, it vexes me. Tied with two other shows as my favorite Star Wars show in spite of all that. Amazing soundtrack. Sidebar: If it turns out I’m right and That One Thing is an extended fake out and we’re not quite done with these characters, I’m sorry, but I’m going to be the most insufferable person alive.

The Acolyte: Everyone is very pretty and just a little stupid. Mae is very fun. The good scenes are very, very good. The writing is pretty uneven; judging from interviews I have a completely different view of writing than Leslye Headland and had a hard time picking up why a lot of the characters did anything, but when it hit, it hit. It’s…very CW drama, which isn’t a bad thing—just not always my thing. That said, Sol is a fascinating concept for a character and Lee Jung-jae did an incredible job with what he was given. Same with Qimir and Manny Jacinto. It’s honestly not my favorite Star Wars show, but I’m still disappointed that it looks like it’s not moving forward. The leftover story might end up being folded into the high republic book series, but I still hope we get some kind of on-screen continuation. I think the public needs more of Darth Babe the Jacked.

Rogue One: It’s great. Yes, the entire main cast dies, but the central message was still about hope. Vader gets to pun. I remain somewhat dismayed that the only thing a portion of the audience took away from it was that the Vader hallway scene was cool. He’s a horror movie monster there. Still a great movie. (Also, Saw, why do you have that??)

Young Jedi Adventures: This skews very young; most Star Wars is for kids in the first place apart from Andor, the Acolyte, and mmaaaaaybe the Tales of anthology (the other live action shows are, in my opinion, solidly whole family), but this really is made for very young children. That said, I have watched it, and it’s a very well done show for very young kids. Also I would die and kill for Nubs.

The “Tales Of” anthology series: Yes, I am counting this as one, because even though there’s a shift in focus from the Jedi to the empire between seasons, it all follows the exact same format and structure. I’d argue this series is the one that’s primarily for the adults who either grew up watching Star Wars animation or got into it as adults. It’s good, lots of atmosphere, the episodes do range in quality but I generally like them, and it’s nice they get to play around with different techniques, like making miniatures and incorporating them into the animation. The Dooku and Barriss episodes are probably my favorites.

Ahsoka: I know the fandom is divided on this, like they are on most things, but I love this one, okay? It’s not perfect, but I have a good time watching it. It just happens to be this perfect blend of campy, fun, dramatic, and mystical that really feels like Star Wars for me. I like it when Star Wars gets weird, has silly little guys, and doesn’t take itself too seriously. Lucky for me that this series has extragalactic travel via whale, Ahsoka being dragged to Force Therapy by Anakin, and Ezra hanging out with the space fraggles. That, and I love some of the concepts. I like the idea that force sensitivity isn’t the be all end all, that connecting to the force is something you can learn with practice even if you weren’t blessed with the genetic lottery. Peridea and the space it occupies in folklore is neat. And the music is wonderful. It is a little uneven, it’s not Andor or anything quite that amazing, but I’m eager for more.

Visions: This anthology is fantastic and you’re missing out if you haven’t seen it. I don’t love every entry, but even the weaker ones are worth seeing once, and the stronger ones are worth seeing a whole lot more than that. It’s a great blend of styles and takes from people normally not involved in creating Star Wars. This is in a three way tie for my favorite Star Wars show.

Rebels: Again, it’s not perfect, because no show is, but I also think it’s the strongest standalone show Star Wars has besides Andor. Yes, there are weaker episodes, but on the whole it’s remarkably consistent, and the second half of season four might be some of my favorite Star Wars outside of parts of the original trilogy. Also, it has some stunning backgrounds, and while the art style doesn’t always work for every character, the character animation ends up really hitting its stride towards the end of the second season, and just gets better from there. And, as always, the music is fantastic. Rebels rounds out that three way tie for my favorite Star Wars show along with TBB and Visions.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Doctor Who: Rogue Review (Doctor Hoot. I Swear That'll be Funny the End of this Review)

You know, I never thought I’d be this grateful to see a murderous owl-person kill someone with lightning and then steal their face, but here we fucking are! Six episodes into an eight-episode run and I’ve never been happier to see Regency ponces get fried with space-electrics. Y’see, Rogue is yer basic bread-and-butter Who episode: a confined environment with a colourful cast of characters who serve as cannon-fodder for a quirky monster-of-the-week with a batshit crazy motive. The Doctor and Insert-Companion-Here show up for a good time then realise there’s a monster-of-the-week at work (because the Doctor is a man who can’t go five minutes without running into something that wants to eat human bones or enslave a planet or whatever) and then they Do A Thing that solves the problem. Along the way, there’s some romance, some cheap shots about how shit and unequal the past was (yeah, ‘cause the 21st Century’s a fucking rose garden- people in glass houses should probably learn to jack off in the basement, etc.) It’s all very funny and energetic and entertaining but at the end the status-quometer has moved maybe one quarter of a degree. In any series of Doctor Who from 2005 to 2015, Rogue would have come and gone largely unnoticed: an enjoyable bit of filler rounding out a twelve-to-thirteen episode run because it can’t all be Daleks and Weeping Angels and meditations on man’s inhumanity to man. Here, in the year 2024, it arrives like a cool, refreshing glass of water in a desert, brought to you, the viewer, by a sexy little butler in very formal hot-pants.

See, aside from Boom! (which had a very good point to make and made it very well), this series of Who has been… well, it hasn’t been bad. Russel T. Davies can write a diverting 45 minutes of television and nobody can take that away from him. But it hasn’t reached the stellar heights of certain the original Who come-back either. Between the Space Babies being creepier than that episode’s monster-that-wasn’t-really-a-monster (NEWS! NEWS! NEWS! unsurprising twist is unsurprising!), Jinkx Monsoon not getting the acting direction she needed to make Maestro properly terrifying, the giant slugs that literally didn’t move the entire time they were on screen and a woman in black whose power was making people run off in a surprisingly camp way, this series has felt very short on effective antagonists. I mean, I get that the vibe we’re going for is ‘the real monster was mankind all along’ chic, but that’s The Twilight Zone and Black Mirror, not Doctor Who. It’d be like if Red Dwarf suddenly came back as a serious drama (aside to whoever’s making the upcoming three eps of Red Dwarf: PLEASE DON’T DO THAT, THERE ARE SO FEW THINGS LEFT THAT I LOVE THAT HAVEN’T BEEN RUINED). So, when, within the first few minutes of Rogue, one Regency Ponce grabbed another by the lapels and fried him with lightning before assuming his form (and then we got a shot of something with a beak), I was like “Oh thank fuck for that! I thought the death-ambulances from Boom! were going to be the only interesting villains this season!”

So, you probably already know (because why would you be reading about Doctor Who if you’re not also watching Doctor Who? It’s not like its a monolith of cultural relevance any more), there are two plots going on in Rogue. The A-plot is that shapeshifting Murder-Owls (the episode calls them ‘Childer’, but they’re fucking Murder-Owls and I will fight anyone who says otherwise) are killing people to assume their form and ‘cosplay’ as human beings. They’re bored: it’s how they pass the time. The B-Plot, meanwhile, involves the Doctor having a whirlwind romance with the titular Rogue, who is a bounty-hunter from the future sent to capture or kill the Murder-Owls. Ultimately, the two plots tie together in a way that gives the episode its emotional heart. Without spoiling anything, the Doctor must sacrifice his budding relationship with Rogue in order to save the day from the monsters-of-the-week, while Rogue, whose been playing the heartless vagabond all episode, must knowingly sacrifice the same in order to save the Doctor’s companion, Ruby, knowing that that friendship and her wellbeing is more important than his own, thereby proving that he was worthy of the Doctor after all, even though proving it means they can’t be together. On paper, it makes perfect sense. In practice… it has some flaws. See, there’s a lot going on in Rogue and the generally fast pacing of Fifteen’s adventures is much in evidence here, but a compelling romance- even a compelling flirtation- takes time to execute properly. It kinda feels like the two don’t really have enough breathing room: they fall for each other in record time because the plot demands it and then get irrevocably separated at the end, also because the plot demands. There’s no sense of slowly building attraction and mutual chemistry, which is a shame, because Rogue himself is an interesting character who, in an ideal universe (one where, for example, season lengths didn’t keep shrinking and squeezing out grace notes) he might have come back and developed properly. Now, even if he does come back, they rushed through so much of his relationship with the Doctor, I’m not sure how they’d salvage it.

I suppose I should mention the fact that it’s the Doctor’s first gay fling. Oh, would you look at that, I just did and now we can move on. Joking aside, I do have some thoughts on the Doctor’s signwaving sexuality, but since none of them are dementedly homophobic or, conversely, overtly Pride-y, they’re not really relevant to this specific episode: they’re more general notes on characterisation and how to do it well from the perspective of a budding professional writer WHO IS GOING TO BE READING AT A PROPER LITERARY FESTIVAL LATER THIS YEAR LIKE A FUCKING BOSS, BY THE WAY! Really, I think the pacing issues here would kill the flair regardless of the gender of the other person involved and that’s kinda all I can add for now. I feel, however, that I can’t really blame writers Kate Herron and Briony Redman. They’re working within the constraints of a shortened season part-funded by an American corporation that doesn’t understand it and produced under the aegis of a showrunner who, while perfectly competent, seems to have lost the magic he had when he brought the series back in 2005.

If all this sounds a bit negative… well, it is and it isn’t. Yes, my opinion of this season of Doctor Who isn’t high compared the show’s heyday, but I am enjoying it enough that I want to see it improve. I don’t critique out of hate, but out of love; out of a desire to see something I cherish learn and improve. We know Doctor Who can be better, so why isn’t it?

But this episode, specifically? Yes, it’s good. The problem is that in most previous seasons it would have been below-average good, whereas in this season it’s above-average good. On the one hand, that’s a bit sad. On the other hand, it’s proof that there are still people around the BBC who know how to write an episode of Doctor Who in the classic mould, and that seems like a good foundation to build on.

[fearsome-series]

Book One [Book Two]

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | [Six] | Seven | Eight | Nine

As Laura slammed the door behind her, she smelled…something…something…

Like a rat.

“Gef?” Laura said. “You awake?”

Gef stirred, slowly opened one eye. “Blast it, you’re a subtle one, aren’t you? Slamming the door like a Buggane’s chains.”

“Stop saying ‘Buggane’ like I should know what a ‘Buggane’ is!” Laura threw herself on her bed. “Don’t explain. Good night, Gef.”

“Don’t you want to hear if anything -”

“Good night, Gef.” She turned away.

“I didn’t see it. The black dog,” Gef said.

Laura turned back. “What, you were looking out for it?”

“I was keeping an eye out. Didn’t want to be its dinner.”

“Or you want us to be safe.”

“I’d never! I’ll be happy to see home tomorrow. You’ll see.”

“Sure, Gef,” and she turned away again.

-------------------------------------------------

Laura woke up again. She heard a distant dog’s barks, a car pulling in late, and Gef’s snores. He lay curled up on the floor. At least someone could sleep.

She tiptoed past Gef, knocked on her parent’s door and asked for dad. After a couple minutes, he stumbled out.

“Laura?”

“I just wanted to say sorry. It’s just been overwhelming, and...I got angry. Sorry.”

“I probably haven’t been helping, huh? I’ve been so concerned. Or curious. Or both. Con-curi-rned.”

“Yeah.” Laura made herself laugh.

Chris and Laura tiptoed to the kitchen. “So, how was school?”

A cult tried to murder me in a bathroom. “It was okay. Uh, I had soccer and after that I met Sam.”

“Huh. Wow. Who’s Sam again?”

“She…plays soccer and basketball. And she’s a werewolf. Is that all you want to talk about? School?”

“Well, I forgot to ask. Kinda busy getting my entire worldview shattered.”

“Yeah. You’ve been through so much,” she said insincerely.

“You too,” he smiled. 

“Uh, how was work?”

“Good. We interviewed some TED Talk tech guy and heard back from Ray. He’s safe.”

“Who’s Ray and what’s he safe from?”

“Do you want to hear about the very depressing news story he was investigating?”

“No.”

Chris patted Laura’s head. “You should get some sleep, Laur.”

“Thanks, dad.” She went back to her room, where Gef watched her with bleary eyes.

“Can’t sleep either?” Laura asked him.

“I was counting sheep like a hungry w…coyote - until you barged in. What were you doing?”

“Saying sorry to my dad for telling him to shut up earlier.”

“Did you mean it?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to talk to someone.”

“Gef’s right here, if you need to talk.”

“Fine. Gef, I keep getting thrown into werewolf shit, and now black-dog-maybe-a-werewolf shit, and I’m tired. I want to talk about anything else, but what else is there? My brain’s thinking about everything and I can’t focus on anything.”

Gef pilfered Laura’s phone from her jacket and flicked through. Laura reached out futilely, tired arms pawing at the air as he swiped furiously just out of reach.

“Downloading, downloading...‘Random Icebreakers’...favorite airline.”

“Who the hell has a favorite airline? They all suck.”

“I stowaway on boats. Favorite season?”

“Summer. Wait, spring. You?”

“Fall. Why?”

“It’s warm but not too warm…you?”

“Everything’s dying!”

“Wow, what an in-depth topic, with so much to say.”

Gef flopped onto the table, tossing Laura’s phone to the side. “You come up with something! This damned app-useless!”

“Uhhhh…”

“Uh?”

“Uh.” Laura closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

-------------------------------------------------

Laura’s weary eyes opened slowly, revealing a room still dark and Gef still restlessly perched on the table. Every now and then, Gef looked over at the window. No movement.

“You too?”

“Hmph.”

“So you’re from India.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re one hundred and seventy?”

“Seventy, sixty-nine, seventy-one. Eighty. Give or take a few years. Or decades. Young, wild mongeese tend not to keep track of the time.”

“If you were born wild, how’d you learn to talk?”

“I always knew something was different. That my fellows all thought differently, thought less than me - and withered and died. But as for talking - only recitation ‘til Voirrey.”

“Yeah? That the girl Manuel mentioned?”

“Can’t believe there’s only two pages on me in there. You know, I have my own Wikipedia page.”

“Really?”

“Don’t dawdle, look it up!”

Laura did, and to her shock, there he was. Gef the talking mongoose. Did everyone know about him but her? How’d he get here, anyway?

“Still says nothing past that.”

“Hmm...odd. Embarrassing, it is. You know, I joined the circus once.”

“Really? What’d you do?”

“Talk, whilst being a mongoose - when they paid me.”

“But what about the Irvings?”

“...never met her again. Them again. Why so curious about my secrets? What about you?”

“Uh, I’m not really hiding anything.”

“Well, what menial drudgery do your parents suffer to shelter you in this hovel?”

“We aren’t poor, Gef. Mom works for a newspaper. Dad’s a producer for a public radio station. It’s not a hovel and, hey, you sleep in a zoo?”

“I had important work -”

“You slept in a zoo, Gef.”

“Yes, twenty hours a day. Like I said, important work..”

“...I’m gonna try for three hours tonight.”

-------------------------------------------------

Knocking on her door. “Laura?”

Laura’s eyes slowly opened. “Yeah? Come in.” She threw an arm over the snoring mongoose on her table.

Her mom opened the door. “Your dad says that someone called Jessie Ashdown will be driving you to school?”

“Uh…Jessie?”

“Yes, they run a community center?”

“Oh. Yeah. We have to, uh, talk about…there’s this therapy thing, over what happened in Elkhorn.”

“I see. He says you had a support group during the play last night?”

“Yeah, yeah. Over, you know. All of this. The trauma. You know, the trauma of a traumatic event can linger for a while…” She didn’t know what she was talking about, she was just quoting a line from a horror movie she saw about smiling demons or something.

Her mom nodded, and walked back out into the hallway. Laura quickly got dressed and got her bag ready - shoved Gef into it (he still didn’t wake up) and went outside.

Jessie was driving a van, marked with the community center’s name and logo; her dad saw her off, and Laura waved to him as they pulled away.

“I wanted to check in with ya after last night,” Jessie said. “How’re you -”

“Good,” Laura snapped, then sighed. “Good. Sorry.”

“How’re you feelin’ about being a dog?”

“I don’t know. I thought I was scared of transforming, then I was sad when I didn’t?” Laura leaned her head against the glass and looked down at the pavement. “Why aren’t you a werewolf all the time?”

“Me? I am a werewolf all the time.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yep, just being a smart ass. Why don’t I stay in werewolf form all the time? I don’t know, there’s lots to do out here. Gotta be able to talk and oppose your thumb to do ‘em. Driving, for example. Or drinking coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

“No?”

“You shouldn’t, caffeine’s not good for you. What do you drink?”

“Soda and energy drinks, mostly.”

“You should start drinking coffee,” Jessie said. “There’s lots of things you can’t see when you’re a wolf, and lots of things you can’t see when you’re a human. We’re lucky, we get to see a little bit of both. We get pumpkin spice lattes and we get to smell a mouse fifty feet away; we get to know people and know our pack closer than any of them; we get to howl to the moon and post dances to TikTok. We’ll never starve in a dark, cold winter, but we’ll have our hearts broken. But we also get to eat the heart right out of a deer.”

“Gross,” Laura laughed.

“D’you see my point? Why I’m human and a wolf and don’t pick one?”

“I do.” Laura paused, eyes focused on the cracked asphalt. “Do I have to eat the heart?”

“I don’t think it’s too healthy, compared to Monster though…”

“I don’t drink Monster.”

“What do you drink?”

“It’s called Heartrush.”

“Heartrush?”

“Yeah. It’s like, super concentrated.”

“Are you joking?”

“The can says it’s like meth in a can.”

“You’re kiddin’ me.”

“No, it’s. It’s my favorite drink. I drink it ten times a day.”

“Laura, either you’re joshin’ me or your body needs to be studied by science.”

“You came up with three different ways to ask me if I’m joking.”

“You’re joking.”

“Yeah.”

“You just made it up.”

“I didn’t. I only drank it once but I didn’t make it up.”

“It’s…it’s real?”

“Yeah. It’s illegal now.”

“Under the Geneva Convention?”

-------------------------------------------------

Laura neared the white marble stones, off to the side of the school, between them and adjacent Adams Middle in a tiny strip of grass. Private. ‘cause no one ever came to the stones. Ever.

No one knew their name anymore. Manuel called them “creepy Stonehenge” - which always confused Laura, since it implied Stonehenge wasn’t creepy. Most people, those rare times they mentioned it, called them simply “the stones”. Dying speakers broadcast cracking whispers: “peace”, “you are loved”, “you are wanted”. The centerpiece was a memorial to shooting victims. Once, new names had been chiseled on - starting in 1999, years before Laura was born - but they ran out of space years ago. Laura wouldn’t even bring Gef here; he was hiding in her locker for the moment.

“Hello, Laura.” Sitting on one of the cracked ‘reflection benches’ was Emily, wearing a deep purple jacket, dark blue pants, and a white t-shirt with art & the words “Lilith Fair” on it. She looked as if she thought nothing was strange.

“Is that shirt ironic?”

“I gave you the false impression,” Emily said, “that I commit to bits. Only when I find something funny when I’m thrifting. Normally, I’m all-serious.”

“Who’s Lilith Fair?”

“Some musical festival in the 90s, I don’t know.”

“So our next lesson is here?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, so, first question. Why?”

“Because -” the speakers interrupted with a loud, staticy ‘YOU ARE LOVED. DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS’; both jumped. “- because this is the creepiest place in the whole school. If you can shut this out, you can shut out anything.”

“Alright,” Laura tried to find a comfortable place to sit on the cold marble. “God, do they think this place actually helps people?”

“What else could they do, besides anything? Now, close your eyes.”

Laura did, hoping this was really a lesson and Emily wouldn’t drag out a box again.

“Now, what do you hear?”

“Cars. Some stuff inside. Talking, lockers, kinda muffled. The wind. Some people out front. Passing cars. Some squirrels running. Someone’s trying to smoke...”

‘CONSIDER REACHING OUT”, the speaker warbled.

“- GOD!”

“Okay. Focus on one thing. The wind, maybe.”

“The wind? Okay.”

Closed eyes again. Cars. Talking. Walking. Wind. Deep breath. The wind. Think about the wind. Rustling through leaves and branches. Cutting breeze building to a momentary howl. Tossing her and Emily’s hair.

“Open your eyes.” She almost didn’t hear it, as if she was underwater and Emily was far above.

“Did you hear the speaker telling us to ‘make friends’?”

“No?”

“Good. Then you did much better today. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

-------------------------------------------------

Alone. Manuel was alone, since Laura was away with Emily, and that means Emily was away with Laura, and…

Manuel had been happy to go to the event yesterday night, but with what he learned…maybe he learned a little too much about all this. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone. Maybe he needed to reintroduce himself to the non-werewolf world.

He found Cameron, sitting on the floor in the hallway connecting the larger lunchroom to the school store, his denim jacket hanging loose against the brown brick wall. He was crouched over his phone, his shaggy, dirty-blonde hair draped over one of his eyes.

“Cam?” Manuel said gently, starting to sit down next to Cameron - then deciding to stand - but then thinking -

“Who - hi. I didn’t know you were, you were…” He drawled out. “You were out here. You’ve been with Laura.”

“I just thought I should check in with you,” Manuel said, his eyes locked on the floor. “A lot has happened in the past couple days, and I didn’t really know what you were…”

He tugged at the wires of his earbuds. Tugged at them pointedly.

“Oh…I’m sorry if I was interrupting you…” This happened last time they talked, too; he was watching videos by a man named Peter Randolph, this writer and self-help person from Australia, and a quick glance - don’t look, that’s - showed that he was still watching him. “I’ll leave you be…”

Manuel wound his way back into the main lunchroom, where -

“Manuel?” He looked around for the source of a voice; a red-jacketed arm shot up over the crowd. Alice. He walked over to her.

“Hello. If you wanted to talk about last night, I thought about it, and I shouldn’t have gone.”

“Huh? No, I’m apologizing to you.”

“You…are?”

“Me and Em let you walk out. We showed you around but once something went down we let you go.” Alice sighed. “It’s good that you came. ‘cause Laura needed someone to support her, and we kinda blew it.”

“...thank you. It…was good to meet everybody and learn about…”

“Dogs.”

“Dogs,” and Manuel could see Laura and Emily walking back inside, and they looked like they had something to say.

“Hey,” Emily said. “Do you want to go looking for a black dog?”

-------------------------------------------------

“We thought it was weird when we found that bicycle lying around,” Emily said as they walked along the path.

“But none of you have seen the jumpsuit guy?” Laura asked.

“No,” Emily and Alice agreed, and Manuel joined in too. Laura felt scratching in her hoodie pocket; before they went out to search for the dog, she’d been talked into going back for Gef, even if it cut into their time.

“You have something to add, Jeff?”

Gef hissed. “No. Simply scratching my leg.”

Laura rolled her eyes, sniffed the air, and -

“You smell that too?” Alice said.

“Yeah, I do,” Emily confirmed.

“Um…I don’t smell anything…” Manuel frantically sniffed the air.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Mani,” Emily said. “I can call you that?” Manuel nodded.

“It’s a smell for werewolf noses only?”

“Yeah,” Laura said, “It’s a werewolf, but a weird werewolf.”

“Is it one of those werewolves that can transform no matter what?” Manuel asked.

“No, they smell the same as any werewolf,” Emily answered. “It’s coming from down there.” Emily nodded her head towards a ditch; Laura darted forward, to the edge of it. It looked like a drainage ditch, with rocks on the bottom and a little…the concrete places where the water goes.

“It’s so strong. Should I go down?” Laura asked, but she was already climbing down into it, no matter how much Gef scratched in her hoodie pocket.

“Laura, you sure about that?” Alice asked.

“No, it has to be her. All new recruits are assigned going-into-creepy-dark-holes duty,” Emily said.

The end of the ditch was slightly too small for Laura, so she ducked down and crawled inside. It was… “I can’t see anything.”

“Yes, you can,” Emily reminded.

Oh. Yeah. Laura focused on her eyes, on letting them adjust to the darkness. Let me see in the dark, let me see in the dark, let me - The darkness became darker, no, it wasn’t the dark of buried places, it was the dark of blindness, because her eyes were changing, her eyes were melting away and new eyes were growing in their place, animalistic eyes, her vision came back in clouds, allowing her to see the contours of the little cave, to see three shapes in the back and another shape closer, a lupine shape, the dog, the black dog, whose collar -

Not a collar. Nails, buried in its skin.

Asleep. The dog was asleep.

“Pictures,” Gef hissed, and Laura braced herself to the mud and rocks and little dirty streams with one hand, and pulled her phone from her pocket with the other. 

“It’ll wake up,” she whispered, shaking hands fixing tight over the black, unlit phone.

“It can hear you, it can smell you.”

Laura tapped the phone on with her nose, she opened the camera app, she turned on the flash…

“It’ll see…”

“We have to get a picture,” Gef, scrambling out of her pocket, digging his hands into her shoulder. “Else the doctor will never know what it is.”

“I…” The dog growled. No, snored. Asleep, it was still asleep. Laura wrapped her fingers around her phone and hovered her thumb above the button to take the picture, thumb swinging left and right, up and down, in its tremors…

“Laura!” Alice cried from outside the ditch, and the dog growled, and Laura’s grip loosened, and her phone started to slide, she tightened it, took a deep breath, snore or a growl snore or a

She jabbed her thumb onto her phone’s screen. Click.

The flash of light illuminated the shining, orange-yellow eyes of the dog. The flash of light illuminated the shapes in the back and the dog not asleep and the dog’s teeth and

Laura clutched her phone tight, backed away, and ran, stumbling, out of the tunnel and out of the ditch.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” scolded a teacher, stomping across the field towards them. “Past the bike path is no longer district property. Isn’t lunch over at King anyw-”

“Whatever,” Emily said. “We’ll go back onto school property,” and they ambled back to the school, Laura checking behind her the entire way. The dog didn’t follow.

[messers-moony]

Home | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Fem!Reader

Summary: Five goes through everything with his best friend, and when they return with the announcement of their marriage his siblings are appalled. 

Request: “I can request a FiveXreader where the reader is loving, sweet and naive, Five's best friend but the reader has no powers (You can invent a way how they became best friends and they are in love with each other, cliché but I love) One day the reader was sitting in front of the Umbrella Academy and saw Five leave in a hurry (The scene that he will travel in time) In this the reader does not abandon Five and decides to travel in time with him, they end up trapped in the apocalylipse, can you make them stay together?  (Like married I don't know) And also the scene where they go back to 2019? Sorry, if this so bored”

Five couldn’t believe his eyes. After a failed mission, he and his siblings decided to sneak out. Klaus had spotted a park on the way home, and that’s where they went. For the first time in years, they felt like kids again. They were all ten years old and had never experienced a playground before. Allison had never laughed as much, and Diego seemed to finally forget his insecurities while swinging from monkey bars. 

Even on occasion, Luther would help Ben cross the monkey bars. Vanya was finally included, and Klaus had never seemed so carefree in his life. But Five had his eyes on someone else. She sat at one of the navy blue tables, quite a ways away from the playground, watching the siblings with a soft smile on her face. A notebook was in front of her while she twirled a pencil in her hand. 

Curiosity killed the cat. Five was too intrigued not to sit with her. So despite this probably being the only time he could experience a playground, he sat in front of her, obscuring her vision from his other six siblings. Her eyes met green ones; they looked evergreen in the dark of the night. His hair almost looked black, but she knew it had to be dark brown. 

“Good evening.” Her voice, it sounded like heaven to him, “Evening.”

It felt awkward, and the silence could’ve been cut with a knife, “My names Y/n.”

“Five.”

“Five? That’s unique.” Y/n complimented, and his cheeks flushed, “Thanks….” 

Her vision went back to the other kids, “You’d think they’ve never seen a playground before.”

“They haven’t.” Five stated, looking at his siblings, “Our father is strict, so we snook out to come here.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as rude-“

“You didn’t.” Five smiled, looking at her e/c eyes. 

Since then, Five would sneak out a lot more. His power was a fantastic tool. When he and his siblings began to sneak out more, Five always invited her. Klaus, Diego, and Vanya seemed taken with her. Y/n was always so kind and sweet. Her laugh radiated, and it made everyone around her smile. It was like she was Aphrodite, and he was Ares. 

After becoming friends with the academy kids, Y/n had a habit of sitting outside the academy. She usually sat on the edge of the sidewalk with her notebook on her lap, pencil in hand. Five couldn’t remember a time when her hand wasn’t covered in graphite or ink from drawing. He adored it, though, because it was so her. It made him stare at his black pens, aimlessly smiling, knowing that she probably had the same color ink on her hand. 

Becoming friends with Five meant knowing his ambition. Five Hargreeves was driven by his goals and wanted to do them regardless of the consequence. So Y/n knew about his dream to time travel despite his father's wishes. On a gloomy day, Y/n sat on the sidewalk. The only thing drawing her from her daydream was the slam of a gate. 

“Five!”

He didn’t turn, “Five!”

Y/n grabbed his arm, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m- I’m going to time travel.” Five stated with that daze in his eyes, “And you need to stay here.”

“No! I’m not letting you go alone!” Y/n exclaimed incredulously, “Y/n, please.” Five pleaded. 

She shook her head, “Absolutely not. Either we go together, or we stay here together.”

“Fine.” Five reluctantly agreed, holding out his hand for her. 

Hesitantly Y/n slid her fingers through his. They were intertwining their hands together. Five was so focused on time-traveling correctly that he didn’t notice the pink flush on his best friend's face. But he did it, once and twice—finally a third time. Smoke clouded the area, and fire could be seen for miles. 

Y/n dropped his hand and covered her mouth. Five circled in his spot in shock. He felt nauseous and queasy. He couldn’t believe that he let this happen. He shouldn’t have pushed himself. They were stuck. Fucking hell, they were stuck, and he couldn’t do anything. Y/n ran back to the academy, and Five followed her. The h/c haired girl stared at what used to be the Umbrella Academy. Now in ruins. Five dropped to his knees, tears collecting in his eyes. 

“It’s- it’s gone….” 

Y/n hugged him tightly, “It’s okay, we’re going to be okay.”

“I’m gonna- I’m gonna be-“ 

Five didn’t get to finish his sentence. He pushed her away and threw up to the side. When he finished, Y/n took her jacket sleeve and wiped it around his mouth—gently combing his hair from his face. Y/n had never seen Five look so drained. Seeing her in front of him, taking care of him made him break. Five broke into sobs holding onto her like a lifeline. Y/n rubbed his back and held him just as tightly. 

“I’m here, Five. I’ll keep you safe.”

Being thirteen in an apocalypse seems like a death sentence, but when you grow up the way Five did, it’s more bearable. The first few months were awful. Searching for shelter, food, clothes. It was downright hell, but they made it through. On cold nights Five would hold her close to his chest, and on hot nights Y/n would always manage to get him cold water. 

Years passed, and their friendship turned into a relationship. They needed each other to survive, and they just needed each other. Five couldn’t be more grateful that she insisted on coming. He couldn’t imagine doing this alone. But now, he had his girlfriend leaning her head on his shoulder while watching the fire. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, leaving occasional kisses on her temple. 

“I couldn’t imagine this world without you.” Five confessed, “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.” Y/n challenged. 

He smirked, “Oh, really?” 

“Don’t let it go to your head, smartass.” Y/n snorted, “Too late, it’s already there, my love.” Five retorted. 

She kissed his cheek, “Love you.”

“Love you too, darling.” 

Five years later. They were twenty-five, and he wanted to make it official. It was a rather cold day wherever they were, and Five was holding her closer than ever. Y/n was shivering on the old mattress they had found. She was constantly snuggling closer to Five’s chest. They laid facing each other, and Y/n’s head was tucked under his chin. Five’s hand ran through her long hair - after being unable to cut it - soothing her nerves. 

“Marry me.”

“What?”

“I want you - Y/n - to marry me.” Five repeated, looking down at her.

Her teeth chattered, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not like there’s anyone else to choose from.”

Y/n glared playfully, and Five chuckled, “Asshole.”

“So, what do you say? Make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

“I say that if my fiancé doesn’t stop being an asshole, then I won't marry him.” Y/n retorted jokingly, “I love you too, pretty girl.” Five replied, smiling softly. 

He kissed her forehead and allowed her to muzzle closer into him. Gently he pulled the two plain rings he found. They were battered, of course, and the gold was dirty, but that didn’t matter. Five slipped the ring on her finger and his. Y/n placed a gentle kiss on his lips that he gladly returned. Sweet, soft, passionate, and full of love. A description of how she was. 

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Five replied, “Now get some sleep.” 

Y/n was about to fall asleep when she heard Five mutter one last thing, “Y/n Hargreeves.”

29 years. 348 months. 1512 weeks. 10,585 days. Until a woman showed up in their shelter, offering them both a job. Five could remember pushing Y/n behind him defensively. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hurt in any interaction he had. The woman offered them a way home. Five turned to his wife, and she saw it. For the first time in forty-five years, she saw it. Hope. 

Y/n took Five’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. The softest smile crossed his features before agreeing with the woman’s offer where both of them became assassins—partners in crime. Nothing turned Five on more than seeing his wife fend for herself, and god, was she good at it. Y/n was so naive and innocent when she was ten. But now? At the age of fifty-six, she wasn’t that girl anymore. 

But when they reached the age of fifty-eight, Five finally found out the correct equation. They were at their last mission, make sure John F. Kennedy gets shot and everything goes to plan, but Five had different ideas. Taking Vanya’s book from his suitcase, he looked over the equations one last time. They were going back; Five would go home today. 

“Y/n.”

“Yes, love?”

Five sighed, “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To go home.” 

Y/n’s smile was blissful; Five could’ve fainted on the spot, “Home?! Like- Like-“

“Home.” Five answered to his overjoyed wife. 

Y/n kissed him more passionately than ever. Five could feel her gratefulness in her kiss. His hands placed themselves on her waist, and hers were around his neck. God Five never wanted to forget this feeling. The feeling of his wife in his arms, kissing him as she would never get enough. When they pulled apart, Five opened the portal. Gripping her hand, they jumped through and landed on the leaf-filled ground in the icy rain. 

“Does anyone else see Little Number Five and Little Y/n, or is that just me?“ Klaus asked, not trusting his eyes; maybe it was an illusion from the drugs. 

Five and Y/n stood up. The first thing Y/n noticed was the ring on her finger was too big now. But Five looked down at the suit he had been wearing previously. The blazer now reached his knees instead of his waist, and Y/n’s shirt was hanging off one of her shoulders. Five and Y/n looked at each other. They were thirteen all over again. 

“Shit.” 

He grabbed Y/n’s hand and dragged her into the academy. Y/n had only been in the academy a handful of times before, and she usually was only allowed in Five’s room because she wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. His siblings followed aimlessly and took their spots at the table. 

“What’s the date? The exact date.” Five inquired, grabbing different things around the kitchen. 

“The 24th.”

“Of what?”

“March.”

“Good.”

Y/n took place beside him as Five began making a peanut butter marshmallow sandwich. The same snack he used to love as a kid. Y/n could remember him trying to eat it back at their apartment the commission provided them but complained it was too sweet. It seems that being in his teenage body again made him crave the sweetness of the snack. 

“So, are we gonna talk about just what happened?” Luther questioned, but no one answered, “It’s been 17 years.”

Five scoffed, “It’s been a lot longer than that.”

The same big spatial jumped behind Luther as he began to take marshmallows from the cabinet, “I haven’t missed that.” Luther murmured. 

“Where’d you two go?” Diego asked. 

“The future.” Y/n answered politely, “It’s shit, by the way.” Five added spatial jumping beside her again and gently kissing her cheek. 

The siblings stared in shock at Five’s sudden act of affection; Five could feel their eyes on him, “What?”

“You just kissed her.” Allison stated, “And?”

Allison didn’t say anything, “Is it a crime for me to kiss my wife or something?” Five asked agitatedly. 

“Wife?!”

“Yes, wife.” Five sighed. 

“Called it!” Klaus exclaimed. 

“I should’ve listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing.” Five began as he looked through the fridge, “Jumping through time is a toss of the dice.” 

He came back with peanut butter in his hand at the front of the table, his wife beside him; he took in the appearance of his siblings, “Nice dress.”

“Oh, well, Danke!” Klaus smiled. 

“Wait, how did you two get back?” Vanya questioned. 

“In the end, I had to project our consciousnesses forward into a suspended quantum state version of ourselves that exists across every possible instance of time.” 

Diego couldn’t wrap his head around it, “That makes no sense.”

Five went to remark, but Y/n cut him off, “It doesn’t have to. All that matters is that we’re back.”

“How long were you two there?” Luther queried, “Forty-Five years. Give or take.”

Everyone looked at the two teens in disbelief, “So what are you saying? That you’re 58?”

“Well, not exactly. Our consciences are 58, but it appears that our bodies are back to 13.” Y/n answered. 

“Wait, how does that even work?”

“It seems that Five might’ve gotten the equations wrong.” Y/n replied, and Five glared at her, “I’m not mad! I’m just happy we’re home. Appearance be damned.”

Five took notice of the newspaper in front of Y/n, “Guess I missed the funeral.”

“How’d you even know about that?” Luther inquired, “What part of the future do you not understand?” Five retorted. 

“Heart failure?” Y/n asked, “Yeah/No.” Luther and Diego contradicted. 

Five clicked his tongue, “Nice to see nothings changed.”

The teenage boy began to walk away, “Uh, that’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Allison questioned.

“What else is there to say? It’s the circle of life.”

Vanya was the first to get up and hug Y/n, “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too, Vanny. Me too.”

[periwinckles]

The train back to twelve -

chapter 4

When I get to Victor’s Village I realize my mistake: I have no clue which house belongs to Haymitch. I should have asked Sae before leaving, but the thought never crossed my mind. Now, I find myself standing in an empty street, carrying a way too heavy box for someone who’s been up since six a.m. and really needs a nap. 

As I scan the empty street it dawns on me. I don’t know Haymitch's place, but I do know which one’s Katniss. A little over a year ago I helped bring Gale over here after he was whipped by Thread. It is only after I've knocked that I second guess myself. Maybe I shouldn't bother her and just leave the crate on her doorstep. Haymitch will surely end up seeing it. We haven't bothered the victors in the two weeks we’ve been here and I suppose they prefer it this way. They’ve known loss in a way a lot of us haven’t. And mourning is a tough process. I should know. 

I’m about to place the crate on the porch and leave, as the door opens. She looks like a ghost. Her hair is wild and unkempt, her eyes dark and vacant. I don't think she’s even bothered to shower or change clothes for several days now. Sae has hinted she’s not in a good place, but nothing prepared me to see this, not when I've always known Katniss to be so strong and purposeful.

“Thom!”

She is startled by my presence, and somewhat confused. She must have known Sae wasn’t at the campsite by herself didn't she? 

“Katniss, hi! We got supplies from the train today. This is for Haymitch, but I don’t know which house is his.” I say as I look around the deserted street. There's no sign whatsoever of anyone inhabiting any of the other houses. 

“It’s the one in front of mine, number ten.” Her voice is raspy and hesitant as if she hasn't spoken in years and forgot how to do it. 

“I’ll leave it there, then. Sorry for …  bothering you.”

I'm still half way through my sentence as she turns around and lays on her couch, her door still open, the only source of natural light in the whole house. As I watch her, staring into a wall I wonder if all Victor's fate is to become an empty shell of themselves, just like Haymitch did. No that can't be. She wasn't like this after her first games and neither was Peeta. It was Prim's death that really broke her. 

It may be strange to admit this, but the thought of Katniss becoming like Haymitch pains me more than Prim’s death. Prim didn’t really lose her life, she gave it away for others, doing what she loved. If anything, she found it. But here, in this rat's nest, Katniss is surely losing hers, like Haymitch did. 

You can’t look after everyone. That’s what Delly told me before I headed out here to check what happened to Haymitch. I suppose I can’t. Especially if all they do is barricade themselves in this blackhole. 

“You should drop by the camping site some time. I’m sure some of the folks would be glad to see you there.”

She lifts her head silently, probably wondering why I'm still here. As I turn to leave though, she speaks again. 

“Thom, how many rebuilders are there?”

Much less than those we needed. But it's better than what I feared it would be. Thirty four men, eight women, two teenage girls, two teenage boys and one little girl.

"Forty seven. Most single folks like me, but we have a couple of families too, the Steiners, the McDonalds, the Cartwrights,..”

“Cartwright? As in Delly Cartwright?”

Her eyes widen at the mention of Delly’s name and she gets up from the couch, taking a few strides to hastily reach me. It’s the first time I see any resemblance of life in her eyes. 

“Yeah, Delly and Saul, you know them?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she was… is… Peeta’s friend.”

Oh. 

Read the rest on AO3

[theonewiththefanfics]

Tomato - Tomato (one-shot)

Synopsis: One is an international rock-star. The other is his loyal assistant. Both are complete morons in love. Also - she’s allergic to tomatoes, and it is important.

This started off as something completely else. hope you enjoy :D

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Assistant!Reader

Genre: fluff, minor angst

Warnings: two idiots pining for one another, swearing, mentions of allergies and EpiPens

Word count: 3492

Being an assistant to someone famous wasn’t all glamourous parties and wild nights out with celebrities. It was scheduling last minute flights and not sleeping for three days straight as you packed a million bags and then repacked because their stylist sent you knew pieces and the old ones no longer fit the aesthetic of the week.           It was also making sure that they were up by six AM with a hot coffee at their bedside ready to help them wake up as you lay out a detailed plan of the day down to the minute, while you yourself basically only had a two-hour nap because you had to finish off 568 handwritten notes to be sent out to each of the contacts in their phone. Or at least that’s what Y/N’s life was like being the personal assistant to none other than the modern-day prince of rock Harry Styles.            Said rockstar was actually still asleep when Y/N entered his room, ripping open the curtains and letting in the rising sun. He groaned, pulling up the bedsheets that’d ridden down his form during the night. “Not that I don’t like seeing your gorgeous face in the mornings….” he mumbled into the covers. “But I don’t like seeing your face in the mornings when they start at six bloody AM.”           Y/N snorted and rolled her eyes, rubbing them in an attempt to get rid of the sleep that still lingered in her own body. “You were the one that said you’re fine with seeing Lambert at eight for a fitting.”           “When did I say that?” Harry scoffed, only the top of his messy bedhead seen from the cocoon he’d built around himself.           “Would you like me to pull up the text messages, the calendar or the e-mails?”           Even with her back turned as she rummaged through his closet for him to put on some clothes, she could sense the middle finger he threw at her, and she smiled.           Despite everything, despite the zero sleep and stress always coursing through her veins, Y/N loved working for him. He treated her as a friend, not just some lackey he paid to, but most importantly, comparatively to the other people she’d worked for in the same line of business – he treated her as a human.           If something went over the deadline, Harry didn’t scream or yell at her and tell Y/N how incompetent she was, instead he asked what kind of help or assistance she needed to get the job done, or maybe if she just needed some time off to gather herself and look at the problem with fresh eyes.           “I hate how organised you are,” Harry groaned, finally throwing the covers off.           “If I wasn’t, you’d be in a ditch somewhere.”           She heard him scoff and two feet plop against the hardwood floor as he made his way towards her. “Is that how little faith you have in me?”           “You don’t even know what day it is!”           “Who does in these times?”           Y/N shrugged her shoulders and handed him a pair of boxers, some loose jeans, and a flowery Hawaiian shirt. “Are you telling me I’m wrong though?”           She looked over to her side, a smirk playing on her lips while he squinted his green eyes at her. “No, but it doesn’t mean I like getting called out, especially this early in the morning.”

          With a roll of her eyes and a shove at his shoulder for him to move to the bathroom, Y/N handed him the clothes, moving downstairs to start making him some light breakfast and get herself a cold glass of water.           You see, she’d been working as his assistant for close to two years, and they’d grown not only as people around one another, challenging their beliefs and world views, but as friends too. And, well, Y/N would be lying if the emotions hadn’t evolved from platonic to falling in love. Not that she’d ever admit it. He was an international sensation, and she was the girl who got him vegetarian croissants at the airport.           She dragged a hand down her face as she clicked the stove on and took out a carton of eggs from the fridge. Y/N knew how he liked his omelette to the T, mostly because when she’d spent the first night of quarantine with him a year prior right as the pandemic had started, Harry had wanted to do something nice because she couldn’t go and see her family any more, so he’d gotten up at seven to make breakfast for both of them. The only problem was, he hadn’t asked if she had any allergies, so as he added bits of tomatoes, parsley, cheese and scallions, Harry hadn’t expected Y/N’s eyes to go wide at the first bite as she dropped the fork.           “Harry…” Her tone had been cautious. “What’s in this?”           He was sweating. Was his cooking really that bad? He just wanted to do something nice and there he was screwing everything up. “ ‘S just some of my favourite things. I’m sorry I didn’t ask, I just thought you’d like it.”            “I do, but this tastes like it has tomatoes in it.”           He nodded. “Yeah. It does.”           Gently she smiled at him and pushed the plate a bit further away. “Could you grab me a coat, and if you have any – an EpiPen?”           “An Epi – oh shit!” When the realisation hit him, Harry was jumping out of his seat, running to one of the cupboards and rummaging through in a panic all the while apologies flew non-stop from his mouth.           Y/N in the meantime had gathered her purse and mask, making a call to the nearest hospital to explain the situation to which they responded they’d be waiting for her arrival.           “I’m so sorry!” Harry ran up to her, a first-aid kit in his shaking hands. “Please don’t die! I didn’t want to kill you, I promise! I just wanted to make you some breakfast cause you do so much for me, and now you’re stuck here, and – oh god,” he cried. “I’m going to be prosecuted for killing my assistant.”           She didn’t mean to, but the snort came out of her nose either way. “Harry.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Please calm down. I’m not going to die.”           “You’re allergic!”           “Yes, I am, but I only had a small bite. The ER is just a precaution.” Y/N took his palms in hers and squeezed them. “Now take a deep breath with me…” They did so, holding it for five seconds and letting it out for eight. “And calm down a bit. I’ll go give myself the shot, and then I’ll drive to the hospital.”           “Let me,” Harry begged. “Please, let me at least drive you to the emergency room. God, I almost killed you with an omelette, it’s the least I can do. I – I could also help you with the shot, I won’t hit an artery, I promise -”           “Harry, you’re barely coherent. Not to say anything, but you’d have a bigger chance of killing me in a car crash, than from that tomato.” Y/N gave him a smile. “I’m gonna be fine.”           With that, she left him to venture into the bathroom and did the unpleasant part of stabbing herself in the thigh to alleviate her body from the allergy symptoms. She sat there for around five minutes before she felt that the swelling of her tongue and itching in her throat was starting to subside, which meant the epinephrine was working.           “Okay,” she huffed, taking her purse from the couch where Harry had been sitting, hugging the accessory. “I’ll be back in probably around two hours. Do we need anything from the store?”           He shook his head. “Just come back home, please.”           Y/N would never admit how her heart thundered in her chest when Harry said to come back ‘home’. “I will.” She promised. “Don’t you worry. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Styles. The money’s too good.” She winked at him and then left Harry pouting on the couch, but she couldn’t get through the door, before he jumped up, yelling, “wait! Do I need to get rid of every tomato in the house?”           “No,” she laughed. “I’m good to be around them. Even touch them. ‘S just my insides that don’t agree with it when they meet.”           “Okay.” He nodded, hands on his hips. “Alright. I’ll uh – I’ll be waiting. I’ll make you something else.”           “There’s no need for that, Harry.”           His eyes widened at her words. “I swear I’m not trying to murder you!”           “Oh my god,” she muttered shaking her head. “Just – just relax. Okay. I’ll send you hourly updates.”           He bit his lip. “Make it every ten minutes.”           “Harry –,”           “Please?” The way he was giving her puppy dog eyes melted her heart.           With an eye-roll, Y/N waved at him and promised to update her boss at every possible moment and confirm that he hadn’t, in fact, been the reason for her demise. Well, he was the reason for the demise of her low standards in men, having taken them and thrown them up to the Moon, but unless her feelings were miraculously requited or if one of the Marvel characters, she was obsessed with came to life, she’d have to stick to what was available. And in her mind, that wasn’t Harry.           “What are you thinking about?” His voice startled Y/N out of the memory, and she shook her head, adding salt and pepper to the beaten eggs.           She shrugged. “Just about that time a year ago where you secretly tried to off me because you were too nice to say you didn’t wanna quarantine together.”           The groan he let out was of royal embarrassment, and it put a wide smile on her face, as she took one of the forsaken fruits and started to chop the red ball into small pieces.           “You’ll never let me live it down, are you?”           Y/N raised her eyebrow at him. “Your failed murder attempt?” She snorted. “Of course not! It’s like you don’t watch the crime shows and murder documentaries when I have them on. You really haven’t learned anything.”           Harry stuck his tongue out at her and moved to her side, dropping some chives into the mix as well. “Well given how it wasn’t a murder attempt, I wouldn’t consider it a fail.”           Her hip bumped his, and only then did Y/N really give him a once-over. As always, he looked amazing in whatever was on his body, but what made him even cuter in her eyes was the sleepiness still lingering in him.           Harry’s movements were a little bit sluggish, eyes half-closed and small sighs passing his lips as he sipped onto the coffee she’d come to his place with. The shirt sat loosely on his body, the first two buttons left open while he’d tucked the bottom of it into the jeans, having found a Gucci belt and cinched it around his waist, giving it a more eighties look rather than the sixties vibe he usually had with his suits.           The brown hair was still messy and dishevelled, and Y/N could barely, just barely restrain herself from running her fingers through it, but what she didn’t know Harry was struggling just as much.           All he wanted to do was pull out the bottom lip Y/N had gotten in between her teeth and kiss her senseless, to have her fingers dig into his arms and leave crescent shaped imprints on his skin.           “So, uh…” He had to start a conversation otherwise his mouth would find itself on Y/N’s mouth in a second. “What’s Lambert got in his schedule? How many outfits is he thinking?”           “Two or three, I think,” she said, pouring the mixture on the pan and letting the slow sizzle erupt around them. “He’s got this one suit which I think you’ll really like – all leather, but it needs to be altered.”           Harry hummed, and for a second both of them relished in the domestic feel of it all. They’d had many moments like it before, especially during the spring and summer seasons of 2020, and Y/N couldn’t help but relish in her memories at them.           “Harry?” It was like her voice snapped him out from a trance. “Could you pass me a plate please?’           “Uh, yeah,” he stammered for a moment and then nodded, wordlessly going to a cupboard and taking out a white marbled plate. That single piece of kitchenware probably cost more than her life insurance, but it was definitely aesthetic if nothing else.           Silently Y/N plopped the omelette onto the plate, placing it on the kitchen counter and went to get him a fork, however when she turned around, he was facing her, chewing quite agressively on the inside of his cheek.           “You okay?” she asked, coming closer. “I can call Lambert, reschedule it for later. He wouldn’t be too happy about having to wake up and then – “           But Harry shook his head. “It’s not that.”           “Then what?”           He didn’t say anything. It was like he was trying to decipher the best course of action, and when he ultimately did, Y/N was pressed up against the counter, Harry’s forehead against hers with two ring-clad hands cupping her cheeks.           “Harry,” she breathed, out her lips brushing his making the air in her lungs hitch. “What are you doing?”           “Something I’ve been dying to do for a year now. If you let me that is.”           “I -,” The words were muddled up in her head. Of course, Y/N wanted him to kiss her, she wanted him to ravish every part of her body. The fantasies and dreams she’d had at night would be incriminating proof if her feelings were on trial, but despite it all, her brain was usually in charge and would overrule any decision made by her heart. “Harry, we can’t.” She whispered, voice breaking.           “I -,” Horror morphed onto his features as he took a step back. “Did I misread the signals? Did I do something you don’t wan –“           “No.” She grabbed onto his cheeks, trying to calm him down, his body practically melting into hers. “I do.” She didn’t need to explain what she meant. He understood. “So much it hurts me sometimes… but Harry, you’re my boss. My employer. It… it wouldn’t be right.”           “Why? How can it not be right, when it feels like the rightest thing in the world?”           “Because, Harry,” she huffed. “You’re my boss. And what’s worse – I love working for you!”           That made both of them laugh, the tone of her voice as if she was more annoyed than anything else. “ ‘Nd why’s that bad?” He nudged her nose with his. “I’d hope my employees like working with me. What kind of a person would I be if I thrived on them being miserable?”           “Because if I didn’t, quitting would be easy.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “And if I quit there’d be nothing stopping us from dating.”           Harry bit his lip, finger trailing along her cheekbone. “There’s nothing stopping us now either. There is no clause in your contract that says you can’t date people who you work for or with. Sarah’s with Mitch, and they’re the happiest they’ve ever been. They’re even having a baby…”           Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know. But that’s different. They’re on equal levels. You and I, however… I don’t want people to think I got my job because I slept with you, or some shit. It’s bad enough some already do so.”           His brows furrowed, and Y/N saw how his jaw clenched. “Who?”           “Strangers.” She shrugged. “I know you don’t look at comments like that online, but I see them. My DMs are filled with that. Gossip magazines. The point is – there are already unsubstantiated rumours about us. This would give them the confirmation they’d need.”           “How can it confirm something that’s not true?”           “There are still people who believe vaccines cause autism. Even when their ‘proof’ has been discredited and shown to be just complete bullshit, most don’t like to admit they’re wrong, so they’ll look for whatever tells them they’re right.”           Harry huffed throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. “So, where does that leave us? In love, but without being able to do anything about it? Because I can’t.” He shook his head. “I won’t be able to just pass you by without kissing you, or not pull you into the bed when you wake me up, or press you against the wall and not have my head between these two gorgeous legs.”           Y/N groaned slapping his chest and dropping her forehead against his peck. “That is so unfair. Why do you have to tease me like that!”           “Oh, sweetheart.” The rumble was deep and shot a wave of heat straight to her core. “This is no teasing.” The smirk on his face when she looked up at him was shit-eating. “Trust me, if I was teasing, you’d be begging for me.”           She’d imagined him between her thighs more times than it was appropriate considering he was her boss, but hot damn, did it feel amazing when his lips crashed onto hers, and she let him. In her dreams, his lips hadn’t been just pressed to her mouth but other places which were more south, but it was still one of the best feelings in the world.           The kiss left them both breathless, and grinning and satisfied, yet begging for more, teeth nipping at the soft flesh.           “I’ll put out an official statement, if you want,” Harry muttered against her mouth, unable to stop pecking her lips now that’d he’d gotten a taste. “But please, please, please… for both our sanities go out on a date with me.”           It seemed like Y/N was the one contemplating the best plan of action now when her brows furrowed and she looked up at him, pressing and unpressing her lips, as the swelling from the kiss grew. “Did you by any chance have a piece of that omelette already?” She had a suspicion it wasn’t just from the kiss.           His eyes widened, and then his head dropped to her shoulder. “Not again!”           Y/N rolled her eyes lifting his face by the chin so he would look at her. “How about EpiPen first?”           “Fair enough,” Harry grumbled unlatching himself from her and going for his keys and wallet, already preparing for the short drive they’d have to take. “But then a date?”           She raised her eyebrow, taking out the box Harry now kept under the sink with at least three EpiPen’s for emergencies. “In a hospital?”           “We could be going dumpster diving for all I care, and I’d count it as a date.”           Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to do so much better than that; you’ve almost put me in anaphylactic shock twice. Now come on.” She motioned with her head towards the bathroom. “Stab me and take me to the ER.”           “Fucking tomatoes,” Harry grumbled, taking her by the hand and not letting it go even for the short walk.           “Tomato-tomato, you’re the one that kissed me.”           “That I don’t regret.”           Y/N smiled, turning towards him, and taking him by the nape of his neck pulled Harry down for one more kiss, groaning at the feeling of his tongue dancing against hers.           “Y/N!” He pulled back with a gasp, shock on his face.           She just shrugged her shoulders. “We’re already going to see the doctors anyway.”           Harry pushed her shoulder and made her sit down onto the toilet. “Take your pants off before my kisses kill you.”           “Yes, daddy.” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows as Harry moaned, squeezing her calf.            His eyes were dark as he looked up at her. “Next time this happens, you’ll be begging me.”           Her wicked smile was so full of happiness he couldn’t help the one that grew on his face. “I’ll be keeping you to it. Now, dear sir.” She handed him the EpiPen. “Hit me with your best shot.”           And although it’d been now two times in their lives where Harry trying to do something good and make the other feel just as good had done pretty much the opposite, when they got to the emergency room, their smiles could be felt even under their masks           Harry watched with blushing cheeks as Y/N explained the situation to the nurse, especially when one of them threw him an unsavoury glance, eyebrow raised high as if saying ‘again? One time wasn’t enough?’.           “No more tomatoes.” He promised. “And also - it wasn’t on purpose!”           Y/N squeezed his palm, chuckling. She may not be able to give a shot at eating a tomato, but she sure as hell was going to give Harry one. After all, she had almost died for the man. Twice.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Harry Styles tags: @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​ @raylovessarcasm @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @harryhub​

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

A/N: I’m at work and I wanted to write a bit for my book, but hahahahahahaha I can’t stop procrastinating. Also, this was something comepletely else centered around Christmas, then New Year and the Valentines, but I just couldn’t and it morphed into this. Maybe this Holiday season when it rolls around I’ll post it :D

P.S. if anyone’s had a septoplasty (repositioning of the septum) - how was it? how painful is it? kinda starting my journey towards it cause apparently I can’t breathe out of my left nostril, but I’m kinda scared ngl. I’ve read some horror stories about having holes and pieces of the cartilage fall out afterwards :/// 

P.S.S. what did ya think? my tags are always open, just drop a message if you wanna be added :)

P.S.S.S please don’t plagiarise or repost my work on other platforms (wattpad, AO3 etc)

[dadsbongos]

trashy dad

Movie/Game/Show: My Hero Academia Dynamic: Shota Aizawa/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: references (2) to un*s ann*s, one (1) use of (y/n), fem pronouns Summary: Shota trying to support his YouTuber daughter :) cuz social media aus own me Word Count: 2.1K ~~~

"Hey, gamers," you grin at the camera before tossing an arm over your father's shoulders, "My dad's in town and as you can see," you hesitated slightly before turning to face your father, "Dad's not super into taking care of himself. So, I figured what's better than doing a Q&A together while I do his makeup?"

"Hitoshi just did a 'what I eat in a day', didn't he?" Shota quirked a brow, already reaching back to tie up his messy, tangled hair.

"Spoilers!" you quietly whine as you open your phone, "He still has to edit it, silly man. We're gonna have to brush out your hair later, by the way."

Shota's eyes widened, "We? I thought this was your idea and video, (Y/n)."

"No," you huff, scrolling through a few of the questions from fans, "I mean it was but your hair is so… Okay, first question is from - oh my God the names - shrekslongtoe, what was my first word?"

"Are you gonna start putting makeup on me or just sit there?" Shota scratched at his nose before snickering, "That wasn't your first word. Your first word was 'Dada' and it drove Hizashi insane."

"Hizashi is my other dad, by the way," you lean over to grab your makeup bag, "'Toshi and I call him papa. Oooh, oh no," you looked up to Shota, "I don't have your shade, you're gonna look weird."

"I don't really care," the man shrugged, watching as you took out a pink beauty blender, "That looks like a buttplug."

"Don't say that!" your eyes were wide at his words while you got out your foundation, "Youtube doesn't like that."

"Whoops," he deadpanned, "Next question."

"Shit, right."

"Language."

"Japanese," you murmur, going to the next reply, "yoonbumskneecap asks, 'Did you believe in me-’ they said my name but you know, ‘and Hitoshi when they decided to become Youtubers?' And 'in 'Toshi's case - drop out of college to become a professional clout man.'"

"To be honest," Shota closed his eyes, only in slight fear, as you began pressing the foundation into his skin, "I was really worried about Hitoshi, I didn't know if he'd stay as big as he was because he's a lot like me, in the sense that people tend to not like us for our bluntness. So I was worried he'd be a meme for like a month and then people would drop him, but thankfully I was proved wrong," he opened his eyes when he felt you pull away and begin rooting through your bag once again, "With you, I was less worried because you're more like 'Zashi, i.e extremely likable, and you were kind of getting a boost from appearances on Hitoshi's channel. I still worry because the internet is a fickle mistress but I'm not staying up at night about it."

Pulling out a dark eyebrow pencil, you grin at your father, "Aww, that was kinda sweet. Not really but kind of."

"What I'm here for," Shota's eyes followed your hand as you uncapped the pencil and reached up, beginning to mark at his eyebrows, "I'm gonna read the next question while you kill my eyebrows."

"I'm not killing them!" you giggled, "But unlike Papa, you already have pretty thick, full eyebrows so I won't be here long."

"Good," he muttered before furrowing his brows in confusion, ignoring your frustrated groan, "who is daddysero and why is he asking if you pissed today?"

"What?!" you pull your dad's hand back to see what he was looking at, instantly calming down when you saw he was still on Twitter, "Oh, that's just Sero, he asks me that every time I tweet. I thought you went to my Instagram DMs," at Shota's questioning stare you grinned, "Mama's got simps in her DMs."

"Don't ever call yourself 'Mama' in my presence ever again," Shota shook his head, once again ignoring your annoyance, "papichulo46290 wants to know my favorite memory of you."

"If you mix me up with 'Toshi, I'll be so pissed," you return the eyebrow pencil to your bag as Shota speaks.

"I won't... probably," he shrugs while you root through your bag, "So, Hizashi had taken Hitoshi out for ice cream because of - has he mentioned his middle school trauma?" at your nod, he continues, "Hitoshi was having a bad day from middle school, shocking, so you and I were left home alone together. You were probably seven and you really wanted to paint my nails and I let you. You..." he shook his head, snickering, "you fucked them up. So bad. But you were so happy to just be spending time with me- "

"Keep talking, but I'm gonna do your eyeshadow," you lean back in, swishing your brush over a navy blue, almost black shade, "Just so you guys know, Dad wanted to look like shit, don't unsubscribe cuz this is gonna come out bad."

"It won't be too bad, you're talented," Shota did his best to remain still, "But overall, you were just so adorable and it didn't even matter that the smudged nails got me teased in the teacher's lounge the next day. It all came off after like a week because it was shitty polish but you get the idea."

"Aww, I didn't know you kept it on, that's so sweet," you fall back briefly to inspect your work, "It's not awful but I'm only posting this because you're my dad."

"Of course, I did," Shota continued scrolling through the questions, "A lot of people are asking if you mean Dad or Daddy, and a lot more people are asking for pictures of your feet, you should block them all."

"Yeah, I got sickos in my replies too, just gotta scroll past em'."

"Disgusting..." Shota grumbled as you moved to his other eye, "Is 'electrodick' Kaminari, perchance?"

"Unfortunately."

"Gross, he asks if you had an 'I'm not like other girls' phase," Shota hummed quietly in thought, "Maybe when you were eight for like a month, but that's probably because except for Nemuri you didn't have any women in your life. Thankfully you moved on from that pretty quickly."

"Oh yeah, that was a gross, weird time. You and Papa also weren’t shitty people so I didn’t have a lot of misogynist influence."

"I like to think we did a good job," Shota sighed, finally moving back into his slouching position when you pulled away completely, "Is 'explosionmurder' Bakugou?"

"You know it."

"Okay well, he's asking if you plan on fucking up your bronzing again?" he thinks for a moment, “Was that from when you looked kinda copper-ish in a video?

"Oh my God, that was one time, Bakugou!" you shout and shake your brush at the camera, "One time!"

"I don't even know what blending is so you're doing better than I am."

"God, how are we related?"

Without hesitation, Shota replied, "Surrogate. Which answers summerlongsock's question."

"Nice," you chuckle, setting the brush back in your bag, "You probably won't need too much bronze or countour since you're going for bad," you immediately turn to the camera, "And Bakugou isn't gonna say a fucking word about it!"

"Is eyeliner next? And if so, I would enjoy a nice wing," Shota muttered, looking through the remaining questions, "Hitoshi asks why I haven't done a video with him yet."

You nod along while uncapping the liner, "I'm curious about that too. I thought my first video with a parent would be with Papa. I was gonna say family but..." you shrug, "Hitoshi was my first video and then Eri came on."

"He never asked," Shota closed both of his eyes, allowing you to move his head around as you pleased, "You just texted me the video idea and we set it up while I was in town. If Hitoshi wants a video so bad he should come up with an idea."

"Jeez, don't bully the poor boy," you laughed quietly, carefully applying more eyeliner to your father's left lid, "We should all do a video together. I think it'd be fun."

"Come up with an idea," he replied flatly before opening his eyes, "davinky wants to know when you got into makeup. Probably after thirteen, sometime."

"Yeah, I got my first real eyeshadow at like fourteen and then you guys just enabled my love of makeup after that."

"Well, the thing with that was, Hizashi and I didn't want you growing up thinking you had to wear makeup for any reason," Shota opened his eyes once he felt you back away, blinking a few times, "So we waited till you were more mature because giving makeup to a six-year-old is weird."

Capping your eyeliner, you traded it out for mascara, "Yeah, even little play kits are a bit ehhh. Don't close your eyes, but look down."

Following instruction, Shota took the opportunity to read off another question, "I can't see the name but someone's asking what we did together for fun. While you were a kid."

Humming quietly in thought, you move from one eye to the other, "We used to go to diners a lot. Those late-night diner trips, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you were such a little demon about bedtime. I had to take you to this little place for scrambled eggs or some shit and you'd fall asleep on the way back home."

Putting away your mascara, you reach out for your hairbrush before beginning to pull out the hair tie in Shota's hair, "Mina wanted me to ask what videos you show people when they ask what your kids do for a living."

"For Hitoshi, the one where he and Kaminari made Bakugou breakfast with sex toys. For you, the one where you turn yourself into Mina's little character - with the pink skin," Shota winced slightly at the tug of your hairbrush, "And Eri's a teacher so that information comes first since it's the least strange."

As you fussed with his tangled nest of hair, you read another question over Shota's shoulder, "When did you know you loved me? Like after adopting me."

"Not too long after the adoption was finalized actually," Shota grumbled as the brush made its final courses through his hair, "You've always been a really great kid. I don't know when I 'realized' but it was definitely around the time you were born, maybe like the day after."

"That's pretty good considering I was a stranger," you giggled, brushing out the final knots in his dark hair, "A baby stranger."

"Hmm," Shota hummed in response, "You almost done?"

Refraining from rolling your eyes, you fluffed Shota's now smooth and detangled hair around his shoulders with a small smile, "I'm done. Your hair is so pretty when it's brushed out."

"I know," the man muttered, handing your phone back, "Wanna do one more question and then sign off?"

"Yeah," you scroll through some of the questions, "I want it to be the best question that's ever been asked."

"Ask your own, you're great at that."

You shook your head with furrowed brows at his comment, "Is that a compliment?"

"It was meant to be."

"Thanks, but no need, I've found one. Midoriya wants to know if raising two attention whores was hard. He didn't say ‘attention whores’ because he doesn't swear but that's the vibe."

"What's Midoriya's at?" Shota asked.

"SmallMight."

"Of course," the man grumbled, closing his eyes to think, "You two were honestly pretty easy to raise. Not a whole lot of fits compared to what I've heard other parents talk about. You both liked to talk a lot to each other, and, of course, to Hizashi and me. Not terribly difficult at all."

"Aww, I'm glad we didn't make you pull your hair out," you grin.

"Oh, you still did. Absolutely."

"Nice," you giggle before turning off your phone and facing the camera, "Okay guys, well, I hope you don't clown on me as much as usual because if you do, my dad will... I don't know… kick your ass."

"Exactly," Shota nodded, a horrific smile on his face, "I'll beam right into your living room."

"Hopefully you guys come back next week where I'll..." floundering for an answer, you turn to your dad as if he’d give you ideas, "Create wings to do it better than Icarus ever could."

Giving a singular stiff nod, Shota looked dead at the camera, "I'd watch it."

"You heard it from the main man himself, peeps," you waved to the camera, Shota copying the motion, “Bye!”

"If there's one comment about my eyebags, I'm never coming on your channel again," Shota lied as you leaned over to stop recording.

"They're gonna love you, I'm sure," you assure your father, "Wanna see how I edit?"

"God no, Hitoshi showed me how long it takes to edit his videos, it looks like hell."

[animeomegas]

let's imagine this: asra and his alpha are having THAT fight, although it's more like asra yelling all desperate and his alpha trying to calm him down so they can talk properly. asra is having none of that (even if his alpha it's not even mad or actually fighting, they just want asra to feel better) so his alpha just interrupts him while he's starting to panic and simply says:

"where do you want to go? i think it would be nice living in the middle of the forest, just the two of us. and if the plague continues for more than a couple of months, we could even open a shop in whatever place we'll live in"

asra is like what?? and the alpha just tells him something like "i want to help our city, but not if that is a reason to be away from you. you're my mate, the most important person in my life. i'm sure i can figure out a spell or something else that let's me help find a cure for the plague while being in some far away city instead with you, the both of us safe and most important: together"

i feel like asra would just start crying because he thought he was going to lose his alpha, that they would choose to stay instead of understanding that he doesn't feel safe in the city anymore and even if someone else could think that he's selfish, it really makes sense to just want his mate safe, you know?

and then they just cuddle (WITH FAUST TOO !!!) while talking about what kind of place they want to live in while the plague still exists. i'm soft :(

¡¡ I JUST HATE THAT IN THE GAME, MC DIDN'T GO WITH ASRA LIKE ?!?!? THEY COULD HAVE USED THAT WATER SPELL TO HELP FIND A CURE WITHOUT BEING THERE PHYSICALLY !!!

(Omg I totally agree! I would have been out of that city the second that plague reared it's head. I simply do not have loyalty to places and I would be gone lmao 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️💨 Also, my prompt for Asra for Kinktober is emotional sex, which you sent in of course 😉, and I think I might use this post as the backstory for it... @bymoanne)

Okay, so Asra has been watching the plague develop like a hawk, and he's decided that they have to leave. They have to. Otherwise his alpha will die, and Asra knows he won't be far behind. Things are going from bad to worse, and Asra knows they have to leave now before the city gets quarantined.

But then his alpha says the worst six words he's ever heard.

"I want to stay and help."

And Asra breaks down into hysterics completely, shouting and pleading and bargaining and saying anything and everything he can think of to convince them. He's furious at them for doing this to him. For putting him in this position where he can't protect his mate. But he's also not surprised. This is so like them, to want to help everyone, and normally it's one of his favourite things about his alpha, but right now he can't stand it.

And Asra's alpha is just staring at him, completely blindsided by his breakdown, vaguely aware of Faust slithering up to rest on their shoulders. He'd been quick to leave Asra when his shouting started.

They had no idea he was feeling so unsafe, feeling so desperate to leave. They do want to stay and help but not if this is what that decision does to Asra. He'll never leave them, they know that, and they couldn't bare to watch him breakdown like this if they decided to stay.

They try and get him to calm down, but he won't let them speak. He feels like he's going to die, like they both are going to die, if he can't convince them right now that they need to leave.

...

"Where do you want to go?" they interrupt him, speaking loud enough to be heard over Asra's panicked pleading. His voice dies down as the words register.

"What?" he asks, dazed.

"I don't know if I ever mentioned it, but my family had a cabin in the woods about thirty miles from here... It hasn't been used in years, but it was pretty hidden and secure, so it should still be there. From what I can remember, we left the kitchen stocked with plates and cutlery, and the linen cupboard stocked with blankets and sheets. I can't promise that the roof won't leak and that the blankets aren't musty and need washing but, if you want to go there we could fix it up a little?" they offer.

Asra blinks a few times, before his bottom lip starts to quiver.

"Really?"

"Of course! We can pack up as much of our stuff as we can, we'll have to hunt and grow a lot of our food there, but we can bring as many cans of food as we can to supplement. There's a river for fish and everything! I think you'll like it, but it will take us about six hours to get there at least, probably closer to eight with all our stuff- Woah!"

Asra interrupts them by throwing himself into their arms. He can't even begin to stop the tears that fall freely from his eyes. He's so relieved he can barely breathe.

"Thank you, thank you," he sobs into their shoulder. He claws at his alpha's shoulders, desperately trying to pull his alpha closer.

"Shh," they hush, holding him securely. "I do want to stay and help, but not if that makes you feel like this. We're a team. I will never make you stay in a place where you don't feel safe."

"A team," Asra repeats in a whispered voice. Faust gently begins to transfer back to Asra, now that the shouting has stopped.

"A team," they place a kiss on his head. "We'll leave at first light tomorrow, it's too late today. The cabin is hard enough to find in the daylight and I haven't been there in years, the night is too risky. It will give us some time to pack though."

Asra sighs, nuzzling in to his alpha's neck, exhausted. All the adrenaline is starting to crash and now he just feels tired, but also so, so grateful.

"I love you," Asra says, trying to push as much emotion as he can into those words.

"I love you, too," they reply, sliding a hand up to nestle in his hair. "Why don't you take a nap while I make a packing list?"

...

Asra's alpha sits on one of their sofa's, Asra's head cushioned in their lap as he sleeps, and they write a packing list.

They leave just before dawn, with as much stuff as they can carry between them, dragging a small cart behind them to help. They all (Asra, his alpha and Faust) exit the city without touching anything or talking to anyone. They walk in silence, focused on just leaving as fast as possible without a fuss and without catching anything.

It takes a whole day of walking to arrive at the little derelict cabin, but the second they do, Asra feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

There are cobwebs everywhere, the roof is questionable, and the whole place is covered in dust. But it's workable, especially with magic. They have a food source, a water source, blankets and a bed, a semi functional kitchen... and crucially, they're far away from any town or city.

It's perfect.

[I really want to build the little derelict cabin in the sims 😆 Maybe I will haha]

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

It's Delicate: PART I

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Content Warnings: Mention of NA meeting, some case talk, mild language

Author's Note: This is my first chapter fic! I've only written one shots before, so bear with me. I truly do appreciate all reblogs, likes, and comments. Thank you!!

It's Delicate

Spencer doesn’t really care for gas station coffee, but at 2:00 am it’s the only thing that’s open. He pulls into the parking spot and turns off his Volvo. The check engine light is on, he needs to get into a mechanic, but between his NA meetings and work, it’s difficult to even catch his breath.

So that’s what Spencer does. In the middle of the gas station parking lot at 2:00 am, Spencer sits in his blue Volvo and breathes. He takes deep breaths, the ones that he uses when he has to calm down victims when they’re rescued. It’s grounding, breathing like this he thinks. It’s the kind of breath that Spencer takes when his head is fuzzy from sleeplessness and the only thing that can keep his eyes from drooping is a steady stream of coffee.

He unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of his car. Shutting the door, Spencer surveys the rest of the parking lot. He sees a couple other cars in the lot, he supposes it’s the gas station attendants, but he feels his shoulders tense at the thought of trouble. The bell attached to the door rings as Spencer opens the door. It's a small convenience store, one that Spencer has been frequently at odd hours after the BAU’s jet lands. He’s grown to know the owner, Jeff, who for the past 4 years hasn’t been around all too often.

“I’ll take a regular coffee,” Spencer asks the young man behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything in return, but nods his head in understanding as Spencer hands him a $5 bill and tells him to keep the change.

“Night,” Spencer tells the man, who he’s never seen before, when he hands him his coffee. Again, the young man doesn’t answer. Spencer tries to salvage the awkward encounter by chalking up the man’s coldness by it being so late.

As Spencer pushes against the door with the sleeve covered part of his arm, a poster that’s eye level catches his eye. It’s one of those posters where you can rip off the phone number and contact the person. But instead of a 20-something looking for a roommate, it’s a book club advertisement.

Spencer, quickly for a normal person, but slowly for himself, reads over the sign. The book club is hosted at the local bookstore, Hooked on Books, that Spencer has always meant to check out. From what he can gather, the list of numbers are from people looking for what the poster refers to as “book buddies”. Spencer’s eyes scan the list. There aren't any names attached to the numbers, Spencer supposes that the idea behind that is so bias won’t come into play.

It almost seems like the perfect trap: rip off one of these little pieces of paper with a phone number and call that person with the intention of being their book buddy. It’s something that Spencer knows deep in his bones he’s meant to avoid. But it’s like there’s an invisible string pulling at him to rip the third piece of paper from the group and stuff it carefully into the safety of his wallet.

--

It’s been five days since Spencer visited the cold man at the gas station and took the number from the poster. In those five days, Spencer slept for two and was back on plane to the middle of Montana for the next three.

After a long day in the sun, Spencer relishes in the cold water from the hotel shower. Even though he had to crouch slightly, Spencer still appreciated the way the chilly water seems to wash him anew. He never sleeps well when the team is on a case, it’s like his mind can’t rest. Well, his mind can never really rest, since it’s technically always growing and changing, especially during sleep.

Spencer’s thoughts travel from his messed up circadian rhythm to the piece of paper that burns a hole in his wallet. He steps out of the shower and dresses in his pajamas. It’s cold in the hotel run, as JJ likes to sleep in the coldest temperature humanly possible. Spencer knows that she finds the weight of blankets comforting. He makes a mental note to put some of his pillows on JJ’s bed, so she can pretend it’s her boys and Will in the bed with her. Spencer can’t help but wonder what’s like to have a child or a partner that misses you. It must be so bittersweet: the promise of coming home, but the threat of having to leave them all behind at moments notice.

Letting his hair air dry, Spencer unlocks the door and enters his and JJ’s hotel room. Out of the whole team, Spencer likes sharing with JJ the best. She’s the most organized and usually, they’ll spend the night on FaceTime with the boys and Will watching a movie, depending on the time.

“You’re all good, JJ. Thanks for letting me get in first,” Spencer says, flopping down on his bed. He shuts off his light, essentially telling JJ that he doesn’t want to talk about the case, or Henry, or anything really.

“Good night, Spence,” JJ says, before shutting off the rest of the lights and heading into the bathroom.

For a couple of minutes, Spencer lays in the all consuming dark. He tries the breathing exercise that’s scientifically proven to make you fall asleep. He counts, one, two, three, four breaths in and holds for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven and let's go for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

He tries it for a couple of rounds, but suspects thinking about numbers makes him think about the phone number. Spencer can’t exactly pinpoint why he’s nervous to reach out to the number. Maybe it’s his constant fear of judgement or fear of not being enough, he can’t tell.

Knowing that sleep is probably not coming anytime soon, Spencer rolls on his side so he faces the window overlooking the hotel parking lot. He can’t stop thinking about the case. The way the victim’s mother and father walk around the precinct with a lifeless look in their eyes, staying villgiant no matter how many times JJ tells them to go home and rest.

Spencer doesn’t want to think about the case, so his mind flits to another subject: Hooked on Books Book Buddies. He can’t really pinpoint why he didn’t reach out to his book buddy. But laying there in the bed, Spencer feels strongly compelled to do anything to get his mind off the case, so he climbs out of bed to reach for his phone.

It’s tucked away neatly in his go bag, unlike JJ, Spencer doesn’t have anyone that’s waiting for him at home. Sure he has his mother, but if she needed him, the home would wait until 8 am to call Spencer. He unlocks it and the blue light illuminates the room. Somehow, Garcia had convinced him to get an updated phone. Spencer hardly uses it, but does appreciate being able to get pictures of JJ’s boys and his mother.

He memorized the number in the ten seconds or so it took him to rip the little slip of paper from the poster and put it away in his wallet. Spencer punches the numbers into a new contact, but hesitates when he’s prompted to give a name. He doesn’t know the first thing about this person. Seriously, this is like FBI 101 on the do not listen, he thinks.

Spencer pushes the thoughts of serial killers, for what feels like the first time in ten years, from his mind when he hits the button to message his mysterious book buddy. He types out a message a couple of times, but ends up deleting them because he sounds so incredibly stupid.

Spencer: Hello. I do apologize for my late message. I work odd hours, but I came across your number at the gas station on the corner of Richmond Street and Connor Avenue in Woodbridge. If you are interested, perhaps we can have a conversation about Hooked on Books’ Book Club?

Spencer, realizing that the message he wrote is going to be as good as it gets, hits the little arrow for “send”. He watches as his message turns blue and the little gray delivered pops up. He doesn’t expect the person to send a message back yet. He’s all the way in Montana and they’re in Woodbridge, Virginia, presumably. If it’s 2:30 am in Montana, it’s 4:30 back at home. That’s a little too late for someone with a normal 9 to 5 to be up for work and a little too late for a person that’s joining a book club to haven’t gone to sleep yet.

Don’t profile them, Spencer.

“What’s got you glued to the phone, Reid?” JJ says, with a smirk as she walks out from the bathroom and climbs into her bed. She came in so quietly, or rather, Spencer was staring so intensely at his phone that he didn’t realize.

“Something with my mother, JJ,” he lies, and he doesn’t even know what he can’t tell her the truth.

“Okay, Spence. I just want to make sure you’re all good,” JJ says quietly, her back must be facing Spencer because her voice is muffled a little bit.

“Thanks, JJ, uh good night, now,” Spencer says, effectively ending the conversation.

JJ doesn’t say anything after that, perhaps she just understands that Spencer doesn’t want to talk. Spencer rests flat on his back and tries a couple more rounds of the breathing exercise, but nothing seems to make his brain shut off. Despite the way his eyelids droop and the way it’s almost painful to continue to think, Spencer can’t seem to fall asleep.

He thinks about his Book Buddy, whoever they might be. Spencer hopes that they are around his age. He can’t remember a time that he had a friend his age that wasn’t through work. He has people. JJ is the closest thing to a sister that he’ll ever get and he knows that Derek loves him like a brother, despite his teasing. Emily and Penelope are Spencer’s rock. And then there’s Tara, Matt, and Luke, though Spencer has really gotten a chance to know them all too well, he knows that they’re a team.

But Spencer has always dreamt of having a friend. As a little kid, he used to make up imaginary friends that would listen to his science facts and perform chemistry experiments from him. When he got to high school, his dreams were occupied by someone who’d reach for his hand after he’d been beaten down or strung to a football post. Sure he had Ethan, but that was something charged and electric that left Spencer longing for someone again.

Spencer hadn’t had dreams about a friend in a long time, but tonight he dreamt of coffee and books in a small café and a faceless stranger that would listen to him and laugh with him.

--

Even though he fell asleep relatively shortly after thinking about his Book Buddy, Spencer did not feel well rested. He turns around in his bed and notices that JJ’s bed is already neatly made. The bathroom is empty, so Spencer reckons that JJ and Emily must already be at the police station.

He wants to savor the last couple of minutes in bed, maybe chase a dream or two of strangers swapping books and making memories over expensive coffee and scones. But reality calls him back home. Spencer checks his phones for work updates (and maybe a message or two from his Book Buddy), but the only notifications on his phone is a Forbes article and a couple emails from Georgetown.

Spencer, heading to the bathroom, gets interrupted by a loud and persistent knock on his hotel room door. He opens the door, revealing an equally tired looking Luke. He waves Spencer good morning before slumping down in the desk chair in the corner of the hotel room.

“I’ve been sent by JJ to get you, she thinks you’re acting weird,” Luke says, expecting Spencer to explain himself.

Awkwardly, Spencer makes something in between a grimace and a frown. He rolls his eyes, but plays along with what he thinks Luke’s little game.

“Well I’m always weird, it would be weird if I wasn’t being weird,” Spencer says, heading into the bathroom with a pile of work clothes. He shuts the door, both literally on Luke and metaphorically on their conversation.

In the bathroom, Spencer dresses out of his pajamas and into a pair of well worn pants and a light purple button up. He forgot his contacts at his apartment, but luckily had a back up pair of glasses in his go bag. Spencer, looking in the mirror, never particularly carried for the reflection that looks back at him. It always seems like his hair is too messy, or his collar is all twisted, or his eyebags are too prominent.

At least the glasses can kind of cover up his eye bags, Spencer thinks as he shuts off the light and closes the bathroom door behind him. Luke, who still is slouched in the chair, looks at his phone.

“Waiting for Penelope to send you a picture of Sergio or something?” Spencer asks, the snark in his voice isn’t missed by Luke.

“You’re one to talk, JJ was telling me how you’re being kind of secretive for the last couple of weeks,” Luke counters.

“Yeah, that’s my work mandated therapist, Luke. You know from the time I was in jail,” Spencer shoots back a little harder than he intended. The look that Luke gives him is something akin to a hurt puppy and Spencer can’t help but feel a little bad for snapping at Luke’s teasing.

“Sorry, man,” Luke says, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “I get it, and you know I’m here for you, Reid. We might not be as close as you and Penny or you and JJ, but I’m here to listen to you,” Luke says, his hand on Spencer, who’s usually so hesitant to touch, is something Spencer never thought he would find comforting.

“Thank you,” is all Spencer can manage and somehow, Luke just gets it. They walk quietly to the parking lot where the SUVs are. The silence continues as they drive to the police station.

It’s still early, only 7:13 am. Spencer can only hope that they catch the unsub in the next couple of hours, so they can file the paperwork and be on their way to Quantico by 8:00 pm. Luke’s steady driving threatens to lull Spencer to sleep. His quiet presence, however, is interrupted with a buzz. Luke’s eyes dart to his phone that navigates them to the police station. He refuses to take direction from Spencer, who has a habit of being a terrible co-pilot.

“Check that for me,” Luke says, “it’s probably Penelope,”

Spencer raises his eyebrows and attempts to suppress a smirk at Luke’s blatant transparency.

“You know with updates about the case and whatnot,” Luke says, brushing Spencer’s teasing off and putting his attention back to the road.

“It’s not Garcia and for what it’s worth, Luke, I don’t see how she’d say no,” Spencer offers, genuinely wanting to see his two friends, who are so perfect for each other it’s almost ridiculous, get together.

Luke shuffles in his seat uncomfortably and pulls into the station. He shoots Spencer a lot, as if to say drop it. The last thing Luke wants is Tara and Matt to get wind of his excitement at Penelope texting him.

Spencer, who’s phone lights up alerting him that he has an unread message, feels a sudden surge in his heart. He’s so used to only getting messages from JJ about the cases or pictures of her boys, that a text not related to his work or his family leaves a smile to his face.

Spencer tries to not profile the message, but to just read it like a normal friend would.

Book Buddy (Y/N): Hey there😊! I can’t believe someone actually grabbed my number...I’m glad you’re interested in this. I’m Y/N and I don’t think you mentioned your name, I don’t make it a habit to meet up with strangers before not knowing their name.

Reading the message twice to make sure he can recite without any hesitation, Spencer’s face falls as he realizes that he forgot to tell them his own name. How could you be so clueless, Spencer, he thinks.

Quickly, because he knows that the rest of the team is waiting inside the police station, that is like a portal to the past, Spencer types out another message.

Spencer: My name is Spencer.

Spencer: I tend to be away for work quite often, so I do apologize for the late message. And for hiding my identity-- not that that was on purpose. Is it okay if we plan something when I get back to Virginia?

Spencer doesn’t expect a message right away, but he can tell that there’s going to be something Pavlovian about the way that little swoosh sound makes his fingers reach for his phone.

--

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day one: against all odds (we're still here) for @trkstrnd

Carlos will hate himself for it later, but he’s so focused on his task that the screech of tires coming around the corner barely registers as a blip on his radar. He doesn’t notice anything until TK suddenly barrels into him, throwing Carlos to the side just before something else, something heavy, crashes into them with a blinding flash of pain, and then—

Nothing.

*

a simple trip to the grocery store quickly turns to disaster for tk and carlos

day two: out, damned spot for anon

TK wakes up gasping, choking on air. The sheets are suffocating him and, when he tries to free himself, they only seem to get tighter. The hands reaching out for him, trying to calm him, are the final straw; TK throws himself from bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind him as he collapses against the sink.

On some level, he is aware that the hands were Carlos’s, that the sheets were theirs, that his hands are clean, and that the dream was just a dream.

But they weren't always that way.

day three: the meetings for those in my wake for @freddieholic

For years after the divorce, Gwyn came to learn that any call from Owen was almost certainly bad news, and almost always about their son. Things have been better in the three years since her time in Texas, which is why she thinks nothing of it when he calls just after she’s put Isaac to bed for the night.

“Owen, hey,” she greets. “What’s up?”

The silence she’s answered with is the first sign that something’s wrong.

The sob that follows is the second.

“Gwyn, it’s TK. He's... They think we should say goodbye."

day four: a friend in me for 📍 anon

Carlos has come to see Nancy as a force of nature, a woman who will let nothing and no-one stand in her way, whether that’s out on the field or during a game of Monopoly. But, right now, as she sits hunched over in one of the interrogation rooms, shock blanket around her shoulders, he's never seen her look so small.

or

the story of how nancy and carlos become the new champions of 126 games nights

day five: truth is heavier than fiction for anon

Carlos pauses with his hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to prepare himself before going inside. TK’s shift finished an hour ago and he’d texted to let Carlos know he was home, which means Carlos is going to be walking right into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

Not that he’d have much choice either way; he might be able to cover his cracked and bruised ribs for a little while, but the arm in a sling will tell on him as soon as the door opens. Carlos doesn’t want to hide his injuries—they’ve had enough conversations in reverse on that theme to make him a hypocrite if he did—but he may have made some choices that he doesn’t particularly want to go into right now. Not while he’s tired and aching and just wants to cuddle with his boyfriend.

He blows out a breath, then opens the door, bracing himself for TK’s reaction.

“Hey— Shit!”

day six: slowly, and then all at once for @pragmaticoptimist34

The realisation that he loves Carlos hits him like a bolt out of the blue.

And at the worst possible moment.

We are getting updates on the active shooter situation at the Four Seasons Hotel. Austin Police Department have closed off the area and officers are currently preparing to enter the building to detain the suspect. It is as yet unknown if there have been any civilian casualties, but—

“Paul, turn the damn TV back on.”

“No.”

*

five times tk can't admit his feelings about carlos, and one time he finally does

day seven: the promise of tomorrow for anon

Up until five minutes ago, Carlos had been terrified of never having TK in his arms again. Now, the thought of letting him go scares him just as much, and TK seems to feel the same, if the way he’s clutching at Carlos’s jacket and pulling it tight across his back is any indication.

Carlos hugs him close, sinking down to his knees as TK falls into the chair behind him, letting the rest of the room fade away to nothing as he realises that they weren’t too late—that TK is here, with him, alive and mostly whole.

day eight: we'll hold each other soon for @221bsunsettowers

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away.

It's the last good memory Carlos has, and he's going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he's going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK's smile.

day nine: now i am just but the wayward man for anon

Ben is glaring at him again.

Klaus is very familiar with this specific glare—it’s the one Ben breaks out when Klaus is being ‘stubborn’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a fucking asshole junkie with no self-respect who only cares about the next high and, really, it’s a fucking miracle you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet, Klaus’.

He has to hand it to him. Ben really does have him down to a tee.

*

winter is approaching and klaus has nowhere to go. his siblings are his only option—meaning he effectively has no options.

day ten: i can't imagine my life without you for 📍 anon

It had come completely out of left field—one minute everything was fine, the next Carlos had turned to him with guarded eyes and a clenched jaw, and said six words that sent TK’s whole world crashing down.

“I think we need a break.”

*

nobody likes to be asked 'trouble in paradise?', particularly when the answer is yes.

day eleven: start again from the beginning for anon

Owen trusts his son. He’s watched TK fight his addiction and stay sober for the last six years, and he has faith that he can handle himself.

But when TK doesn’t show up for work the night after proposing to Alex, Owen knows that something is wrong. After all, they've been here before.

day twelve: let me love you when your heart is tired for anon

TK knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he opens his eyes. Slowly, slowly, each twitch like he’s moving mountains, he inches his hand blindly across the bed to reach out for Carlos. If he can just feel his boyfriend, if he can just see him—

But, of course. Carlos has a shift today. TK has a vague recollection of him getting out of bed at five this morning, rousing him with a shift to the mattress and a gentle kiss on the forehead.

If this were a normal day, he might smile at the memory.

day thirteen: couldn't utter my love when it counted for 📍 anon

TK takes his time in the bathroom, stopping to stare at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes and trying to talk himself down from any more-than-friendly feelings towards Carlos.

Later, they’ll tell him that this saved his life.

But that won’t be for a long time, until after the smoke has cleared and the dead have been counted and the statements have been taken. For now, TK steels his resolve and nods at himself, then turns to the door, a hand reaching out for the handle.

That’s when the explosion rips through the building.

*

after the boba date, tk lets carlos go. they're friends, which is working just fine, until a horrific accident threatens to take even that away from them.

day fourteen: if i walk out the door (a thousand eyes) for anon

TK gets this feeling sometimes, a sort of prickling at his back, like someone’s behind him, breathing down his neck. At first, it was only a once-in-a-while situation, so he thinks nothing of it; when it becomes an everyday occurrence, he starts to wonder, but he’s probably just being paranoid. The shooting, kidnapping, firehouse explosion, and the fire at his and Carlos’s house had all taken their toll, and TK’s just generally more on edge these days.

He doesn’t tell anyone about the feeling, not even Carlos. There’s no reason to fuck up everyone else’s peace with something so stupid. It’ll go away eventually; TK’s sure of it.

That is, until one of the lots just down from the firehouse gets occupied.

day fifteen: find you here inside the dark for @fanfic-corner

Yaz has walked this room too many times to count now; she’s traced her fingertips over the walls, searching for any cracks or crevices to indicate where there might be a door.

If the Doctor were here, she’d have her sonic out by now, spitting out words, only half of which Yaz could understand. She’d find a way out in no time. Or, if not, at least she’d be here. Talking a mile a minute, probably annoying the hell out of their captors. Yaz can almost hear her now—

Wait.

She can hear her now.

day sixteen: accidents happen for @ilovemosss

So, Jason reflects, it may not have been the best idea to take Pythagoras out training while they’re all suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Being the more logical of them, Pythagoras, to his credit, had attempted to talk him out of it, but Jason ignored him.

He very much regrets that decision now.

day seventeen: you and me (moving through this world as a two-man team) for @laelipoo

TK does not have a crush on the 126's latest hire.

Carlos Reyes: an Austin local, an incredible firefighter, and—objectively speaking—the most beautiful man TK has ever laid eyes on. Which is, in fact, the entire point; TK has eyes and, yes, he will use them to sneak a look or two when he’s suddenly sharing space with a man who looks like a Greek god.

That does not mean he has a crush, Paul.

(and, sure, maybe he does sometimes dream about how soft Carlos’s lips look and the little blush he gets when he laughs and those little flecks of gold in his eyes, but he’s only human)

(how TK knows about the gold in Carlos’s eyes is none of anybody’s business)

day eighteen: in perfect harmony for @anyotherheartwilldo

Here’s the thing—Carlos doesn’t believe in signs. He used to when he was younger, raised on his abuela’s stories, but as he’d gotten older his father had taught him that what mattered was the choices he made. He’s the only one who has a say in the way his life turns out, and if he wants something, he has to put in the work to get it.

But there comes a point—namely, after his fifth thwarted attempt to propose to TK—when he begins to wonder if the universe really does have something against him.

*

proposing to tk proves far more complicated than carlos had first thought.

day nineteen: whatever here that's left of me (is yours) for anon

“Are you…” TK leans closer, peering at the hoodie Carlos is wearing, and—yep. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? Was there nothing in your size from the crew? You should have said something. We can fix this, you don’t need to be uncomfortable.”

There’s a beat, and then Carlos, studiously avoiding TK’s gaze, clears his throat. “It smells like you.”

*

post-2.12, carlos finds comfort in tk's hoodies.

day twenty: can't smile without you for anon

Carlos would be lying to himself if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him before. He has always worried for TK’s safety, and the knowledge that a serial killer is on the loose in Austin has sent that worry skyrocketing. Especially because he’s the lead detective on the case; he’s spent hours poring over horrific crime scenes, examining all the facts until they’re burned into his brain.

Admittedly, the killers seem to be mostly indiscriminate in who they take, meaning the chances of it being TK are slim.

But there’s still a chance.

*

a before, during, and after of tk's kidnapping in a hole where your memory goes

day twenty-one: lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide for @freddieholic

“Can I ask you something else?”

TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”

“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”

“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”

*

five times tk turns to unhealthy coping mechanisms when he wants to use + one time he finally asks for help

day twenty-two: know me crazy, soothe me daily for anon

It had freaked Carlos out the first time it happened.

“It was a seizure,” TK explained, after Carlos had finished telling him about it. TK had been disoriented and confused for about ten minutes after, and couldn’t even remember half of their earlier conversation. “I… It’s because of the drugs. They fucked something up in my brain, especially after my first overdose, and now I get seizures occasionally."

*

in which carlos gets a little over-protective and tk is mildly exasperated

day twenty-three: lover, be good to me for anon

Carlos holds his arms out, and TK comes willingly, setting what Carlos now recognises as a tray of food carefully on the bed. “What’s this?”

TK stares as if it’s obvious. “Date night.”

“What?”

TK pauses, then gasps. “You’re right.” He pats himself down frantically, then pulls an object out of his pocket with a dramatic flourish. It’s a little electric tea light—real candles long since banned from the bedroom—and Carlos watches in bemusement as TK flicks it on and sets it down on the tray. “Now it’s date night.”

*

his fiancé being bed-bound isn't going to keep tk from date night

day twenty-four: bring you in from the cold for anon

As a cop, Carlos has always been uncomfortably aware of his own mortality. He’s considered his own death more than is probably healthy, but when you’re facing down the barrel of a gun almost every single day, it’s kind of forced on you.

He’s imagined himself being shot, stabbed, strangled, and everything in between.

But he’s not sure he ever pictured dying in a walk-in freezer after getting trapped there by mistake.

day twenty-five: heaving through corrupted lungs for anon

TK is itching to go home and check on Carlos, to make sure he’s still breathing and actually resting like he’s supposed to be. On the other hand, Carlos would probably kill him if he left work, illness be damned. It’s just… Carlos had looked so ill that morning, skin ashen and voice all but gone, and it had taken a lot of convincing for TK to still go to his own shift. He’d insisted on making sure Carlos had all the blankets and water and snacks and anything else he could possibly want, but even so, he’s still uneasy.

His gut is telling him that something’s wrong, and TK doesn’t think he can ignore it for much longer.

*

when carlos falls ill, they think it's just a bad cold. but when tk goes to check on him, he's in for a nasty shock.

day twenty-six: slowly becoming lovers for @pragmaticoptimist34

Things don’t get fixed overnight. They agree to give them a shot, but that doesn’t change the fact that TK is still reeling from his break-up and overdose, nor that Carlos is still hesitant and afraid of pushing too hard at once.

But, slowly, they get to know each other. And, slowly, they start to fall in love.

*

tk and carlos, getting to know each other and falling in love

day twenty-seven: and curse the gods for @girlwhowasntthere

Jason knows what it is to be cursed.

day twenty-eight: ignoring every warning for @moviegeek03

TK is fine.

He is absolutely, 100% fine.

And, sure, maybe he’s not supposed to be at work right now, and maybe his hand hasn’t fully healed yet, but it’s nothing. His doctor cleared him to go back to work, which means it’s healed enough, and TK is certainly not going to admit defeat no matter how much he's hurting.

day twenty-nine: can you beat back the night? for @girlwhowasntthere

He misses the bard. Geralt won’t admit it, not even to Roach, but he misses him. After months—years—of Jaskier’s constant chatter and the sound of his lute, the silence, once valued above all else, is too much.

It’s been months since the dragon, since Geralt lost both Yennefer and Jaskier in one fell swoop. He’s cursed himself many times over for the words he said—to both of them—and cursed himself more for the mistakes he made to get in this position in the first place.

*

this is the lot of witchers, to be alone.

day thirty: ease my mind for @silvarafael

Briefly, Carlos considers calling TK and telling him about the accident. But… He only broke two of his fingers and it barely even classifies as a minor injury in his book, so there’s really no reason to bother his fiancé while he’s still on shift himself. He pockets his phone then looks around to figure out where the exit is.

Only, an all-too familiar laugh distracts him from his task, drawing his attention to the nurses station.

Where TK is standing, smiling as a nurse swats at him for stealing one of their lollipops.

Carlos is, beyond doubt, fucked.

day thirty-one: scars turn to memories for anon

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then, he remembers.

Carlos was off shift tonight. He was here. Alone.

[elliesguitarstrings]

promises, promises || part one: what used to be

masterlist || series masterlist

tom holland x reader

summary: you're crying over someone you haven't seen in two years, tom is straight up depressed, your friends are trying to set you up, and sam is just trying his best to help

warnings: ANGST, language, mentions of sex, little bit of fluff, probably typos

A/N: PART ONE IS HERE!!!! i absolutely love this fic and i hope you guys love it as much as i do :)

p.s. this ended up being really long sooooo i decided to make it into a series instead lol if y'all haven't figured that out

wc: 5k

~~~~~~~~

"I got the part! Holy shit I actually got the part!" Tom throws his computer across the bed in disbelief, almost hitting you.

"Wait, like THE part? Like Spiderman?" you question excitedly.

"YES!!! Check the Marvel Instagram right now!" he crawls over to you as you whip out your phone and quickly search up the account. You scan the page to see a post captioned, "Click the link in our bio to see who the new Spider-Man is!" You quickly find the link and impatiently wait for the page to load. And then you see it, boldface print and giant letters across your phone.

The new Marvel Cinematic Universe Spider-Man will be played by: TOM HOLLAND

"HOLY SHIT TOM! You're fucking Spiderman!" you tackle him with a hug, squeezing him so tightly that he has to fight for breath. "I'm so proud of you, I knew you were gonna do big things." you smile brightly.

"We have to go tell everyone else, come on!" Tom pulls you off of him, dragging you out of his bedroom and down the stairs to give his family the big news.

The rest of the Hollands were already together in the family room, and they immediately took notice of yours and Tom's excitement as the two of you are bounding down the stairs.

Out of breath, Tom sprints to the center of the room. "Attention everyone, I have an extremely important announcement to make!" He pauses for dramatic effect, his family waiting in anticipation. "I'M GONNA BE SPIDERMAN!"

This causes an outburst of cheers and applause from his parents and brothers, each one of them getting up to hug Tom and congratulate him on this huge achievement.

Paddy pipes up, "How did you get the news? Did they call you or something?"

"Um, not exactly. They posted it on their Instagram and on the Marvel website as well, wanna see?" He turns to you, "Y/N, show them your phone!"

You pull out your phone and open the screen you were just looking at, showing the Hollands the Instagram post and article.

"No way, they're totally hacked." Harry remarks, earning disapproving looks from Nikki and Dom. "if you were really gonna be the next Spiderman, they would have called you."

Before Tom has the time to argue back, his phone rings, as if on cue. Tom pulls it out of his back pocket and nervously studies the number across the screen.

"Well, what are you waiting for div, answer it!" Sam chirps impatiently.

The rest of the room is silent while Tom listens intently to the person the other line. You can't make out what they are saying, but the eventual smile on Tom's face completely gives it away.

"Yes, thank you. Thank you so much for this opportunity," he holds while the other person talks again. "Yeah, I'll be in touch, definitely. Thank you again." Tom ends the call and lets out a sigh of relief. "That was fucking Kevin Feige! I got the part! I actually am gonna be the next Spiderman!"

You and the rest of his family cheered even louder than before, enveloping him in a giant group hug.

"I say we celebrate!" Nikki announces. "How about we go out for a nice dinner?"

Tom smiles, "If I'm honest mum, as nice as that would be, I'd rather just stay in and celebrate here tonight. I like your cooking better than any fancy restaurant anyways."

"Of course honey, I'll make your favorite. We can have a nice big family dinner, how does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect mum, thank you."

She dashes into the kitchen followed by Sam, the aspiring chef of the family, while Dom, Harry, and Paddy go to dress the table.

You take this as your cue to leave, seeing as you don't want to disrupt the rest of Tom's night with his family. "I guess I should get going then," you turn to Tom, hugging him once again. "Congratulations again, I'm so proud of you Tommy." you smile as you head to grab your things before you leave.

"Nonsense! You're staying for dinner too!" Tom stops you.

"Tom, I can't, you should spend this night celebrating with your family." you try to reason with him.

"But I want you here too!" he pouts.

"And you are family!" Nikki pipes in from the kitchen, earning nods of agreement from the rest of the family.

"See, everyone wants you here Y/N, please celebrate with us?" Tom cups your face.

"Are you sure? I really don't want to-"

Nikki cuts you off, piping in once again, "Y/N, I insist you stay for dinner with us. You've been a part of this family for so long, and you know that. So please stay and celebrate with us!" she smiles.

You giggle, "Well, I guess I can't say no to that." Tom smiles, giddily engulfing you in another hug.

After a long and delicious dinner, you and Tom now lay under the stars in the treehouse in his backyard. Dom had built it for you two when you were eight years old, and it's been your special place ever since then. Obviously, it has been upgraded and redecorated since then, now that you and Tom were both eighteen, but it still takes you back to the old days when you were just carefree little kids.

You cuddle into Tom's chest, looking up at the night sky through the small window in the roof of the treehouse. "I wish we could stay here forever," you whisper.

"Me too." Tom pulls you closer, kissing your forehead.

"Everything's gonna change you know. We're graduating in two weeks, and then you leave for America. I don't know what I'm gonna do without you." A small tear rolls down your cheek which doesn't go unnoticed by Tom.

He wipes the tear off your face with his thumb, cupping your chin to make you face him. "Hey, hey, look at me. Things might be changing, but that doesn't mean we have to. I'm only gonna be gone for a few months, and then I'll be back. I love you so much, and a few hundred miles is never going to change that. I will never let anything come between us, ever, okay?"

You smile softly, "You promise?"

"I promise darling. It's you and me forever. I'm never letting you go. Never in a million years." he kisses you lovingly, and you swear you could just live in this moment forever with him, and only him.

That was six years ago. And what Tom said was true, everything had changed. You just wish everything else he had said that night was true too.

Now, Tom is a world-famous actor, living a luxurious life out in Hollywood. You, however, have stayed in England, living only thirty minutes away from your childhood home with your newfound best friends Julia and Finn. You are no longer a part of Tom's life, and he is no longer a part of yours. But that doesn't mean you've forgotten about him.

How could you possibly forget about Tom? Your entire childhood was spent with him. From the ages of two to twenty-two, you were inseparable. To this day, you still remember when you first met, and you think about it often.

"I no wanna go! I stay home and watch princesses!" you cry, defiantly pulling away from your mother's firm grip as she tries to stuff you into shoes that are much too small for your rapidly growing feet.

"I know honey, but we have to go welcome the new neighbors who just moved in across the street. We made them brownies, remember?" she smiles.

You scrunch your face up, " No! I stay home!"

Your dad chimes in, kneeling down to your level. "Listen peanut. How about we make a deal. You come with us and say hello to the new neighbors, and then after we get home you can watch any princess movie you want and maybe even have some ice cream, how does that sound?"

You smile, "Ice cream with rainbow sprinkles?"

He rubs your head, "With rainbow sprinkles."

"Okay. I go then."

Your parents smile, and you hold their hands as you walk across the street to meet the neighbors. Your mom rings the doorbell, and the door opens to reveal a red-headed woman, smiling at you and your parents. Hiding behind her is a small, curly-headed brunette boy about the same height as you.

Your mom introduces herself, "Hi! My name is Y/M/N, this is my husband Y/D/N, and this is my daughter Y/N. We live right across the street, and we just wanted to welcome you into the neighborhood." She outstretches her arms, holding the brownies, "I made these for you as well, I hope you like them!"

The woman smiles, "Oh, wow, thank you so much, you are so sweet! Would you like to come in for a bit?"

"Of course, as long as you'll have us."

She ushers the three of you in and you stay close to your mom, still wary of entering a stranger's home.

As she closes the door behind her, she introduces herself as well, "Sorry, the house is a little messy, we’re still getting settled in. But I'm Nikki, my husband Dominic is unpacking in the kitchen, and this is Tom." She motions to the boy behind her, "Tom, say hello to the nice people!"

He timidly steps forward, waving at you and your parents. "Hello." he says quietly.

"Oh my, he is adorable!" your mom gushes. She walks over to him, "How old are you Tom?"

He holds up two fingers, "This many."

She smiles, "Two years old? Wow, you're so big! Guess what, you know who else is that many?" Tom shakes his head no. "My daughter Y/N!" She motions for you to come, and you shyly walk forward.

You wave at him, and that makes him smile. Nikki taps Tom on the shoulder, "Do you maybe want to show Y/N your toys upstairs?

He nods his head, smiling at you, "Wanna go play?" he asks.

You smile back, looking at your mom for permission. She nods her head and pushes you forward. "Okay, we go." you respond. He takes your hand and pulls you upstairs, seemingly coming out of his shell. You don't know what it is about this boy, but he makes you feel warm, like a hug. It's something your two-year-old brain can't quite comprehend, but suddenly you couldn't care less about watching princess movies or eating ice cream.

Sometimes you wish that day had never happened, that you had never met him. You wish your little two-year-old self had fought harder against your parents so that you wouldn’t have to endure the years of pain he would cause you later in life. But you can’t go back, and in part, you’re glad about that. He was your first friend, your first crush, and your first love. But he was also your first heartbreak, and that’s something you can never forget.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by a sharp knock on your bedroom door. "Hey, are you almost ready? We have to leave in ten or we'll be late!" you hear Julia's muffled voice from the other side of the door. Finn is hosting a gala tonight for his art studio, and being his best friends and roommates, you and Julia are basically required to go.

"Uh, yeah, I'm about done, I'll be out in a minute!" You haven't even started getting ready, but you don't have any more time. You quickly raid your closet and find a short v-neck black dress and matching heels. You wiggle into the dress as you make your way into the bathroom. You had planned on straightening your hair, but you have no time, so instead, you brush it back into a sleek low ponytail and spray it with a bit of hairspray. There's no time for the elaborate makeup look you had planned either, so you quickly throw on some concealer, blush, mascara, eyeliner, a bit of highlight, and you're set. As you walk to the door, you grab your purse and slip on your heels, making sure you have your phone and keys. Finn and Julia are already waiting in the car, both with disapproving looks.

"What the fuck took you so long? We were supposed to leave five minutes ago! You know I can't be late for this thing." Finn complains as you slip into the backseat.

"Sorry, I, uhm, don't feel well. A little nauseous." you lie. You don't feel like telling them that you were actually crying about someone you haven't seen or talked to in two and a half years like you do every other night.

"You're not pregnant are you?" Julia chuckles.

"Oh please, we all know that Y/N hasn't gotten any since he who must not be named." Finn replies for you.

"Thanks Finn, what a great friend." you joke sarcastically.

He's not wrong though. Since you and Tom broke up, you haven’t slept with a single person. You’ve been on a few dates and kissed a few guys, but nothing past that. The closest you got was about a month after Tom broke it off with you. You were looking for someone to take your mind off of him, so you found a random guy named David at a pub and took him back to your place. But as soon as he took off his shirt, you saw a birthmark on his back that looked eerily similar to Tom’s, and you promptly broke down crying.

No matter what you do, you just can’t seem to get him off your mind.

"Alright bitches, we're here." Finn sighs. "Help me bring my stuff in, we don't have much time thanks to someone who took ages to get ready."

You give a halfhearted apology as you grab Finn's paintings from the back of his car. Julia stops you before you follow Finn into the venue, "Babe, are you sure you're doing alright?"

You smile lightly, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Okay, if you say so. And sorry about Finn mentioning... him. It's been two years, he should know better."

"Oh, no. No, don't worry about that. It's okay. I don't care." you lie.

She gives you an encouraging nudge on the shoulder, "Hey, who knows, maybe you'll find a hottie here tonight and finally get back out there! What do you think, huh?"

"Yeah, that would be great, actually. Maybe Finn can introduce me to his friend James, I know he's pretty hot." you say just to get her off your back. You know for a fact that you won't be going home with anyone tonight, but you want to ease her conscience, so you continue to lie.

"That's the spirit! Good luck hun, love you."

"Thanks Jules, love you too." you smile.

Halfway through the gala, you already want to go home. Finn is over at the bar flirting with some guy, probably trying to get him to buy his artwork. Meanwhile, Julia has disappeared into the bathroom with her boyfriend Ollie, who she invited about thirty minutes into the event because she "got bored."

You look at your phone and realize it's already midnight, and you know the event won't be ending anytime soon. You slowly make your way over to Finn through the sea of people and tap him on the shoulder, drawing his attention away from whatever guy he's flirting with.

"Hey Y/N, how's it going with James?" he asks excitedly.

"Oh, um, it didn't work out, thanks for introducing me though. I just wanted to come tell you that I'm still not feeling well, so I think I'm gonna head home, sorry."

"Oh, okay, no problem. You're probably gonna be alone tonight though, just a heads up. Jules is going back to Ollie's for the night, and" he starts to whisper, "I think I might be going home with this hunk."

You laugh, "Okay, thanks Finn, see you tomorrow then."

"Bye babe. Do you have a ride?" he questions.

"Uh, no, I'm just gonna Uber home, it's no problem."

Finn gasps, "Not this late at night you're not! Let me drive you, hottie with a body over here can wait."

"No, no, don't let me ruin your night. I'll just call Sam then."

His eyes widen, "Like... his brother Sam?"

"Yeah, we're friends still, it's not a big deal. Trust me."

"Okay, fine. But text me when you get home, okay?"

"Okay, love you Finn, see you later." you give him a quick hug and walk outside to call Sam.

You aren't lying, you and Sam are still good friends. Back when you and Tom were together, Sam was the brother that you were closest to, and you felt that it would be unfair to cut ties with the rest of the Hollands just because Tom was a dick to you seeing as they were as much of a family to you as your own parents were, maybe even more. He was attending culinary school in the area anyway, so you decide he’s the best person to call.

As expected, he's happy to drive you home, and about ten minutes later he arrives at the venue where you are still standing outside.

"Hey Sam, I'm sorry for calling this late, but thank you so much for picking me up." you smile as you slide into the passenger seat.

"It's no problem, I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. How've you been?"

"Fine, I guess. How about you?"

"C'mon, I know that look. Something's up with you." he pries.

"I told you on the phone, I'm just not feeling well." you lie, hoping he doesn't catch on.

"It's Tom isn't it?"

"How the fuck do you always know?"

He chuckles. "He is my brother, remember? And you're basically my sister too. I've known you both for literally my entire life, so trust me, I know when it's about him."

You sign in defeat, "I don't know why I can't get over him Sam. It's been nearly three years since we broke up, and I haven't seen him since. My roommates think I'm overreacting, and honestly, I'm starting to agree with them. I should be moved on by now, but I just can't stop thinking about him."

"Hey, hey, don't listen to them, you aren't overreacting. You and Tom were literally attached at the hip for twenty two years, and you weren't even dating for most of them. It's completely normal for you to feel like this, trust me. And I know it doesn't help much for me to say this because I've said it a million times before, but Tom's a complete dick for what he did to you. He's my brother, and I love him, but he's a dick."

"Thanks Sam. I just wish I knew why, y'know? Why, after twenty-two fucking years, he just completely cut me out of his life." you feel your eyes brimming with tears.

"I wish I could have an answer for you Y/N, I really do. But I haven't got a clue. Hell, I honestly don't even know if Tom knows why he did it."

You sigh, "Well, he must have had a reason. Plus, he seems to be doing great in Hollywood. He seems perfectly happy without me."

"You've been stalking him on Instagram, haven't you?" Sam chuckles.

You laugh, "Shut up." That's the great thing about Sam. He can always lighten up a situation, no matter how serious or how sad. Tom did the same thing, that was one of the things you liked most about him.

You and Sam sit in silence for a few minutes, until he finally breaks it. "He's not, you know."

"Huh?" you question, confused.

"He's not happy. You said he seems happy without you, but he's not. He's doing terribly, and it's not just from stress or his work. He won't admit it, but he misses you." he pauses, "I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but he asked about you the other day. About how you were doing and shit like that. I think he would take it back if he could."

You want so badly to believe him, belief that Tom actually still cares about you after all this time. But false hope is the last thing you need right now.

"Well, he can't, can he?" you say sharply, tears still threatening to flow out.

You and Sam sit in silence for the last five minutes of the ride back to your apartment. As he slows the car to a stop, Sam looks over at you sympathetically, "Look, I'm sorry if what I said made things worse. I just wanted you to know that your feelings aren't... one-sided I guess."

You know better than to yell at Sam, he was just trying to make you feel better, so instead of spitting out the sarcastic remark that was on your tongue, you manage out a half-hearted, "It's okay, thanks Sam." and shut the car door.

As soon as the door of your apartment closes behind you, all of the emotions come crashing down on you. A mixture of sadness, anger, guilt, and regret crushed your heart, smashing it into a million little pieces. It feels like two and a half years ago, when he first broke up with you, all over again. Everything was fine until Sam brought him up again, and the memories just all flooded back in. You fall to the floor, clutching your chest in pain, wishing someone was here for you. Wishing he was here for you. At the moment, it feels like you have no one. In reality, you do; you have an entire support system of people who love you so much and would do anything to protect you. But you only want him. You need him. He is the only person you have ever wanted, ever needed, and he's gone.

You want to hate him, you really do. He's caused you more pain in the past two and a half years than anyone or anything has ever caused you in your entire life. But you can't. You can never, and will never, hate him. Which makes you hate yourself.

After what feels like hours of crying, you finally calm down. There's no one at home to talk to and it's too late to call anyone at this point, so you flip on the tv. There's nothing good on Netflix or Hulu that you haven't seen yet, so you scroll through the other apps. You remember that you just got a free Apple TV subscription with your new phone, so you check to see what's on there.

And there it is. Cherry.

His face right on the screen in front of you, lighting your dark bedroom red. You know it's a bad idea and you know you'll regret it, but something draws you to watch it. You need him right now, and this is about the closest you're going to get.

It's fine at first. It's actually nice to see his face again after so long. He looks basically the same as the last time you saw him, just a little more mature. You feel good supporting him, even if he doesn't know it.

But then it's not fine. His character had just gotten into a fight with his girlfriend, so she comes to visit him in his apartment. They talk, and eventually he reveals that he joined the army and has to go away for two years.

"It's just a couple years. Just a couple years and a lifetime together." he whispers.

Then it all hits you, and you break down crying once again. You can't help but think back to that night in the treehouse, and how the conversation is so eerily similar. You wonder if Tom was thinking about it too, while he was filming the scene. Obviously, the circumstances were different, but it still makes you wonder.

You quickly shut the TV off, unable to bear it anymore. With nothing else to do, you try to sleep, but your thoughts keep you up. And as much as you try to fight it, your mind drifts back to the day you so badly want to forget. The day that it all ended.

"Hey, Tommy, what's up? I'm excited to see you tonight!" you pick up the phone. Tom is supposed to come back to London after filming his first solo Spiderman movie, and you could not be more excited to see him. It's been almost a full year since he left for America, and you miss him so much.

"Yea, uhm, about that. Plans have, er, changed a bit." you can hear the solemn tone in his voice.

"Oh no, what happened? Did your flight get delayed or something? I know there's some rough weather in Atlanta, but I didn't realize it was that bad."

"No, no, it's not that. I don't really know how to say this," he sighs, "I'm not coming home."

Your heart drops to your stomach. "What?"

"Yeah. I'm, um, I'm staying in America for now. I found a house in LA, it's nice."

"Well when are you coming back then?" you utter in disbelief.

"Not anytime soon. I have work, so it's just easier for me to be in America. I'm sorry." his tone is stiff.

"But what about us? I miss you so much, these past few months have already been hell for me. I don't think I can survive much longer without seeing you."

No response.

"Tom, are you still there? You know I can't move in with you. I'm already enrolled in university here in London, I can't drop everything and come to America if that's what you want."

"That's not what I want." At this point he seems to have no emotion in his voice, as if he's reading directly from a script.

"So then what do you want?" you start to really worry, tears already stinging your eyes.

"I think you can probably figure that out by now, Y/N."

"Tom, no. You seriously can't be thinking-"

"Yeah, I am thinking that. You've already said that these past few months have been hell, and I'm too busy with work, so I think that's the only option."

You plead with him, "Tom, please! We can figure this out, I love you so much. We can't break up Tom, I can't lose you." You're sobbing at this point, scared to lose the one person you need the most.

"No, we can't figure this out. We have to break up, there's no other choice."

"What happened to you and me forever? That- that night in the treehouse you said you wouldn't let anything come between us!"

"We were kids, Y/N! We had no idea what our lives were going to turn out like. That was a stupid thing to say and I never should have said it, okay? You can't keep every promise you make, especially when you're eighteen. But we're mature adults now, and the mature way to handle this is to break up. Understand?" His voice is booming through your phone speaker, and it's nothing you've ever heard come from him before. He was always calm, looking for a way to work things out. But now, he's completely giving up.

"Tom, please, I-"

"No, Y/N, I don't have time for this right now, I'm sorry. Goodbye."

He hung up. He's gone.

That was the last time you spoke to him. You didn't even get to properly say goodbye, let alone see his face before he was gone forever.

Unbeknownst to you, that phone call is still, to this day, Tom's biggest regret. Almost immediately after he hung up, he wished he had never called you in the first place. He was stressed from work, he was angry at his management team for making him stay in America, but most of all he missed you. So he did the only thing he could think of to take it all away - separate himself from you. He thought that if he broke up with you, he would feel better about his career choices and he wouldn’t have to wwc:orry about missing you anymore because it would be over.

He was wrong.

Every day since then, he’s wanted to call you, text, you, or somehow contact you to apologize; explain why he did what he did and how he still loves you, still needs you, still misses you every second of his life. But he knows he can’t. You would never be able to forgive him for breaking it all off so suddenly. There’s no way in hell you could still love him after something like that.

So he’s stayed out of reach from you for good. And he hopes that maybe one day he’ll be able to move on, find someone new like you’ve probably done by now. But deep down he knows he never will.

You’re still unable to sleep, and now that it’s almost four in the morning, you decide that you probably won’t be able to for the rest of the night. Not knowing what else’s to do, you begrudgingly roll out of bed and go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. As you fill up your mug with warm water, you hear a knock at the door.

Who the fuck would be coming to your apartment this early? You suspect it’s Finn, as he always manages to forget his key. Maybe his night with the mystery bar hunk didn’t go as well as he had planned. You quickly set a tea bag in your mug and walk to open the door.

“Back so soon Fi... what the fuck.” your heart drops to your stomach.

It’s him. The same brown-haired, brown-eyed, British boy that you remember, staring down at you from outside your apartment at four in the morning.

“Hey.”

~~~~~~~~

tags: @pxkajesus @roseke @agentsofparker @lifeasjazzz @damnrancidchicken @tomhoelland01 @iwannabekilledtwice @rafehogwarts @non-eexistent @rosiexx8 @nearlydanger9 @realityisabitch07 @midgardassassins @jbreenr @cap-marvxl @ellesmythe @deepestcolorgiantopera @that-one-person @nevertrustapanda16 @rxmanxff @bubbleskz @quinn-spn58 @idkkkkaaw @aayaissaa @pjmjams @tiredstudenttrinity @isabella-bby @hollandprkr @pure-ghost @ladykxxx08 @white-wolf1940 @runawayolives @geekgirleve @thathurtbrolol @lost-girl24 @justafangirlduh @emistrash @writingrem @hallecarey1 @adayasgeorgia @mathletemadison @paulaabellag @miraclesoflove @captainamirica @mlmarint @quaksonhehe @laneybobeczko-g @peterspideysense @hollandstanevans @anna-sofia

[lubdubsworld]

City Lights . ( Namjoon x OC)

Pairing : OC x Kim Namjoon.

Genre : Angst. Romance.

Rating 18 + 

Word Count : 2900

Warnings :  Mature Themes , Explicit Sexual Content . Slow burn. Like slower than a snail.

Summary :

Widowed and destitute, Son Yang Mi leaves the comfort of her small , secluded  fishing village and travels to the intimidating city of Seoul with her young son. She has a plan, one that involves finding a job, getting her son into a good school and building a life for herself.

Now, three years later she has a job , working as a live in house keeper for the Kim family, specifically for the son,  Kim Namjoon, a famous rapper and producer. 

Its a job that puts a roof over her head and she’ll do anything to keep it. 

But fate has other plans.

Chapter 1 ~

Akogare (ah-koh-ga-reh)Often translated directly as a sort of frustrated “yearning”, “desire”, or “longing” .

Seoul in summer was a sight to behold. I blinked back against the bright sunlight, staring out into the stunning skyline of the city as the sun rose over it , and although it was just a little past seven in the morning, the air was warm and invigorating. The mid July sun shone down with no mercy, and there was no trace of the rain that had lashed city just the previous night.

It had been three whole years but the relief that came from breathing fresh air, untainted by the damp musk of fishing trowels and sweaty men, was still unrivalled.

I shook off the feather duster in my hand, moving to carefully clean the wicker woven chairs on the artificial lawn in the balcony. Dusting the entire condo down was a mind numbing exercise in patience, so i tried to get it out of the way, early in the morning when my son was still asleep.

At six years old, Junsu was a bright , happy child. Summer vacation meant days sleeping in and evenings spent frolicking with the other kids in the building and he was content with being alone in our small shared room, reading or playing with his toys while I went about the day’s work.

I glanced at the clock, grimacing.

It was almost eight . And although Mr. Kim wasn’t due back home for another twelve hours, I felt a little jittery and nervous.

Kim Namjoon , renowned rapper, producer, writer , poet and what not. The apartment was his but he was usually on tour, traveling all over the world to promote his book and to perform in sold out stadiums. For an A list celebrity, he was surprisingly humble.

For the past three years, him and his model fiancée  Lee Mina had spent a total of maybe seven months in the condo. They were a sweet couple, or so I’d always thought , a bit formal with each other but clearly in love . Mr. Kim was a kind, soft spoken young man and I’d never heard him raise his voice unless he was in the company of his very dear friends.

Just a little over a week ago , both of them  had left Korea for the States , the tabloids screaming about a luxurious destination wedding in the Caribbean and I had been asked to take a few weeks off . The newly weds wouldn’t be back for quite a while and they would let me know when I had to come back to the condo.

I’d been toying with the idea of visiting my in laws in Gwangyog, maybe even dropping by to see some old friends there but yesterday , Mr. Kim’s mother had given me a call letting me know her son was coming home. 

[ 

The conversation went something like this :

Yang Mi, I hope you haven’t left yet?

No, Ma'am, I haven’t.

Joon-ah is going to be back tomorrow.

Oh, is Ms Lee arriving as well?

No, Just him He’s going to be alone.

Yes, Ma'am.

Please don’t mention anything about Mina or the wedding.

No ma'am of course not.

I’ll drop by later . Cook him something warm and filling. And make sure the house is cleaned well.

Yes, Ma’ am.

]

And that was that.

~~~~~~

It took the better part of the day to finish cleaning and setting up the house . I washed the window slats, changed the sheets, arranged the books that had been left scattered all over his bedroom. The walk-in closet was littered with a bunch of his clothes and I made sure his gym bag was stocked with fresh towels, spare clothes and his favorite head and wrist bands. 

For someone so careful and calculated, he was really quite a messy man. 

i did his laundry, making sure he had ample clothes at least for another two weeks, creasing the handkerchiefs and carefully removing lint from his jackets. 

I also carefully sorted out the feminine clothing from the laundry and from the cupboard, folding them neatly and placing them in the lowest shelf of the closet, where he wouldn’t find them. It wasn’t hard, hiding traces of his fiancee from the condo, because it had never really been her home. other than a few spare pieces of underwear and a couple of t shirts and skirts, there weren’t many articles of clothing belonging to Ms. Lee. 

But I still got rid of the bobby pins and hair ties, the spare lip gloss and mascara.

Junsu spent the entire day in our room, reading and drawing, only venturing out every few hours to grab a snack. I left him with his drawing tab ( a gift from Mr. Kim for his 5th birthday )  and his favorite book, asking the security guard at the end of the hallway to keep an eye on the door, while i went out to buy groceries.

Lots of meat, no sea food, healthy snacks and high protein fiber bars. I stocked up on sauces and bought a fresh batch of eggs, oranges and grapes . Mrs. Kim had sent a large amount of kimchi a few weeks ago and that was still in the pantry.

i stopped for a second, staring around at the almost deserted store. Most of the other housekeepers shopped at the bigger, more exclusive store on the other side of the residential complex. But Mr. Kim had a very selective palette, which meant that I had to be very particular about the brands i bought.

When i came back home at around six, Junsu was on the floor in the living space and i felt my heart jump in panic.

“Baby!! I’ve told you not to come out here when I’m not home!” I protested bleakly and he pouted.

“I need to show you my gift for Mr. Kim!!” He said softly. I smiled moving to put away the groceries and glancing at the clock. It was a little past six. I had to call Yungyu.

“Did you draw him something ? “ I asked curiously, checking to see if the beer shelf was stocked. probably should have done that before going out for the groceries, I thought regretfully.

“Yeah! Look!!” Junsu held his tab out and my heart dropped.

For a six year old, Junsu drew very well. And there was really no mistaking the very obvious wedding scene on the screen.

Oh, Good God.

“ That looks amazing honey.” I said gently. “ But, I heard that Ms Lee isn’t coming over this time..”

Junsu frowned.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. But remember how we spoke about saying the right things? When something upsets someone, we do not bring it up.” I reminded him gently. My son hesitated but nodded.

“Okay. I’m sorry. “ He said softly.

“No baby, its not your fault. It’s just that we want Mr. Kim to be happy right? We don’t wanna upset him...”

He smiled at that.

“When he’s happy, his dimples come out.” He said with a giggle. I laughed.

“yes they do... So let’s try and get those dimples out as often as we can alright? Why don’t you show him that picture you drew of yeontan the other day? He’ll really like that....”

“Okay...but i need to go color it!” Junsu yelled, already running back into our room. I watched him go before reaching for the phone and dialing, Yungyu, the chauffeur.

“Are you on the way here? ” i said briskly.

“Just starting from home...” Yungyu muttered, “ I’m supposed to be on vacation now! Why is he coming back so soon?” 

“Just hurry up !! We can’t keep him waiting!!” I said sharply, before hanging up. 

I made a quick check of all the rooms, filling up water bottles for his gym routine in the morning and stashing them in the fridge before moving to get dinner started. 

i set the water on boil for the stew, before moving to peel cucumbers for the salad. I chopped the cucumber , along with some fresh cherry tomatoes . I watched the water boil, thinly slicing an onion and adding it to the bowl as well. The dressing was pretty simple,  soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey and sesame oil . I sprinkled some sesame seeds on the bowl, used the salad tongs to give the whole thing a nice toss and set it aside. 

I braised the chicken first , peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots to add to the stew . In a few minutes, the rich smell of lightly spiced chicken and garlic and perilla  leaves began filling the kitchen and I turned on the rice cooker as well. 

The door bell rang at six forty and i opened the door to reveal Yungyu. 

I grabbed the keys to the Palisade, handing them over to him.

“Did you hear?” He whispered urgently.

I frowned.

“What?”

“They say Mr. Kim called off the wedding!” He whispered, wide eyed. 

I glared at him.

“Who told you that?” i demanded...

“Seojoon from the gate said-”

“Why don’t you ask Seojoon from the gate to mind his own damn business?” I snapped. 

Yungyu looked suitably chastised. i felt a little bad. Yungyu was still young and curiosity was hardly a sin. 

“His flight lands at eight exactly. Hurry okay?” I said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

He brightened, peering over my shoulder into the house.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked curiously.

“ Painting something for Mr. Kim... Go ahead, hurry up.” I shooed him away, locking the door behind him. I fixed a plate of food for Junsu and sent him to eat, before moving to check on the stew. +

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~` 

By the time eight thirty rolled around I had the table set and ready. I washed my face quickly in the small bath attached to our room , making sure I was dressed well. Junsu wasn’t allowed in the main house unless Mr. Kim specifically asked for him and my son usually stayed in. 

Junsu and I stayed in a bedroom , not large by any means but big enough for a queen sized bed, a table and chair for Junsu and small dresser where I kept a comb and a tube of night cream. I stared at my face, licking my lips as I smoothed my hair out. 

I glanced at the bed. 

Junsu was asleep , having dozed off while coloring his picture and I carefully extracted the tab from under his fingers, moving him around to lay on the soft pillows. I tucked him in gently, brushing the hair off his face. 

“In peace , I will lie down to sleep, for You alone will let me rest in safety.” I whispered gently against his forehead, kissing the soft skin. I felt my lips wobble , a debilitating wave of affection flooding me as the sweet scent of my baby, filled my senses.

 I would die for you, I thought fiercely, kissing him again. 

The sound of the front door opening made me jump. 

Swearing, i smoothed the fabric of my skirt, running to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for picking me up Yungyu, I’m sorry you had to cut short on your vacation.” Mr. Kim’s deep voice filled the hallway and I quickly grabbed a glass, filling it with water and placing it on the dinner tray.

“Not a problem, Sir. “ Yungyu’s cheerful voice responded.

“How are you going home?” Mr. Kim asked. 

“I’ll take the bus.”

A pause and then, 

“Here’s some cash. Get a cab.” 

I could hear the relief in Yungyu’s voice as he let out a , “ Thank you sir.” 

I fixed his plate carefully, the bowl of rice, the bowl of chicken stew, and the salad neatly arranged next to the napkin and the chopsticks. I heard him move across the condo, the sound of his suitcases as he wrestled them towards his bedroom and I frowned. Yungyu should’ve have brought those in for him. 

I finished reheating all of the food and carefully carried the dinner tray to the bedroom. 

Mr. Kim’s bedroom was right at the end of the hallway and the door was open. The full length mirror on the opposite wall showed him sitting on the small couch in his room, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I raised my hand, ready to knock on the wood. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, kicking out at the coffee table with enough force to send the furniture skidding half way across the room. 

I froze in the hallways stunned. 

“You’re such a fucking fool , Namjoon !!” He muttered angrily and I swallowed, turning on my heel and quickly walking back to the kitchen. 

Maybe I ought to wait till he asked for dinner.

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

He didn’t ask for dinner. 

I stayed sitting on the floor of the kitchen, waiting and lightly dozing as I heard him talk to his parents on the phone. I heard him open the liquor cabinet in his room, the sound of ice sloshing against glass, the sound of whiskey being poured carefully and i sighed. 

I had to get to bed. It was already a little past eleven. 

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

Sometime in the night, I woke up sweating.... 

Wondering what woke me up, I blinked groggily, glancing at Junsu. He was still sound asleep. 

Sighing, I climbed out of the bed, carefully making my way to Mr. Kim’s room, peering in carefully. 

He was asleep on the sofa.

I stared at the way his long legs stretched over the armrest, his lean hips twisted to accommodate his broad shoulders on the couch and I winced. He was definitely going to regret that in the morning. 

I stared at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and sighed, moving to take off his shoes carefully. He didn’t stir. 

I grabbed a pillow from the bed, carefully lifting his head and slipping it under. I placed a comforter over his shoulders, pulling it down to cover his legs. 

Force of habit almost made me brush his hair off his forehead but I stopped myself. 

The clock on the wall read three fifty am. God, I was going to feel terrible tomorrow. I carefully tip toed out, shutting the door behind me

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

I picked the comforter from the floor, carefully folding it and placing it on the bed, before grabbing the empty bottle of whiskey and glass . i could hear the shower running. The curtains were still drawn in and I tugged on the strings to get them to open. Sunlight spilled in through the floor length windows. The bed wasn’t slept in, so I opened the closet to grab a couple of towels, laying them on the bed for him. 

The bathroom door opened and i quickly straightened, wanting to race out of the room but it was too late. Thankfully he was dressed,  a pair of loose sweats and a loose t shirt . He was running a towel through his hair and his face brightened at the sight of me. 

“Yang Mi! You’re here....” He said cheerfully. 

“Good morning sir.” I said softly, offering him a small smile. 

He smiled brightly, hair damp and dimples deep. The white t shirt he had on was almost fully soaked through and he shook his head, sending stray water droplets all over the place, a few landing on my cheeks. 

“I didn’t see you last night...” He said casually, moving to drop the wet towel in the hamper, grabbing one of the fresh ones I’d laid on the bed. 

“I thought you would like your privacy sir, you looked exhausted.” 

He smiled.

“ Thank you for the blanket and the pillow by the way. And the shoes.” 

I bowed quickly.

“I’ll get your breakfast done, sir.” I bowed again before quickly getting out. 

I moved to the kitchen grabbing the oranges I’d got the previous day . Mr. Kim wasn’t fond of traditional korean dishes in the morning. He preferred freshly squeezed juice and toast, sometimes with an omelet perhaps. 

I fixed his breakfast quickly, setting it all in the tray . He was still moving around in the bedroom and I heard him drag his worktable to the windows, which meant he was going to stay in the bedroom. 

Pouring his coffee into a cup, I carefully picked up the breakfast tray , moving to his room slowly. 

I used my foot to knock on the door.

After a pause of a few seconds, 

“Come in Yang Mi!”

I carefully moved to the small table in front of the couch, placing the tray right in front of him. The scent of his body wash, green apple and strawberries, hit me hard. 

“Where’s Junsu?” He asked casually.

“Still asleep sir. It’s Summer so school’s out.” I smiled, grabbing his phone from the table to make space for his tray. 

The phone buzzed just as I was about to place it back down and I blinked.

 Mina calling.......

 I swallowed, not sure what to do, placing the phone down quickly.

“Uh..you have ...” I waved vaguely at the device before bowing again and moving back. 

“close the door on your way out, Yang Mi...” He said gently and I quickly obeyed. 

I moved to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for myself. I stayed leaning over the counter and even through the locked door, I could hear him . 

“Just don’t call me Mina...i don’t want to talk about this!!!” 

I swallowed, glancing out of the window again. It was a bright, clear morning. 

A second later, the door to his bedroom slammed open and he stormed out. I watched him from my spot in the kitchen, his fists clenched as he rushed out to the front door.

The door shut behind him and I exhaled. 

Once I as done with my coffee, I moved to his room to clear the breakfast tray. His phone was still on the table.

It began ringing again just as I left the room. 

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

"Mrs. Kim.” i said respectfully, bowing . She gave me a short smile.

“Where’s Namjoon? I’ve been calling him for the past hour.” She pushed past me into the house and I bit my lips.

“He went out about an hour ago. He left his phone behind.” I explained.

She stopped, sighing. 

“Fine, I’ll wait for him. “ She moved to sit on the couch, glancing around the room. 

“Should I get you something ma'am?” I asked softly and she smiled.

“Get me a glass of lemonade, Yangmi.” She said brusquely and i nodded, running to the kitchen. 

“Did Mina come over?” She called out as I got the lemons out of the cooler.

“No ma'am.” i replied.

“Did she call?” 

  I remembered the phone ringing, how upset it had made Namjoon, how he had stormed out.

“I don’t know ma'am!” I said softly. 

She nodded.

“Okay. You can leave.” She said quietly. i bowed and went back into the kitchen. 

I peered out of the window as I fixed her a glass , and my eyes fell on a familiar figure, coming back in through the front gate. Even from this distance there was no mistaking the long legs and messy blonde hair. 

I bit my lips, mind racing.

 Mrs Kim and her son had a volatile relationship, to say the least. 

And something told me that Mr. Kim was probably not in the right frame of mind to argue with his mother, now. The man was upset but apparently, neither his mother nor his ex fiancée understood that. instead of giving him space they were hounding him. 

I hesitated for a second  before making a quick decision. 

I grabbed the tray with her lemonade and moved to her quickly.

“Thank you.” She said sharply. “ Turn on the Air Conditioner for me, will you?” 

I fumbled with the remote, grabbing his phone from the table , turning it on before moving to the front door and rushing out. 

I almost ran into him as he came out of the elevator , and i jerked back stumbling a bit to stop myself from crashing into his chest. He let out a , ‘ Whoa, “  his hands reaching out to grip my elbows. 

“Careful. What’s wrong?” He asked gently and I swallowed.

“Your mother’s here.” I said quickly, “ Sir.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned. I swallowed.

“You can leave.” I blurted out. “It’s Tuesday. She has her charity work meeting at ten. Its almost nine. She won’t stay long....” 

His eyes met mine, lips parting in surprise. 

“I really can’t meet her now.” He said apologetically.

I nodded.

“Of course, I understand , sir. Just be back in an hour , she’ll be go-”

The elevator buzzed , the doors nearly closing over my shoulders and I flinched. He swore and stuck his arm out to keep it open. 

I stared at him before holding his phone out.

“Here you go sir. “ 

He chuckled taking it from me and shaking his head.

“i feel like a kid, sneaking away from my mom.” His eyes reached mine, twinkling, “ Who would’ve thought the quiet, timid Yang Mi would be my partner in crime. “ 

I didn’t reply, just smiled. 

And then he hesitated. “ Is Junsu awake?”

I blinked.

“Uh...yes sir,...he’s playing in the park downstairs with the other kids.”

“Great... Would you mind if i take him out for ice cream?”

I stared at him. 

“Oh..uh...of course not. Sure.. I mean.. he’ll love that... Sir. Thank you.. You don’t have to -”

“Consider it thank you for helping me with my mother.” He smiled again and i found myself staring at his dimples again. i swallowed. 

“in that case, he loves butter scotch.” I smiled. 

The dimples appeared and i bit my lips. 

“Thank you Yang Mi.” He said slowly. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

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

Author’s Note : Finally a hyungline fic !!! ugh... I’ve been wanting to write a Namjoon fic for ages and I really hope you guys will like this one :’( Feedback is much appreciated.